Construction on a grand scale is a ceaseless phenomenon, and a comprehensive hodgepodge of styles, architectural rages embodies the university. Roads duck and weave in peculiar patterns, some looping, some abruptly dead ending, rendering this college scene drastically skewed from the neat rows and identical buildings often associated with the customary campus. Sprawling at odd angles across an acreage larger than entire small towns, it has the look at feel of one, a melting pot of disparate energies and benign cross purposes.
Though unique in that they were decimated by fire (April 1996), Waterbeds ‘N’ Stuff and Papa Joe’s etch legacies as but the first of many disappearing university signposts. Still the incontestable center of this city’s nightlife, vague traces of an impending plague infest our beloved High Street, a blight known as Campus Partners. A committee thrown together by developers in conjunction with OSU, Campus Partners worms its insidious hands into this potential pot of gold, systematically buying block after block of south campus land. They will then demolish every last one of these buildings, all in the name of yet another strip mall. Looming like a gravestone across the street, Coeds is shuttered for good after our only visit, an early casualty in what looks a bloody war.
OSU justifies their interest by quoting the perils of underage drinking, but maybe they should worry about death by homogenization. University officials and Campus Partners members believe they’ll curtail student alcoholism by shutting down the bars, but all it really means is that everyone’s going to drive across town to imbibe instead of walking down the street. Bored fratholes will riot on their front lawns and then in five years another committee likely emerges, brainstorming for ways to curb student DUI.
“If they wanna clean up High Street, they should start with the bums,” Paul suggests, “seriously. They’ve got a sign that says Welcome To OSU at the entrance but every night there’s some bum sacked out on that sign, in a sleeping bag.”
He’s right, of course. Not just about the guy crashing on the Welcome sign, but the derelicts in general. Sure, campus is replete with graffiti and litter, too, equally valid starting points for any clean up job. But if nothing else it’s hard to imagine the school’s recruiting department enjoys a very high success rate when someone’s eighteen year old daughter must wade through six blocks full of panhandling homeless guys just to reach the building she’s scouting out.
Not that these fellows aren’t mighty entertaining. The Native American with a ponytail down to his ass who hangs out at the corner of High and 12th, in a jean jacket with a patch on back that reads COCHISE. Cochise says, “speh some change?” in a raspy voice whenever anyone walks by, and rumor has it he’s got AIDS, that sometimes he cuts himself and tries to drip blood onto unsuspecting passerby. But we’ve not seen any of this, in fact it sounds like horseshit. The only dirt I have on Cochise, really, is that I overhear him one afternoon tell a fellow beggar he’s going to “call it a day” and “head back to the apartment.” Or the bearded black man, who stands by Used Kids Records every day, one arm in a sling, wordlessly rattling his cup full of nickels. Earning my admiration with his passive approach, and that he’s out here with far more consistency than any of his peers.
I’m not aware of any coherent system for sorting out this madness, but will attempt to give this page as much structure as possible. Let’s start by outlining the basic parameters of what you might consider the main OSU campus landscape, minus weird outliers like the Don Scott airport, or that island they own up on Lake Erie. Roughly speaking, I would say the border shakes out like this:
Northern edge – Dodridge/Ackerman
Western edge – the Olentangy River, possibly Olentangy River Road
Southern edge – 7th Avenue
Eastern edge – N. 4th Street/Summit Street (both are Route 23 – one northbound, one southbound)
And then you have High Street of course shooting up through the middle like a weed. This would make the N. High Street/Lane Avenue intersection more or less the center of gravity. At least this is true for the OSU campus area. If you’re talking about the university itself, I would argue that the center is situated closer to N. High Street/15th Avenue.
But these are minor considerations. We all know this page has been a mess pretty much since its inception. However I am making an effort to slowly sort this out, so changes are coming.
jump ahead to: The University
North Campus
If curious about anything happening on Lane Avenue, feel free to click on the corresponding green dot above and begin your travels. There are links above for jumping to the university proper and elsewhere, too. Otherwise we will begin moving south along High Street:
2124 N. High Street – Noodles and Company. Yay. As of February 2002 this was Chinese Village instead – fast, cheap, and tasty.
2084 N. High Street – once the address for curious basement dive Northberg Tavern. It was cooler there for a while than it rightly should have been. Even O.A.R. seemed partial to this place for some reason, playing here four times in 2001 alone. At street level, then and now, is a Donatos Pizza.
2044 N. High Street – The first ever BW3 location once called this home – in the same building as our old favorite, No. 1 Chinese. The fancy new building erected on this spot, at 2044 N High Street, currently houses a Panda Express. This strikes me as what happens when you throw all three of these elements into a blender…or maybe boil them down to a puree: take a local Chinese restaurant, add a now prominent national franchise like Bee Dubs, pour it into a modern piece of architecture.
2040 N. High Street – former location for Larry’s Bar, which closed at the tail end of 2008 after 74 years in operation.
2036 N. High Street – Sadly, it appears that No. 1 Chinese is now gone also. ‘Tis a shame in many respects. Though only dining here for one solid year and a half of my life, that stretch in all likelihood means that I’ve eaten there more than any other restaurant in the city. During my heyday I’d walk in and the counter girl would laugh, say, “General Tso chicken?” To which I would respond in the affirmative. Actually they were constantly screwing up Damon’s order – all he ever wanted was pepper steak with no onions, but he would often receive a normal order, double onions, no peppers, you name it – but he remained a faithful customer, too.
It was decent, and it was cheap, which were about the only two qualities that mattered at the time. Although one night shortly after this period of my life ended, my girlfriend Jill and I were watching the news and they rated this the worst restaurant in Columbus. She started cracking up and asked, “isn’t that the place where you guys ate all the time?”
Yes indeed. And poor rating or not, I can’t say a bad word about No. 1 Chinese. Whenever a former haunt goes out of business, however, it’s hard to avoid feeling a little guilty, like if you’d patronized it more, they might still be around. So sorry, guys – hopefully there are no hard feelings. But we can’t all live on campus forever.
1994 N. High Street – Moy’s Chinese Restaurant, a campus staple which has been here at least 20+ years.
1980 N. High Street – this 2nd story location might be the 1st address where I can name a 3rd business to set up shop here. Got all that? It was a music store called World Record, then the 2nd version of Used Kids, after the original experienced either a fire or a flood, I forget. At present Evolved Body Art claim the space, and have remodeled it in impressive fashion. The concrete floor remains, though, and the corrugated metal walls in spots, augmented by some classy, rustic looking woodwork.
