Quid Pro Quad

I never thought the sight of a fish would make me cry.

But on Housing Day 2013, when a red-and-yellow cod burst into my room along with a throng of cheering students, I nearly burst into tears.

“C-A-B-O-T,” they yelled with as much cheer as I felt despair. “Welcome to the family!”

I told my river-bound friends later that I knew quadding happened, but I didn’t think it would happen to me. My imagined Harvard, after all, featured the waters of the Charles glimmering just outside the gate as I relaxed in a sunny courtyard. The Quad existed for the purpose of awkward Visitas and Freshman Week SOCH gatherings only. Watching people desperately sprint to catch the shuttle in the cold of winter provided circus-like amusement. To me, the Quad was foreign and strange. It did not fit into what I considered my Harvard, and I had not anticipated making any adjustments.

And yet adjust I did. In fact, if the Housing Gods descended from the heavens today and offered me a spot in Eliot or Lowell—and I desperately longed to Get Lowell a year ago—I would turn it down in an instant. I count myself one of the Quad’s most ardent admirers, and that’s not just because I have spent hours and hours rationalizing to make myself feel better about my misfortune.

Perhaps it’s a waste of time, a rehashing of stale arguments, to point out the Quad’s superior room quality. I intend to do it anyway. Where Winthrop houses more cockroaches than co-eds and makes up for a lack of natural light with floor lamps whose cement bases threaten to disintegrate at any moment, Pforzheimer teems with sunny, spacious singles. Order them on a hallway or off a cozy common room—your pick.

There’s more to the Quad’s preeminence, though, than just the material.

The Crimson has published many an op-ed urging students to venture outside the infamous Harvard Bubble. Go into Boston and walk the Freedom Trail or stretch out on the lawn of the Common. Maybe simply stroll a mile up Massachusetts Avenue into Central Square or a few blocks farther to grab some Toscanini’s burnt caramel gelato. But how often do we follow up on those suggestions? Time is money, especially during recruiting season, and it’s tough to carve out three hours for a movie at Lowe’s.

Living in the Quad, my Harvard escape hatch comes without T charge. The oft-decried distance between the Quad and the Yard is emotional as well as physical: The Quad represents a separate sphere from the rest of school, a relaxing one filled with food, and friendship—two of my favorite things. Heading to my room at the end of the day feels like going home. It feels like leaving behind a stressful day and returning to a dorm of my own.

The neighborhood surrounding the Quad, too, gives me a taste of the real Cambridge. Not a single house on my walk up Huron Avenue toward Fresh Pond doubles as the Office of Student Something. And when I meander nearby streets, I cross paths with native Cantabrigians, most of whom—believe it or not—have no affiliation with Harvard at all. A little break from the Harvardians I see in lecture halls and trekking up Plympton Street, as much as I love them, certainly does not hurt.

Even the walk from Cabot to the Crimson building comes as a boon rather than a burden. It’s often hard to remember every busy day—as we rush from class to the dining hall to class again to meeting after meeting—to stop, breathe, and think. A quiet, solitary 15 minutes can allow one’s mind a break from problem sets or essays or columns due tomorrow, a chance to muse on how the trees look and how air feels and life goes. That chance comes built into my schedule.

I’m sure people will scorn the Quad as long as I’m here at Harvard. I’d urge everyone to trek out here and see the truth for him or herself, but I don’t expect many visitors till next Housing Day forces a few our way. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it wouldn’t be as special if everyone coveted it. As it is, however, I’m happy here. If you see a tree, polar bear, or—best of all—a cod in your room next week, I think you will be, too.

Semper cor, and Semper Quad.

Molly L. Roberts, a Crimson editorial executive, is an English concentrator in Cabot House. Her column appears on alternate Fridays.