The Carl Online


A House for Everyone, and Me by carlmagazine
October 30, 2010, 9:38 pm
Filed under: Campus, Feature | Tags: , , ,

By Emily Ban

I was drawn to the idea of living in Dacie’s because of the open-door spirit and the warmth of community that surrounds the house. Admittedly, part of the draw was that I could be paid to bake, something I always spent a whole lot of time doing anyway. My roommate (Emily Winer) and I wanted to help maintain the wonderful tradition of “grandma Dacie’s” while somehow incorporating ourselves into the house. While living here this summer, we started hosting themed Wednesday night dessert parties that were open to the Northfield community and we were amazed at how many people came each week! My personal favorite event which we threw together was the “1950’s Dessert Party” where we served banana cream pie, angel food cake, and about a hundred whoopee pies. Ultimately, I think I chose to live here because I wanted to live in a home and encourage other students to make Dacie’s a home too.

Living here has been a wonderful experience so far although it is a very different experience living and working here in the summer and during the school year. Granted, it is a rather unique living environment for a student, I sometimes feel as if I’m an RA for the entire community because it seems as though almost all of Carleton passes through my house. While it can be very frustrating to know that sometimes students take ingredients for their own use or borrow pots and forget to return them, living here has generally given me more faith in people. Truly, this house would not exist if there wasn’t such a large group of students who not just use the house respectfully but genuinely care about it as a beloved part of the Carleton community.
I’m always so happy to see students using the kitchen to bake and bond with their floormates over improvised recipes. I also love having the acapella groups here, I’m a very big Knights fan so I feel pretty lucky to get to listen to them practice as I work. I’m also very excited about our new floors and carpet (everyone should come by and see!) and I’m even more excited that the whole carpet installation process is over! It’s always slightly anxiety-provoking to change the house in any way because there are a lot of community members and alums who want the house to remain exactly as it was when Dacie lived here.

I personally think Dacie would love our new floors and would be happy that the carpets were so thoroughly used by adoring students that they had to be replaced at all. From what I know about her, I think that she would be very pleased that her house is still a home for so many Carleton students and for me.



The Strength of Generosity: An Interview with Julia Uleberg by carlmagazine
October 29, 2010, 9:42 pm
Filed under: Campus, Feature | Tags: , ,

By Yuvika Diwan

Comfy couches. Haunting smells of freshly baked cookies. Tinkling music in the background. And now, crunchy carpets. As I stepped into Dacie Moses House, one sunny afternoon, I was greeted by a confused dog who came out of the kitchen to the living room, now decked up with a lavish blue carpeted floor. I walked to the kitchen, and as I had expected, there were cookies waiting for suddenly-hungry-stomachs, and I grabbed one (while thinking if I should grab another, and moving away before I could), and walked down from the kitchen into the little garden at the back of the house. There I met Julia, the coordinator of Dacie Moses House, cutting vegetables on the hammock, and then moving blocks of firewood, leftover from a bonfire that was used in one of the Sunday brunches.

Julia first came to the House, 22 years ago, many years after Dacie’s death. What brought her to live in this 100 year old house within the boundaries of a student campus? She was attracted to the ‘community idea’ of living in Dacies, and how a history had to be preserved within its confines. Dacie, when she was alive, was an ordinary resident in Northfield, who opened her house for students, feeding them with the best that her cooking skills could create. After her retirement, she is believed to have used her pension money to maintain the same relationship with students as long as she could. In return, students volunteered to run her errands, paid her grocery bills, and later when she was unable to bake on her own, baked for her and other students, continuing this tradition. And this tradition amazingly continues to exist. Julia calls it ‘the spirit and strength of generosity’ that Dacie has left behind. According to Julia, with Dacie’s death the ownership of the house passed on into the hands of students. Student ownership is now kept alive by her and the student workers and through continuously organized events in the house. It is an open house, which means any student can come in and make use of its services. This is one aspect that particularly appeals to me about coming and hanging out in Dacies. Even as I looked all around me, while talking to Julia, I noticed a left over cup of water, a forgotten baseball glove, an opened sheet of music and cushions that looked sat down on. The house is happily lived in by so many people, and when they walk out from the front door, they leave some imprints behind. This is a house bundled with layers of memories. Nothing lasts forever, and the house has become more and more fragile with the amount of traffic and usage that it undergoes every term. There have been many occasions when the existence of the house has been threatened by people who feel that it could be much better used. But the student energy has brought life and energy to this house and so it has stayed. There is still a lot of concern for it, not just among the alumni, but also current Carleton students, who never knew Dacie in person. Referring to the replacement of 20 year old carpets, she says,’We are just dressin’ the old gal.’

