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My final goodbye to Morrill Hall

May 22, 2013

Editor’s Note: Views expressed in guest columns and letters to the editor reflect the views of the author, not the views of The State News.

Only one thought occurred to me when Morrill Hall caught fire: You sneaky bastard, Morrill.

I was walking innocuously to Berkey Hall last Wednesday evening when I saw a thin wisp of smoke against the sky. As I approached curiously, Morrill’s roof erupted into flames. The first fire trucks peeled around the corner in an instant, sirens blaring; police officers soon followed, pulling out yellow caution tape. Everyone around me stood mesmerized.

And there I stood, too, beneath that thick blanket of smoke, stifling my laughter.

I couldn’t help but observe the irony of Morrill’s last act of defiance against its own demolition. Morrill went out with a spectacle, engulfed in flames — 113 years after it was built and mere weeks away from its demolition. The entire building didn’t meet a fiery fate; only a small portion was affected, and thankfully there were no injuries.

Still, standing there was unreal. I’ve seen Morrill Hall’s incredible transformation in just the past four years; I’ve watched its departments move, its offices stripped of furniture and its stone facades chiseled away.

To see Morrill burst into flames weeks before it was scheduled to come down permanently was the final irony for our relationship.

From the beginning, Morrill Hall was my academic sanctuary. As both a journalism major and an English major, I found myself there not only for advising but also to visit a favorite professor and camp out in quiet study spots few other students knew about. I was a wide-eyed freshman, eager to soak up MSU’s academic resources, many of which were in that red sandstone building.

As the semesters passed, my initial fervor for MSU gradually wore off, but I continued to view Morrill Hall as an old friend, visiting when I needed an escape.

When the Board of Trustees voted in 2010 to tear down the decrepit building, I admittedly was saddened to hear the news, but I was not in the least surprised. I already was resigned for the building — it was the beginning of the end.

I still loved walking on its creaky, sagging floors, purposely scaring myself by walking the eerily dark basement halls at night or lounging on the seldom used but sinfully comfortable fourth-floor couches. I hadn’t had a purely academic reason to visit Morrill in months; it was more fun to explore.

One Saturday morning, I stepped into the building for a drink of water and eventually found myself next to an open window next to the roof. Infinitely curious, I contorted myself through and stepped onto the gravelly rooftop.

That day, standing just across campus from the din of a home football game, was the peak of my love affair with Morrill Hall — there was nothing better than picnicking on the rooftop against a stunningly clear, crisp October sky.

But like so many young loves, this, too, was fated for a tragic end. My sojourns through Morrill’s red sandstone columns subsided. I became bored with its story, having worn it out my first two years at MSU. I found other places of interest, taking solace in the state Capitol building just down the road, or the U.S. Capitol, when I spent a semester in Washington, D.C.

The longer I was away, the less interested I was in going back. Morrill Hall wasn’t what it once was; it had become skeleton of memories, a shell of its former self. It no longer was worth pretending I could salvage anything from it. My professors were no longer there, the quotes on the walls were old news and the rooftop adventures were long over.

Last Wednesday night was the first time I’d been back in months. At first, like other onlookers, I felt pangs once I saw it was the old building that had caught on fire — it was undeniably a tragic way for a piece of MSU history to meet its end.

But then I had to smile. After four years of up-and-down experiences at MSU, this would be my final meeting with Morrill Hall, seeing it burning and going up in smoke. I would coincidentally bear witness to one last hurrah before Morrill went down forever.

As much as I loved that building, it was a perfect way to go. And for me, watching firefighters put out a few last embers in that revered academic building was the most fitting way to say goodbye.

Rachel Jackson is a guest columnist at The State News and a journalism senior. Reach her at jacks981@msu.edu.

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