Four score and seven years ago, I stumbled into summer orientation at Elizabethtown College with a mixture of emotions — roughly one quarter excitement and three quarters fear. I, like every other high school graduate at orientation, scanned my first college course schedule for any horrific-sounding classes, like “Alligator Wrestling,” “Non-Stop Jumping Jacks” or, worse yet, “Calculus.” Fortunately for my heart rate, my schedule was free of any seriously daunting classes. The courses that had been picked for me seemed all too appropriate for an English education major. Other than the subject matter, however, these classes had something in common: they were all in the same academic building.
Nicarry? I asked myself. At first, I couldn’t decide how to pronounce the name in my head. Did it rhyme with “hickory” or “Hi, Gary”? I had no clue. I also had no idea which building Nicarry was, though I would become all too familiar with it in a few months. “I hope it’s the building with all the minerals in it!” hoped young, naïve little Matt. How wrong I would find myself to be, for the building in question had no minerals in sight, or any windows, for that matter.
My first order of business in Nicarry was an 8 a.m. education class, which was conveniently easy to find. As I glanced down the hallway on the right, I saw a row of offices belonging to the education department faculty members. The white, brick-patterned hallways stretched on monotonously down the hallways and sunlight streamed into the building only through the glass doors at each corner of the square-shaped edifice. As I ventured to the second floor for another class later that afternoon, I wondered if the builders had simply copied and pasted the first floor, sans the doors to enter and exit the building. The only eye-popping attraction I could find on the second floor was a set of double-doors leading to a futuristic-looking glass tube that attached Nicarry to another building — I later learned that the adjacent building was Wenger Hall. Did this wondrous wormhole to an alternate dimension really make up for the rest of the building?
Does delicious dressing redeem a salad with wilted lettuce and slimy carrots? No.
Since that first day in Nicarry, I have frequented the building time and time again, with no changes in sight. Despite my clearly negative opinion of the building’s décor, I don’t mean to make it sound like the Nicarry of old was lined with garbage or was a cesspool for infectious diseases. Compared to beautiful buildings like the Masters Center and Hoover, however, Nicarry seemed to be in desperate need of a facelift. I had heard whispers in the wind that an initiative to renovate Nicarry was a part of President Strikwerda’s Strategic Plan. But with each passing school year, I returned to find the “same old” Nicarry. Meanwhile, already-fine facilities, such as Gibble Auditorium, were being redone with glowing capital “E”s on the walls. Something seemed wrong with that picture.
Originally, I chalked this neglect of Nicarry up to some inherent bias against the humanities. Of course students in business and the sciences get the decked-out classrooms and pristine buildings. And as a student whose two most common stops were Nicarry and the basement of Zug, I felt like I was being quarantined just for pursuing my artistic interests. But at least I always had the glass tube to cry myself to sleep in, so there’s that.
This past summer, though, I heard news that would dry my tears forever: Nicarry was being renovated — along with Zug, for that matter. Perhaps my hypothesis about the school’s hatred of the humanities was unfounded. As a student assistant at the Young Center over the summer, I had the pleasure of seeing Nicarry during its renovation process. The place was hardly recognizable, and it reminded me of a mine shaft. Without any of the hallway lights on, the soon-to-be-improved Nicarry looked eerie and desolate. But I knew Nicarry’s best days were ahead of it, like a cocoon encasing a glorious butterfly.
And what a beautiful butterfly it is. Nicarry looks infinitely greater than I could have hoped. Quaint benches line the hallways, providing solace for weary travelers. Students can enjoy the new study room and complete their homework in the lap of luxury. The best part of it all? This is only the beginning. Nicarry still has state-of-the-art classrooms on the way and will look even more fantastic with the subsequent summer. The winds of change are finally blowing, folks.
Naturally, the one year I can finally bask in the glory that is Nicarry 2.0, I have no more classes in the building. I can rest easily, though, knowing that dozens upon dozens of Etown students will love the brand new Nicarry. I suppose I’ll have to live “Nicarry-ously” through them.
