a meditation on atmosphere

Atmosphere is everything.

In my office, there are two well-dressed frogs sitting on a bookshelf. They are quite a pair, with gold and green shoes with red outfits and clever caps. They stare at me as I work. They keep me company.

To make room for more atmosphere and a pieta kind of print, I took down a photo of a college reunion from fifteen years ago. Several members of the a’capella singing group keep in touch via email and continue to tell and create stories. So I’m still surrounded by this intensity. One of the old time deans of the U died at age 95 this past week and some of the guys who had stories about the Dean told them. Here’s one, not atypical. I’ve edited it for clarity:

“The second semester of my Freshman year was pretty much of a confused blur, thanks to too much winter, too few girls (none actually), too much beer, pledging Phi Gamm, playing lacrosse, and primarily the mistaken notion that I could get by on the study skills picked up at high school without doing something productive, like (for example) reading assigned books. My GPA tumbled to 1.6, and I was clearly ready for some diversion when Spring finally showed up.
That diversion took the form of some really spectacular “riots” in the East-West Hall quad--huge bonfires stoked by Core 13 manuals and dorm advisor’s furniture, lots of beer (of course), persons to remain nameless bombing Freddy Vero and campus security from the roof of West Hall with out-of-date eggs and other rotten produce, and of course ringing the chapel bell. Can’t have a riot without “the wild alarum sounding from the tocsin's dreadful throat.”
So there I was, pulling away like crazy on the bell rope when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Stop that right now!” said the voice behind me. “This is Dean Griffith.” “Right,” I replied. “And I’m Quasimodo.” Well, it was Dean Griffith. And like many others whose stories will appear here, I, too was “called on the carpet” to face my punishment. I expected to be expelled, especially because the bell-ringing and nightly disturbances didn’t stop for a few more days. (But that’s another story involving a fake bell rope hanging in the bell tower, the real bell rope running outside to the chapel roof, and a strategically placed lookout with a flashlight in Lawrence Hall.)
Instead of kicking me out, however, he sentenced me to teach Sunday School at the Baptist Church my entire sophomore year. And that’s what I did, with enthusiasm and commitment and no apparent damage to the souls of my young charges. I suspect Dean Griffith knew, or sensed, that I wanted more than anything to be a teacher, and a good teacher at that. He also helped land me my first teaching job after graduation. So my “punishment” was the challenge to acquire more responsibility by doing something I loved. That kind of creative, (unthinkable today) caring response to dealing with a young guy who needed, more than anything to just grow up, was what I recall in remembering Dean Griffith. He saw more in me than, at the time, I saw in myself.”

Matthew 15:10
Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.”

When surrounded by stories like this, I’m reminded that it’s not our antics that are important (though it makes for good fireside chats), it’s about how we grew and the character of those who were mentors. That story about a familiar place is a great thing to have for atmosphere, even if I didn’t know the people involved. It also reminds that times have changed and we do background checks on all Sunday School teachers! So do not try to imitate the tales of yore!