10C
ENTERTAINMENT
THE UNIVERSITY BABY KANSAN
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2006
Microbursts, Wescoe Beach and fountains oh my!
Some things you'll only find at KU
BY LAURA VEST
We all realize it — the University of Kansas is a leading school to attend. But why is it so unrivaled? Students shared their thoughts on what exemplifies the University — the 'only at KU' moments.
On Facebook.com, Jess Levy, Dallas junior, established a group called "You Know You Go To KU If..." with some remarkably appropriate mentions:
1. Nothing keeps you from going out — not even rain, snow, sleet or microbursts.
2. There are crazy religious men flairing around in front of Wescoe beach when you want to be undisturbed.
3. You do a dance when you finally reach the top of the seemingly never-ending stairs.
Paul Amyot, Katonah, N.Y. senior, encountered his 'only at KU' moment when he leaped into the Chi Omega fountain after a particularly festive evening. Amyot said the fountain was exclusive to the University.
"It's tradition here — no other schools that I know of have a fountain everyone jumps in, especially after a night on Ohio Street," he said.
In light of the approaching Homecoming events, Kyle Geiken, Burnsville, Minn. senior, said his best KU moments were tearing down the goalposts in three straight home games, running down Massachusetts Street with the K-State goalposts and jumping in Potter Lake in 40-degree weather.
Geiken's said his honorable mentions were good experiences at The Bull, The Hawk and The Wheel.
"Everyone knows what they are," he said.
Kansan correspondent writer Laura Vest can be contacted at editor@kansan.com.
— Edited by Erick R. Schmidt
FIRST HOMECOMING GAME SHOWS JAYHAWKS WHAT COLLEGE IS ALL ABOUT
At the age of 7, during the Homecoming weekend of 1995, I stood on an unfamiliar ledge on my tiptoes and had to reach up high to hold onto the big bronze foot of the Jayhawk in front of Strong Hall. It was the only way I could see Jayhawk Boulevard over the heads of the crowd lining the streets on campus.
It probably wasn't my first time at KU, but it was my first distinct memory. That Homecoming weekend with my family taught me a lesson that isn't easily acknowledged. I learned what this college place is, beyond being a piece of my relative's stories and past. I realized what this place was as a whole, instead of being satisfied with the exterior.
It seemed amazing to me that time hadn't affected the traditions, the culture and the pride of the students. This place hasn't been bulldozed and moved aside to make way for new arrivals. It was a place where my grandpa,
Now, when I talk about being little bitty a lot of people squint, and warmly ask whether I was ever a small person. Being 6-feet-5, and with the help of the freshman 15, gaining fast on 250 pounds; I am far from little bitty. Big or little, and spread out by years, I am the same person who watched the Homecoming parade hovering through the smooth hills of this place that I was just beginning to understand.
BY SPENCER HEWITT
KANSAN COLUMNIST
EDITOR@KANSAN.COM
my aunts, my uncles and my dad, a generation apart could relive the same place, similar memories and the same coursing enigma that flowed through this campus, though separated by years. It is a place that has experienced the same yearly waves of students, the same tides of change, the same effects of time, without becoming something buried under forgotten stories and ignored inheritance.
I marvel at the way graduates of my family greet campus and its culture like an old friend; the kind with whom you can strike up a conversation after years of separation. I latched onto the mystery behind their familiarity with each detail of campus, the way they walked right past the picturesque buildings like they were on one more trip to class, their naturalness within the brilliant late afternoon shadowing of campus, their reverence toward Allen Fieldhouse. The leaves had started to turn and the smell of fall was a little different on campus than it was at home in Wichita, but each separate detail didn't dominate the others, it was part of a mix, and it was part of a vivid history to each aunt and
uncle, and to my grandpa and dad.
As my family roamed through the spectacle of campus and through the perfectly groomed lawns, as I saw alumni slide a sideways glance and a smirk toward the old bars, as I tagged along through a maze of sidewalks, shortcuts and alleys, I realized what all the Jayhawks adorning my living room meant, what all the college days talk I had heard was referring to. I think that was my first sense of connection with this place, odd and splendorous as it seemed. I became aware that as a third generation Jayhawk I had inherited an astonishment surrounding this separate world. I realized that this wasn't just a place where these people came to work, graduate, move on and forget, this was a place that stayed forever in the framework of their existence.
And then it was game time. The crowds flowed downhill into a frenzy of pep and color, the spirit started to explode out of the shell of shy daily life and an elaborate system of claps, chants fight songs and the roar of the student section emerged. My dad painted half of his face blue and once again showed his radiance for KU, as he had throughout his college life. I was a young, small person in the midst of an older, larger and wilder crowd but it all felt welcoming and intriguing.
After the game we, along with the rest of the crowd, emptied the stadium. My family and 1
headed toward the base of the Campanile, where a magnificent bell tower ascended into the sky. My mom pointed at the Campanile and said, "That's were they walk through when they graduate, would you like to do that someday?"
"Yeah," I answered.
Going to my first Homecoming game 11 years later I am now a part of the flow of time around this place, part of each instant that one more freshman learns the Rock Chalk Chant or the Crimson and Blue song, part of each tide of students flowing to class and to games, part of another year, part of another graduating class, part of another generation.
As I pass that same bronze bird every day, I can feel that coursing enigma of old KU. The same feeling I had at a time when I had to reach up to grab the Jayhawks foot, the same that I will feel a generation from now on a visit back, the same that my family remarks on visits. On those walks to class each day, I can ignore the routine feeling of obligation and materialize that childhood astonishment. It must be that unchanging building with pieces of KU inside of me that I will never lose, the same structure that's in all of us Jayhawks.
Kansas correspondent writer Spencer Hewitt is a freshman majoring in journalism.