Crackpot Schemes

The absurd business venture is almost as integral a freshman experience as Marketplace brunch, section parties, poor situational awareness or—if Asher Roth could have it his way—“doing something crazy.” When we’re young, we have these demigods of college entrepreneurship looming above our heads: if Rick Rubin could slap together Def Jam in his dorm room, or Mark Zuckerberg could turn a classmate’s concept into a generation-defining, multi-billion dollar social leviathan, then what’s stopping us? Although the Internet is becoming an overcrowded graveyard for our abortive Web startups, all we can see are the bright beacons of painfully simple, overnight success.

Duke, like most other universities, is a veritable powerhouse of entrepreneurial spirit, and it all starts on East Campus. These endeavors are almost never successful, significant, or even logical, but it matters not. Collective failure is a transcendent bond.

I can’t remember who I sat next to in freshman seminars, but I can immediately recall who was in the common room when we first fired up our new T-shirt press. We proudly manufactured custom graphic tees for Tailgates and date functions for two weeks before someone pointed out that not one of our eight loyal customers had paid us. What mattered was that we all went broke together—solidarity achieved through one big fail.

Whether you tried to transform your 12-by-12 Gilbert-Addoms double into a late night diner, or you attempted to outsource your Duke-Carolina tenting duty to a temp agency, this early taste of capitalist adventure was formative. It’s the first step towards entrepreneurial greatness. The guy that started QDuke.com and another relatively (though somewhat inexplicably) successful Web site where he and his buddies scratch lottery tickets over a live video stream? He started out as an East Campus RA, monopolizing all haircutting on his floor and dishing out uneven buzz cuts for $3 apiece.

In this new dawn after the economic mayhem of the past year, outlets for our entrepreneurial drive may be harder to come by. There aren’t enough Wall Street internships and research grants to go around; eager angel investors and easy student loans are things of the past. Despite it all, though, I would hope that East Campus is still alive with the crackpot schemes of our newest class. It’s a beautiful reaffirmation of the trademark, deep-seated opportunism which sets us apart. Hats off to every amateur restaurant, advertising firm, recording studio, microbrewery, textile factory, dating service, and barbershop hidden away in the safety of the dorms. The quad is our oyster.