La Salle University

13 Nov 2009. Schools like La Salle make me glad I switched the focus of this blog from campus description to fakelore. This religious university - I'm thinking Jesuit? - on the outskirts of Philly was tough to find and tougher to find interesting. Yes, there were unique touches like the 12-foot medieval wooden doors leading to the bookstore, and the serene grotto pictured below.
And love that man-and-spyglass logo.


We find a newly appointed college president assigned to renaming his institution. Rewriting the school's mission to serve intellectual exploration and personal discovery, he cannot tear himself away from the 'explorer' theme. He discusses this with his assistant, Brookings.

"Brookings, you have the finalists?"
Brookings holds up a manila folder and nods.
"Good. This whole renaming business has just been torturous. Let's get it done today. Go."
"Christopher Columbus - "
"Our front runner. Columbus University just rings right. Oh, sorry, go on."
"Christopher Columbus. An Italian who sailed under the Spanish flag on ships named after beans. Made a poor first impression on the natives by committing genocide. Today is honored continentwide for his expensive accident."
"Okay, Brookings, I see your point. But overly cynical wording won't fly if you are seeking a future in higher education."
"Yes, sir. I apologize."
"Now Columbus, sailing under another country's banner. Did he prefer tapas over pasta? And naming his ships Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria - was his crew excessively flatulent? Also you say his discovery of the American continent was an accident. Perhaps Columbus himself was an accident. Should we honor his irresponsible parents with a day off as well? Too many skeletons in the closet. Cross him off the list. Next."
"Juan Ponce de Leon. Knew the fountain of youth was a legend yet searched for it in Florida anyway."
"Ponce de Leon University. PDLU. I like the fountain of youth angle. Could be used to promote continuing education for adults. And I admire the man's determination. Did he find it?"
"...The fountain of youth does not exist. So, no."
"Next."
"Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca. Traversed Mexico and was the first European to lead an overland expedition to the Pacific. Name means 'cow's head' in Spanish."
"Caboose-a-who? Hard to pronounce, hard to spell, not well known enough."
"To you or the general public?"
"Both. Next."
"Alexander Mackenzie. In searching for the fabled northwest passage, became the second European to cross the American continent. National hero in Scotland and Canada."
"A Canadian hero? You finish the 4th grade, you're a Canadian hero. So here we have another who failed to find what he was looking for. Too bad because 'Alexander Mackenzie' is a strong name. I don't know, I just can't do it."
"Because of not finding the northwest passage?"
"There's that, plus my ex-wife's lapdog was named Mackenzie. Doesn't sit well with me. Next."
"Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. Accompanied by the 29 soldiers in the Corps of Discovery, Sacagawea, York, and Seaman, they - "
"Hold on. And who?"
"Lewis' dog was a Newfie named Seaman."
"Poor dog. Continue."
"Seeking an all-water route across the continent, they became the first Americans to reach the Pacific by land. Potential confusion with Lewis & Clark College in Oregon."
"Okay, okay, solid story. Great recognition. We can just be Lewis and Clark University, LCU. Problem solved. But I'm worried about the homoerotic undertones."
"The what??"
"The most famous pair in American History. One is rarely mentioned without the other."
"Pardon my speaking out, sir, but there is no evidence of anything illicit between the two captains."
"Tell me, Brookings, what happened to the other members of the Corps of Discovery after their return?"
"Nothing much. Most of them died soon thereafter."
"And what did them in?"
"Venereal diseases. Contracted among the natives...no. Surely that can't be proof enough for you."
"Surely it is. I can research as well. Why did Lewis and Clark live long lives free of VD when every other soldier quickly died? Friendly buggery. And that dog's name doesn't help."
"I can assure you there were no sexual relations between Lewis and Clark!"
"LCU is on the short list, at best. Moving on."
Brookings took a few breaths to calm himself.
"Vasco de Gama of Portugal. First man to sail from Europe to India. Was castrated by hostile Malagasy. His name lends itself to the terms vas deferens and vasectomy."
"Ugh, gruesome. How did he make the final finalist list? These things make a vas deferens to me."
"..."
"It was a joke. Next."
"Henry Hudson. He sailed for the Dutch around what is now Canada. His crew cast him off his ship never to be found. His dates of birth and death are a mystery."
"It makes for a sexy story. But his crew mutinying? Not a leader. Next."
"Ferdinand Magellan. Portuguese circumnavigator. He was killed in the Phillippines by a poison dart. His crewmate finished the voyage for him."
"Our school needs to inspire people to finish what they start. Next."
"Edmund Hillary. He and his sherpa Tenzing Norgay were the first to scale - "
"Hillary is a woman's name. We are not a woman's school. Next."
"Alexander von Humboldt. A German who - "
"Next."
"Shall we take a break, sir?"
"No, no. When I hear it, I will know it. Go on."
"Very well. This is the last on the list anyway. Robert de La Salle. He claimed the Mississippi River area for France."
"A possibility. I like the name La Salle. Sounds learned but not snobby. Any embarrassing peccadilloes?"
"No."
"Any children out of wedlock? Mass slaughterings? Scandals or bribery?"
"Not that I could find."
"Hmm. I'm liking this one more and more. The least pathetic name on the list."
"Sir, is it wise to honor someone - in quite a permanent way - for being the least pathetic?"
"I think it makes us seem accessible. Don't worry, Brookings, I'll change the wording."

