Notes from the Desk A tale of two Middleburys

Author: Ian Trombulak

There's snow up to my ankles, and it's spilling over into my shoes. Wet socks - my favorite part about winter in Vermont. I suppose I should be better prepared, having lived in the Middlebury area for the vast majority of my life. Of course, as a thrifty youth, I discovered the value of warm socks: they negate the need for boots altogether. Still, I'm not sporting my SmartWools during this particular trudge, mostly because I never expected to have to work my way through the trials of a freshly fallen foot of snow, given that it's been over a week since the downfall. It's February in Middlebury, my socks are now completely soaked, and I'm on the only uncleared sidewalk in the greater Middlebury area: the one connecting the College to the town.

Okay, it's not the only sidewalk that connects the College and the town. But it's an interesting image. As one of a handful of Middlebury students who were Middlebury Tigers before they were Panthers, I have the semi-unique perspective of a "townie" and a "Midd-kid" both. In late March, when you went to Florida, I once again assumed the role of sketchy "townie", prowling the streets with my hooded friends and making people nervous by walking just a little too slowly (I actually spent the whole time sleeping and watching Boogie Boogie Hedgehog on YouTube, but again, the image). And when break was over, I reverted back to the privileged, elite member of a prestigious institution, paying with plastic and admiring the quaint village of Middlebury, complete with real-looking cottages and covered wooden bridges. Theoretically, these two personas contradict each other. And yet, they're both me.

I've spent a lot of time trying to reconcile my decision to attend college in my hometown. It was hard for me, as a member of the town, to be excited about a transition to a place I'd held in relative contempt my entire life. I'll try hard not to offend here, but as a townsperson, I'd always felt a type of willful ignorance emanating from the College in relation to my beloved town. Even complaints that my friends and I shared - nothing's open past 9:00 (okay, let's be honest, it's more like 7:30), the movie theater sucks, and we're in the middle of nowhere - felt rude and whiny coming from Middlebury College students. "Well," we would think, "it's our town. No one forced you to come here." I now recognize it as the same phenomenon that compels you to sock your friend when he teases your little sister, moments after you've done the same. It always felt to me like College students leveled complaints at the town that were unwarranted, simply because it was my town - not built for them, but for me and my friends and my family.

However, for a series of uninteresting reasons, I ended up here, as one of the preppy, self-important young adults who don't stop for you at crosswalks and whose parents need road directions given in terms of how close something is to the Marriott. And, without realizing it, my perspective changed entirely. The first thing I realized was that that "willful ignorance" was, in reality, closer to "trapped in the library doing work" - we, as students, hardly have the time to participate in "town affairs." The second thing I realized is that it's completely unfair to expect someone to hold your hometown as close to his heart as you do. That, I think, was just immaturity on my part.

However, the most important lesson I learned after moving into the basement of Allen Hall this past fall was that the kids on my hallway didn't come hoping with all their heart to disrespect the town they were living in, or force a sense of inferiority upon the town's inhabitants. Yes, the majority of them came from Connecticut, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. Yes, some of them conformed to the Midd-kid stereotype I'd grown up with (after all, stereotypes don't come from nowhere). But mostly, they were just nice guys. And before I knew it, I was friends with my sworn enemies.

It has since become clear to me that perspective is, literally, everything. It's not worth even pretending that Middlebury town and Middlebury College get along perfectly. The fact that no one, out of 8,000 or so members of the Middlebury (town and College) community, decided that it was worth it to shovel the sidewalk connecting the two is, to me, indicative of the relationship many have tried so hard to smooth over, make worse, or at the very least, explain. The source of the tension is a distortion in perception due to a lack of "mingling," and, more importantly, a lack of desire to mingle. The tension can be linked less to any real animosity, and more to a perception of animosity.

Now, as a member of both communities, I see the points from both sides. I, too, have felt the pain of no grocery stores being open past 9:30. At the same time, I've felt the burn of disrespect from College students as a clerk at Kinney Drugs and (for a marvelous two years) as a dishwasher in Atwater Dining Hall. Both sides have valid points. What I'm saying is, there need not be "sides" - and we're creating them by not shoveling all of our sidewalks equally.

I don't expect all tensions to be resolved overnight, or ever, really. However, I do think misunderstandings could be reduced and perceptions made clearer through greater integration between the two communities. Let's just make sure it's prior to dinner time, so the town can still get to bed early.