K-Land Bandstand

"Awesome!"

Screwdriver in hand, Andy Kasper stands back and purveys his work. Kasper, a senior in Kirkland House, has undertaken the task of transforming his N-entryway suite into a disco--"The Jamaican Lounge"--complete with raised dance floor, pecan wood paneling, stereo cabinet and loft with furry leonine carpeting.

Kasper has been awake for the greater part of three days working on the project, and he looks it. His blond hair is all askew and his black pants are covered with sawdust; yet there is a dancing madness in his eyes that is most engaging, especially when he discusses his plans.

"This dance floor is going to be a real kicker!" He puffs reflectively on a corncob pipe. The moveable floor, he explains, is raised on pine two-by-fours set in an octagonal shape. The surface--1/4 in. plexiglas inlaid in 3/4 in. plywood--will have multi-colored lightbulbs forming the letter "N" underneath it to stand for "N" entryway, of course. Kasper plans to control the floor set-up with, as he puts it, "a very advanced light control system."

The dance floor is the coup de grace of what is proving to be one of the more original--and expensive--rooms on campus. Kasper and his seven roommates have spent some $300 on materials such as wood, nails and plexiglas. This does not include the $2000 stereo with four large speakers that regularly blasts such tunes as "Space Cowboy" at odd hours of the day and night.

Kasper's roommates, who have been variously helping him nail, shingle, and saw during the past week, describe his dedication as something bordering on the phenomenal.

"Last night," says Tommy McDevitt '79, "I found him passed out on his bed at three in the morning with his Adidas on and a hammer clutched in his hand."

Such acts of devotion are nothing new to Kasper. Last year, collaborating with roommate Greg Stevens '78, he built the first "Jamaican Lounge" in his B-52 living room. That room, notorious for the parties given in it, contained everything from strobe lights to beer on tap to the "guest" waterbed.

"I've had no problem meeting women," Kasper concedes.

This year's room, he says, promises to be more aesthetic, less angular than last year's. And, like last year's Kasper is designing the entire project from scratch. He is careful to stay within University regulations by not nailing anything into the wall; all his structures are self-supporting.

Kasper has a mania for fixing and designing things: "My tools go places with me." He owns an estimated 3000 of them.

Kasper is largely self-taught. He took only one shop class, back in seventh grade. "Mr. Castellano was the teacher--dead now, I think. He used to drink a lot of rye during class."

What makes him keep building, pulling shifts from twelve noon to three in the morning?

"It takes a lot of motivation," he admits. "I want to let people know I got imagination-- maybe--and I want to have a nice room. Of course, I'm also a hedonist!" He laughs, but then says with pride that his roommates are all getting to be "a lot more practical with their hands" because of the project.

Construction on the Jamaican Lounge goes on. The electric saw drones in the background, bent nails litter the floor, plenty of Labatt's beer (on tap) is flowing. The place was to be ready for a "maiden" bash on the coming weekend.

In his element, Kasper squats on the floor hammering, two inches deep in sawdust, odoriferous from not having showered in a couple days.

"You know," he confides, "for my next project I'm going to eliminate the front door. I don't like doors. Instead, you could have a photo-electric eye alarm in a criss-cross pattern, with maybe a siren to go off...

"I'm going to have to okay this with the super, though."