La Salle University
Not The Most Pathetic

University of Pennsylvania

13 Nov 2009. The first Ivy League entrant. Looking to go classy, I was aiming for a cocktail/martini glass, intending to save the wine goblets for the Napa schools, such as UC Davis and...hmm...just UC Davis then. Penn had a nice bookstore stocked with beanbag Quaker men but no martini glassware. The university seal is etched on the glass I'm telling you. Why won't you believe me??
Next door at Cosi bakery, a nervous manager was being meticulously evaluated by a humorless district supervisor. Was it the wrong time to squeal in horror about a fruit fly in my orange-pom juice?


"There's some hot Livin' On A Prayer action. Thank you, Percy-fone."
"It's Per-SEFFA-nee!" calls out the curly haired blonde making her way back to her plastic chair.
The MC moves on. "Next we have Mario. Mario, you're up for rooftop karaoke tonight. Step on up to the stage mic and - where's my stage mic?"
"I have it." answers a deep mellifluous voice. "Ms. Persephone stole my Bon Jovi thunder. But I made an alternate selection. I'm ready to go, if you could switch to song 5428, please."
The MC's eyes dart from seat to seat. Who was messing with him?
"Come on up to the stage, Mario, and I'd be happy to."
"I said I was ready to go."
"...You got it." The MC taps out a couple keystrokes and leaps offstage.
Mario, nowhere in sight, gets off to a rocky start. He rushes the first words of his selection to catch up.
"AndnowtheendisnearandsoIfacethefinalcurtain, my friend, I'll state it clear..."
The MC motions to the bartenders to round up security.
Mario continues, hesitant to flex his pipes. The uneasiness clearly comes through in his voice.
"...Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention..."
The two bartenders return with a tight shirted bouncer brandishing a few hefty maglites. The four of them split up, searching the roof. They scan the neighboring buildings' windows and fire escapes.
Mario's disembodied voice, strong but subdued, still does not exhibit the confidence laid out in the lyrics.
"...When there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out..."
The customers look around in confusion. No one seems to be paying attention to the song.
Except for Persephone.
The search party elbows her aside.
How obnoxious. Just let the guy sing.
The final verse approaches. She cups her hands over her mouth for amplification, never necessary for ol' Limber Lungs Persephone.
"Belt it out, Mario!"
Mario's voice suddenly loosens. The words are relaxed and powerful. Vibrating baritone bravado transfixes everyone within earshot, even the employees on the hunt.
"For what is a man
what has he got
if not himself
then he has naught
to say the things
he truly feels
and not the words
of one who kneels?
The record shows
I took the blows
and did it m- "

