On chapels and cranes

The chapel, normally the subject of an inordinate quantity of Instagram posts, has come under even closer iPhone-filtered scrutiny than usual in recent days. Sure, the weather has finally improved and the trees are in bloom, so even the tritest of “Gothic Wonderland” posts are bound to garner more likes than usual, but other factors are at play. More specifically, prospective students have begun to arrive to campus in droves. I have seen countless high school students and their parents with University Store bags at their side pause in front of the most iconic building of our campus to take a photograph. Peering down at their phones, they pick a filter—Hudson and Mayfair generally work best for me—and post it online faster than you can say “throwback Thursday.” Kids these days and their technology.

These photos aren’t realistic. The blue of the sky is a little bluer, the stones of the chapel’s spires a little more defined and our emblematic crane conveniently cropped out of the frame. At the same time, perception is reality, and for many admitted students those enhanced images of campus were what they fell in love with when applying to colleges. So enamored with what they imagine Duke could and should be, they can neglect to examine what it actually is.

Us current Dukies are equally at fault for perpetuating the existence of this façade, though. Just two days ago I encountered the family of a high school junior lost in the Bryan Center. Figuring I could wait another two minutes for my morning coffee, I approached them and asked if they needed help. The father, a man in his late 40s with greying hair and a thick New York accent, requested directions to the admissions office.

“Sure, you just walk around the chapel and then all the way down the road to the traffic circle, and it’ll be on your left,” I told him. It’s kind of a long walk, but parking here is ridiculous so I wouldn’t risk driving.”

I stopped myself. “Not that the parking is that bad. And let’s be real, Duke is awesome.” We made a few more minutes of small talk before parting ways, but that moment of the exchange stayed with me for the rest of the day. Sure, complaining about parking was petty—in my defense, I had just taken the last spot in the Allen lot after five minutes of circling around it like a vulture—but I wondered why I had been so quick to minimize the seriousness of a complaint so relevant to their particular situation. Complaining about the parking situation at a university with a Nobel prize winner on the faculty and a men’s basketball team competing in the Final Four of the NCAA tournament is much like complaining about Siri not recognizing your pronunciation of “onomatopoeia”—griping about minor problems with something great does not acknowledge the grand scheme of things.

After initially scolding myself for doing something besides singing Duke’s praises in front of a prospective student, though, I realized airing my grievances to her and her family really wasn’t such a bad idea. All to often when speaking with potential classmates I catch myself glossing over my school’s flaws and exaggerating its perks. Tenting becomes “one of my favorite parts of freshman year” instead of “six weeks of hypothermia resulting in mediocre seats”, and relations between Greek and independent students are said to be “honestly not that big a deal” instead of “a regular subject of campus debate.” I want pfrosh to sign on the dotted line and come to love Duke as much as I do, but sometimes I feel this desire corrupts my ability to give truly helpful information about this university. Just because I like Duke doesn’t mean I should feel obligated to bend the truth about it. Duke’s problems are real, and its elite status alone is not enough for me to downplay them.

This spring, I’m hoping to be a little more candid than usual when interacting with prospective students. While I can only hope I’ll be more upbeat than I was with a potential member of the Class of 2020, I nonetheless want current high school seniors to know what they’re getting into. Like any other institution, Duke has its problems, and admitted students should be made aware of them—there is a time and place for Instagram filters and rose-tinted glasses, but the process of selecting a college is not one of them. Everyone here for Blue Devil Days knows about the Duke chapel, but perhaps it’s time for them to see the Duke crane as well.

Tom Vosburgh is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Tuesday.