Beauty Beneath

No one would dare call Earl Hall a beauty. It may actually be among campus’s bleakest buildings; ironically, it is the geographical mirror counterpart–if memory serves–to the Maison Francaise, one of the loveliest.

Neither I nor anyone I knew actually ever had a class in Earl Hall. Had I been less incurious, I might have inquired as to its use–administration? research? physics courses? No matter, really: for me, Earl Hall’s beauty was of the best kind, that which lies beneath the facade.

Way beneath: in its very bowels. That is where, on the first Friday of every month, the Gay Dance was held. For a boy from the provinces, ever the misfit, there was loveliness there.

In 1974, my first year at the College, it was no mean feat to walk/strut/sashay into “The Dance,” even after dark (and even on a campus near-deserted on weekends; I believe Columbia had a higher commuter rate then). But my friends and I braved sporadic catcalls, fiercely descending to Earl’s basement for our monthly ritual of solidarity and dance.

Some of us were Columbians; many more were not. All of us were happy to have an uptown place to party–and one that was a safe, sane alternative to the bacchanalian bars of the time. (Later-born babies: the revelry of the day would turn your heads around. For real.)

Earl Hall wasn’t pretty by conventional standards–but then again, neither was I. My “prettiest place” may be no one else’s, but it taught me to look behind facades. In 1974, the greyest building on campus was a small piece of Eden for me.