BSHHMMMMMMM

The last two words of Sinatra's classic are drowned out by an explosion. A hole is blown open in the old brick building next door. Smoke pours out. Masonry and glass shoots onto the rooftop club. The customers, caught frozen, are pelted with stone debris. Fallen light posts, scattered chairs, and broken wine glasses and beer bottles complicate any attempt at a quick exit. Students in the crowd cry out.
"Help me! I go to Penn!"
The employees and some of the customers tend to the injured.
Persephone emerges from underneath a patio umbrella. She peers into the smoky crater. As her view clears up, she locks on a pair of large golden eyes. They are the size of regulation baseballs, ten feet off the ground. The pupils thin when Persephone catches sight of them. Before she could blink to get a better view, they disappear.
The stage mic, melted mouthpiece and all, flies through the air and lands at her feet. She picks it up but quickly drops it. Still hot.
Mario.
It was at this moment, surrounded by brickwork and liquor, that Persephone first experiences - and understands - her parents' seemingly contradictory blend of concern and anger. She does not have time to contemplate this unsettling new emotion. It makes her move. She runs over to the edge of the four story nightclub. The fire exit is rusty. She carefully shuffles over the brick wall onto the platform. She looks down.
A puff of smoke shoots through the second story window of the next building.
Persephone jumps back onto the roof and finds a rain gutter. She launches over the wall and grasps the pipe between her hands and knees.
Just like a playground pole.
She shimmies down, and, within seconds, she is down on the ground near the service exit. The double doors fly open in front of her.
If she has no plan for stopping anyone, which she doesn't, she definitely has no plan for stopping a dragon.
He - Persephone instantly knows this is Mario - has deep blue scales, golden claws, teeth, wings, and spines to match his eyes. He is showing signs of high adrenaline aggression: wide eyes, flared nostrils, arched back. She feels stupidly defenseless; any one of those teeth could slice her to lunchmeat.
If he's going to gut me, nothing I can do now.
"Mario, you hurt a lot of people up there."
Mario averts his gaze. He says nothing for an eternal beat.
"You urged me on." Miniature flames spurt from his throat as he speaks.
"To sing louder? Like I knew you were a fire breathing dragon!"
Mario pauses to economize his words.
"Those last two notes. I should have known."
"Why were you hiding?"
Mario doesn't have to ponder this one. "Why do you think?"
Now it was Persephone's time to consider a response.
"You have a world class voice. You shouldn't have to hide it."
Mario just glares at her. She winces at her comment.
"Oh. You already...know that."
"Indoor karaoke, a disaster. Outdoor, the same. Singing to my mate in our grotto, unfulfilling."
"There's the problem! You can do so much better than karaoke."
"Suggestions?"
"I don't know. I'm sure we can think of something to keep it safe for others. Fireproof mics?"
"Very low fidelity."
"I'm just brainstorming. And you can speak in full sentences, Mario. I'll just stand to your side away from the sparks. I'm not afraid." Persephone moves to Mario's right side. He leans left.
"I am."
She puts her hand on his back knee. The scales are like cold, hard, tea saucers.
Persephone's face goes vertical. She smacks her head and points to Mario.
"I know who can help."

Saint Joseph's University

13 Nov 2009. I feel bloated just remembering all the pink and orange road signs along the PhilBo corridor. So many Dunkin' Donuts, so little tolerance for half a dozen jam filled crullers.


"This is my dream!"
I take a sniff.
"My dream smells like feet."
"Oh, you get used to it." Angela assures me. She's the head of gameday staff at the Palestra, our big-game court in downtown Philly.
Our regular mascot was hurt in a freak nightclub accident, so I, the mascot reserve, was called up to take his place. And what a day to be called up! Our St. Joe's Hawks (named for our Welsh first coach and some kind of priest - I think Jesuit? - Lloyd 'The Hawk' Hwcau) are taking on the hated Richmond Spiders for the A10 basketball title. The winner gets to taste March Madness in the NCAA championship!
Angela snaps me out of my awe. "Look alive, it's game time!"
I put on the hawk head, completing the ensemble, grab my two bottles of Pomegranate Per4mance, and hit the sidelines behind the SJU bench.
The atmosphere is about to blow off the roof! I have never seen SJU fans like this, what a rush! I can only imagine what the players feel like. So I do. And it's much the same, only with 40 fewer pounds of feathered body suit.

