Gathered As One

I went to a small, liberal-arts college in Annapolis, Maryland (Saint John's College). It's an unusual place, where great books are read and discussed. It's a fixed curriculum, which means no pesky majors or electives. Everyone starts as a freshman (no transfers, thank you), and everyone takes the same classes, in the same order, from the 1930s to the present. That's bound to bring a great deal of cohesion to any group.

It's a smallish place; they only admit about a hundred freshmen each year. Since everyone begins as a freshmen, the size of the student body is kept in check. When I attended (1983-1987), the vast majority of students lived on campus. Campus life was rich and rewarding. As I look back, my mind often ends up in the dining hall.

Now, I'm as a big fan of cafeteria food as the next guy (as long as the next guy is my friend, Elliott). I ate my way through some memorable meals (THIRTEEN patty melts! Take that!!). I can probably still find the red Jell-O stuck to the high ceiling by Jack Handy one bored lunch. The room itself is a thing of beauty. Deep, wide, high, with a wooden floor and two rows of columns running its length, it's a wonderful space.

Yet it's not fond memories or architecture that recommend the place to me. It's community. With such a small student body and with so many on campus, meals at Saint John's were where (essentially) the entire community met several times a day. Sure, we all sat at separate tables--often zealously guarded for years at a time--but we came together around a single (if metaphorical) table.

So, if the guys from third-floor Randall decided at the last minute to have a party, all they had to do was ring a glass at dinner and make the announcement. Everybody knew. Instantly (years before the advent of Instant Messaging). It's occurred to me that that was the real power of the place. Everybody at their own tables, with their own friends, in their own conversations, yet with the ringing of knife on glass, we were One Body.

In the 1990s, major construction was required on some of the old, decaying dorms. As a necessity, more students lived off campus. I wasn't there for those years, but a good friend of mine was and noticed the shape of the community change. Gone were the days when the tinkling of a glass could attract the eyes and ears of the body as whole. That incredible sense of togetherness was lost. I don't know how things have fared since they re-opened those dorms. I don't know if community life has coalesced around that wonderful dining hall. I pray that it has, because that wwas where the beating heart of that place was to be found in my day.