By
Lora Mackel
As a youngster, one of the primary things that drew me to the U of A was the mall. To me, the UA mall embodied everything I wanted my college existence to be: sunny, athletic, fun loving and full of interesting people.
This vision is a far, far cry from what the mall is on the semester of my graduation: a cesspool of mud and animal excrement being trampled by the feet of 35,000 people. No more grass, no more interesting people conversing about the important topics of life.
Of course, I would be lying if I said that the state of the mall is the only thing that disturbed me about my college experience. In many ways the state of the mall is emblematic of how I feel in general about the UA. What started in fantasy as so promising, in reality, is tarnished.
Perhaps I should explain. Unlike many of you, I actually grew up in Tucson. This meant that childhood field trips to labs and theaters took place on this campus. As a child, I remember attending football and basketball games, and the romance of the campus and the knowledge it promised was seductive. I recall being nearly run over by a bicyclist at the age of 10 (back when there was actually room for both pedestrians and bicyclists), literally running into Jim Click on a junior high excursion, and nearly being lured into the field of marine biology by an earnest and intelligent grad student assigned to work with us in high school. To me, the UA represented everything that I wanted in the world, right in a convenient location.
Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I came to actually attend the university. On the whole, the people were friendly and helpful. But after dozens of bureaucratic tangles and being herded into countless oversized general education classes, I developed a more cynical outlook on university life.
What I realized is that college is far less an idyllic shelter for academia than a very human institution with the politics, sins and pettiness that mark every organization. Not only that, but the university is always in need of money. That means tuition hikes, elaborate donation campaigns, buildings and dorms that are frequently in disrepair, and the few people that always take advantage of the system.
It is for monetary reasons that the UA is building the Integrated Learning Center (ILC). They hope its sleek architecture and novel design will both attract and captivate incoming freshman and boost our University's enrollment rates, profits and academic reputation.
Indeed these are admirable goals, but at the risk of sounding selfish, what about the students who are here now? I know I am not alone in my assessment of the aesthetics and conditions of the University.
The mall is missed communally.
But when all is said in done, nobody should really give a damn about how I feel about the university, but I know I am not the only one who has experienced the UAs failings, or who resents how the current students' college lives are being sacrificed on the altar of progress.
I admire Peter Likins and his staff for their vision for the university. I am sure that after the current construction, the University is going to look every inch the world class facility it should be. He knew that this project was going to be a pain for everyone, and he even wrote a personal appeal for the community to be patient. But like it or not, the construction has left an ugly scar on the campus.
The mall, the living artery of university, is no more. All that we have been given in return is a promise that things will be better, long after we graduate.
