Bob Modzelewski

When the city of Paris was modernized in the mid-19th century, the construction of streets and official buildings was carefully calculated, so as to best serve the city and the people. Interest in this massive undertaking brought about the rise of flâneurs, people who would walk the streets just for the sake of the act and observe the social condition. French Jesuit scholar Michel de Certeau wrote in his book The Practice of Everyday Life, “the act of walking is to the urban system what the speech act is to language.” If the city is a language, going to class can be considered a rudimentary sentence—waiting for the bus, an aside, and going for a long walk to Barnes & Noble, a monotonous dissertation.

As modern day flâneurs, RIT students can observe for themselves the language of the RIT campus, all 1,300 acres of it. In an attempt to create a healthier school community, plans were made for a “collegetown” in 2006. Through this, RIT heedlessly complicated its language: They failed to centralize the school community and encouraged environmental degradation through the creation of a second suburb known as Park Point.

Expectations High

When former President Al Simone announced plans for a college town, his hopes were genuine. The lack of school unity is something that is constantly being addressed by administrators, and the development of a genuine college town is something that is missed in Henrietta. Said Simone: “We’re doing this to increase a sense of community on RIT’s campus. That way, students can have a place to release their energies after a hard day on campus and still be together with their classmates and see faculty and staff in a social setting.” This statement was somewhat of an oxymoron, as it is hard to create a sense of “community on campus” in an off-campus location.

From the start, we made the same mistakes our predecessors had made when designing the campus in the 1960s. Dormitories and classrooms were originally separated from each other in an attempt to provide day students with some degree of quiet, privacy, and separateness in the evening. What resulted instead was a disjointed feeling between academic and social life. The student union turned into little more than a hallway with restaurants, and the quarter mile became an icy trek to be avoided at all costs. Many students would rather leave campus completely for all social activities to escape “Brick City.” When no one wants to spend time on campus, no one is taking part in the dialogue with it.

Not your Ideal College Town

Regrettably, the construction of Park Point represents a microcosm of Rust Belt depopulation and decentralization. Instead of focusing on improving the center of campus life, the urban core, time, and resources were wasted maintaining a baby boomer fascination with building “big box” chain stores in areas only accessible by car. Cars are used out of necessity rather than convenience, adding to pollution problems through the consumption of fossil fuels.

When examining other more classic college towns such as the ones in Buffalo, Cambridge, or Berkley, one can see some common traits that bind these communities together. These college towns have unique shops, one of a kind eateries and pubs, and a mood that can only be found there. This is not the case for Park Point. Instead of a discount used bookstore, RIT students are met with Barnes & Noble, a national chain not known for its low prices or the quality of its selection. Instead of stores specializing in cheap student food, eateries at Park Point are mid-priced family venues, often drawing more people from Henrietta than the actual campus.

The roads of the typical college town are narrow, with many alleys and corridors for students to explore and make home. Street vendors can occupy these places, making shopping a leisure experience. Park Point is the opposite; it is divided by wide roads and sidewalks that often aren’t the most direct route. The area is organized for the car, hindering the words of the campus from being spoken. When students are forced into their cars by necessity, the connection the student feels to the campus is more like a strip mall than a flea market.

Living at “Park” Point

A painfully ironic element of Park Point’s marketing plan is their emphasis on the natural aspect of living. While the beauty of the Henrietta wetlands is next door for reference, the designers of the property insisted on paving a majority of the property. This resulted in nature having to be carted in by the truckload in the form of lawns, pipes, damns, shrubs, ferns, and other manmade alterations to the landscape.

Another interesting choice that was made was the design of the apartments themselves. While there were isolated instances of poor workmanship related to hurrying to finish the apartments on time, the overall feel of the buildings is truly suburban. A successful college housing project usually incorporates elements of the porch into the design, allowing students to interact with each other outside of the classroom and creating neighbors amidst residents.

Because of the large indoor space that was created, house parties became more popular in this new region of campus. While the policing of the students is limited in on-campus locations, underage drinking is prohibited by the Wilmorite Corporation. Seeking to protect the interests of the parents who are most likely paying for their exorbitant rates, Wilmorite employs a large contingent of security employees, notorious for inconveniencing students for things such as skateboarding, which is usually ignored on campus. Among other spontaneous actions, Skateboarding can be seen as the poems of campus speech.

Lessons Learned and Plans for the Future

A successful college town is one that provides entertainment and attractions for students in an environment that is free of the stress of school, but is physically close to the people and places that make a college a community. With this in mind, we can begin to see that the construction of the Global Village is a step in the right direction. Located in the center of campus with academic, recreational, and housing elements, the RIT-owned property has the potential to do a lot for the institution as a whole. Students from different disciplines are encouraged to interact in the Innovation Center, while different housing options may place business smarts amidst technological and artistic prowess.

RIT’s image truly needs a facelift. With years of being known as a suburb of Rochester, the last thing we needed was a suburb of our own campus. The planning and latent environmental costs are examples of outdated thinking. If the area in the center of campus is allowed to grow organically, with an emphasis on thrift, the language of RIT’s campus could become simplified and, hopefully, a lot more rewarding to speak fluently.