590 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, Massachusetts [PDF]
Author: Jenna Dionisio
Science and Pre-med students spend many an hour, five days of the week, in the Metcalf Center for Science and Engineering (also known as the SCI building) at Boston University. Located on the edge of the city and across the Charles River from Cambridge, this 320,000 square foot building receives visitors of all science backgrounds and all calibers of excellence (Department of Chemistry 1). Ironically, the SCI building is advertised as a place of hospitality, but in reality it is one of the most unappealing places to be for all science students spending their time within the confines of the building.
Maybe it is the sheer reputation and not just the building that is represented. Does this intellect that surrounds Boston University (BU) stem from Harvard College a quarter mile across the river, M.I.T. a quarter mile farther, or from 1999 Nobel Laureate Gerard ‘t Hooft, who once explained his work in the very same room in which I had my biology and chemistry lectures (Schwartz 1)? Hooft addressed the public and affiliates of Boston University on his research with electromagnetic, nuclear, and weak interactions (Schwartz 1). As in this case, I often noticed that the great minds associated with BU are readily accessible to the student; this is almost symbolic of the caliber of excellence that makes up the atmosphere of the SCI building and that is expected of every science major that steps through its glass doors.
As the door of the main entrance opens and the “excellence begins,” the eyes fall on a round, green ventilating tube that collects various fumes from various fume hoods. This “green monster” runs through the lobby and connects the five floors like a thread through a multilayered winter coat. It fails to ventilate five floors of physics, chemistry, and biology laboratories; upon entering the building, there is a nauseating smell akin to something that died and was preserved. Chemistry lab’s inorganic molecules and biology lab’s formaldehyde preservatives are an overwhelming combination to the membranes of the olfactory system in the nose. But the sinus pain and irritated mucous membranes students feel coming out of the laboratory cannot be from the chemicals; research shows that there is not a strong correlation between long-term, chronic exposure and damage to the olfactory system (Gobba 8). Perhaps it is the excessive intake of information, not molecules, that causes such pain and sinus pressure; it seems to happen only when inside the SCI center. The stress and delusions cause the student to think sicknesses exist when they do not. Unknown to all those except the experienced and wise, the only cure for failing to understand what is going on in a lecture is to convert pure drive and determination into hard work to yield knowledge. Those who do not know how to achieve this kind of understanding go on feeling sick to the point of a weakened immune system and increased stress. Undoubtedly, this bad experience adds to the general lack of appeal of the SCI building.
In an effort to make this conversion from ignorance to understanding or to remain sane, some students return to the building up to four times in one day. Climbing up the three flights of stairs alongside the green ventilating tube to the Biology Teaching Laboratories, one’s respiration becomes deeper and heavier as the body cells start to require more oxygen, and the lactic acid buildup in the lower legs shoots painful cramps along fatigued muscles. The downward climb of the stairs is less of a challenge, given that the thighs, hamstrings, and quadriceps work together to coordinate movement and that gravity works with the body rather than against it. The hydrolysis of the energy molecule ATP (Adenosine Triphosphate) provides the molecular energy for muscle contraction to occur (“Unit 10: Demos” 1). Once the supply runs out, glucose and fatty acids must be metabolized from food, a supply that is available 8:30-4:30 in the afternoon from the Science Fare (Dining Services 1). Interesting smells come from this cafeteria and oasis for the hurried professor and the suffering science student. The green ventilator runs through the seating area, creating an open atrium where someone from the fifth floor could wave to a companion who is in the middle of eating a sandwich. Every Wednesday at lunchtime, there is a pot of hot Italian Wedding soup awaiting the famished patron.
Long after the sandwich is finished and the pot of soup is drained, the cafeteria sitting area becomes lonely. The emptiness is further augmented when the sound waves bounce off the empty chairs and floors, transforming every word into an echo, as if it were reflecting the inside emotions of the Science student. Being outstanding and achieving good grades are what many people work toward, unlike me, who loves learning for the sake of learning. Perhaps this is the reason I prefer the stifled echo of footsteps on the paved streets outside. At least the presence of others in the outside world temporarily fills the void created by the empty space.
In the winter, the Science Center becomes more of a victim rather than the terrorist, as it lies helpless and dormant beneath the snow, waiting like a menacing bear for its chance to create havoc once it melts. Here the building is trapped and forced into submission by the snow that covers the wind-worn brick. In a more merciful way, the newly-fallen fluff covers the statue in the front courtyard, a series of silver, metal poles all grouped together like sticks in a faggot. The statue is titled “Explosion” and represents anything in science that undergoes a rapid outburst of energy: a dying star in space, a reaction between an acid and a base, or the emotions of a student when the class average for a chemistry exam comes out to be 37%. It is hard to take when so much time is put into studying, only to have every effort count for nothing when a test grade comes back.
Despite the assistance faculty try to provide, the first year Pre-Med students are responsible for their education, with zero room for error. The footsteps in the hallway follow a trail already blazed by generations of previous science majors. The challenge for today’s students is to emulate those who came before them and to find a way to stand apart from the intelligent masses of the past. For now, the footsteps become an automatic and monotonous route for each student because of how often it is traversed. Waiting for lectures to begin, students socialize in the seatless hallway or in the lecture hall where there are auditorium chairs to accommodate them. “How hard was that test?” and “What the hell was Professor talking about?” are the usual sentiments students express.
Are the students just a number? Within the doors of the Science building they are goaded along like cattle into offices for registration or for additional lessons in office hours. After the initiation stops, the students pick up their books and molecular model set and traverse the same blazed trail they came in on. Does the faculty truly care or are they just doing their job? Are they frozen in the dilemma of having to teach so many students that it is impossible to get to know everyone? A faculty member of the BU Chemistry Department, who prefers to remain anonymous, says, “I was able to make connections with many students. It all depends upon the kind of effort both students and instructors put in.” It is not unreasonable to imagine that a connection can be made, but, given the high volume of students, it is nearly impossible. It is up to the students to be assertive and pull themselves out of this first year isolation. Either the first year Pre-Med students feel too intimidated within a course of 700 registered students to approach the professor, or they have another reason for not taking the initiative to make that connection. Those students end the semester as it began, having the disadvantage of being “another number.” Such is college life.
Pre-med students, dwindling in population by about 10% during the Fall Semester of 2006 (Anonymous 1) are either in an elated, relieved mood to be leaving the Science Center and going into the outside world or deep in thought and seriously contemplating their life choices and current profession. What does it mean when a scientist does better in English and history classes but not the pure science classes that reflect on him or her more weightily? Is that the mettle that Pre-med students are made of? This question of identity is something that these students struggle with, and being in the Science Center only magnifies this feeling. The conflict lies with whether they can withstand the constant expectation to achieve excellence or whether the temptation of a social life eclipses the passion they once felt for science. Those in this field that remain struggle to hold on to any kind of motivation and keep focused as they return to the unsightly building that is the Science Center. Rather than helping to achieve clarity, the atmosphere within the building highlights this conflict in students.
The Bullitzer Prize 2008