In the fall of 1953 the Cal Aggie student body changed dramatically, with a larger number of female students enrolling than ever before. This new influx brought the number of women up to approximately 150. The male population was about 1,000. Most incoming freshman girls were placed in either North or South halls. As an incoming freshman home ec student, I was assigned to North Hall.

I was given a single room on the first floor, in the southeast corner directly across the hall from the housemother, Mrs. McMillian. This fact did not go unnoticed by my mother, who was as delighted as I was apprehensive. When I first saw the room, it was a great shock to me, and I just sucked in my breath and let the tears well up. My first thought was that I would never survive nine months in that awful “hole in the wall.”

The room was a small rectangle with a closet near the hall door and a long, double-hung window at the far end. An old-fashioned metal radiator was situated below the window. The floor was covered with cheap, dark, depressing linoleum. There was nothing cheerful about the room, as the walls were a dingy pale green and devoid of curtains or decorations of any kind.

The bed was a metal army cot complete with metal springs and a concave mattress. The dresser had a drop-down desk top that dropped both in and out due to broken hinges. There was an old table to use as a desk, along with a dented, olive-drab, commercial-type wastebasket. The focal point of the decor was one enormous, clear glass, industrial-strength ashtray.

Since I knew no one at Davis, I had requested a roommate, and my disappointment was as much for lack of companionship as for this miserable room.

Rather than feel sorry for myself in silence, I went in search for other lonely souls with whom to commiserate. As I walked down the hall I was stopped by a very young-looking girl who asked if I was 18. I said “Yes.” She then asked if I would buy her a pack of cigarettes, as she was not yet 18. I thought it was a bad idea, but I was desperate for company, and she looked like a potential friend. We then ventured to the wonderful old Coop, which was located on the corner next to South Hall. The Coop is gone but the girl remains a good friend today.

How quickly the ugly room was forgotten as we gathered other lost souls to join us for dinners, movies, rallies and not-to-be-forgotten dances at Rec Hall. The dreaded room was soon full of freshman girls borrowing things, escaping from roommates, trying to avoid doing their homework, gossiping or just snacking on cheese and crackers.

Freshmen had strict rules about study hour and “lockout” times. During the first semester, before midterms, study hour was from 7 to 9 p.m., with no phone calls allowed during this period. Those of us on the first floor with single rooms and no roommates with whom to whisper depended on brave friends upstairs who would chance sending notes in a basket tied to a rope. There was no need to be told when 9 o’clock arrived as the phones and the buzzers began ringing nonstop.

Lockout for freshmen was 9 p.m. on weeknights and 11 p.m. on Friday and Saturday. Each girl had to sign out at the desk before leaving the dorm and state the time and with whom she left, where she was going and what time she expected to return. The doors were locked at a specified time, no exceptions.

Men were not allowed anywhere in the dormitory except the entry and living room. When they arrived they would ask for a certain girl to be “buzzed” and a code much like the Morse code would come down the hall.

Mrs. McMillian took her job as housemother seriously and truly felt she was our substitute mother. She would give opinions about who was a suitable date and who was not. She didn’t have to speak her piece very often because her look of disapproval was enough.

Only one insurrection of any consequence occurred that year. A wild and tasteless fraternity decided to have a panty raid on North Hall, and a few of their rowdies climbed up fire escapes to the second floor. About five of them entered through windows, dashed out into the hall, down the stairs and out the front doors as fast as they could without their objective, the panties.

I don’t know if living in North Hall was as wonderful before or after that year, but for most of those residents who were there in 1953–54 it was a magical time. Our affection for North Hall was so strong that we fought a losing battle to stay there one more year. The administration forced us into Hughes Hall the next fall, but we never really felt the same closeness that we had at North.

North Hall held a certain charm, despite its initial unglamorous appearance, and its mention brings me memories of one of the happiest of all years.

Caroline Sloan Nielsen attended UC Davis in 1953–57, though she didn’t finish her degree until 1973, which prompted then-chancellor Jim Meyer to comment during the graduation ceremony, “I didn’t think you were going to make it, Caroline.” She then received her teaching credential and taught in elementary and junior high schools in Northern California; she still substitute teaches. She and her husband, Norman Nielsen ’57, live in Santa Rosa.