What happens when you walk across the quad?: an investigative report

Campus editor Laken Kincaid explores what happens when students walk across the quad.

Corinne McDevitt

Campus editor Laken Kincaid explores what happens when students walk across the quad.

Laken Kincaid, Campus Editor

This is my first semester on campus. I know it is a shocker since I always seem like a know-it-all regarding John Carroll. I attribute this over confidence to a looming God complex that I probably should have medicated. It is not like I researched JCU heavily before committing either. I applied to John Carroll in April and had to make a decision to commit within a couple of weeks of my acceptance; my first time setting foot on campus was during my second semester online during the pandemic. 

However, no matter how fresh of a face I may be, I’ve heard the legends about the main quadrangle on campus. As an RA, I tell all of my residents to avoid walking across the quad at all costs. If my friends suggest it, I wince and pull them in the other direction. I can not risk anyone to suffer if the myths are true.

The freshmen were brave at the start of the year; they successfully crossed the quad without trouble (although they were pummeled with heavy insults from Barstool). Now, I think they know how costly their actions could have been. They could have disappeared without seeing the light of the Tween chicken tenders at the end of the tunnel. Those who made it are the lucky ones. 

There are multiple rumors about what occurs when brave souls decide to walk across the grassy lot. The most popular hearsay reported about traversing the quad tells that students who cross are trapped in an endless time loop of Welki’s homework happy hours. Others say previous President Michael D. Johnson’s robotic presence still looms in the area and abducts the walkers and turns them into cyborgs. Another possibility is that students who navigate the plot are killed, cooked and put in the Caf stir fry. Another word on the street says that the caught collegiates are put in the Campion storage closet and slowly turn into dusty craft supplies no organization will ever touch. 

One of the less popular theories says that the captured are forced to become workers, almost like Oompa Loopers, in the clock tower making it ring at the top of every hour. After all, someone has to be up there doing it. Perhaps, when the clock tower turns red on Christmas, they are calling for help. Maybe they get put inside the John Carroll statue and have to endure being called “a thumb” all day. I like to believe that the squirrels on campus attack those who cross and bury their corpses in the Boler Gardens to make the flowers grow. 

I have even heard that the flagpole serves as a reminder for all those we have lost to the quad in the past. Everytime I go for a swim in the fountain beside the St. Ignatius statue, I remember those who have disappeared. I mutter a prayer for those gone and those who will take the risk in the future. Lord, please bless this campus and deter the freshmen from crossing the quad again. If the upperclassmen do it, consider it natural selection. 

*This article is satire.