1948 N. High Street – Red Chili now, a Chinese restaurant. Back in ye ancient epoch of 1999, however, this was Higher Ground Famous Glass. Advertised as “largest selection of hand blown glass on the planet.” But they also have a space, called “Half Tone Gallery,” featuring all kinds of artwork, from locals.
1900 N. High Street – once the home for Johnny Go’s House O’ Music, through at least December of ’99. This was another campus staple back in the day, and I purchased a few items here over the years, yet would tend to kind of forget it existed for some reason until strolling past it now and then. Not without its charms, though unfortunately in the dustbins of history now – and yet another address which technically doesn’t exist at the moment. A fancy new-ish Target has eaten up this spot on the map.
1896 N. High Street – former location for Bernie’s Bagels & Deli/The Distillery, which closed on New Year’s Eve 2015. That Target devoured this entire corner of E. 16th and High, entombing Bernie’s beneath it in the process.
1880 N. High Street – This spot once completed the trifecta of Not Al’s campus holdings, this address housing a below-ground bar named Not Al’s Too. I’m not sure who this Al guy was, really, but would like to find out more about his fallen empire. Speaking of obliteration, another mini-empire which seems to have completely disappeared is the whole Not Al’s series of bars around campus. Even my lazy efforts at researching them online just now have turned up very little about its origins or its fate. But at one time, just off the top of my head, I know there was a Not Al’s, a Not Al’s Too, and a Not Al’s Rockers, all close enough that one could theoretically stagger on foot to each of them within the same mad drinking spree. Rockers was probably the most intriguing of the three – and my apologies to any locations I never knew of and/or have forgotten about.
Currently this address is the vague location of a snazzy new building with some very tall windows. Evolved Body Art was here and at 1906 N. High Street during a couple different iterations, as of September 2005. Some guy named Rev apparently spearheaded this operation.
1872 N. High Street
former location of a CD Warehouse, up through at least late 1999. Nothing specifically here at the moment, though Barrio Tacos (1870) is the closest thing to it.
Wexner Center For The Arts
(1871 N. High Street, 1989-present). Known for hosting all manner of weird installations and events, both obscure and mainstream. Like for example I saw author Nick Hornby speak here one time, met him and got his autograph – but then also witnessed a screening of the 1980 comedy Used Cars on another occasion. So yeah, in other words it’s an indispensable landmark. Which happens to be cool to look at, as well, and a sweet spot for rollerblading.
It seems hard to fathom now, but this plot of land sat vacant for roughly 30 years. OSU’s Armory and Gymnasium burned down in 1958, was torn down soon after. The Wexner Center went up in ’89, named not after Les Wexner as you might suppose but rather his dad. They supposedly based its bizarre design upon the OSU Armory architecture, yet, I don’t know, I don’t really see this at all.
Right around here, you begin to run into the hotly contested battleground known as Gateway. Below is my (currently highly incomplete) map of what this region looked like in past years. Actually, the 2005 one does portray all of the confirmed tenants they had, as of December of that year, i.e. the holiday shopping season. The rest were empty spaces. You can click on the orange dots to zoom in and read a little more. Presumably you know how to zoom back out. I’m also hoping these maps work a little better on mobile devices than my previous ones did.
The University
On the northern edge of campus, all the side streets branching west of High slope downhill toward the river, with Neil Avenue as the only road that intersects. A block away from and running parallel to High, Neil is the last turnoff before these side streets dead-end into the river, these side streets that mostly alternate as one ways between the two. This river shapes campus, hemming in the university, defining its parameters, yet despite its prominent location no one ever thinks about the river. It’s not woven into the fabric of our lives, it’s not even something we look at, it’s just there. Leaving campus on the bridges of Lane Avenue or Dodridge or King we sometimes drive over the river, but that’s the extent of its meager pull.
Ramseyer Hall, at the southwest corner of High and Woodruff, resembles what I consider the consummate hall of higher learning, a faded red brick building reminiscent of a backwoods junior high school, stumbled upon in a bend of some winding country road. The kind of structure pitched in every Hollywood college movie as the average university building, though an endangered species here. Holding more in common with the junior high school building on E 16th Avenue, in fact, and visual evidence that OSU has exceeded its original intended grasp, extending into the city, encroaching upon and entangling within it, gobbling up entire blocks.
Downhill along Woodruff, a staggering array of skeletal future business buildings stand tall against the gathering night, and an eventual upscale hotel. Bottoming out near the massive Horseshoe, otherwise known as Ohio Stadium, where the Buckeye football squad and their fanatical fan base will hold court every Saturday this fall to the tune of a hundred thousand ticket holders, Woodruff becomes Woody Hayes Drive. Ahead, Woody Hayes will rise in the form of an overpass crossing the Olentangy, pass a softball field and a number of agricultural buildings before dipping into a tunnel beneath the roaring onslaught of state route 315 – all this, just to reach what’s known as west campus. But we’re not biting off such a maniacally titanic piece of sightseeing tonight, intent more upon a triangular shaped overview of this quadrant, touching on most of the major central signposts.
Hooking left, we flank the Ohio Stadium perimeter, across the stone sidewalk, each block inlaid with the names of what I take to be key financial contributors. Around the arena’s backside, the walkway elevates, and students are continually zipping past us on bicycles hellbent for the towers. A number of others coagulate in loquacious, high spirited packs along benches and knee high parapets, as ignorant of the vaguely uncomfortable cold as we are. In a caged catwalk, we cross Cannon Drive, zigging left and downhill through jungle thick foliage on a thin dirt trail which terminates in front of Drake Union. Grizzled, jaded veterans after little more than a month, Drake Union, with its pathetically modest bar and smattering of eateries, is already an exhausted destination, one we pass tonight with nary a wayward glance. Next door, crazed b-ballers fling the orange sphere around a series of fenced in courts, earning our admiration as we bend back along the second leg of our journey.
Visible even from High Street, and for that matter virtually any vantage point, the twin octagonal white high rises of Lincoln and Morrill Tower, staring at one another like bucks scrapping over territory, form our ostensible intended destination as we make our way across this intricate landscape. Perched along the eastern bank of the dormant Olentangy River, we peg it a good thirty minutes west from where we currently stand, and the probable outer limits of our enthusiasm.
