One outside speaker was heard to remark as he left the auditorium
that he felt as if he had been speaking in the belly of a whale. But to the
average observer Goodhart is less engulfing. There are many charming
details: the snowflake frieze on the main facade, the wrought-iron lanterns,
and the sunken garden by the students’ wing. The Common Room, one of
the most comfortable meeting places on campus, is used for informal
lectures and teas, and as a gallery for Art Club exhibitions. This year it
has been left open over the week-ends for the benefit of those who are
entertaining guests, but, as George the porter confided, only two or three
couples have used it so far. He expects more in the spring. The News and
the Lantern have their office a few doors down the hall, and several rooms
are open for the use of other organizations. Their meetings are often
interrupted by tuneful snatches from the practice rooms downstairs where
sound-proofing is evidently unknown. Sunday evenings chapel is held in the
Music Room and hymns are played on a small organ installed ''for the
love of music.'’ Dramatics are still centered on the stage, in spite of two
dead spots in the auditorium, because the Theatre Workshop, built last
year, is still insufficiently equipped. A member of the stage crew com-
plains about the latter that "there are no points of suspension.'' Goodhart
is also reserved for formal lectures and assemblies, as well as recitals of
well known artists.
In spite of its drawbacks, this hall has become an integral part of
campus life, and we even forgive its flying buttresses which feebly support
its structural steel and concrete foundations. Necessarily George has the
last comment. In his own words, "'It's a big building to keep clean."
