Tingle Hall

Tingle

The new room — in Tingle Hall in the Hamilton residence complex at the U of O. Thom checks out his half of the space and charts his plan of attack. To me, it seemed like he got everything taken care of in about an hour.

Thirty-one years ago this month, John and Lydell and I all moved into our rooms in Wilkins Hall at Illinois State (our one-time home was recently in the news — it just got renovated). Thirty years ago, so my memory isn’t as clear. But: It seemed like we had a little more room. Or maybe not: I think it didn’t matter too much to me when I got there what the room and the food and my roommate and hall neighbors were like. I was just kind of happy to be going to school. My semi-wide-eyed pleasure with the new experience didn’t last long, and I fell into bad school habits and traded new roommates at the first opportunity. But in ways that I couldn’t have imagined, moving into that room started me on the path that led me here to Oregon right now.

5 Replies to “Tingle Hall”

  1. Well, I definitely like the word, “tingle.” As a verb, it conjures up previously unthought of possibilities in lodging. But, I doubt this place was named after the verb.
    I do detect a wistfulness in your voice for what this room could lead Tom to and where he will be in 30 years.
    P.S. I love the windows in his room.

  2. For me the name Tingle reminds me of the movie “Killing Mrs. Tingle” in which some students take their teacher (a lighter role for Helen Mirren) hostage. Hopefully, and almost assuredly our newest Duck will not have the same problem with his teachers.

  3. Don’t forget “The Tingler” — the Vincent Price scarefest.
    Wistful? Yes, definitely. Mostly because a huge and mostly incredibly enjoyable chapter of our lives is giving way to a new one. (I have a hard time letting go and saying goodbye; for me, the most memorable chapter of “Lord of the Rings” is the very last one, when Sam must go home by himself. I felt absolutely desolate reading that.) I also couldn’t help but reflect on the 11-rail billiard shot that brought me from Normal, Illinois, (I always love writing the name of that town) to Eugene.

  4. Just to clarify, you went from Normal to Eugene – but not in a day? I always thought Kate had something to do with you ending up in Eugene. I’m a little confused.
    P.S. You did make the shot. Right?

  5. Hmmm. I think I’m getting too complex for my own good.
    But: Regarding the shot in question, I think I’m the
    ball. Life is the billiard table. And the shooter is
    — oh, my god — some unknown outside force. (I think
    the basic idea is conveyed in the song title “Drop
    Kick Me Jesus Through the Goalposts of Life” — though
    I don’t see Christ as a billiards man).
    And: Normal to Eugene took 31 years.

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