The Notre Dame Connection
Joanna Mikulski
Tuesday Voice on Friday
Last Friday I sat in the Cincinnati-Western Kentucky Airport, waiting for a plane to take me to Philadelphia. Every half-hour or so, an apologetic Delta employee announced over the microphone that the departure would be another half-hour or so later than planned. Two hours after the scheduled departure time, I called my mother. ÒMom, sorry but I wonÕt be home for Easter this year. The plane to take me to Philly isnÕt going to arrive before the one to return me to Notre Dame.Ó
I sighed and took a seat by the window. ÒSo where are you coming from?Ó the guy next to me asked.
ÒSouth Bend,Ó I replied. ÒHow Ôbout you?Ó
ÒOh, just Cincinnati. Notre Dame?Ó he inquired.
ÒYeah, IÕm a first year,Ó I answered.
ÒYes! My sister and two brothers went to Notre Dame. IÕm a big fan,Ó he exclaimed.
The woman next to me, who had spent the last hour frantically dialing numbers on her cell phone, turned to us. ÒSo you go to ND. How do you like it?Ó
ÒOh, love it,Ó I responded to her, a 1998 graduate.
As we conversed about the current state of our fair University, an older couple seated across from us interrupted our conversation. Their son also went here. A lively conversation ensued about this University and its relationship with the world, which at the moment seemed very, very small. I then noticed a bizarre phenomenon. I had gained the approval of four complete strangers simply through my attendance at this University. The daughter of an alumnus, I have witnessed this before. As my father explains, ÒIf you meet someone else from Notre Dame, that person immediately regards you as ÔokÕ simply because you went (or go) there.Ó
Or know someone who went (or goes) here. My mother, for example, broke the law without punishment for her association with my father. Racing to meet friends arriving for a football game against Navy the next day, she was stopped by a policeman. When he asked her why she had reached 65 miles per hour (or 55 miles per hour depending upon your point of view) on a 45 mile per hour road, she explained about the football game and the friends and my father. The policeman, a fan apparently, let her go. He seemed to regard a Notre Dame football game as an adequate motive for speeding. (Despite my months long agonizing college search, I now know that I made my choice at that moment. Any college that gets you out of a ticket must be superior. And also, why not avoid stress over speed traps if possible?)
Occurrences like the aforementioned sometimes evoke within me the feeling that I have become part of a secret society. As I pondered this feeling, I realized that this University does have some cult-like characteristics. For instance, the elders of the community Ñ the alumni Ñ indoctrinate impressionable youth Ñ their children Ñ with the dogma of this University. I remember reciting our fight song on the bus in fourth grade. My father had written it out for me and sung it (unfortunately) to me numerous times. (According to my aunt, he hummed the melody to me in my crib.)
The isolation of campus augments this indoctrination once the youth arrive to study. Freshmen spend most of the year on one square mile of land as they lack reasons to leave campus and have difficulty doing so when one arises. But I suppose this occurs on many college campuses.
Finally, a friend, Beth, alerted me to a striking parallel between this University and a clandestine community in the wilderness. Freshman Orientation did not mark the first time Beth had been greeted by inhabitants of a place foreign to her with the phrase, ÒWelcome home.Ó Apparently, she had driven a friend to a hippie, earth-loving camp isolated in the woods of western Pa., where the campers also used this expression to welcome visitors (home, perhaps). Needless to say, Beth felt rather uncertain of her choice of college on her first day here.
But I believe that the phrase, Òwelcome home,Ó and the other seemingly cult-like aspects of the University serve simply as marks of its strong sense of community. The presence of active alumni clubs also speaks of this unity.
And my connection with fellow Domers in the Cincinnati airport certainly made the wait for the plane more bearable and less lonely, although I believe I would have eventually made other friends while waiting for my connecting flight to Philadelphia. I mean, who can spend six hours in an airport without at least talking to somebody?
But the ÒNotre Dame ConnectionÓ certainly did make it very easy for me to find friends.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Friday, April 28, 2000
