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\u201cSpirits in an Intermediate World\u201d<\/strong> by Jason Pankoke<\/em><\/p>\n I don\u2019t believe in ghosts or the afterlife. I do<\/em> believe the specters of human experience waft about our very being and are inextricably anchored to everything shaped by our tools, hands, and minds. Sitting at my mother\u2019s house as I write the current run of C-U Blogfidential<\/span><\/strong>, any glance upward is to a space that I have known for many years and can subtly remember how it was once different and more populated than now with just the two of us. I easily imagine a similar sense of displacement if I was living among all my friends and neighbors of Champaign-Urbana<\/strong> in this \u201cnew normal,\u201d had family crises not steered me to a different path. My guess is walking through a business district that should be teeming with bodies on warmer May days like these is akin to traversing, for lack of a clever euphemism, a ghost town. I\u2019m sure that I would have a visceral reaction to the ongoing emptiness of familiar streets, sidewalks, and hangouts.<\/p>\n The cumulative effect is more pronounced if one wanders among the storied structures on the University of Illinois<\/strong> campus, I guarantee it. Normally at this time of year, I\u2019d secretly look forward to summer break because I find it pleasant to explore the terrain halved by Wright Street<\/strong> when it\u2019s dialed down in bustle, especially the Krannert Center for the Performing Arts<\/strong> sector. Other than the Secret MICRO-FILM Headquarters<\/strong><\/a><\/span> and parks, no place is calmer to me between June and August in the C-U than a chair outside Espresso Royale<\/strong> on Goodwin Avenue<\/strong> as a hazy sun drops behind the Main Quad<\/strong> skyline. Even in the most tranquil moment with a perfect sip of java, it can still feel incomplete. I react slightly to chatter over my shoulder that isn\u2019t happening. I redirect my eyes to a distant street when I know that no one comes or goes. I anticipate the comfort of Altgeld Hall<\/strong> chimes<\/span><\/a> an eternity longer than usual.<\/p>\n Right now, we can\u2019t experience those lingering interactions with our environments at any length due to the shelter-in-place order. I wonder how UIUC seniors are coping with their college experiences coming to a makeshift end<\/a><\/span> as a \u201cvirtual celebration\u201d on Saturday, May 16<\/strong>. Hopefully, they built up enough positive experiences to take with them and revel in for some time. Should any return to their alma mater<\/em> in a future less restrictive, those individualized echoes will be unlocked and flow freely. It\u2019s not just about the notions, however. Spaced between dusty volumes and glass-encased displays is unheralded history with more definition but less hard evidence, dismissed perennially by generations of underclassmen, graduate students, academics, and civil servants. I can choose to not believe in ghosts and still be intrigued by the ways that locals and the campus community process the preternatural.<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n However the tales are relayed during their short C-U residence, from the humored faculty member who repeats sketchy details to the giddy tour guide embellishing them off the cuff, young people can\u2019t help but be intrigued. Many love a good ghost story. Why not hunt one down themselves on a dull weekend, even if the prospects of proving it to be true seem dubious? All it might take is a tour through the UI grounds on a moody evening for that tactile sense of lore to grasp the imagination. With ammunition comes a sense of adventure in seeking out more, whether the students hole up in the library system to research the past or creep about longish hallways to discover for themselves in the present.<\/p>\n Apparently, tales often repeated don\u2019t necessarily result in tales better told. Most pieces that I found while perusing the internet treat the supposed UI hauntings as an amusing footnote and little else, often in \u201clisticle\u201d formats regarding \u201cmost haunted\u2019 colleges or sites<\/span><\/a> in the United States<\/strong>. The sampling does include a handful of mentions that are at least more artfully relayed with a sense of wonder and context, such as by the veteran paranormal researcher<\/span><\/a> and author Troy Taylor<\/strong> of American Hauntings Ink<\/span><\/strong><\/a>, and the rare article backing up the hearsay with reflection based on factual information, like this lighthearted overview from the UI Alumni Association<\/strong><\/span><\/a>. Speculative videos on YouTube<\/strong> seem to be just as spare as most written accounts while dramatic takes on these regional urban legends simply do not exist.<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n
\nMemories of fictive fantasma and sequestered students filter through a closed flagship campus.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n