I am a little over a month into my first semester as a sophomore, and I already miss Fisher Hall. Ever since the “Cadillac of dorms” was tragically torn to the ground, the men of Fisher were shipped off to Zahm Hall, where we will reside for the next two years. For all my Fr. Kevin students, we are what Walker Percy would call castaways.
Walking to class at Bond Hall on Mondays and Wednesdays is the closest contact I make every week to the wreckage site that was once my home. This past weekend, however, my quad mates and I were feeling nostalgic. With North Dining Hall only a few strides away from Zahm, the allure of convenience had kept us from our former place of fellowship for too long. On Friday evening, we decided it was time to make a return to the table positioned second closest to the wall opposite the entrance, the Fisher table. Forced to sprint ahead of the entire population of Keough Hall dressed in togas for whatever reason, we grabbed our food and claimed the territory that was once ours. Seated in creaky wooden chairs with bowls of personally curated pasta dishes, an SDH special, we took in the scene. The familiar unnamed faces, the revolving dish trays, the Hogwarts-esque constructions. Inevitably, a blue plastic cup was dropped and clattered on the ground. You can imagine what followed. Applause and cheers echoed through the packed dining hall. We felt at home again.
I don’t think a day went by during my freshman year when I was not complaining about the condition of Fisher’s building. The absence of air conditioning to relieve the blistering heat. The metal aftertaste of the drinking fountain. Even the occasional rodent roaming through the halls and within the ceiling tiles. Yes, we had mice.
But despite all of its imperfections, it was OUR dorm.
Sharing in the suffering, we banded together. In air-conditioned study rooms, finding momentary relief from the heat and solidarity in the day-to-day grind (while completing many levels of slither.io). In the basement sharing sandwiches from Ellie’s Deli, our late-night bistro ran on a microwave and a couple of toaster ovens. In the tightly packed gym with a speaker on full blast, the bench press spotters ducking their heads under pipes hanging overhead. When it all was destroyed, what emerged from the ruins was the best dorm community at Notre Dame. I stand by that.
When we emerged from the dimly lit dining hall, it was to the embrace of a warm South Quad sunset. What made Fisher so special was not just what was inside, but also on the way out. The walk back began in silence, a silence that was soon broken by the murmuring of lyrics from Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” “I missed you so, so bad.” We all couldn’t believe it, but we did. We really missed that place. It was a cathartic walk, a purging of emotions held in for too long. Soon, we would be back in our North Quad bubble, never to return there again. I’m being dramatic, but whether or not we find ourselves on that side of campus or not, walking through South Quad will never be the same. It’s not our home anymore, but it will always live in our hearts.
To get philosophical for a second, I think my journey back spoke to the relativity of happiness. Living in Fisher Hall, I couldn’t help but think how much better my quality of life may have been if I were randomly placed in a different dorm, perhaps one with air conditioning. And yet, walking past what remained of it only a few months later, I couldn’t help but be romantic about the place and what it meant to both me and everyone else who lived there. I viewed my cognitive dissonance as a lesson in appreciating the present moment. As I now turn the page to my next chapter in the slightly better building that is Zahm, I hope to live with a newfound gratitude for all the blessings. They, like Fisher Hall, could be gone before I realize how special they are.
