Know Your Audience

 I am not making this up: When I was a freshman in college, the name of my dorm was Slocum Hall. I understand that at this point, making a fuss about the double entendre that is just sitting there waiting for eighteen year old boys to pounce upon would be a futile gesture. And completely redundant, considering the number of hours my friends and I devoted to that happy coincidence once upon a time. Like the planet Uranus, there was little if anything that could be done to avoid the giggles and snorts from the assembled youths whenever a grownup was tasked with speaking to us about our residence. 

And don't think for a moment that I was willing to let something like this escape notice whenever I begin to spin tales of my one and only year of dorm living. The late night donut fights. The late night fire extinguisher fights. The late night leave-a-trashcan-leaned-on-the-door fights. The late afternoon viewings of Star Trek reruns that would inevitably cause someone in the room to mumble, halfway through the episode, "Hey. I've seen this before."

These and many other adventures took place in the concrete bunker known as Slocum Hall. 

Pardon me. I had to stifle a snicker there as I try to get my inner adolescent under control. I have been sharing tales of my misspent youth with my son for several years now, and he shows a great deal of maturity while his father unspools tales from the Hall named Slocum. Not that he was immune to the amusement factor, but he is probably hoping that I can just get through a story without laughing myself silly. 

Fast forward to this summer, when my family will trek back to Colorado Springs for a wedding. I figured my son would be interested in seeing the scene of all those crimes against common sense. So I went online to see if the building was still there, or if they had razed the place after I left out of decency. As it turns out, the building is still there, with a few architectural modifications to make it just a little nicer than the cinderblock construction that gave it that overpowering institutional feel. It's just not called Slocum Hall anymore. 

My  first thought was that someone in administration must have figured that naming a residence hall anywhere near teenaged boys could use something a little less easy to yuk about. They are calling it South Hall now. Not because of all the naughty suggestions had been used up, but rather because it turns out the honorable William F. Slocum wasn't actually so honorable. Serving as Colorado College's third president beginning in 1888, he was asked to resign in 1917 due to documented accounts of his groping, "bestial looks," rubbing his body against women, unwanted kissing and lascivious words. A century later, his name was stripped from the one building on campus that seemed to be a logical extension of that legacy. One hundred years seems like a fair amount of time to figure that out. 

But the memories linger on. Pardon my far too easily entertained soul.