Beyond the Lincoln Tower, we traverse an extensive plot of grass, duck inside an all-night library Damon’s been itching to inspect. As he meanders within its interior, I stand along a bank of tables peopled intermittently with serious, silent students hunched over textbooks, and gaze in awe out the second story wall of windows, a solid sheet that eats up the building’s entire northern face. While not quite breathtaking, or picturesque in the classical sense of the term, the view I’m afforded wholly enthralls me, a maze of incongruous buildings, white and orange lights, random members of the collegiate army spotted walking below.
Our crooked gait leads us between a handful of unremarkable buildings, until we emerge upon Neil Avenue. Essentially the spine of campus, Neil is the lone north-south street running through its middle from one end to the other. Even so, its path is far from constant, or for that matter continuous, bending and jagging, in one spot terminating entirely at the majestic white stone structure of the main OSU library. More English country mansion than scholastic property, this library, named in honor of one William Oxley – whoever that is, or was – allows Neil to resume its idiosyncratic course on the other side, zigging north through more campus property, a slum like stretch of apartments and chopped up houses, ending eventually as a block of brick road.
We swing by Mirror Lake, the man made, stone lined pond as calm as the christening would imply. Around a small, rustic pavilion termed Browning Amphitheater, and southeast across another grassy expanse. Ahead, the strangest structure we’ve yet encountered, a building shaped roughly like the state of Pennsylvania, with one whole, cartoonishly elongated wing fanning out in a sharp triangular tip. Composed of seemingly every architectural element known to man, from limestone to metal sheets and girders to queerly shaped panels of glass placed apparently at random, this monstrosity is known as Drinko Hall. A great name for a bar, Drinko Hall, but here it’s the college of law.
Along with a natural disquiet stoked by warmer weather, this urgent thirst to both exercise and exorcise propels us forward. Damon and I take to roller blading around campus at two, three, four o’clock in the morning, predominantly the university itself, as its various parking garages, handicapped ramps, and off kilter architectural designs make an ideal template. A skateboarder’s dream, with its teeming oceans of asphalt, the Wexner Center one especially favored destination.
Despite the grassed over anthill aspect of central campus this afternoon, bodies engaged in a slow, ponderous march in every direction, often appearing, from a distance, to be a solid line bound for identical missions, Damon somehow manages to find a parking spot at his sister’s dormitory. And though she isn’t critical to this foray – no more than I am, true – we ascend Melissa’s building anyway to see if she cares to join us. If this route seems to diverge quite a bit from the stated destination of the OSU bookstore, then we might admit efficiency isn’t exactly at the top of the priority list. With this many beauties out soaking up the warm, late spring rays, and often in fantastic moods as a result, it’s our anthropological duty to catalog as much of this as possible.
After retrieving her, we make our way north across campus, to the university bookstore at Tuttle Park Place. Situated roughly a block south of where Woodruff passes through, this building is a double deck affair, with a number of smaller businesses on the ground floor, a parking garage behind it, and then this charming little shop eating up the entirety of level number two. Damon has to drop by here to place his order for graduation announcements, and if it’s like anything else connected with this college cum bureaucracy, dealing with them will likely prove highly and disturbingly reminiscent of the same with a government agency, a nightmarish and lengthy ordeal. Fortunately, in addition to the expected textbooks, they boast a wide selection of normal civilian reading materials, so Melissa and I make a beeline for these rows while Damon handles his stated business. As I flip through this recently published picture book of every Rolling Stone cover, I’m telling Melissa about the last time we threw down at our house, when a bunch of her friends came over yet she was curiously absent.
I flip through a few bios, and this interesting book about the Beat authors. She eventually heads toward the front desk to figure out what’s taking her brother so long, and I decide to check out their music section. And while I might have choked on my beer the other night when Tiffany mentioned what she pays for CDs at Camelot, that amounts to bargain shopping when compared to this place. Not to mention you could do far better still at Used Kids or Magnolia’s, or any of the half dozen shops in between, particularly when considering their secondhand sections. But I’m sure they justify gouging students here in the name of donating proceeds to cut down on tuition costs or something. Right.
By the time I track those two down, Damon’s shaking his head and cursing under his breath, will leave here remarking they’ve got a bunch of inept idiots running this operation, comparing it to the campus string pullers at large. This rant has something to do with his spending a half hour filling out a form for these graduation announcements, then attempting to locate a knowledgeable soul who could answer a couple of questions.
We make our way across the mighty expanse of land known as the Oval, bound for the Ohio Union. All of this walking and interacting with red tape dispensing morons has made Damon hungry, and the two of us agree we could go for a bite as well. En route, we dart around the prone sunbathers, studying or otherwise, and those plainly hanging out, the Frisbees sailing through the air and bicycles gliding down these intersecting paths.
Eventually, the Union materializes before us, at the South Oval’s eastern fringe. A bustling cafeteria area, bursting at the seams, appears to be spitting students out onto the lawn. Tiny pizzerias, a Taco Bell, probably six or eight other restaurants and even a genuine bar fan out all around us. Naturally, we all three grab some totally pedestrian, national chain fast food from one source or another, then reconvene to find a table.
I picked up some free student newspaper near the door and we’re flipping through this communally, sharing a snicker about the Dave Matthews Band. “I don’t get it,” I admit, staring at their black and white group photo as though it might reveal some mystical secret which would explain their popularity.
“Neither do I,” Damon grovels.
We escort Melissa back to her room, and arrive back at Damon’s truck. Just as we’re about to climb inside it, though, the energy efficient bulb above his head dings to life and he suggests, “you know, there’s so much pussy running around right now, if we were smart we’d walk around the Oval a bit and check things out.”
“You’re right,” I declare, having summoned the full scope of my intellectual powers to reach the same conclusion.
This frontier might be green, but it’s rush hour and the wild, woolly West, too, all at once. Too many mouth-watering sights to even fully register, meaning that those which do are truly stellar. Such as this skinny, light haired chick in an orange bikini top and jean shorts, tossing a plastic disc around with some dude as we pass. Those shorts are slung low enough we can see about half of the equally bright orange bottoms of this bikini ensemble, and the shapely round swell behind her which it only just barely conceals.
