re: TulaneLSU's Top 10 memories at LSU

From there, we crossed Dalrymple again so I could show her the other religious groups on campus. “Mother, I promise I never went to Catholic Mass, even though I really, really wanted to worship with our Catholic friends. But on Thursday nights, I would get energized and go over to BCM for TNT.”

“TNT?”

“Thursday night together! I will be honest, though, Mother. As much excitement and energy as there were in the room, I never touched God. It was too loud for me to worship and they repeated the same stanzas over and over and over. But I went every Thursday night.”







While exiting the Baptist Ministries, we both noticed that one of the offices had a collection of stuffed dead animal heads on the wall. Mother and I, being lovers of nature that we are, were both repulsed. I am considering sending a copy of St. Francis of Assissi’s writings to the ministry along with a treatise on why I believe displaying God’s living creations as trophies is a stumbling block and a misreading of Genesis 1’s human dominion over animals. Genesis 1 should be read in conjunction with Genesis 9.

It was early in the morning, and I was becoming hungry. “Mother, let me show you where I used to eat many breakfasts. It was a delightful cafeteria that people called The Pentagon Cafeteria. It is now called The 5. The former name should not have been changed. Anyway, scrambled eggs, toast, donuts, bacon, grits. Mother, it was almost as good as Ms. Mae’s breakfast.”





“Mother! This is where the door was!” Apparently, they have closed off the northern entrance to the cafeteria, which was the one I used. The steps I used were still there, but they are no longer in use. And that hulking monolith called Kirby Smith is no longer there.





We backtracked a little because I wanted to share with Mother two important memories. The first came from the Greek Amphitheater. It was there in November of 2005 that I put on a public play, my first outdoor play. I had spent two weeks working on the script and another week rehearsing it. The title was Pronouns: A Direct and Indirect Assault on Our Nation. I had professional posters printed and plastered them throughout campus (afterwards, I took every poster down, as I would never leave them to become public detritus).





At the beginning of the production there were nearly ten people in attendance. Most of the audience left after a few minutes, and an hour into it, a few newcomers, football players by the look of them, started heckling me. It was around that time that a disheveled man, who may not have had an address to his name, climbed to the stage. I looked at him, but stayed in character.

“Do you have any spare change?” He stood next to me. I could hear the football players laughing.

I ignored the question and continued playing both of that night’s characters, an indirect and a direct pronoun. I was giving the direct pronoun’s climatic soliloquy when from the corner of my eye I saw an object hurled. I ducked, and in so doing, a half peeled banana splattered the face of the man who was asking for money. He left and the football players ran away. My climax was ruined.

Three of the original audience remained until the end and one gave a standing ovation, which meant a lot to me. That person became my friend and he has joined me on many a trip to The Golden Corral.



I then showed Mother what I called The Enchanted Forest. This was a fenced off area full of live oaks and bald cypress trees. I dreamed of jumping the fence to have a picnic in the forest, but I never did, for fear of the repercussions. The legend goes that it was originally an old pond that the WPA turned into a reflecting pool with a statue of de Soto at the head of the pool. It fell into disrepair and in 1960, the area was condemned. The workers tossed the statue of de Soto into the Mississippi River and it became a hippie hangout in the 70s. By my time, it had been fenced from students for at least two decades, but in the last ten years, it has returned to its glory, though, without any pools or ponds. Its shaded, quiet grounds make for a picturesque picnic destination today. Perhaps I will one day bring a date there.

As we perambulated toward the River, I noticed that the Pentagon dorms had been updated. I saw no fans in the archaic windows, which I presume means they are now air conditioned. Most disappointing to me is that the entire complex has gone the route of gated community USA. I suppose all those Gen X parents, who boast about how they rode bikes without parental guidance from the time they got home until sunset, fear for their children’s safety. I have not felt this debarred from a place since the last time I walked the streets of Village de L'Est.



Past the Indian Mounds, which are also fenced off now, is the Huey P Long Fieldhouse. Mother and all of her family absolutely despise Huey P Long, so she would not sneak into the building with me. But I did share with her the story of how I was tricked into going for a swim there one night.

My roommate, of whom you will read more later, told me that every LSU student, in order to matriculate fully into the school, had “to be baptized in the waters of the Long Fieldhouse pool.” So one night, after we ate at the Pentagon, we walked to the fieldhouse. I asked him why the doors were chained and bolted, but he ignored my question. Only later did I learn that the facility had been condemned and closed years before I arrived. I was told the pool was closed after the summer of 2000 and the skating rink, used for indoor soccer and inline hockey, was closed in 2003.

I was foolish and gullible so I hopped the brick walls and made my way to the pool area. Lit only by the moon, I could tell this pool was not full. My roommate began chanting, “LSU! LSU! LSU!” And then he pushed me in.

There was enough water that I did not break any bones, but it was the water was mixed with a sludge, a biodegrading mix of lilies and weeds algae. Although I did not make contact with any turtles, snakes, or frogs, the bellowing echoing off the walls assured me as I ran that there were at least some bullfrogs sharing that murky water.



As part of the renovation, they filled in the historic pool with dirt to make it a lawn. I do not want to be too critical, but the heart of the fieldhouse was the pool. Even worse is that hideous tiger eye graphic painting on the wall. One thing I know is that LSU and its students and followers love defacing things.

We passed the Maravich Assembly Center where I watched one game, the LSU women’s basketball defeat Baylor in 2006. It was rather forgettable, but I remember fondly how good the popcorn was.