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Was there really any doubt? While late-night refugees may collapse on stray bean bags or strip the late night caf? of every plastic-wrapped stale cookie under the florescent light, residents of Helen C. White will eventually grow tired of the fairly non-descript study rooms and trench warfare against their studies and shuffle across the street to Memorial Union, the vibrant epicenter of campus.
Any building that at once can hold meetings on administrative particularities in a myriad of ASM committees while hosting a former First Daughter and the occasional art installation is not just greater than the sum of its parts; it is a microcosm of the university as a whole.
While classes and libraries may be the central nervous system that keeps this university a highly-primed world class institution, it is the union that reflects the pulsating heartbeat of the student body. Not to mention the capacity for alcohol — thanks Rathskeller.
But one must not overestimate the ability of the Union to claim this title; this is a student union, after all. Without those students who base their operations here — be it those indulging in the cultural arts, student government, subversive political campaigns or just those looking for respite from the cold — Memorial Union is an odd composite shell of the desires of past students and union members.
But for now, it’s for the kids. Rejoice! Enjoy your cold beer and local jam bands. Lay back and wait for the ice to thaw, the murky lake to (sort of) reappear and the Terrace to open up to the sounds of inappropriate conversations and yearly Jazz, Blues and Snake-on-the-Lake festivals.
So enjoy it while it lasts. Because eventually, the ever-present Mrs. White will be waiting with that history of the Spanish Armada you put on reserve two months ago. And once you go to grab it, she’ll never let you go.