COLUMN: Ben, the godfather of Penn

From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99 From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99It has been many years since I first sat on this bench with my Gazette. You think I see nothing, but I notice all. You sit on me and take my picture. Weekends are worst, for the crowds of partygoers are inclined to relieving themselves on my lap late Saturday night. During the week of graduation, I meet your siblings and grandparents as you dutifully explain that I am the founder of this fine institution. Really, my locale is superb. Right smack in the middle of campus, where Quad denizens and Locust Walk commuters cross paths. My colleagues are scattered, banished to the far corners of this University. Like that poor bastard in front of the library, forced to sit stick-straight for all eternity, staring at the heinous-looking Van Pelt. I do envy his view of the Button, though -- that monument gets quite a bit of action. But I am so much cuter, and you will see me on more brochures and calendars than the old tight-ass on College Green. It is most interesting to watch the freshman maturation process. I see them tentatively venture out in September, looking for a class, scoping out a party or escaping an undesirable roommate. Then I see them stumble back in, invariably drunk. The goal is to look as cool and casual as possible throughout these initiation experiences. The result is magnificently hilarious. Please understand that I silently applaud the steady advances that these freshmen make over the semester. From the girl who finally got a clue and bought a large black pocketbook to the moron who managed to pass Communications 101, I am the sole observer of their progress. I could give those freshmen advisors an earful of information. If I could talk. My most enjoyable view is of the students congregating across the walk every spring. I love watching the pretty people eat lunch, study or pretend to do both. A close second is on the rare occasion when a frat brother forgets to shut his window shades. Oh my, why did I have to live in the 18th century? Favorite time of year? Easy. Pledging. The Tabard pledges are an absolute riot when they hop backwards in high-heeled sandals. It takes them about five minutes to pass me by and I can stare the whole time without being noticed. Fleeting moments of idiocy: wedgy picking, waves that are unseen or ignored, tired souls attempting to rollerblade up the bridge. Sublime. A baby brother sitting next to me and starting a conversation. First kisses. Happy fans on the way home from the Palestra. Victory dances upon the completion of the last final. Still, it is not easy being bronze. I have read this newspaper too many times and my back is starting to hurt. But I am consoled by the distractions college life provides: It is first-class entertainment and I have the best seat in the house. I see you marching to class enjoying what we have created. I do not mind that I am mostly unrecognized; it helps me avoid being at the wrong end of a drunken heave. But I occasionally get lonely. So do me a favor and give me a nod the next time you pass me by. I have been watching, and I approve.