By ERIC SEO
There is something special about working on a problem on a chalkboard. It is more personal than that of the whiteboard with (too) dry-erase markers. The experience is of nostalgic timelessness—it is of importance. When writing on a chalkboard, one feels important. Media and history confirms, and perhaps constructs, this sensation, with historical mathematicians, physicists, chemists, and so on using the thought-to-be antiquated medium for their breakthroughs and discoveries. Indeed, if one enters “famous person,” into Google Images, they need not scroll far to find a chalkboard or two in the backgrounds of photos.
Certainly some will naïvely argue in favor of white boards, despite illegible marker colors, ineffective erasers, and expensive plastic markers with a dubious chirographic capacity. One need only a fresh blackboard and piece of Hagoromo chalk to understand the true superiority of chalk.
Nevertheless, chalkboards are dying. They are being eradicated from classrooms around the country at an alarming rate. Though, they are not the only things being stolen from campus—with them leaves the charm of what has come before, the sweet scent of paperback books, the sunset hue of lamps older than I, the chromatic variety of one’s environment…
With the chalkboards, leaves the charm of our dear campus. What is left in their wake? The cold, dead, impersonal, lifelessness of whiteboards. In fact, this very phenomenon can be witnessed in the newly reconstructed library. The study rooms in the back of the library have had their chalkboards purloined, only to be replaced by their synthetic, plastic counterparts. The scope of this fact is more than the boaring swaps; it is happening all over Beloit College.
This is not the first op-ed expressing distaste towards the Powerhouse, nor will it be the last, but it, the Powerhouse, serves as a constant reminder that chalkboards are getting swapped for whiteboards. The Powerhouse is the epitome of a whiteboard; it is uninviting and sterile. The cool lighting and cacophonous acoustics suck the magic out of the campus’ soul. It is a dementor in a hospital, stealing happiness from patients.
Morse Library is no exception. Not only have all of its chalkboards been removed in favor of whiteboards, but the entire place has. The ceiling is luridly white and artificial; the carpet is featureless; the rooms are of a dull, nondescript gray; the important air of magic that once was is no more. The library lacks the character that it once brandished in the face of sleep-deprived students. In the place of the pillowy light radiating from mushroom lamps is the harsh attack of ceiling LEDs.
That magic still exists, though. It exists in Godfrey and MI’s lounges, under Bob Elder and Ben Stucky’s colorful chalk, and in GLAM tea and Eaton Chapel. It is possible to renovate spaces while preserving the chalkboard within.
Unfortunately, Pearsons was recently purged of its chalkboards, too. It has fallen victim to white board syndrome and has entered the Powerhouse hospital. The lighting has become cold; the color of blue abrasive; the floor and furniture cheaply replaced. Campus renovations have yielded an ineffective modernization, eliminating the warm allure our spaces once had.
Our chalkboards have died. They have become whiteboards.
Featured Image Credit: mycutegraphics.com
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