Soon after, we stumble onto a marginal local celebrity by the name of Brother Jed. He preaches the gospel here daily, spreading the word of Christ to anyone who will listen – and many who would prefer not to. Though newspaper articles have even been written about this character, it’s my first glimpse of him, and while you would have to admit he makes for a charismatic, oddly compelling force out here on the lawn, it’s difficult to imagine this lunatic converts many onlookers.
He’s seated in your garden variety outdoor chair, underneath a shaggy shade tree, as approximately a dozen rapt and apparently sympathetic listeners laze around him in a half circle, mostly facing his direction, either stretched out in a prone position, sitting cross legged, or in chairs themselves. Some passerby bark curt remarks to him. Some have done like Damon and me, joining the back of a small, standing coalition who merely observe, and still others actually bother debating the guy. Brother Jed’s a somewhat older man, probably in either his forties or early fifties, and his attired doesn’t exactly scream class. Most would probably say the same thing about his mouth.
One fine example of this occurs when a girl near us, in this upright cluster, objects to a point he’s made. “Shut up, fornicator!” Brother Jed howls in her direction.
“Fornicator?” she slings back at him, as puzzled as she is indignant, “how can you call me that when you don’t even know me?”
“Are you a woman?”
“Well, yes.”
“You’re a fornicator, then,” Jed declares, positively glowing with pride at this brilliant line of reasoning.
As one might suspect, this is a fluid crowd, featuring many a peak and valley. Some long- winded tirade blows out about half of the current assembly. We’re admittedly enjoying ourselves, though, and stick around in much the same spirit as someone flipping channels and landing for a few minutes on some thoroughly ridiculous movie.
“Take a pill, man!” shouts some kid, from the dwindling set of spectators.
“I have!” Jed announces, then mugs for the congregation some more, smirking at the quip he’s about to deliver, “I’ve taken the gos-pill!”
Well, you have to grant him some cleverness for this nimble pun, but all told we’ve seen enough. Are cackling wildly and repeating it, though, as Damon shakes his head and mutters, “what a fuckin nut case!” to the extent we lose track of our surroundings. So much so that we nearly step on Britta, sprawled alone in this grass to absorb some rays.
She’s stretched across a blanket in this brown summer dress, and even with the darkness of this attire considered, Britta looks far tanner than she had that night of our last party. It’s a color which serves her well, too, a big boned girl who maybe doesn’t possess the greatest body. But with this tan complementing her already cute face, perfect white teeth and dimpled smile, it’s a more alluring combination than we’ve previously seen from her. Plus, when she bends over once for a book, the front of her dress hangs low enough to reveal a better rack than we would have thought possible.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“Oh, studying,” she says, “what about you guys?”
“Checking out the scenery,” Damon admits, eliciting a chuckle from her.
But Brother Jed has already distracted us more than we would have liked, so the chitchat is cut short. We bid Britta a cheerful farewell and resume our mission, attempting to track down that girl in the orange bikini.
One of our favorite diversions concerns this all-night computer lab, on the third floor of a university building called Baker Systems Engineering (1971 Neil Avenue.) This has developed into an almost nightly insomniac tradition, in fact, one which finds us walking there sometimes as late as three in the morning. He can never sleep, and on the off chance he is completely exhausted, Damon will often set his alarm for two o’clock in the morning or so, rise then, and if around I will commonly join him. It’s less packed at this late hour, anyway, and yet whatever the occasion, nobody is monitoring the place, which means even a non-student like me can easily park himself at one of the monitors and browse away on the internet.
I’ve easily spent way more hours here than on any other piece of OSU property. About half the time Damon is actually working on school activities, and half the time I’m probably researching something music related. The remaining balance of our lab hours are spent accessing porn, often in tandem. He likes pulling up pictures of women with animals, while I’m a little more straightforward, although constantly changing my mind as far as what type I’m “definitely” the most into – maybe blondes, Asians, big tits, maybe blonde Asians with big tits. Best of all, they have full color printers here, which is the source for most of the nudie pictures hanging around our house. One night a girl in a wheelchair at the computer next to me sees what I’m doing and starts cracking up, but doesn’t seem to mind, which I guess basically sums up the operation around here.
Middle Campus
Oncoming interceptors approach from both directions as though enemy linebackers. I scuttle over to the nearest sidewalk, forward to the spine of fraternity/sorority row. E 15th, nurturing an unbroken string of each, communal Greek houses despicable in their cookie cutter glory, as they taunt us with the implicit scripted rituals of their predetermined nights. Sand bottomed volleyball pits, halved by nets, front every third yard, and sunbathing beauties test credulity stretching out across just as many lawns, jump starting the season as they snap beach towels into shape along a corresponding number of roofs. Wearing their three lettered symbols like a coat of arms, supported by faux ivory columns, these fortresses boast more wings and stories than the White House.
15th dead ends into High, this district’s central intersection, its prime pedestrian nexus. Panini’s used to reside on one corner, with an enormous patio chock full of screaming drunken students, another mob visible inside through the two story plate glass facade. On the other corner, composed of irregularly shaped grey bricks, some jutting at random from the wall, Long’s Bookstore used to reside (1836 N. High), where a time and temperature clock stretch high into the sky, unintentionally shaped just like a penis and its testicles. At present, there’s nothing at this specific corner, the SE one of this intersection, as the buildings have been knocked down and it remains under construction.
Gliding up High, past a number of indigenous mom and pop restaurants, bohemian clothing stores, and too many record shops to count on my immediate right. Buzzing with bodies like an anthill gone berserk, aping the university labyrinth on the other side of High. Bicyclists whiz through this maelstrom, nosing between swarms, and an occasional bookworm sits crosslegged upon the cement walkway, oblivious as he studies his text. Or slouched against buildings in packs of two or three, hats backward and smoking cigarettes like the bums, though neither they nor the bums nor anyone else will elicit a comment from anyone, fading, all, into the background.
SBX up above was located at 1806 N. High Street, though it too now is just another empty parcel of land at present. In light of their broad BOOKS EXCHANGED signs, I once took a grocery bag full of paperpacks in here – though soon learning they were only interested in the classroom varieties.
