Illustrated by Maggie O’Connor.
Welcome, class of 2029, to the prestigious construction site occasionally called Hillsdale College. These first months will be for you not only an academic exercise as a Hillsdale student, but a civil exercise as a Hillsdale citizen, learning the subtleties of our polity’s geography and culture. You will, unfortunately, break very many taboos in the process, causing onlookers despair and yourselves embarrassment. In hopes of averting the worst of this, The Collegian has tasked me with providing a freshman’s map of college based on three years of impartial observation and minimal participation.
The conventionally-recognized “college” for freshmen sits between two distinct portions of not-college. To the north lies the rugged and peaceful portion suitable for walking. To the south looms an unruly fictional place called “Manning Street,” a noble lie perpetuated by Greeks and athletes. The saintly residents of Broadlawn nonetheless stand guard against the south, protecting campus from hostilities real and imagined.
You are allowed to venture north and south for religious obligations, volunteering, illness, and Greek capers; otherwise it is no place for freshmen. To abridge Caesar: “Collegia est omnis divisa in partes tres.” These are generally referred to as construction zones A, B, and C — or for our purposes: West, Generica, and Frontier.
Everything west of Central Hall is the territory of West, wherein the Platonic ideal of the West meets its real-world manifestation, the duality of which confounds CCA guests. Officially, Dr. Arnn presides as this territory’s monarch with campus security as nobility. Unofficially, West is a warlord quasi-empire of the Williams-Rastovac-Vankat triumvirate. West offers visitors such native marvels as the Searle Center, the Dow Hotel sitting room, and Simpson Residence events, while exporting event guests, single boys, volunteer hours, and parking tickets. Observe its math and science majors, scary people walking in and out of Moss Hall, its faint smell of cleaning products, smoking paraphernalia, and frat house that is missing its letters half the time. West’s dangers are many: Security, Bagman, disapproving glances from the upperclasswomen of the town homes, and Simpson between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. To freshmen non-occupants, make a point to visit or spectate West on occasion — to freshmen occupants, mind the microwaves at all times.
Generica is the beating heart of campus life: currently a heart undergoing triple bypass surgery. It sprawls north of Broadlawn to Galloway Street, and east from Kendall Hall to Union Street, including Waterman, Olds, and the Suites residences. Generica is a confederal republic composed of a bureaucratic administration in Central Hall and an aristocracy of the humanities faculty. Local attractions include the Christ Chapel, Penny’s, Gate Guy, and made-to-order omelets, while the territory’s exports consist predominantly of Greek pledges and Western Heritage readers. Its culture is marked by students studying outdoors, someone doing nothing behind the Union desk, and a sprawl of “No Man’s Land” walkways between Sohn, Kirn, Mauck, and Benzing residences. Freshmen should beware of tabling student orgs, Collegian pitch meetings, skycones, statue golfers, pipe-smoking professors, and fundie PDA.
Frontier is the wilder portion of campus that most students frequent but none inhabit, an anarchy stretching from Union Street north and east as far as Hayden Park, including Chi Omega and McIntyre Residence. Its primary attraction is sport in all forms, complemented by the opposing kicker and punter, Hillsdale meme accounts, and the sand volleyball court at Hayden. Its exports are numerous: protein shakes, intramural blood feuds, volleyball sweeps, B-gap runs, and canceled rugby games. Local culture revolves around ice, lower-body braces, racquetball courts not in use, hecklers, literal hundreds of football players, and people running for no reason. Dangers stem from this cultural chaos, the worst of which are soccer enjoyers, intramural referees, and that one freshman trying to play basketball as a walk-on. In short, freshmen, if you’re not playing volleyball, get out of here before dark. There’s a reason the only people who stay here are from Mac and Chi Omega.
This, dear freshmen, is college as you will know it until your sophomore year. Until then, always remember: “No cameras? No construction? Not college.”
Lewis Thune is a senior studying politics.
