 |
Glenn Matsumura |
curly-haired j.t. batson
had such an awesome time during his freshman year in
Branner Hall, the Augusta, Ga., native decided to relive
the experience—and give something back to the
University—by becoming a resident assistant in
Cedro, an all freshman-house at Wilbur Hall. According
to the Office of Residential Education, RAs are officially
responsible “for creating residential environments
that enhance student academic progress and promote the
intellectual life of the residence.” In fact,
Batson has worn many hats during his two-year stint:
impromptu academic adviser, crisis counselor, roommate
peace negotiator, party planner, emergency chauffeur
and middle-of-the-night locksmith. The senior poli sci
major gets about $7,000 annually for the job, plus a
coveted single room. But, he drawls, “I would
do it again next year, even if I didn’t get paid.”
Yes, they memorize every name and photo.
Before Orientation last year, Batson committed the names
and faces of all 86 Cedro freshmen to memory. “Some
RAs are better at it than others,” he acknowledges.
“I’d hate to be in a huge house, like Branner
or Roble.”
It’s a 24/7 job.
Batson sleeps, attends his classes and does his homework.
Otherwise, though, the frosh in his house expect him
to be there for them. “We give freshmen laminated
emergency cards, and they do call,” he notes.
Sometimes students need a ride to the health center
late at night, or they ask to borrow his car. (The answer
is no.) Students also tend to lock themselves out of
their rooms, particularly at the beginning of the year.
“I even had a mom call me at 8 o’clock one
morning to tell me that her son didn’t like his
roommate.”
Freshmen get the blues.
RAs in all-freshmen houses tend to deal with predictable
problems: teenagers reveling a bit too much in their
new freedom, student anxiety over academic assignments
or finances, homesickness or shyness. Batson notes that
the first midterm period is especially tough on frosh—for
many, it’s the first time they have ever received
any grade less than an A. Another rough spot comes just
after winter break, when family conflicts and breakups
with high school sweethearts are common.
Dorm cop—or friend?
“I prefer to think of myself as the cool uncle,”
Batson says, “or the responsible older brother.”
In fact, RAs must walk a fine line between policing
students and developing good relations with them. He
explains, “You have to set expectations about
what life will be like in the dorm, what is acceptable
and what is not acceptable.” With alcohol, for
example, “RAs cannot do anything that would encourage
an underage person to drink. You cannot buy alcohol
for someone underage, and you cannot serve it. You can’t
even say, ‘It’s okay to drink, just don’t
get caught.’ We say, ‘You know what the
law is—and Stanford isn’t a haven. Here
are the possible consequences if you break the law.”
Dorm romances = RA headaches.
Batson recalls one group of five or six male
students last year “who bonded purely because
they were going after the same girl. They were inseparable
until beginning of spring quarter, when one of the guys
actually started dating her.” Immediately, “the
group shattered and their real feelings came out.”
RAs themselves are “strongly discouraged”
by Stanford’s sexual harassment policy from having
consensual sexual and/or romantic relationships with
any of their residents. Relationships with freshmen
are flatly prohibited.
It’s not enough to keep the door open.
Batson makes a point each night of going by every room
with an open door and saying goodnight, “just
to see how everyone is doing.” He also looks for
activities to share with the students. Last year, girls
in his hall would pack into his room every Tuesday night
to watch Real World on television. Another group of
frosh males would accompany him to Stanford basketball
games. “You can’t just leave your door open
and expect them to come to you—you have to put
yourself out there.” And, he says, “It always
helps to have candy.” |
