Garden Of Blog

In the fall of 1994, I spent the first semester of my sophomore year in Woodruff Hall, one of the “mini dorms”. I ended up dropping out of UNH for a year after that, which is testament to what a great semester it was. Many people who have visited college, lived through the ’60s, or been 19 years old know that “turning on and tuning in” often precede dropping out.

And yes, I did have to scrub every last inch of laundry detergent (which glows under blacklight) off the walls of my single room, to avoid dorm maintenance fees.

We used to get high on the rock ledge over the train tracks, just a stone’s throw from Woodruff, and hope for the train. Then we’d hike down the tracks, through the pitch black path in the woods to the old satellite dish. Someone had cut a hole in the metal mesh at the cradle of the dish, so we’d climb up through it, and relax under the stars.

I have a hundred more Woodruff stories from that several-month stay, which I’d love to share, but many are just “mine”. By December I was a total basket case, seeking treatment, and deciding to drop out of school. Good times. No, really. Good times.

Well, now they’re tearing down good old Woodruff. I’ll miss it. For me the building was a religious monument. While living there I found out that Dickens was right: the best of times and the worst of times are often one in the same.