Before I left Julia and Dacies, I reminded myself to grab another cookie.



Schiller Lives On, But Why? by carlmagazine
October 10, 2010, 11:59 am
Filed under: Campus, Feature | Tags: , , , , ,

By Lily Schieber

What’s the big deal with Schiller, anyway? Seriously: think about it for a minute. We’re lucky if we see him a handful of times in the year, and most of us will go through our entire academic career here at Carleton without ever coming close to touching this infamous bust—or one of the two busts, as the case may be. I’ve spent the past week or so trying to get as much input from as many students as possible about what makes this tradition so important (a big thanks to those who replied to my mass emails!). I hoped this would bring me closer to understanding this Carleton custom; in fact, the responses added to my bewilderment. People get upset when Schiller doesn’t appear for extended periods of time, it can be stressful to plan a showing, and yet the one thing it seems everybody agrees on is that if anyone tried to stop this tradition, students would NOT be pleased. Let’s put it this way: if the Carleton student body were in a Facebook relationship with Schiller, it would be labeled “It’s Complicated”.

And that’s not a totally outlandish idea. Not wanting Schiller to be left in the dark ages, Carls with some spare time on their hands have created (at least) four separate Schiller Facebook accounts. These Schiller profiles serve as a living archive of pictures, posted alongside student opinions and praise, and maybe like many other online relationships, are just another way for us all to feel close to Schiller, even though we’ve never actually met. I was friends with only one of these Schillers until about two weeks ago, and when I received a friend request from another Schiller, I hesitated. Do I need two imaginary Facebook friends? But for whatever reason, I realized it would have felt weird to say no—and apparently I’m not the only one who felt this way, because I’m certainly not these Schillers’ only Facebook friend. Yet despite his online popularity and great reputation, it’s hard for any one of us to pinpoint why he remains a necessary part of our campus life. Because no single Carl can answer the question, “Why Schiller?”, we devote this week’s feature to a collection of stories and opinions from various students about the history and mystery of our beloved poet, philosopher, historian, playwright, and bust: Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller.

There is little for a current Guardian to say about his job. It is one that requires a surprising amount of work, thought, and planning, and while it comes with no direct recognition, hearing people talk to you about your showings without realizing that you were the perpetrator makes the job worthwhile. Next time you talk to someone about Schiller, just think about the fact that you might be talking to a Guardian without even realizing it.

We have little else to say on matters regarding our current relationship with the great philosopher, other than that he is alive and well, resting calmly for his next presentation. We will however, note that if Poskanzer’s interactions with Schiller thus far are any indication of his presidential term, Steven G. Poskanzer is going to do very well here. The pictures we submitted with this article, along with the shaving picture from a few weeks ago, only scratch the surface of the fun approach Poskanzer has had with us. We have had a secret meeting in the Arb with him, code words, poetry recitings, obscure phone messages, emails full of literary allusion. He is, at once, both a smart and funny man.

For obvious reasons of security, the remainder of the article will focus not on where we are now, as Guardians, but what has come before us. We will attempt to demystify some of the legend and lore surrounding the bust, or, as is truly the case as of present, busts; as became obvious at Frisbee Toss, there are two distinct busts on campus, both of which have some historical claim to legitimacy. Both have actually been on campus for some time (ours since 1989 and the other since 1996), and while both have been simultaneously active before, one is often dormant for some period while the other is active.

Because the busts regularly sustain damage, President Lewis was willing to replace busts that were reported to be beyond recognition, each time with an exact replica of the original Schiller bust. In 1988, a bust from the line of originals was annihilated in a showing with the Pep band and all that was left was the nose. President Lewis replaced that bust with one of the two that is currently circulating at Carleton—the one pictured with Poskanzer on the cover of the previous edition of the Carl (first pictured in the 1989 summer edition of The Voice). In keeping with tradition, the bust that President Lewis bestowed upon students as a replacement in 1989 was of the same size and shape as all previous busts. This is the one that we now possess.

