COLUMN: Vikings build Aggie apartment complex
Most people would say my apartment complex is a little on the old side.
Not everyone. Napoleon, for instance, might think it was pretty new. But most anyone else would think it pales in comparison to many of Logan’s finer accommodations.
Many spots on the wall have clearly been plastered over. Well, maybe “spots” isn’t an accurate term. “Walls” might be more precise. The original color of the carpet is a mystery, and may in fact be a hardwood floor.
It’s by no means unlivable, in fact it’s downright paradisiacal compared to a few places. But it did get me wondering about the history of my apartment. In all of these years, who has lived in my room before me? What historical events took place in my living room? The potential seemed incredible.
I did a little research, and came up with a whole list of interesting facts. I’ve arranged them chronologically because it seemed like the most logical way to do it.
December 1346 – The complex is built by Pat Moon, a disenchanted Viking. Moon and his family live there through several generations, renting out extra rooms to local groups of Native Americans during local business conferences. Eventually the family vanishes, either through assimilation into nearby tribes or after fatal mishaps goofing off in Sardine Canyon. The complex is left uninhabited.
May 1851 – The complex is restored by Eddie Mondale, Mormon Pioneer, prospector and local entrepreneur. Mondale also rents out additional units, and makes many friends in the area by giving discounts on most utility bills. “If the amenities don’t even exist,” he explained in his journal, “how can I justify charging the same as the competition?”
November 1929 – After losing his family fortune in the stock market crash, Edward Taylor moves into my future room and promptly starts a new life as a street mime. “Life has shown me I know nothing about finance,” he wrote in a letter to his mother, “I feel confident I will find meaning when I escape from this invisible box.”
April 1949 – Werner Banks, chemist, physicist and bowling enthusiast, moves into my room and begins research on simple explosives. Three months later a small atom bomb explodes in his gym shorts while he is napping, leveling half of the complex and leaving him convinced he is former President Theodore Roosevelt.
June 1958 – Tragedy strikes when a group of enraged bison stampedes through an innocent weekend party in apartment #3. Twelve students are injured and Hoss Weaton’s entire Chuck Berry record collection is destroyed.
April 1961 – President John F. Kennedy stays in my apartment in a futile attempt to escape the scrutiny of the press. He enrolls in several USU courses, including Intro to American National Government, Advanced Negotiation, and Theory of Badminton. After two weeks, the president relents and returns to Washington. “I will always love the people of Cache Valley,” he remarks, “but I will never understand this mysterious ‘True Aggie’ bit.”
October 1976 – Jana Pinkerton is serenaded outside her window by Bill Yak, ag science major and aspiring Flemish impressionist. Jana is wooed, they marry, and Bill decides to run for city council, where he lobbies for several years to grant special tax breaks to anyone who can play the ukulele.
February 1983 – Willy Johansen moves into the complex with the intention of expanding the Amway network he had begun in Farmington. After six months, Willy’s network had only expanded by three, two of which were aliases used by his roommate Steve. Discouraged and broke, Willy turns to a life of crime, housing illegal immigrants on their way to high-paying jobs in Canada.
May 1985 – Wanda Floss is officially the first tenant of the complex to use the stove.
June 1985 – Wanda Floss starts a fire cooking a roast that kills her three roommates and closes the complex for five days to repair fire damage.
March 1992 – Alex Bob is abducted by aliens while showering. He is returned to the Quad four days later and promptly arrested for indecent exposure.
May 2000 – Still reeling after the cancellation of Seinfeld, Wayne Scott’s depression finally overwhelms him and he locks himself inside my future room for six months. He lives on saltine crackers, passes rent checks under the door periodically, and writes poems about various Seinfeld characters to pass the time. When he finally emerges the following November, his only words are, “I must find a cure for this rash.”
Joshua Terry is a graduate student studying American Studies also teaches in the Writing Program. Comments can be sent to
jterry@english.usu.edu