In Tom’s Words

The following excerpts have been pulled from a variety of Tom’s writings, a number of which can be found in the recently published book, Place and Purpose: Kenyon at 200.

Any walk down Kenyon’s main artery can be a feast for the ears as well as the eyes. And just like the colors of the trees, the sounds of the path are seasonal — with the exception of the satisfying crunch of the path’s gravel surface. In spring, there’s the splashing of feet through the inevitable puddles. In the summer, there are breezes, and storm-forecasting winds, that riffle and swoosh through the trees’ branches. In winter, there’s the koosh-koosh of the new-fallen snow and the squeak of the hard-packed stuff on a frigid day. In the fall, it’s all about susurration, the distinctive sound of the motion of the leaves on the trees that line Middle Path and stretch across the surrounding lawns.

Perhaps the best sound of all is simple conversation – between students, students and faculty members, departmental colleagues, friends and visitors. A single walk along the path may offer eavesdropping opportunities that yield a startling variety of noteworthy snippets, from the profound (“Reading Kierkegaard has completely changed my ideas about faith”) to the mundane (“How many six-packs should we get? Or would a case be better?”). 

Here’s Tom reminiscing about his first visit to Kenyon as a prospective student…

The Ohio scenery that autumn morning wasn’t much different from what we’d left behind—rolling hills, small farms, lots of woods—but it seemed much more, well, rural. Our home area just north of Pittsburgh was showing signs of urban encroachment, with highways, housing developments, and malls swallowing up corn fields; there was none of that here. 

We’d just been commenting to each other how long it had been since we’d passed through a town of any size—when we suddenly saw, over a mile in the distance as it turned out, and surrounded by the trademarks of agriculture, a gothic tower reaching above the bright fall foliage on a hill. 

We glanced at each other and laughed; it must be a mirage. There was nothing else visible in the landscape that suggested a “college”—that magical word, conjuring up a whole world of new possibilities for an anxious high school senior. We’d been driving almost three hours by then, and hunger was setting in. Yes, a mirage. What else could it be? 

But the vision grew as we got closer, and other signs of collegiate life—playing fields and tennis courts, young men with long hair and beards—began to appear. Then the source of the tower came into view: a glorious stone building at the top of a lush green lawn.

And lastly, a word about ghosts…

I freely admit I’m not a believer in ghosts, although I often wish I were.

Rankings in which Kenyon seems always to rise to the top are associated with “most haunted campuses.” Some Kenyon loyalists even celebrate the fact.

In the College’s case, it definitely doesn’t hurt to have a cemetery a stone’s throw from Middle Path – although the spirits don’t often seem to emanate from there. Or a lot of Gothic architecture that can definitely look creepy on a dreary night, especially when lit up by the occasional flash of lightning. Or even some gruesome (real or imagined) student deaths representing either the ultimate bad luck, or the terrifying wages of bad decision-making. 

Someday, I will be there—or rather half of my ashes will be (The other half will reside with my ancestors in the family plot in Pennsylvania.) If souls do somehow commune beyond the grave in supposedly ghost-infested Gambier, I expect it will be an entertaining place. Maybe there will even be visits to friends and colleagues in Oak Grove and other local cemeteries including those at Quarry Chapel (both Christian and Jewish) and the Kokosing Nature Preserve.

I truly hope I’m wrong about ghosts, especially if I can be one, hanging around (with any luck, not literally) with fellow Kenyonites of the past and future, with great stories to tell.