With the ongoing itch of these scraped up legs, this bag full of books weighing me down like a cement life vest, I’m eager to complete the circuit home. Stomping more than skating, I pant my way up Woodruff’s gradual incline. Below and to my left, Iuka Park fans out like a high density jungle, where insects chirp and chant for supremacy, though held in check by the walls of housing on every side, the crooked eponymous street Iuka buried somewhere down there, meandering through the tangled brush like a river. The short, ancient bridge of Indianola, currently closed for repairs, dangling above the park with the daily threat of collapse and taking out an acre of wildlife in the process. Its current dormant state turning this four way intersection into a three, one Damon glides into at this moment with his truck.
“Hop in, man,” he says, “I’m picking Carrie up and some of her friends.”
Damon I must commend for keeping his affairs in order. He knows what he’s doing and doesn’t waste time, for one scant week after meeting the girl, he’s already made these nightlife arrangements with her. Bringing to those negotiations the same manic energy he shoulders everywhere, identical to his methodical sweep south down High, sex drive insatiable, a wayward glance for every female his eyes can absorb. Rubbernecking till the last possible instant, he whips a sharp right onto West 11th, as his gaze now lands upon the cassette clamped tightly in my hand.
Scattered across campus like pocket change on a coffee table, twenty high rise dormitories dot the western skyline. Here on 11th, however, a handful such buildings are planted in one neat row, identical, red brick towers stretching maybe fifteen stories vertical. Distinguishable only by the grey streetside plaques with names in bold faced black, Damon selects the correct one, and slips into its meager parking lot. As freshman students are discouraged from owning wheels, any vehicles belonging to them are stationed on distant asphalt oases elsewhere. Room remains only for deliveries and visitors, a tiny plot our ladies presently occupy.
We will pick up these girls and make an out-of-the way drive for beer, we will drive them back to our house for a drinking game with dice. We will split into separate factions with still others joining us, some bound for Maxwell’s Bar, some bound for a party on East 11th. At night’s end Damon and I will escort Carrie to her dormitory, just around the corner, past a bar named the Cornerstone. A double deck affair with glass on both sides that face the two streets, and a bustling patio section hemmed in by an intimidating ten foot wrought iron fence, the Cornerstone spills past fire code spec with bodies, their animated chatter propping up the night for a three block square radius. Past a thriving fried poultry enterprise dubbed Cluck-U-Chicken, past a lonely house sitting alone in the middle of a parking lot, converted, with minor modifications, into a swinging pizza stand named Catfish Biff’s.
Suffering under strict curfews, stringent bylaws, a clockwork rotation of upperclassman pricks squat upon chairs beside the dormitory’s front door. At this hour, the latest watchdog’s presence forces Carrie to enter alone, sign the dude’s log book, then slip around to a side door and admit the two of us. Her room’s located near the building’s apex, twelfth floor or so, yet after just two flights of stairs Damon’s already huffing and puffing – for this, he can thank his relatively newfound cigarette habit.
As Carrie lets us into her room, we find that Sarah’s already here, sitting with a book on one of the beds. They share this meager space, the two of them, a cubicle barely bigger than my bedroom, though made hospitable with their female touches, the naturalistic decor they’ve softened the edges with. Carrie throws a Rusted Root disc into her CD player, and as an exceptionally long drum solo spills across the speakers, engulfing this narrow compartment, both Damon and I, independent of one another, start piecing together the same conclusions. That what we’re dealing with here, most of all, sophisticated pretenses aside, is a giggling, idealistic tandem of modern day hippies, would be Deadheads, inhaling weed and dropping acid each summer en route to the nearest Phish show. Sure, in baggy, tattered jeans, and frilly, flowery blouses, they dress the part, but we’re not exactly the most observant cats when it comes to the nuances of a woman’s clothing.
I’m sitting upon Carrie’s bed, she and Damon on the floor, Sarah on her own bunk, melting in the soft warm light of a lamp in the corner as we shoot the breeze. Forget the crumbling abode on Summit, decomposing as we sneak beneath the trash atop the stairs; this feels like home, the only place for me, and I allow my fantasies to roam unencumbered. Days or weeks in the future, perhaps, stretching out in across this soft, springy bed with Sarah’s sweet aroma fleshing out the room, filling in the gaps where our faults and our passions, our hangups and our triumphs, fail to intersect, as spaces always lie between two people, two people can never truly mesh. But lying in this bed with arms around one another, as we allow the boundless hunger to connect with someone else span the gulf between us, the hallway’s bustle a soothing backdrop lulling us to sleep.
Soon, maybe, but not tonight. Before long Damon and I are on our way, tramping across the university’s dark heart, through a wide, central expanse of grass known as The Oval. Foot traffic still strong at this late hour but only a fraction of its daytime self, the clusters of students carousing around us numbered substantially fewer.
“Boy, if we could just get in good with this Carrie and her friends,” Damon muses, “you know there’s gonna be all kinds of girls running around that dorm. If we get to where we’re hanging out there a lot and they start to know us……”
“This dorm thing could be our ticket,” I agree.
As far as the other residence options surrounding this fine establishment of higher learning, we were always kind of fascinated by the fraternities ghettoized on Indianola between, say, 19th and 17th. As if earning blemished plots as payment for deviant conduct, a small clutch of them huddle together up here, away from the prizewinning tribe on 15th, lean on termite stilts. Lawns a topographical absurdity, covered in trash and torn to shreds – yeah, it’s safe to say we vibe with these folks. If ever the frat house type, nowhere else beyond this pockmarked avenue could we envision laying our heads. A faceless brethren viewed at three a.m. from afar, as we slog our way home from late night beers, routinely spotted on balconies, shouting insults across the street to one another. Launching projectiles, some occasionally aflame. South campus has its post football game riots every fall, featuring tear gas and rubber bullets, a burrito vendor wheeling his sidewalk wares around, even the occasional uprooted telephone pole. But by now it’s all become so predictable, committed by lunkhead zealots in scarlet and grey bodypaint who take their idiotic devotion too far. Whereas in this neck, they have front yard bonfires on a Wednesday for no reason at all. Stereos broadcasting around the clock into daybreak, signal stronger, sadly, carrying further, than the OSU radio station. Locating parallels between their unplanned atrocities and ours, we appreciate them all the more; however, if the frequent twirling red and blue beams indicate anything, there are others not so readily amused.
