Poe once said “beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.”
Now LSU is not “in its supreme development,” and I cannot say walking through the Quad makes my eyes water, but the campus we have around us is a beautiful one. I have been here only three months, and at first I was skeptical about attending my parents’ alma mater. Now, I am glad about my choice. My professors are studious and caring, and my classes are interesting and fruitful.
We are lucky. In addition to academics, we have a beautiful school. There aren’t many campuses where you can walk around almost totally shaded by oak trees growing above you, and where the architecture is so elegantly coordinated. Some of the buildings on campus are awesome to behold. If you have never been to Hill Memorial Library, I recommend a quick visit. The interior of the building is splendor defined in marble.
LSU has its share of ugliness, though; there is little doubt about that. It is a crying shame the new Master Plan does not require the bulldozing of Middleton Library. The strange, hideous monstrosity rightly deserves the title of Ugliest Building in the Entire World. To this day, I cannot find justification for the bronze bust of Troy Middleton that sits at the library’s entrance, and each time I pass it, I hiss at it in resentment.
But the beauty of the campus can be found all around. Sometimes I find it refreshing to take note of the small things. Sometimes the smallest things around you prove to be the most intriguing. As I walked to my room from class some time ago, I noticed a purple flower growing from the ground. It was the product of a weed, perhaps, but I bent down and looked closer. I could tell the flower was struggling to survive; there were desiccated remnants of others like it lying about. But, amid the death and nothingness, there it was: a perfect, miniscule flower, thriving and demanding respect for its success.
Even that little tidbit of beauty, that tiny, insignificant flower doomed to die as fall approached, was enough for me to stop and pause at the beauty of something so frail and intricate. Noticing the little things brings a greater appreciation for the large things.
I don’t know how many students stop and look around at where they go to school. Everyone I ask halfheartedly tells me the campus is “pretty” or “nice.” But people can be spoiled; people take beauty for granted. Sometimes I wonder how many people just sit in the shadow of the Memorial Tower on a cloudless blue day just because it’s a beautiful image. I love the school because of its functionality that goes along with its beauty.
I have been to other campuses before. I have visited the elegant marble of Emory in Atlanta, and have experienced various schools in New Orleans. Yes, they are pretty. Some are extravagant and pretentious in their beauty. Some are intentionally humble. Either way, they don’t compare to my LSU.