In 1996, reports of a heavily damaged bust prompted yet another replacement. On an iron bridge at the edge of the Arb a group called 85 Lost Sheep organized an extremely elaborate plot for the exchange. This time, seeing how much damage large unwieldy busts had sustained, President Lewis pragmatically chose a small Schiller bust to replace the damaged one, hoping its more convenient size would make it less likely to break. The damaged one that 85 Lost Sheep traded in was the “Imitation Schiller,” not the official bust that Lewis had given to students in 1989. You can see in the attached image that the bust traded for the small one had no shoulders and a stand attached directly to the head. This bust was placed in the Carleton Archives, where it remains today. The bust you may know from the Colbert Report is the small one that President Lewis gave to 85 Lost Sheep in 1996.

A few years later, during the commencement address in 2000, President Bill Clinton wanted his speech to make waves at Carleton. To spice things up, somebody gave him “Imitation Schiller,” which had already been in the archives for 4 years and was no longer in circulation.

Unfortunately very few people really know the path that the busts have taken throughout the years and the archival data is tedious to slog though. As a result, legitimacy is really established by the quality of the appearances that a specific Schiller makes.

Freedom can occur only through education.
-The Guardians-



Tales from the Great Northfield Flood Part 2; Flood of Support by carlmagazine
October 9, 2010, 9:38 am
Filed under: Feature, Northfield | Tags: , , ,

By Teddy Gelderman

I rolled out of bed on Friday morning and clicked on my computer to check my email. There I read a universal call for volunteer sandbaggers to converge downtown at Bridge Square immediately. It was 9am and the river was still rising. As I am a senior, my first class isn’t until 4a, so I figured I might as well go check out the damage. When I hopped off my bike  twenty minutes later, I got my first glimpse of the inundated Northfield that we all came to know last weekend.

At first, I wasn’t sure about what I was supposed to do, or if they even needed volunteers. Then, as if on queue, someone jogged over to a crowd of us bystanders and directed us where to go. Water was creeping higher and higher and was now only inches from some windows along the waterfront sidewalk. I stepped down the two remaining visible steps onto what was normally a riverfront walkway, and was met with two feet of water, which meant that for the rest of the day my shoes and pants would be drenched. We formed the first of many sandbag brigade lines and quickly fortified what we could. By then it was 10:00 am and it seemed unlikely that the river would crest within the hour, as was previously predicted. However, the water was still climbing and would soon overcome Northfield’s first line of defense.

From then on, I followed the small splinter cells of sandbaggers up and down both sides of the river stacking, heaving, filling, tying, and hauling   sandbags for the next two hours. I took orders from whoever was giving them and the minutes clicked on as the river inched its way higher and higher up the walls.

I realized just after noon that I was late for my 4a, and rushed back to catch the tail end of class. Once class was out, I set out for the river again, filed myself back into another sandbag brigade line and was instantly passing bags down to the other volunteers.
And the day passed. Our original efforts were washed away or simply overwhelmed by the water, but by 6:00pm it seemed as though the worst was over. Our walls were holding and the river seemed content to rise no further. The volunteers were called off and most of us walked home: shovels scraping the asphalt behind us, dragged by sore, bruised arms and shoulders.

While the Flood of 2010 will be recorded as one of the most memorable in the city’s history, what remains most impressive is the response from Northfield’s own residents. Long before I arrived and long after I left, people of all ages were doing their part. Like a colony of ants, every individual worked with little to no central organization or direction. They just worked, and out of what should have been chaos, came order. Filling stations and line brigades seemed to materialize and organize on their own.

A voice would call out for more people to move sandbags, or that a wheelbarrow had a bad wheel, or that one station was getting low on sand, and before the voice had stopped echoing off the nearest building, extra volunteers would flock to fill line gaps, bring replacement parts, or find out when the next load of sand would arrive. Oles, Carls, and even Raiders worked side by side, joining together in numbers perhaps never seen before in Northfield. Classes and practices were cancelled to provide replacement workers for the volunteers. All of Northfield was put on hold and its citizens banded together to work for something bigger than the sum of their parts. All of us moved like tiny gears in a giant, living machine. It was truly inspiring.

And yes, there were apathetic bystanders, and even bow-hunting fishermen. But for every one gawker or opportunistic angler, there were at least 50 people, sandy, sweaty and tired, doing their damnedest to help.

Our town came together in a matter of hours to battle with the Cannon River, and while there were casualties—a moment of silence for Froggy’s—in the end, the day was ours. We have a city filled with generous, hard working, and self-sacrificing individuals and I have never been more proud to be a member of our community, or to live in Northfield.