Graphic by Yujin Kim/The Choate News
When I first arrived at Choate as a freshman last winter, I was overwhelmed by the complex layout of the 458-acre campus. Being directionally challenged was a constant struggle, despite the tours that my roommate frequently gave me — our favorite quarantine activity. The resemblance between all the reddish-brown buildings forced me to find a walking buddy for each class, so I would not end up lost.
In the jungle of Brick Romanesque architecture, however, one particular structure stood out to me: the Lanphier Center. It was the transparent walls that caught my attention — a futuristic style that differentiated itself from the red brick I saw everywhere else. Just from first glance, I knew that this was the math and computer science building, which was why precalculus became the first class I could walk to alone.
Perhaps it was the easy identification that drew me to spending many afternoons there. Whenever I had a few hours to spare after class, I would pack up my books and walk straight through Memorial Circle from my dorm, Nichols, to Lanphier. I would then swipe my card to enter the Bruce S. Gelb ’45 Study Room — the biggest one on the first floor — and stay there until sunset. In my little hideout, I read novellas, composed essayettes, listened to Liszt, and pondered life. It was mesmerizing to relax in a place far from noise and clutter, gazing out the glass wall at the pond and the weeping willow trees.
On some days, though, I was visited by others who passed by the study room and poked their heads in to say, “Hi.” As timid as my freshman self was, I made some of my first friends there, thanks to the transparent glass walls. Even though I was initially reluctant to allow intruders into my secret garden, I realized that having company at the opposite end of the room could be refreshing. The wide space perfectly accommodated two people, and gradually, my solo view-watching turned into a shared experience of serenity. “Do you want to study in Lanphy with me this afternoon?” was an invitation I frequently extended to people whom I deemed special enough to enter my sanctuary.
One afternoon, I noticed a familiar face outside the study room. It was someone from my Spanish class, but we had never met in-person because our class was held at night and remained online for the entire year. We started a conversation and instantly clicked. From that night onwards, we arranged to attend every Spanish class together from the same computer, in the same study room. It was an end-of-the-day activity that I always looked forward to. On the dark trek across the science center bridge after my 7:30 p.m. physics class, Lanphier was the crystal beacon that guided my way. I felt a rush of happiness every time I pulled open the glass door because I knew that my friend was waiting for me at the end of the hallway. While the world dimmed into darkness, we fought back our giggles and exchanged knowing glances in our peaceful oasis.
This year, I have the luxury of living right next to Lanphier in Archbold, but sadly there is less time for me to indulge in my beloved study room sessions. The once-quiet floors have turned into another populated passage due to the increased number of students on campus, and I rarely find the Bruce S. Gelb ’45 study room empty. Yet, although Lanphier and I have both changed since when we first met each other, I still reminisce on the shades of sunset I once viewed from the window and the peaceful state of mind that allowed me to appreciate the slow moments.