At Sullivant Hall, an austere grey building whose car sized bricks and wide, vertically imposing front steps befit flowing robes of justice and nobility, our nation’s capital, more so than university classroom, the OSU Association of Women stage their annual rally. An overnight candlelight vigil protesting any and all forms of violence, it transpires upon those same monumental steps the women have somehow scaled. The Wexner Center for the Arts showcases, for a number of weeks, a gigantic stuffed cat as its primary exhibit, its patchwork body winding throughout the funkily designed building’s plentiful rooms. In a far less capricious mood, as if overhearing one of Paul’s abundant sermons, elected officials announce they’re going to start targeting this panhandler plague with unprecedented aggression, beginning with the beggar swarms on campus.
Crew soccer games in the springtime, fine, and the OSU brass band, this galaxy’s largest, can practice here each fall as well, but rock shows alone redeem Ohio Stadium. Ostensibly one beautiful piece of architecture, this epic arena, as though lifted brick by brick from gladiatorial Rome, with its ivory hued stonework and overwhelming arches, its cloud scraping rim, systematically notched with holes for light and aesthetic appeal. Yet only the occasional touring juggernaut can rekindle the feverish spirituality of such ancient rituals this structure suggests, or so I believe. Certainly there is no magic in a quarter million boors wearing pomegranate jerseys each autumn Saturday, half filling the stadium past its spillover point, the other half grilling bratwurst and listening to bad 70s funk cover bands in the parking lot. Whereas even a thus far poorly reviewed, modestly attended U2 cross country jaunt, some bloated, techno laden postmodern extravaganza, can sweep into town, and set this university humming with an almost religious fervor.
This is all of course completely arbitrary, but I’m going with the building that currently houses Barrio Tacos (1870 N. High) as the beginning of what I’m calling “middle campus.” At some point I will likely get around to organizing these entries into a more coherent manner, assuming that one exists. For now, however, I have no choice but to list them rapid fire, as they are occurring to me. First up, at the intersection of 15th and High – saturated with more foot traffic, as a rule, than any other – we face Wexner Center for the Arts across the street, its misshapen structure alone an intricate puzzle, worthy of afternoon sidewalk introspections, seated on a bench, peering over the cup of a steaming hot chocolate. Walkways that lead nowhere, and piles of red bricks stacked without reason. White scaffolding left standing, stretching skyward to crooked infinity. Beyond these visual deterrents an art gallery and bookstore, a theater and performance space within, more conventional in shape and scope, and the stately Mershon Auditorium.
Continuing south, we pass beneath the Newport Music Hall’s wedge shaped marquee, a white background glowing beneath its black block lettering. The nation’s longest running rock club, the Newport seats 1700 and has survived like a prisoner of war held captive some thirty odd years. Scarred but defiant, its weathered ebony doors and medieval facade stand in stark contrast to much of the surrounding strip. But a half inch coat of rock posters flanking both sides connects the Newport to its many satellites, the campus telephone poles, staple gunned with a chain mail suit of flyers heralding events both current and those years past. On most nights boasting a show, lines of devotees extend all the way down to 12th and around the corner.
1813 N. High Street – OSU’s Sullivant Hall. There is – or was – a performance theater and a library in here, and I’m not sure what else. Believe it or not this was also home to the Ohio Historical Society, through 1970.
1812 N. High Street
Fraternity Managers Association! So exciting. Before this though it was The Flying Pizza, as of at least July 2000. “Authentic New York Style Pizza,” is their tagline. They are voted 2nd best pizza in town by Columbus Alive, 2000. Donato’s is ranked first by readers, so I’m not sure how amazing this is. Mon-Thu they run a special: buy two slices, get a free 16oz drink.
1782 N. High Street
Only a totally boring Starbucks and a Walgreens now. Hard to believe, but there were no Starbucks on campus up until about the turn of the 21st Century.
In a past life this was an Urban Outfitters. Best Shopping on campus per Alive in 2000.
1778 N. High Street
BIBIBOP Asian Grill and Kaplan test prep services are both located at this address, presently. Kaplan was actually already here as far back as at least October of 2001, albeit on the 2nd floor of what was then College Town Bookstore.
1739 N. High Street
A whole mess of stuff going on here, including most notably Ohio Union. But also Sloopy’s Diner, a U.S. Bank branch, The Center For Belonging And Social Change, Performance Hall, University Catering, Keith B. Key Center, et cetera.
Woody’s Place, a pub/club, was here as of October 2001. There’s a Woody’s Tavern in this building now, but it has a slightly different address, so it’s unclear if this is the same establishment or not.
1728 N. High Street
A bar named Midway is located here now. In a previous life, however, it was a treasured coffee shop named Insomnia. They were open 24 hours back in the day and even served milkshakes, too. Best Coffee Shop on campus per Alive in 2000.
1726 N. High Street – I have to be honest, I don’t remember this live venue called Street Scene, though surely walking past it hundreds of occasions. Since then, a Chipotle has set up shop here and is not likely to disappear anytime soon. This seems like a natural and not exactly terrible progression – people love their Chipotle, and you have to wonder how many bars even the rowdiest, most drunken of campuses could support. At any rate, it appears Street Scene vacated the premises in August of 1997.
1722 N. High Street – Newport Music Hall
1710 N. High Street – for many a year, home of the String Shoppe. Currently a freaking KeyBank branch. A newly constructed Blaze Pizza building now sits where the parking lot entrance once was, where they’d tow you sometimes even while you were browsing inside of the String Shoppe. You can just barely make out the String Shoppe exterior in the picture above, to the right of the Newport Music Hall.
Alan used to grab business cards from the bulletin board here all the time, of prospective bands looking for a drummer, groups like Roomful Stuff and Gristletoe. His involvement with these outfits followed a predictable, rapidly decaying half life. If even bothering to call them, most would not survive to a second jam session before he lost interest, with probably less than 1% making it to a third. Meanwhile, our buddy Dan also worked here for years, another avenue helping him establish contacts in this city. He once rated the Christian rockers who shopped here as the absolute worst, because they would unfailingly haggle over prices all day, “and on top of that didn’t pay any taxes anyway.”
South Campus
Below is a map of south campus, circa 1997. And then immediately after the Gateway project was finally up and running, in late 2005. You can click on the year at top right, and read more by clicking on the orange dots.
