My Favorite Places on Campus

Geraldine Lauinger Moriarty '72, P'00,'03

Coming Full Circle
It was early in the morning on June 7, 2009. My husband and I had come back to Boston for a wedding and were staying in a hotel in Newton. I couldn’t sleep, so in the dawning light of this new day, I decided to go for a walk to the nearby Boston College campus. It had been 36 years since my graduation and I was curious to see what my old alma mater looked like after all these years. I parked my car near the main entrance on Commonwealth Avenue and began my stroll down memory lane. When I was a student here, there was no guardhouse at the main gate—the entrance, now, seemed much more official and prestigious.

Since it was so early, the campus was eerily deserted. I felt like I was spying. But as I ambled down the main road past Bapst Library, I noticed the BC eagle perched proudly outside of Gasson Hall. It seemed to welcome me back to campus, granting me permission to explore. I began to think about the countless hours I had spent studying and writing and researching at those long tables under the dim lights at Bapst. In those days (1968-1972), Bapst was the only library and most seats were filled. In those pre-Internet, pre-Google days, all research was done the old-fashioned way, using a card catalog to locate books that you had to retrieve from the stacks and then lug back to your table.

In the late 60s, all female students had to live off campus. This required all my School of Nursing and School of Education friends to walk the mile from campus to South Street several times a day. As a freshman, I lived with two others in Linden Hall at the end of South Street. We had a housemother who ruled the roost and made sure that we behaved. Male visitors (even if they were your sibling or parent) had to remain in the front room or lounge. All visitors were required to sign in. In those days, we had “parietals,” which meant that on Saturday nights male visitors could visit your room between 8 and 9 p.m., but the door needed to remain open at all times. This rule was strictly enforced and if violated could result in being sent home for a month’s suspension.

Today’s students would find it hard to believe that prior to the student strike of 1970 (which seemed to change so many things at Boston College and at most college campuses across the country), all women had to wear skirts or dresses while on campus. This requirement covered attending classes and events as well as just walking down Hammond St. to meet someone from upper campus. At that time, this rule was neither questioned nor challenged. I remember sitting in my freshman theology class in February 1969. An older Jesuit professor taught the course, and just as the lecture was about to begin, Biff Butler walked in and sat down in her usual seat. Biff was a very tall and attractive female student with long auburn hair. She wore an elegant red wool plaid pantsuit with leather boots and a matching bag. She looked like a model in Vogue magazine. The professor took one look at her and ordered her out of his classroom and off campus, informing her and the rest of the class that she would be reported to the dean of students. For the rest of that school year, no one dared attempt to wear pants again. And now, 40 years later, walking by St. Mary's Hall, where the Jesuits reside, I could only chuckle at this memory. Looking to my left, the brilliant early morning sun allowed me to see directly through the building. It made me think about what we see, how we see it, and how that can change over time.

Meandering around the left side of Gasson Hall I noticed how beautifully landscaped the grounds have become. In our student days, BC was struggling financially and landscaping was, if anything, last on the list. The Quad is known as the “Dust Bowl” because it was completely dirt and dust during our years. At that time, there were few flowering shrubs and trees or green grass as there is now. Outside of Lyons Hall, I noticed the large rock outcropping that is still there but is now surrounded by lush green grass, trees and flowers, and benches and sculpture. When we were there, this rock was what we sat on because there was no other place to sit. As I sat on the bench listening to the birds and the nearby hum of traffic, I couldn’t help but admire the beautiful stonewalls and wide sidewalks that now grace the campus. Later on I passed the ethereal sculpture done by Norman Rockwell’s son Peter and the lifelike statue of St. Ignatius of Loyola. I wondered what Ignatius, whose influence so grandly shaped this University, would think of the inevitable changes that come with the passage of time.

I thought about the students that had attended BC with me back in those days. Most of them were commuters from Dorchester and Everett and Quincy and Charlestown. They attended school full time and held part-time jobs to pay tuition. Like me, they were often the first ones in their families to go to college. I wondered what they would think of the beautiful new dorms that have been built on campus since we left: Vanderslice, Vouté, Rubenstein, Gabelli. I can only imagine how much they would have loved to be able to reside on campus and be able to avoid the tedious commute. Back then, everyone I knew worked on campus or held a part-time job somewhere. None of us were wealthy. I can recall only a few students who had attended prep schools or private schools. Almost everyone I knew at Boston College had attended Catholic elementary and/or high schools. I don’t remember a single person who was Jewish or Muslim. And though there were a few African-American students on campus, it was not until after the days of the strike that Boston College and other universities began to emphasize a more culturally diverse student body. When I read the demographic information about this year’s incoming freshman class, I was happily astounded by how diverse the group is, and again I realize how far the University has come.

