Acquaintances and friends

So, it was like Cheers: A place where everybody knew my name. Instead of being just another bushy-haired pimple that was sticking to Gordon Wu's face like oh so many - too many - '05ers here on campus, I was Alfred Brown. Well, actually, to most I was just good ole' Al.

You see, the real diff-erence be-tween Prin-ceton and home is the struggle to be known. Back home, I did the routine hug and "Hello, how are you? Oh, it's okay, really different . . . oh, no, not that hard . . . yeah the classes are great . . . oh, it isn't that cold yet, but I'm sure it will be soon . . . okay, take care . . . see you soon!" so many times that it began to bother me by the time I got on the plane to come back.

But here, it's just the opposite. The people here know me about as well as they know good old Gordon Wu himself, and usually pass me with a brief glance of interest before moving on to their previously started conversation. I do the same. But the fact still remains, the echoes that creep up behind me in the gothic halls of this educational bastion are far more familiar to me than any of your voices.

Which is okay. To tell you the truth, I don't really expect anything different. I mean, you take one thousand uncertain American teenagers and thrust them into a place deeply rooted in tradition, hierarchy and history and, as they keel over from the confusion and shock of the reality of their acceptance letters, you ask them to mingle? Doesn't really work too well. Sure, I have my RA group and the floormates and dorm mates that surround me in 1942. But what about everyone else?

What about the girl I saw today that was reading a book under a tree by Whig and Clio halls? What about the guy that was humming a piece by Vivaldi on my way to anthropology? What about the group of Wilsonians that were playing volleyball a few weeks ago? What about the four thousand other Princetonians that are my peers? How about them? Do I ever get to meet them? And how?

...We all hear the stories of the throngs of "amazing" people that go to this intellectual haven. Ask Mr. Hargadon, I'm sure he'll tell you all about them. But, for every neo-Einstein there is a wall, an invisible barrier that separates me from them. Sure, I see them, but that's it. I pass along and "hurry to my next class" just like the rest of you. It's a sad thing, but, as I've come to believe, just human nature.

None of us want to be uncomfortable, to put ourselves out there and be the brave newcomer to risk the embarrassment of an eye squint and a "What do YOU want?" We'd all much rather just eat alone, and bury ourselves in a book that really isn't due until next week, or to pretend to be engrossed in those little event-advertising placards that litter every table in Frist. Why do you think they are there in the first place?

But, when I got back home, it seemed that everyone knew me. Taking the mandatory visit back to high school, I felt a bit like a superstar, not having enough time for everyone, brushing people aside with a quick pat on the back or a nod of the head. The art-deco halls and newly refurbished classrooms even seemed to know me, making me feel warm and welcome like I was home. I answered so many questions that day that my mouth ran dry, and my mind ran out of comparisons.

And, though the days were taxing and full of vast generalizations and misstatements about my experience "back east" thus far, it felt good to know that people wanted to hear me speak, that they were interested in my words.

It made me feel like people cared about me, and not just that they cared to make a new friend to comfort themselves. It felt good to have real conversations that seemed to actually have bearing on my life. If felt good to be liked and known.

And then I left and came back here. Perhaps it is just me, and perhaps I am just the kind of guy that is hard to talk to. But I know I am not. At least, I never have been. I have a small army of people back home that will tell you otherwise. But, there is something about the newness of this experience that makes bonding difficult. Rather, it is the newness of every person, the awkwardness of every conversation, the feeling that others just don't care about what I am saying . . . that is what cripples my voice, and perhaps theirs, too.

Still, it's getting easier. And I know more people now than on that sweltering move-in day. At this rate, I'll be able to name most of my fellow '05ers at graduation.

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The only problem is, I want more than that. I want to know these neo-Einstein's and future leaders. I don't want their glances and hellos. I want to come back to Reunions and have people swarm to me with sincerity, like they did back home. I want their life stories, and I'm still waiting for them. Alfred Brown is a freshman from Manhattan Beach, Calif. His columns appear periodically in 'Campus Notebook.' He can be reached at aebtwo@princeton.edu.