Bowman-Oates Hall, a dorm that sat a mile or so north of the downtown area, was completed in 1968 but originally began under much duress in the early throes of the twentieth century. That said, it was an interesting place to live, to watch people and the world go by, and to be amazed at how various interpretations of architecture and housing requirements, from just as many numerous university administrators over the years, could seamlessly fit together into what generally could be a very depressing place to live.
The dormitory was originally a wooden frame building built with money and labor from men students on the site of the former Bucket Boarding House. This non-descript boarding house was burnt to the ground after a bonfire, started by many of the same students to - ironically - celebrate homecoming, got terribly out of hand. While conceived as a temporary replacement, the new building remained standing longer than expected and eventually earned "eyesore status" after a mere eight years.
It wasn't until 1912 that famed architect and visiting professor Magnus "Dass" Paulsson (who had famously referred to the building as the "Bucket of Drit House" during a graduation ceremony) designed plans to replace it with a more permanent brick structure. Financial shortcomings prevailed, however, and the university was only able to encase the one-story wooden building within a wall of brick and mortar. The 1911 senior class donated money for a bulbous cupola, installed by 1916.
The fledging alumni association sought to increase awareness of what was now being called the "Men's Dorm" by beginning a Buy-a-Brick program in the early 1920's. For every donation to the program, former students could have a message engraved on the bricks being used to strengthen the foundation (university archives have two such bricks that were part of the program on display). So great was the interest that the university was able to add a second floor – once the cupola was removed.
Little work was done of the dormitory in the years leading up to the Great Depression, as the administration wrestled internally with what to do with the cupola – replace it atop the two-story building or delay installation. Now bearing classical Greek overtones, the building sported five columns that represented the university's then-five schools (now colleges), and some of the eeriest graffiti this side of the Mississippi.
Once the decision to replace the cupola was made, President Bowman resigned and returned to active duty with the United States Air Force. Following his death overseas, the university renamed the residence Bowman Hall, with plans to double the occupancy. Due to a misunderstanding with the building contractor, the third and fourth floors were constructed adjacent to the first and second floors. The pedestrian walkway between the two halves was covered in the mid-1950s, shortly before the "second half" won the honorary name Oates Hall in a raffle.
By 1961, the need for more housing prompted the university to try again with the additional floor space. There was just cause for celebration when the building blossomed into a four-story dormitory, though restricted entirely to female students. Modifications during this time included, externally, the addition of a gaudy amount of aluminum trim and the bricking up of dormer windows, as well as the realization that most of the area on the third floor of Bowman Hall was taken up by the cupola. It was eventually wedged out a window as a protest to the war in Viet Nam, student service fees, and other what not. Bowman-Oates Hall went coed by the 70s, prompting streaking and Oates Hall to sprout a wing of rooms on a truncated fifth floor, dubbed the Pentahouse. (No reason was given as to why Bowman Hall remained four stories.)
Anyway, by my time on campus, the university had grown up and out around the old residence – one of the two streets it sat adjacent to was redeveloped into a mall area that straddled the line between progressive academic buildings (like the neighboring Communication Building) and chintzy, kitschy post-WWII era schlock (the over-remodeled residential areas between downtown and campus). Across the other street (now a delivery zone terminus) was the rear of the Communication Building and the skeletal radio tower. This tower stood out like a sore thumb for a few reasons, the main one being its height (approximately 200-feet tall). There was a certain architectural charm to it, too, as it was a modern convenience on a horizon surrounded by mostly 80-to-90-year-old buildings.
Not long into my freshman year I heard the urban legend about certain rooms of Bowman-Oates Hall being able to pick up the radio station. That's right - due to the proximity of the tower, people said they were actually able to hear the radio station in the aluminum siding, window frames, and air conditioner units in rooms facing the Communication Building. I never knew how clearly these people could hear the station – apparently noticeable enough to perceive sound – or if there were atmospheric conditions that allowed this, but it was one of those odd stories that popped into my mind from time to time. I wondered then where else could you hear the station? The tiny metal cylinder on the end of pencils? The braces on your teeth? The metal chairs in the lobby? In my later years during a music shift, I related the story and dedicated an hour’s worth of music to those listening across the street; I’m sure it must have sounded strange and I wondered if the audience envisioned students with their ears to the wall.
There was little celebration of the old apartment building’s 100th year – or at least the centennial of when the original section of the building was constructed. I don’t think much noise was made when the building was finally leveled a number of years after I graduated, either.
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The Old Apartment
(Steven Page/Ed Robertson)
Barenaked Ladies
From the album Born on a Pirate Ship
1996
Broke into the old apartment
This is where we used to live
Broken glass, broke and hungry
Broken hearts and broken bones
This is where we used to live
Why did you paint the walls?
Why did you clean the floor?
Why did you plaster over the hole I punched in the door?
This is where we used to live
Why did you keep the mousetrap?
Why did you keep the dishrack?
These things used to be mine
I guess they still are, I want them back
Broke into the old apartment
Forty-two stairs from the street
Crooked landing, crooked landlord
Narrow laneway filled with crooks.
This is where we used to live.
Why did they pave the lawn?
Why did they change the locks?
Why did I have to break it, I only came here to talk
This is where we used to live
How is the neighbor downstairs?
How is her temper this year?
I turned up your tv and stomped on the floor just for fun
I know we dont live here anymore
We bought an old house on the danforth
She loves me and her body keeps me warm
Im happy here
But this is where we used to live
Broke into the old apartment
Tore the phone out of the wall
Only memories, fading memories
Blending into dull tableaux
I want them back
I want them back
