When I first arrived at Cornell as a sophomore transfer, I was entirely convinced that the University hated me. I found orientation to be completely disorienting. I was absolutely befuddled as to which orientation activities were for transfers, which were for freshmen and which were for both. I was also thoroughly lost. Weaving around the rampant construction on West Campus, I went through a couple of campus maps as I frantically deciphered building codes trying to find out where on earth the Transfer Center was supposed to be. To make matters worse, the weather was decidedly fickle, and I had yet to discover the wisdom of carrying an umbrella on my person at all times.

And matters didn’t end there. I rapidly discovered that I had an odd surprise waiting for me. When I moved in to my residence hall, I realized that I wasn’t assigned housing with other transfers in the Transfer Center. In fact, I was not assigned housing with upperclassmen at all. Instead, I found myself exiled to North Campus, living with freshmen as a sophomore. I can assure you I was less than charmed — it was all I could do not to break something (like my housing contract, for example).

Put yourself in my shoes. I wasn’t an RA, I’ve never been a social butterfly, and here I was stuck in a building full of individuals who didn’t have a clue about what college was like. Worse, I knew my personality and clothing preference would be working against me: I’m well aware that dressing like a baby boomer and looking like I’m two minutes away from a midlife crisis can sometimes be a problematic. I was resigned for the worst.

Shockingly (and albeit despite a slightly bumpy start), the year proved far better than I expected. I rapidly grew to enjoy Cornell. The freshmen, though boisterous, were also kind and courteous. They treated me like an older sibling, and invariably sought my advice. I, in turn, was always eager to lend a sympathetic ear and share my own first year college experience with them. I was able to bond with these freshmen in a way akin to RAs without any of the corollary responsibilities, and I have now seen many of them rise to positions of prominence on campus.

While I am glad I had the opportunity to experience North Campus, I must admit I was thrilled to move to Becker House on West Campus. I’ve written about this before, so perhaps you are aware that I am an enthusiastic fan of the West Campus House system. I am convinced it will be the cornerstone of the Cornell experience in the years to come.

Partly because I’m a senior, I’ve been thinking a great deal about what “the Cornell experience” precisely means. It is a fundamentally odd concept and highly subjective. Of course, the Cornell experience is different and individual — how could it be anything else?

Still, one inescapable portion of attending Cornell is living in on-campus housing for at least part of one’s time here. It can, quite appropriately, be considered a common part of everyone’s Cornell experience. And, despite the fact that I spend so much time in Uris Library that I ought to start paying rent, I can speak with some experience to Cornell’s residential life.

Lack of adequate, let alone attractive, residential housing is a chronic problem for Cornell (as the current conflict between town and gown in Collegetown demonstrates). A. D. White’s idea of integrating Cornell students into the surrounding community simply has not worked (sorry Andy, a swing and a miss). Cornell needs to give this issue top priority; indeed, recent decisions to expand the University’s undergraduate population demand this.

The West Campus House System is an elegant answer to these concerns: comfortable facilities and an inclusive community are indeed enticing. But, quite obviously, there is much room for improvement. Primarily, the Houses need to do a better job of engaging new members. One has only to look at others areas of the Cornell community for inspiration.

I have always been struck by the central role mentors play in ensuring the success of the diverse Cornell communities. From an incredible array of student organizations to Greek houses to athletic teams, mentors are the glue that help to bind new members into existing social structures. Freshmen have RAs serve as mentors guiding them through the pitfalls of the crucial first year, and often this is a bedrock relationship during that key time. It would seem that the House system might wish to take a page from this book.

The West Campus Houses should actively recruit returning students of the House system to serve as mentors to new House members. These mentors could serve as low-key liaisons to and resources for a new “class” in the House, supplementing the existing support network offered by GRFs and House staff. These mentors should also organize a House orientation for new members during the first week of classes. A conscious effort needs to be made to include new members in House programs and activities; indeed, this would be crucial to creating a common feeling among new members of a House. Residential Programs on North Campus excel at nurturing; this is something that must be emulated by the House system.

Ultimately, the Cornell experience is about establishing new friendships, discovering new interests, exploring unexpected detours and, invariably, stumbling on a pleasant surprise or two. Take a look at my senior year. I’ve lived with underclassmen again; the group is an odd collection, including a disc jockey, an “athlete” (read: treasure of the roller hockey B team) and one more or less rational individual. They can be annoying, immature and are far too clever for their own good. But you know what? I can’t think of a place I’d rather have lived.