The first half was a blur. Did twenty minutes really go by that fast?
We are up by three thanks to a half court circus shot from Arthur 'Big Bala' Cynwyd as time expires.
I'm steaming in my bird suit, so before halftime is over, I drink the rest of my Pomegranate Per4mance. I head back to the locker room for a refill.
OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH.
I make an unexpected and urgent change in priorities.
I've been stung by bees before, and that's the closest sensation I can compare this to. But this, this is ten times worse. I let go of the bottles.
But they don't fall to the ground.
I look at my hands. My thumbs, which I stuck inside the mouths of the bottles to carry them, have swollen so big that I can't pull them out. Can't shake them off.
I see a small brown spider in each bottle. When did they get in? Why? They must have been attracted to the juice. Who knows now. Now - now I want the bottles off, the spiders dead or at least unable to bite, and my thumbs in cold water, milk, lotion, something, ANYTHING.
I spot Angela's jet black hair and wave her over. When I tell her what's up, she leads me back to the locker room to saw off the bottles with some medical scissors. We are blocked by the teams coming back onto the court. Meanwhile, I am swinging my arms, using centrifugal - or is it centripetal? - force to keep the spiders off my thumbs, stuck on the bottom of the bottles.
So I'm standing there, swinging away like a crazy man, my screams of pain being drowned out by the crowd. The well groomed coaches exit the locker room, giving me looks. I don't blame them.
Some of the students above the portal imitate my flapping. Maybe they're mocking, or a little drunk, or both. Everyone is finally out of the locker room now and the staff moves the metal barriers.
Angela leads me forward. She stops quick. She asks, "How bad are you?"
"Huh??"
"Are you sure you want to leave now?" She turns my feathered cranium so I can see the video screen above center court.
That's me on the big screen!
When I see myself, the Palestra erupts. Everyone starts their own awkward flailing.
I say, "Wow."
Big Bala Cynwyd, running out of bounds on a warmup drill, jogs past me and smiles, flapping all the way. "Yeah, Hawk Man! You better not be leaving!" he yells.
Angela, human Ritalin, brings me back into focus. "Well? How do you feel?"
I have a noseful of moldy foam and two thumbs throbbing with arachnid venom. But if I keep moving my arms, it won't get any worse.
"Unflappable."

I guess I did a good job that game. We won, sure, and made a nice showing in the NCAAs, but I hear the SJU Hawk mascot still flaps like a bug bitten maniac. All game long, in fact. It's become its trademark! And, yes, I still hate spiders.

Go, Hawk Man, Go! The Hawk Will Never Die!

Robert Morris University

23 Jun 2009. If campuses were animals, RMU would be a basset hound. The Saddest Place on Earth! Sure it was empty due to summer break, but despite beautiful weather, the few employees and summer students milling around looked like they were headed to their own funeral, catered with pretzel rods and tonic water. Even the full retail price of the cup, 99 cents (slightly over 3 cents an ounce), mumbled, "Why bother with markup and profit margin, no one will buy our dumb stuff anyway." :'(

What a jackass Robert Morris was.
A revolutionary jackass.
A fat man lacking facial hair, he gulped patriotism in gallons. Upon learning of an impending raid on his town by the British guard, he organized the locals.
The redcoats were coming to crack down on a string of tax evasions. As the taxed item in question was an everyday necessity, people refused to pay.
Toilet paper did not exist as we know it today. Instead there were 'lav cloths', round swatches of fabric. With imported lav cloths becoming more unaffordable, the colonists of western Pennsylvania started stitching their own. In the 18th century, personal hygiene was not just proper manners, but a requirement of good health and disease prevention.
So imagine the Brits' surprise when they arrived to a quainte vigourous towne on a hilltop not crippled by dysentery.
Now imagine their even greater surprise when those commoners doff their breeches in unison.
300 pasty white clean bills of health, led by Robert Morris himself. To further the insult, Mr. Morris grabbed an English bulldog and, in a symbolic gesture, scrubbed his backside with the hound.
Furious, the brigade charged. But the diversion worked. The local militia had enough time to catch the British from behind. They were driven away, and Robert Morris was serenaded as Hero. This short event might be referred to as the Pittsburgh Assacre, but that would be crass.
Local bakers created a sweet pastry called a 'moon pie' to commemorate the victory.
The town council agreed to rename their city to 'Moon Township' in remembrance of the historic rebuttal.
The above is just another chapter in the miraculous story of the American Revolution. Once again, daring derrieres saved the day.

The cupola that became the university logo that was based off of Robert Morris' upturned rump.

Villanova University

25 Oct 2008. Nice looking glass here. Villanova's classy V logo, classy script, classy glass with the craggy punt to keep it interesting. (Saw this same style with the Vancouver Olympic logo in a petrol station in Alberta, so not as unique as I had hoped.) If only they weren't the generic 'wildcats' their athletic identity would be top notch.

