Five weeks ago I found myself out, shoes off, on Hayden Lawn. Ducking the sun, I sat squinting from a slice of slant-fading shade.
I had just come out of class in West Hall and sat looking back at it. I couldn't help but relish the quaint academic quality of the bricks and pillars and wind-wisped palm trees lining the entrance. It was quite a moment. It felt like the "ASU" they show in brochures. I wasn't crowded or tired or busy or stressed.
I was satisfied with ASU. I felt like part of it.
I considered how, in the midst of the city, ASU students can sit out in the grass, removed, and think. We can walk, talk, learn and do. We can come on campus and gain perspective and prepare to hustle and wade through life.
Just as I allowed these thoughts to push out a half-smile, I heard a noise from above and looked up. On the platform that juts out from the bricks on top of West Hall (held up by slight-Corinthian columns), a man appeared. He glided easily to the edge, having certainly been up there before. His graying ponytail swung in the breeze and he motioned to a coworker below. With a big hand on the bar and his partner nonchalantly pointing left-left-left, he found the visual center of the platform.
They looked like men of character. They work with their hands and fix things all day. The man below was stout and bearded. He wore overalls. The man above was terse, experienced and flannelled. I think I respected them.
Suddenly the man above flung a banner out over the center of West Hall the way you throw a clean sheet over a bed. The motion was effortless. He looked to the side at nothing and said with disillusion, "What ASU event is this for?" The man below sighed.
"ASU is Your School. We're Your Network." beamed the awful banner as it got zip-tied to the platform.
The man above shrugged. The man below watched a blonde pass in a half-jog hurry.
Today I walked to class hypnotized by the swinging ponytail of a scurrying girl. As we passed Hayden Lawn, she got a call and the spell she cast was magically lifted by her Ciara ringtone. Between 1-2 steps, I looked left and cringed.
ASU is her school. . .
Why is it okay for student sentiments of belonging to (and ownership of) this university to be commodified and capitalized on by some cell-phone giant?
For five minutes five weeks ago, I reveled in being young and in college and here. Since that day, huge red banners have hung like sheets pulled up over the faces of West Hall, Hayden Library and Palm Walk, reminding me my school tried to sell Verizon Wireless exclusive rights to those sentiments.
This is not okay. I felt those crazy feelings for ASU. They could have been used to build a better university instead of cashed in for a quick payday (or whatever ASU got for becoming billboards.)
At least the gyms and banks have enough decency to set up a table with a person behind it. At least we can talk to the Marines and Catholics and Democrats and Republicans and environmentalists about different ideologies.
A company that sends people onto campus assumes this really is our school, and they can talk to us here.
A company that cuts some deal to turn campus landmarks into billboards assumes this can be their school for a price.
A university that sells space on its own landmarks assumes this is their school, filled with thousands of 993...'s who can be used instead of utilized.
Daniel walks across campus at least four days a week. Affordable advertising space is now available on his backpack, t-shirt and forehead! Inquire about this at: daniel.d.wallace@asu.edu! But wait, there's more! If you e-mail within the next 17 minutes, he'll throw in an extra runway-style turn in the MU twice a week! Don't delay! E-mail today!
