GREEN ROOM

The rain bothered me at first, but I found it offered a suitable backdrop for my jaunt back to West Liberty on a chilly day in early March. That day was a late-in-life effort to do some things I have been wanting to do for a long time. 

I had asked Coach Mike if I could watch a Topper basketball practice this season on one of my free days from part-time government classes at Central. He told me I was always welcome, but I seemed to find an excuse not to go. I have been quite adept at making up reasons not to do things my whole life. 

Sure, I went to watch the practice, but don’t tell Coach I had other reasons, more personal ones for my journey up the winding roads WV-88. My trip was more deliberate and contemplative. I have been back in Wheeling for over twelve years now, but I had never really walked across the quad that a younger A.J. walked forty years ago.

I took a hard right up the steep hill near Bonar Hall, where I spent my first year. I passed Krise Hall and neared the turn where I could look down at Beta Hall, half-expecting a cautionary sign reading "Proceed with Caution." Like a haunted house, my senior-year dorm nestled in the afternoon darkness and drizzling rain.

I pushed the wipers a little harder to see the memories of that year. I shook my head at the unfolding stories, chuckled a few times, and then took a picture to show Chaka. I needed to move on for now.

I parked and made my way to the quad. At its center stood the tall flagpole. Gone was the large wooden base where, as a Phi Sig pledge, I had to lean with my knees jutting forward at right angles to “think about it” after a late night of mud-diving or whenever one of my pledge brothers said something stupid. But the flag remained, as were the numerous sidewalks that led students outward to other destinations on campus. 

The Quad at West Liberty University

I took one sidewalk to the bottom floor of the library, where I strolled down the long hallway several times, looking into the empty rooms where I once sat in my English classes. On the main floor of the library, the entryway seemed larger and more spacious. Countless study tables and computers replaced the coziness of the massive bookshelves.

Another sidewalk led to the student union. Where were this burrito place, the corner coffee shop, and the pick and go store when I was a student? Were there still dances on the main floor? Someone removed the pool tables downstairs, and the aroma of stale beer no longer wafted from the little room I remembered as the pub. Nothing appeared to be what it once was to me.

I sat down in one of the many comfy couches that quietly huddled together in a space I recall as electric on a Thursday evening. Students were still on campus, working in class, practicing with their teams, or even working at jobs. Despite the changes and emptiness, the feeling I once had walking through here returned to me. I sat with my memories, wondering if this place remembered me, even a little bit.

I stepped outside, opened my umbrella, and returned to the quad. I stepped onto the longest sidewalk, which ran the length of campus, stopping at Kelly Theater. For the longest time, I have really wanted to visit the theater. I had spent the bulk of my years there acting on stage, taking speech classes, and figuring out just who I was going to be during my college years.

I quietly walked up the steps as if I were visiting the theater for the first time and slowly opened the door. A sense of reverence enveloped me as I stepped into the dark theater. Smaller safety lights illuminated areas around the sloped audience seating. I wanted to walk down the stairs toward the lighted stage, but a self-imposed restraint pinned my feet to the top of the staircase. This spot would be far enough.

Was I the ghost here, unable to touch the memories that flickered around me? The people I saw on the empty stage appeared so alive, but so was I. Bill and I argued as Hildy Johnson and Walter Burns in The Front Page as we did forty years ago. John Reilly winced and repeatedly told me to start again as I struggled with an Irish accent in his Voice for the Stage class. I sang and danced around a huge wooden doghouse with my light blue blanket as Linus in You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown.

More and more ghosts traveled across the lighted stage as I stood there, enraptured by a life I once lived. The longer I stayed, the more the ghosts peered at me from the corners of their eyes, subtly nudging me to leave and return another time.

The hallway beside Kelly Theater led to other parts of the building: the art gallery, the music department, and a row of lockers leading out the back door. At the end of the lockers, the green room awaited. 

The green room is a place where members of the cast and crew can quietly unwind away from the stage. It was in this room that we could think about the performances we had just delivered and those we had yet to give. It was the crossroads between what was and what could be.

Of course, we were kids then, still learning to lower our voices, particularly during rehearsals or performances. The excitement of life often overwhelmed us. Of course, those were times when my college advisor, Meta Lasch, would descend the metal stairs from her office above the green room to tell us to keep it down or get out. We always stayed.

I looked around the small room, futilely putting together pieces from two different puzzles. As I had hoped all day, I wanted my perception of what stood before me to match my memories of the past, seeking some tangible relic whose significance remained for all but was understood by only a few.

I noticed the couches and the dark walls that were so similar to what I remembered. A locked metal-mesh door cut off the office at the top of the metal stairs nestled against the wall. The door to the theater stood open to the same lighted stage I faced as an audience on the opposite side minutes earlier. I'm not sure I should be here anymore.

“Hi,” I whispered. I did not want to startle the two students who sat on one of the couches. “Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

They looked at each other. I felt some doubt and uneasiness emanating from them. I remembered that I was a disheveled 60-year-old man with a gray beard, wearing a damp hoodie, who happened to drop by to “come in for a minute.” That could be creepy in our current world.

“I am sorry. I should have knocked or something. I am just looking around. I graduated back in 86 and just wanted to see how much things have changed. I saw something. I ignored the two students and walked across the room. Mounted on the wall were two large wooden fraternity paddles. At the center were the carved Greek letters:  ΑΨΩ. 

“OMG. You kept these? I can’t believe this. Is Alpha Psi Omega still around?”

One of the students embraced the moment with me. “Of course. Were you in Alpha Psi?”

I moved even closer to the large paddles to read the smaller signatures surrounding the large ΑΨΩ. I moved closer to my past as I scanned the paddles for my name. “I know my name is here,” I laughed like a child unwrapping a special present on this birthday.

I found it right above Cheryl Saseen’s signature. Cheryl wrote her name in a black Sharpie that stood out prominently on the paddle. Mine? My name was a slightly muted silver Sharpie. Why did I write with that color Sharpie? I could barely see my name. Still, this was pretty damn cool. 

I turned back to the student, “Would you mind getting a couple of pictures of me with this? No one will believe this is still here.”  I gave her my phone. “Do you know how to take pictures with a phone?”

She laughed. “I think I can figure it out.” I attempted to move as close as possible to the paddle so I could point at my name, but pieces of furniture were pushed closely together along the wall. “You know what?” my photographer asked. “Why don’t you climb on top of the chair so I can take a better shot?”

“Are you sure?” I glanced out the door to make sure no adult came in to catch me stepping on university furniture. I climbed onto the chair, then contorted my aged body into an uncomfortable position to look back at the camera and smile.

Beta Hall 

The English Hallway

The Stage

Forty Years Ago