University of Virginia Library

Bryn Mawr: Pleasant, Lingering Aftertaste

zipped past me, one laughing
hysterically, the other
rhythmically tooting on the
whistle in her mouth as they
crossed the cloistered campus in
search of God-knows-what.
Pulling myself together I
decided to return to Rhoads,
my home base. On the way
there I passed the beautiful
modern library, through those
windows I saw dozens of
diligent students, the hard
workers that are an integral
part of Bryn Mawr.

***

Later that night I, along
with most of first floor
Rhoads, got very drunk. Not
only did the students of Bryn
Mawr do an awful lot of
studying, but they also did an
awful lot of drinking,
"partying" and whatever else
young men and women do on
today's college campuses. It
may have been that the people
I encountered at Bryn Mawr
had unusually high hedonistic
tendencies. In any case, I saw
more liquor pass from bottle to
stomach in Rhoads Hall than
on Rugby Road.

Behind the school's rather
awesome intellectual front, lay
a complex Peyton Place, an
intimate small-town
atmosphere where nearly
everyone knew who
everyone else was dragging into
and out of bed. Though many
of the students enjoyed the
smallness of Bryn Mawr, they
often complained that the place
was too tiny. After all, people
do have a tendency to talk,
especially about love, hate, sex,
and other such juicy and
stimulating topics. It was the
kind of place where one
surrendered a little privacy to
gain a little community.

As the Gin sank slowly into
the West, the truth began to
emerge. The Bryn Mawr
women began to complain of
the wimpy, boring Haverford
men and the Haverford men
began to complain of the
unsightly, bookwormish Bryn
Mawr women. These two
factions would lead a stranger
to believe that nothing but
animosity and contempt
existed between the men and
women of the two schools.

Yet, even a sluggish
observer soon sensed that the
fighting was only a front.
Behind the fighting lay the
kind of passion that kept life at
Bryn Mawr interesting.

***

If it hadn't been for that
horrendous hangover, I might
have remembered more about
the classes I stumbled to the
next day. I do remember,
though, that the classes I
attended were nearly all of
seminar size, and that the
students were lively and eager
to learn and discuss. It was an
active learning environment,
one in which the students
participated, not one where
they were lectured at or talked
to. Discussion and dialogue
were crucial; Socrates would
have been proud.

Bryn Mawr was alive. On
the surface things were quiet
and subdued, yet underneath
there was a fire that spread to
all the students, expanding and
exciting them as they were
consumed.

The place charmed the hell
out of me, leaving a pleasant
aftertaste that lingers to this
day. I want to go back   back
to that brown Gothic, those
bare trees, and all the mad,
melancholy, wonderful people.

I want to go back and stay
a long, long time. Who knows
I might even get used to
trading noises with a woman.