The tour began a few minutes after noon yesterday. After introducing themselves - name, home state, likely major - the prospective students and their parents began walking behind their guide, Lily Becker, a rising senior. I was there too - Peter, California, journalism. We got about twenty feet before Lily's right flip-flop fell off, which, along with her use of the adjective "really," would be a recurring feature of our 70-minute stroll through Northwestern's Evanston campus.
First, we walked from the admissions office across Sheridan Rd. for a tour of CRC - residential colleges, a focus of the tour and, in my experience, the last place most people want to live, are great, Lily said. Upperclassmen who live in them pick their rooms instead of being subjected to a housing lottery, she told us. Which is a neat trick, because that really means if you don't live in a residential college NU won't guarantee you can live in the same dorm two years running.
Inside CRC, everyone walked through a room that Lily assured us was much smaller than most rooms on campus. This is true in the way that 3,000 is smaller than 3,001. Rooms in Allison, Bobb and Elder, the three dorms that house the most freshmen, are at most two feet longer and at most three inches wider than the room we saw in CRC, according to housing's Web site.
When Lily asked, there were not a lot of questions. In the back of the pack, a woman in a salmon blouse quietly upbraided her daughter for typing on a cherry-trim BlackBerry. "They're going to know you're not paying attention," she whispered. We walked to The Rock.
The girl put her BlackBerry away once Lily started breezing through Greek life, hitting the university talking points: we defer rush, our organizations are (mostly) national. Lily looked relieved when no one had questions. I toyed mentally with the idea of asking about hazing - I heard something once about the Asian frat nearly water-logging its pledges to death, is that true? - but decided against it.
By now we had reached the Rock, and Lily was on to academics. Only one percent of classes have more than 100 students! Probably true, and also misleading; I'd bet most of a freshman's classes would be with more than 100 students. Your faculty and student advisers are "people you'll really get to know well," Lily said. (I've seen my three advisers no more than half a dozen times.) Lily started talking about Wi-Fi - "it's only a little spotty by the lake" - and walking toward Deering. BlackBerry girl trailed behind to take a call.
"Every college tour has its Hogwarts-esque building, but this really is ours," Lily said as everyone gaped at Deering. Right, and the front doors don't open. I began to wonder if the tour would avoid this campus' true architectural treasures, the main library and Norris Center, but then we turned the corner and set out for the concrete plaza between Deering and Norris. "We really do have a lot of school spirit here," Lily said. "The student section is always packed. I've never missed a football game." By now we were surrounded by the three fascists monoliths - excuse me, "research towers" - of the main library, and the stairs over to Norris were in view.
"Maybe the bookstore's in there. I could pick up The Economist," the woman in the salmon blouse whispered. The mother peeled off while the group snaked around the side of the building. With the lakefill in view, Lily began telling us about north campus, a land which evidently exists in myth for anyone taking a tour of campus. Lily pointed out our "state of the art" gym on the horizon, and told us she once got kicked out of the Allen Center.
If you're curious, "state of the art" is not admissions office language. Lily and two of her colleagues told me after their tours that they don't hew to admissions' script very much, except for the opening shpiel about NU's Methodist founders. There's a lot they can't talk about, though. They can't say where they applied, or talk about test scores, or other schools, or grades. The toughest question is this: Why did you choose NU? Well, after she picked NU, Lily almost called UNC to tell them she'd changed her mind. Instead of mentioning that, Lily makes up "a different reason every time."
Back on the tour, we walked into Norris through the side door, which Lily apologized for, as if the main entrance was a sight to behold.
Inside, the mother in the salmon blouse held an icy Aquafina bottle to her forehead. Lily took us through the meal plans, and noted that PETA rated us the nation's top campus for vegetarian and vegan dining in November, a pick that befuddles me to this day. After talking about Evanston, "the dining capital of the North Shore," Lily told us we "really couldn't be in a better place to eat."
As we walked out the other door toward Pick-Staiger, Lily told me she realized I was taking notes, and told me we'd soon pass the school of journalism. Aw. A pang of guilt. She started talking about the music school's new building, without mentioning that the school is being renamed after the Bienens. As we breezed through internship opportunities - you would think them endless - and more buildings, salmon blouse and her daughter got into a kerfluffle over theater tickets. "It's a woman in a box office," the mother said. "I don't get it. We're staying at a Hyatt Regency. Just call the concierge."
Lily wrapped up the tour outside the admissions office. "Forget what everyone thinks or wants, just think about what fits you best," she said warmly. Salmon blouse stood in the back, BlackBerry at the ear, nodding.
peterkjackson@gmail.com
Be the first to comment on this article!