In my four years at UB, there have been many people who have encouraged and inspired me, even though they go generally underappreciated by the masses. Behold, a list.
First: people who make noise on campus, and not the ones that blast "Hollaback Girl" through the Student Union and force everyone else to consciously walk out of time with the beat. It's the students who get things done, make their voices heard, and effect positive change in their surroundings that keep the campus interesting and memorable.
The voice can come in the form of protest or celebration- even the more recreational groups inhabiting the Flag Room at night turn an empty space into something meaningful. I can't always tell whether it's swing dancing or sword fighting in the works, but it sounds exciting.
In its vastness and complexity, UB can feel more like an airport than a college, but the Frisbee enthusiasts, the guitar pluckers, the hacky-sackers of the university make it feel like a home.
Professors who cry during class. Every once in a while, an instructor will try to further engage the class by sharing a beloved trinket from his or her own personal memories. The initiative is simple: try to make students feel passionate about something that initially inspired them. What ensues is touching and oftentimes inspirational.
One of my journalism professors, Charles Anzalone, brought in a tape to class that included his favorite Bruce Springsteen performance, saying that he wanted us to experience true writing in its most poignant form. He dimmed the lights and the class watched as "Thunder Road" commenced, with Bruce and his guitar wrapped in fog and light. The professor held his chin with one hand and allowed his eyes to tear vulnerably, if only for a moment. With a choked voice, he dismissed class.
The piece being shared isn't always directly related to the topic in discussion, but it still evokes a certain feeling, a passion that an a-melodic lecture cannot. It meshes the generations and histories, and it is touching to see how one person can be so immaculately inspired to do so.
The kid in the back of the class. In every course, there is someone whose voice makes everyone cringe. The perpetrator comes in many forms: the whiner, the whimsical philosopher, the debater. A lecture hall of 300 can be stalled by 15 minutes because someone who didn't receive enough attention in their childhood has to passionately discuss a new medical procedure they read about on someone's personal blog.
That's why it is so refreshing when the person in the back of the room, previously assumed to be sleeping, suddenly raises his hand and says something, well, decent. Somehow, like a sage descending the mountain for a word with the squabbling commonfolk, the entire tone of the room changes, and people can once again assume regular conversation.
People who pay for other people's lunches. Greasy cafeteria food can be the catalyst that either spreads a nice stupor-inducing gloss over the day or turns it into a gristly puddle of lard. It shows up at a point in the day where pause for reflection is desperately required, and the experience within the cafeteria setting can set the tone for all that follows.
Take the average subject of misfortune. The person is usually alone, backpack bulging with hardcover books to indicate a long day of study without repose. For additional effect, I usually picture them preparing to huddle over a piece of cheese after being swept into a corner by Putnam's roving band of Greek militia.
Then, it happens - while trying to purchase their humble sandwich, or modest taco, or whatever makes them seem susceptibly human, it happens - their card is invalid, empty, they run out of cash.
The person lowers their head in embarrassment and dejection, until the saint behind them casually offers to put the burger on their own tab.
I remember the first time I saw someone perform the noble deed. It was touching - almost "Thunder Road" touching, and it turned the person's day around.
The Linda Bogdans of the university. Entering a department for information and assistance can be as risky as the cafeteria setting - how much guidance the department's staff chooses to offer usually depends on the fleeting mood of the people working there.
So it's always a treat when those designated to assist students in vital life decisions make any situation less of a crisis and more of a pleasant opportunity.
Anyone who has ever sought help in the English department knows secretary Linda Bogdan, a woman who not only remembers students' names, but professes a genuine interest in everyone who comes through the office.
Bonus: Linda has a tattoo.
And finally, the duck pair at Lake LaSalle. Mallards, you are a glowing beacon of freedom and hope, a testament to the American Dream. Returning each spring with your mate by your side, you prove that loving, long-term relationships are possible in a world that suggests otherwise. Shine on, ducks, shine on.