Bringing some girls down here for shopping, or even just wandering the stores and aimlessly browsing, is for some reason a development which takes us an eternity to even consider. We’ve been living on campus for almost exactly a year before the concept will occur to us. This initial outing will represent a double date of sorts, with Damon bringing his woman Shannon, and then her friend Jamie, whom I’ve only just begun seeing, traipsing around with yours truly.
In deference to Jamie’s hippie leanings, it’s decided that the first pit stop for us will be this head shop of sorts on south campus, the Import House. I have been here before, with Heather, but that seems multiple lifetimes ago, a distant era where we were both foreigners in this realm. This is a totally different situation now, and I have an inkling that, now that we’ve flipped the calendar and are repeating days from when we first moved in, my roommates and I are going to sculpt the coming months into a “greatest hits” revue of sorts. Expanding upon prior successes – reconnecting, too, the frayed ends from where we’ve drifted apart these past few months – with surely a few unforeseen bursts of chaos thrown into the mix. We will embrace our status as seasoned road warriors, guiding the unsuspected down our footlight studded paths.
Import House is located on E 13th Avenue, at the corner of High. It’s a double decker affair with tie-dyed tees and other similar apparel downstairs, but then bongs, incense, and all other manner of pothead paraphernalia sold on the upper floor, along with bumper stickers and other humorous knick-knacks. From here we backtrack north, and will bookend this leg of our odyssey with a dip inside Waterbeds N’ Stuff. As do most locations of this local chain, this one features a token smattering of the titular bedding gear – so, like, one mattress and a couple of futons – and otherwise walks a tightrope between head shop and adult entertainment superstore.
Offered these divergent choices of entertainment, the druggie accoutrements take a backseat in this locale. Damon makes a beeline for the pornos and sex toys, and the rest of us immediately follow. Nobody has either the nerve or the inspiration to charge the counter with a purchase this late afternoon, but it’s still a good sign, that the divining rod of interaction with Jamie has already swung in such a potentially naughty direction.
Occasionally we must venture outward and inspect the bar scene, of course. In this sense it’s often much more interesting to find things which aren’t located on High Street. One such option back in the day would have been Not Al’s Pub, found at 20 E. 9th Avenue. There are at least three different Not Al’s enterprises located within a stone’s throw of one another here on the OSU scene, and this is probably the most nondescript of them, though not without its charms. The pub in question might be a downtrodden, tucked away dive, but still kind of cool and even dignified in its own ragged, dirty checkered tile floors manner. Then again I could just be saying this because they offer dollar pitchers on Friday nights, which is – let’s get real here – its primary calling card.
Singing Dog records is kind of forgotten now, but they too were once a reliable pit stop for comprehensive, mostly attitude free music purchasing. Armed with a full arsenal of new and used releases, huge sections of vinyl and posters and the current crop of fanzines. Singing Dog is more formulaic in design, but with a better selection, particularly in old LPs, and friendlier help than anything else found at the time on campus.
Then there was The Edge. Another underground establishment along the bustling south fringe of campus, The Edge was OSU’s nighttime mecca, the spot to be in a locale chock full of them. During this era, the sidewalks along campus are lined with taut, waist high ropes and everywhere you look there are cops in riot gear hanging out by their paddy wagons, waiting for the next drunken fight, the next public intox. More often than not, the springboard for all this action is The Edge.
Standing in line the first time for that bar, I eye the cops, with their polished helmets reflecting shafts of overhead streetlight, their equally shiny badges, their perfectly pressed uniforms, their holsters, their guns. Rather than acting as some sort of deterrent, the menace they imply and the general atmosphere of mayhem lends an air of static electricity to the scene. That you are in the midst of something heavy, that this is the place to be.
Coeds also had its charms. That first trip to The Edge, actually, we grew tired of freezing our nuts off in the cold, and never made it inside on that particular occasion. We spy a plain, unadorned club right next door, a place called Coeds. And aside from the Swiss villa wooden decor of its front facade, its tucked away status lends it a feel of best kept secret, forcing our hand.
Curiosity piqued, we step inside. A swarm of bodies, and flashing lights of a thousand hues punctuate the dark. Two stories tall, there’s a dance floor upon each level, each teeming with a mob of females gyrating to Prince’s Pussy Control. Within their midst, we’re still treated as slime, pond scum or worse, but to see all of these girls in one place, from cute secretarial types, to sluts in tight black pants or miniskirts, punk rock chicks with spiky hair and eyeliner, you name it, seeing them all here offers some measure of encouragement. Music so loud conversation’s a technical impracticality, faces visible only as passing blurs – recognizable within a tight circle of maybe ten feet, but beyond that a rippling, anonymous ocean.
Upstairs, in the attic loft, there are mirror lined walls and a brass rail surrounding this packed dance floor. Swirling pinspot lights of every color throb along with the ferocious, ass shaking beats stemming from the DJ booth. Rising heat from the floor below, oblivious to that frozen tundra outside, warms the limbs and throat even while standing still, leaning against the railing as we drink beer and ogle females. Paul even gave this place his stamp of approval, an uncommon seal in those days.
We do eventually make it to The Edge, too, however, about a week later. Like many south campus clubs, The Edge is open only from Thursday to Sunday, yet this limited window of opportunity hasn’t damaged its appeal. On the contrary, interest in this hotspot is at an all time high, its cache bordering on the fanatical. The line’s halfway up the block again and on this occasion, as we’re standing in wait, it occurs to me that with all these bodies trapped in a basement bar with just one exit, if a fire breaks out we’re all seriously fucked. They’d be sorting out charred remains for days.
Pool tables were found just to the left of the entrance, offering one potential refuge. Meanwhile the standard sea of mirrors and strobe lighting take up the entire northern half of this trendy cavern.
1630 N. High Street
Used to be Singing Dog Records, though this address isn’t in use now.
1598 N. High Street – I’m kind of ambivalent about this one, the university area Barnes & Noble. On one hand chains like this did strip away the soul of south campus. But then again, it is a freaking book store, which continues to function and therefore feels like a bit of a minor miracle. Plus they’ve got the old Long’s penis-shaped sign hanging out in front, which was moved this handful of blocks to hang above their entrance.
Though I can’t quite seem to find the address for it at present, Discount Paperbacks was once my preferred book store on campus. If the likes of Barnes and Noble are always replacing places like these, then yes that’s a bad thing, but real life is usually not so linear. I’m not entirely sure if they were forced out, like so many other businesses, or just shut down for other reasons.