As I continued walking through the Quad towards McElroy, I turned around and looked back across the “Dust Bowl” and began to think about those precarious days of “The Strike” in the spring of 1970. The image sprang to mind of those longhaired fellow students with their arms raised and fists clenched gathered on the steps and in the lobby of Gasson after the students had taken it over. So much changed in just two short years. I remember how these usually cautious and well-mannered students, who suddenly began to question the status quo, began to question the University leaders (especially their decision to dramatically raise tuition from $2000 to an unheard of $2500 per year), began to question the Vietnam War and their possible drafted participation in it, and began to question all authority figures for the first time in their lives. I recall hearing about the decision to boycott classes and worried about how I’d ever tell my parents. But curiously, none of us ever felt forced to boycott classes or comply with the strike initiatives of the student leaders. We agreed with these students, and for the first time felt liberated enough to ask the same questions they had been asking. We admired their courage, their articulation of the issues important to all of us, and their perseverance in fighting for a cause we all believed in. I remember how eerie it was to be on campus for the remainder of that semester with no classes to attend. Many participated in strike activities, and many just returned to working their part-time jobs. We watched in horror as other campuses erupted in angry protests (Kent State, etc.) and were grateful that President Seavey Joyce, S.J., had agreed to sit down and negotiate with our student leaders. Students and professors took part in anti-war protests in downtown Boston and protested against ROTC and on-campus recruiting by the “interlocking corporate directorate.” But from then on, everything seemed forever changed and different.

I walked down past the School of Education and fondly recalled the professors—Dr. Joan Jones, Dr. George Ladd, Dr. John Savage, Dr. John Travers, to name a few—who inspired us to be teachers that truly cared about children. I wondered what their thoughts would be about the emphasis on testing and the mandates of the “No Child Left Behind” legislation imposed in the last decade. I pondered how few female professors there were during our time at BC. I had been privy to a discussion between two female associate professors about the huge discrepancy between the salaries of male and female faculty members at the time. Keep in mind that Boston College was not officially co-ed until 1970.

I moved on to the crest of the hill and the “thousand steps” to Lower Campus. In our day, these steps were wooden, narrow, and extremely hazardous. In the winter, they were rarely shoveled and became an instant sledding hill. Cafeteria trays from McElroy became our sleds. There were few buildings on Lower Campus then—no theater, no athletic complex, no dorms, no “Mods.” Commuters parked their cars there, and South Street residents walked through as a shortcut back to their dorms. There was a mound of dirt in the middle where we used to play touch football (where, in fact, I met my husband). The old McHugh Forum was there and housed the legendary hockey games of that era. The old football stadium was also there, but it bore little resemblance to the modern, sophisticated stadium of today. In those pre-Flutie days, people were permitted to bring alcohol into games and, of course, everybody did. The drinking age was 18 and everyone drank as they watched the games. The clatter of broken beer bottles would ring out through the open bleachers as they came crashing to the ground. Fans walking beneath the stands would have to dodge the debris. The family-oriented games of today are a huge improvement.

My chuckling resumed as my stroll took me past the Mods. As a junior, I was in the first class that could be residents of the Mods. We were told that the modular housing was to be “temporary” and would only last for five years. The fact that the majority are still up after 34 years is amusing. But the Mods were not ready in September when we arrived back on campus. The University was forced to house us at the Sheraton Tara Hotel over the turnpike, which was then a Howard Johnson. We were there until January. We loved the weekly cleaning and the view and the large spacious beds. But getting to and from campus was a huge hassle, and I don’t recall that BC supplied any transportation. We were thrilled to move into the spacious new Mods. At the time, there were no fences, no grass, and no landscaping, but they were home to us and we were happy. I think my “token” orange towel from that experience finally disintegrated last year. In 1971, the University began to build the “Rec,” now the William L. Flynn Student Recreation Complex. At the time, seniors were furious because every student had been assessed a one time “Rec” fee to help cover the building costs. We were irate because it was clear that this building wouldn’t be open until after we graduated. But we found the whole idea of an athletic center for students to be fantastic. This again was clear evidence that Boston College had dramatically changed for the better in a very short time.

Rounding the corner past the football stadium, I looked across the reservoir at the skyline of Boston. I remembered our innumerable trips into town on the T for events, shopping, and exploring the city. For a sheltered teen from Long Island, this new world was a heady place to be. Like the Boston College campus, the city of Boston has become even more beautiful over the years.

I walked alongside the Reservoir and passed the older “new” dorms: Walsh and Edmonds. I remembered fondly the tailgaters of those days in their plaids and woolen matching outfits parked outside More Hall, which used to house BC’s Law School. In the late 60s, I found it hard to envision myself as an alumnus. I let out another chuckle, realizing that I have worn that hat for 36 years.

It seemed fitting that my journey should end with a visit to the great St. Ignatius Church. In our day, almost everyone attended Mass regularly and St. Ignatius was the church of choice. The Masses there always seemed so personal, as they seemed to permit a very palpable connection between our faiths and ourselves. This was the time right after the Second Vatican Council, when the Church seemed to be reinventing itself. Parishioners seemed to have more questions than answers. The topics raised about social justice issues made us question the status quo even more. Student protests and awareness of social justice issues led to the creation of the PULSE program. In addition, the social upheaval which characterized those years—the Vietnam War, the draft, the student strike, the feminist movement, the emerging Black Power movement—all seemed to be playing out on campus at a dizzying speed. We were often confused as we tried to make sense of the events occurring around us. Our association with the Church became a haven, a place to help us find some answers, perhaps answers that were hidden within us all along.

When we graduated in that June of 1972, we were decidedly changed. We were young adults, forever altered by the things we had experienced and the tumultuous times in which we had lived. These events and this period in history were colored by our roles as students at Boston College. And for that, I am eternally grateful.