Livin' La Vida Loker

When Harvard's biggest donors gather together at various philanthropic events, do you think they make fun of Katherine Loker behind her back?

As the Annenbergs regale guests with vivid descriptions of the first-year dining hall's sweeping interior, and the Barkers boast proudly of the magnificent new humanities center, does everyone point and giggle at the namesake of Harvard's whitest elephant, Loker Commons?

Well, they should.

Okay, okay, that's not quite what I meant. Katherine Loker is a fine human being whose remarkable magnanimity has served Harvard in a number of areas, from endowing professorships to renovating Widener Library. We should all strive to be as thoughtful and generous as she. So don't interpret this as some diatribe against Mrs. Loker. Lord knows, I wouldn't want to offend some of you sensitive types out there.

That being said, one has to wonder if she has ever actually set foot in the abode that bears her family name. And I do mean abode, as in Abode of the Damned. Dante's Tenth Circle of Hell. Abandon all hope, Ye who enter here--particularly ye first-years who were tricked into believing that Loker Commons actually serves as any sort of social center to the Harvard population.

Of course, you wouldn't know it from reading the Harvard Gazette--Pravda on the Charles River. "A hive of student activity," one story gushes, while another piece in the University's official publication lauds it as the College's "social hub."

Social hub, eh? Letis take a look. Sure, we have all been there during the busy lunchtime hour, when upperclass students line up for their daily fix of roast beef sandwiches, cookies and other components of the fly-by lunch. The joint is jumping, the air is thick with conversation and laughter, and everything seems, well, social. But this is as much a result of circumstance than anything else. Holden Chapel would be a hot spot, too, if it was the only place busy individuals could grab a no-cost lunch between classes.

If you walk into the place any time after two in the afternoon, however, the effect is draining. A smattering of undergraduates populate the stark, barren environment. The wan overhead lights complement the sterile decor, partitions inexplicably blocking off entire sections of tables from one another. A gov TF trudges in, seats himself on an unforgiving plastic chair and waits alone for students to visit his office hours, though none ever do. Restaurant workers peer forlornly out from the one open counter, looking in vain for someone, anyone to serve. It's like you've set foot on the set of The Iceman Cometh, except O'Neill's drama now includes a giant, bizarre LED screen, the most conspicuous waste of energy at Harvard since the formation of the Undergraduate Council.

A steady procession of failed ventures since Loker opened testifies to its enduring worthlessness. The ice cream parlor and candy shop are distant memories, but even Old Faithful, the coffeehouse, has closed. Now all that remains are such choices as a mediocre hamburger restaurant, whose motto may as well be "fast food served slow," and an entire stand devoted to all-natural smoothies and juices, evidently responding to the Harvard student population's clamorous demands for more overpriced drinks containing ginkgo biloba and spirulina.

Administrators have hired consultants to offer their advice on improving Loker's popularity. And yet, even the recommendations of these professionals have done little to reverse the area's descent into irrelevance. Of course, bear in mind most of the consultants we know are the same folks whom we last saw passed out after last year's Owl Luau. Indeed, the only innovation that has saved Loker Commons thus far, the introduction of the fly-by, arrived not by way of corporate strategy, but because of persistent student requests.

Well, if it worked once, maybe the powers that be might listen to another student's suggestion. One that will, guaranteed, result in an abrupt about-face of Loker's fortunes in ways unimaginable. The proposal is this: bring in outside fast-food chains to fill the place.

It just takes some common sense. Clearly, Harvard students will not hang out at Loker Commons just for the hell of it. There needs to be a reason for them to want to make a stop in the depths of Memorial Hall. Put something there that they can't get anywhere else--not more email terminals, or an open microphone, or another overpriced venture of questionable quality. Just bring in the old standbys. Taco Bell, Subway, Burger King, Boston Market. Enterprises that cater to students' schedules, wallets and tastes. Just show them in and watch the place blossom.

I know, I know. The mere mention of such establishments incites spasms of head-shaking and jowl-flapping among a certain hoary, wheezing segment of the Harvard and Cambridge community. The sticks-in-the-mud dredge up the same tired claim that bringing in large, proven businesses will sully the Harvard Square charm, that they will stain the Harvard University image.

First, they are one Abercrombie & Fitch store too late for the former argument. As for the latter--can the existence of a few subdued, subterranean chain restaurants in Loker Commons really do more harm to the University's image than, say, the recent Harvard Institute for International Development scandal in Russia, or perhaps last spring's New York Times article depicting undergraduates as unhappy, desk-bound losers? It would seem to me nothing could enhance Harvard's image more than a bold headline proclaiming, "Harvard Students Happy!" So why such resistance?

It may take some bureaucratic wrangling, but opening Loker Commons up to outside establishments is the only way that the space will fulfill its vast potential. It is the only way students will happily populate the area at all times of the day and night. It is the only way any semblance of Loker as a social center will be retained. And most importantly, it is the only way to ensure that at the next donor shindig, Katherine Loker is the life of the party, not the butt of the joke.

George W. Hicks '99-'00 is an economics concentrator in Winthrop House. His column appears on alternate Fridays.