Persephone, DDS, MBA (born Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh, but when Persephone is your first name, that's really all you need) was a forward thinking alum of Villanova University, a religious affiliated school - probably Jesuit - outside Philadelphia. She had a 'sunk cost' outlook on life, refusing to let any past mistakes or accomplishments hold her back from any future ones. Her blonde hair also held this view, the voluminous curls threatening to explode off her scalp at any moment.
Anyway, she found it quite easy to put aside her full time dentistry duties to take up a consulting position with Proctor & Gamble Medical Services. Her DDS degree had served her well, but she was eager to try out her newly acquired MBA skills.
She loved the brand management team she was assigned to. Such a great work ethic and instant camaraderie with the half dozen other brand managers. Although Persephone was the rookie, the team knew a good idea when they heard it. Once they received the blessing of the Collegiate Licensing Association, Persephone was elected to present their recommendations to the VP of Medical Services.
"What have you got for us, Persephone?"
"Villanovocaine."
It was the portmanteau that launched a $325.6 million revenue stream for Proctor & Gamble. It was a slam dunk on all accounts. Persephone promptly resigned from P&G, batting 1.000 (that is, 1 for 1) in the medical marketing arena.
Persephone's later dabblings included Milton Bradley (Hofstratego), Colgate (DePaulmolive), and H.J. Heinz (William & Marinara).

Photographic rendering, Loudmouth Midwestern Marketing Dentist

Drexel University

25 Oct 2008. A new feature on the CCP is campus photos. There is one for Drexel below but in a few weeks they will start showing up regularly beginning with UNC Asheville. Getty Images will still act as stand-in when my photos turn out blurry and useless, which happens quite often!

"What do you want?"
"I want to sing - "
"You sing beautifully!"
" - without causing destruction!"
Maria shut up. No argument there. But this was an unnatural operation Mario was talking about. Dangerous too. Obviously, there were not many doctors who knew how to safely remove a dragon's pyrovox glands. She could not help but protest Mario's proposal.
"You would be giving away what makes a dragon a dragon."
Mario crushed the rocks under his feet.
"What makes a dragon a dragon is not about the smoke on its breath but the fire in its belly!"
Mario caught a spark of fright underneath Maria's normally strong exterior. He forced himself to lower his voice.
"I have made my decision. Do you stand by me?"
"Always."
Mario relaxed. He walked over to Maria for a dragon's kiss, nuzzling her neck. He spread his deep blue wings and lifted off the ground.
"I love you, Maria."
"I love you too. Be careful!"
Mario headed west. 600 miles and the Appalachian mountains lay between him and South Bend.

*TO BE CONTINUED*

Part 1: Notre Dame
Part 2: Toledo

University of Pittsburgh

18 Mar 2007. Petersen Events Center, you aren't fooling anyone. You're the Panthers' basketball arena who occasionally hosts graduations and visiting former stars of The Real World! Love and accept who you are! This was a spur-of-the-moment trip to Pitt to see a first round women's NCAA tournament game. Mmmmm, a thirty two ounce serving of Sprite-flavored beverage hit the spot. The day trip even included a visit to the Duquesne Incline and Primanti Bros. who give a big middle finger to lunchplate segregation and PUT THE FRENCH FRIES ON THE SANDWICH ITSELF!
Come again? Not familiar with the Duquesne Incline? Not surprising, Pittsburgh really should get the word out on this thing. Part street trolley, part ski lift, part steam engine, fully turn-of-the-century coaltown history. Back when machine parts were the size of thoroughbreds and needed the utmost durability to survive the elements. So it moves at 3 miles an hour, so what? Put yourself in a time where it was freakin' amazing that it even moved at all. At the same time when people imagined riding in a locomotive going 40 mph would crush your bones.

Ya ever seen your own insides, Jimmy?

Lehigh University

27 Nov 2004. Goodman Stadium in eastern Pennsylvania was filling up as the first round of the Division I-AA football playoffs approached. The expansive grass lots were receiving the ant trails of tailgating vehicles, their passengers layered up in anticipation of a chilly few hours. No longer the Engineers, Mountain Hawk fans could shop for rebranded souvenirs at a temporary canvas tent located between the main entrance and the field. The selection was mainly cold weather apparel, but there was a fat cup that later revealed its own mortality from a spin in the Whirlpool. There's something about wide tumblers and nondishwashersafeness it seems.