It was a below ground shop underneath a brick building on High. They had this painting of Spider-Man with a caption balloon on their front door for years. The interior kind of resembled your grandma’s dingy basement, with stacks and stacks of books all over the place, which might make it so cramped you could not move, except they were typically not overrun with shoppers. You had the expected paperbacks inside, on top of, and in front of bookshelves in the front main room, at the bottom of the steps. Also a decent selection of comic books and related paraphernalia – though not tremendously interested in these by the time I reached my 20s, I do remember going here a couple of times looking for signs of and asking about rumors that Kevin Smith would be writing for Daredevil (it eventually happened, but a year or so later than we thought – this was in the era before mass internet confirmation of every factoid in the universe). A lot of times the guy behind the counter was this older dude, but not of the tweed jacketed professorial type, more like someone you might expect to see working in a gas station or something. So he didn’t really know a ton about this topic, either.
Still, you can’t just assume you know anything about anyone at a glance. One afternoon, I’m over to the left of the register/steps, looking at their admittedly robust collection of pornographic magazines, when this lady he already knows quite well stands at the counter talking to him for a good half hour. At one point the two of them are clicking their tongues over the previous summer’s Ozzfest, which devolved into a full-fledged riot. Considering that I was at this show, it’s especially amusing to me, though I refrain from saying anything.
“What did they expect?” the guy marvels, “I mean, look at the kind of people who would go to something like that, like Ozzfest! It’s a bunch of sweaty rednecks who’ve been sitting in the sun drinking all day!”
“I know, I know…,” the lady agrees, shaking her head.
In this corner, they’ve got back issues of Playboy and Penthouse stretching back clear in the ’70s, but also recent copies of any pinup periodical you care to name. Meanwhile, the back room is dedicated to all manner of non-pornographic magazine, and, while a total disaster area, if you have the patience, there are some great finds. It’s here that I pick up old copies of Columbus Monthly, which have helped out a great deal over the years with this website and other projects, but also some really cool old music publications as well.
1585-87 N. High Street – once upon a time, Maxwell’s Bar and Nite Club. They too technically ran afoul of ye liquor board gods for serving minors, though in reality another early casualty in the Campus Partners battle.
1585 itself is listed as Arshot Investment Corp. also, as of Dec ‘01. They were one of the last holdouts against Campus Partners – lost the bid themselves for this development contract – and the city took them to court that December.
Magnolia Thunderpussy used to offer two dollar discounts on Tuesdays. The store had a funky layout, like a pressurized H, and offbeat merchandise galore, a glass counter running the building’s length. The help was often the expected hipster class who’d ignore you at the counter and loathed answering questions or showing interest in anything even remotely mainstream – yet in some weird way, you kind of liked this. Now they are located in posher digs down the road, at 1155 N High Street, and have Taylor Swift at the top of their home page. It’s difficult to argue this is better.
1584 N. High Street – It is somewhat confusing doing research on any place called “Sloopy’s” as there have been at least 4 completely different operations with this name in the OSU region, just within the past 20 years. So in case you’re wondering, yep, that’s correct, this would be the really packed hole-in-the-wall especially notorious for serving underage kids. In fact the state liquor board revoked their license for just this very reason, on October 13, 1999. After appealing, they did earn a six month stay, but this would represent about the extent of any victory.
I remember visiting this address a couple of times back when Sloopy’s Buckeye Club used to call it home. On an otherwise boring Thursday night, Melissa bails us out by mentioning that a couple of her sorority sisters might be at this bar on south campus, Sloopy’s. After a fair bit of monkeying around, the four of us wind up in my car with me at the wheel, then swinging by Bruce’s official apartment on 8th so he can flip the place searching for his ID. He emerges unsuccessful, but in reality it doesn’t much matter, not for where we’re headed.
We find a place to park, somewhat nearer campus, eyeing the battalion of cops assembled along East 11th. Just shy of that corner, beneath their illuminated sign with its frog mascot, we duck inside the entrance to Sloopy’s, though its thumping dance music has already hit us with physical force long before.
As soon as we’re inside, needling our way past swarms of college kids, we immediately bump into Sarah. This isn’t one of the sorority sisters Melissa had mentioned, rather mine and Bruce’s charmingly indifferent coworker. Dancing like mad in this too bright central room, which opens up slightly to the left just inside the front door, she’s clearly trashed beyond belief and is in no state for extensive conversation. Fortunately, acting babysitter Jane is nearby, and though I don’t know her all that well, she serves a useful function as interpreter.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Not very long,” Jane says with a smile. And while you’re rarely 100% certain, particularly with a relative stranger, something about the vibe often means you can ballpark the relative ratios, the elements comprising said smile: in this instance, I think it’s a nearly equal division between simple amusement at Sarah’s drunkenness, the exceedingly short time frame it took to achieve this drunkenness, the uncomprehending manner with which Sarah looked at us when we waved at her just now, and then, yes, a little conversational politeness as well.
“Where’s Joanne?” I shout above the din.
“She decided to go somewhere else.”
I can see why. For Damon and me, this is only our second venture inside Sloopy’s, with the first occurring for about five minutes way back when we first moved to town. In both instances, we’re left wondering what the attraction is. As is the case with the south campus Panini’s just up the street, at least when that place moves its tables out of the way on weekends, there’s no room for a dance floor – but that hasn’t stopped them from forging ahead with one anyway. The overhead speakers here at Sloopy’s are pumping out music that’s just barely okay, but the masses sway back and forth to it anyhow. Wall to wall people, lots of girlies, nice looking ones too, and still I can’t help but wonder…why? What brings all these kids here?
Actually, Sarah could have answered that question better than anyone. She’s only twenty and had gotten in, thanks to an 18+ entry policy, but then managed to acquire drinks anyway and is thoroughly blasted. So that’s the extent of what anyone really needs to know. These bars which will serve minors are a constantly moving target, and word gets around fast. Even in my own travels of roughly the past four months we’ve drifted from Woody’s to The Library to the Northberg Tavern in short order, to accommodate our underage brethren, and as far as south campus dance clubs this is now pretty much the spot. And while you can say this isn’t too wise on Sarah’s part, or anyone else’s, considering the platoon of police officers just outside this wall of windows facing 11th, it’s probably more accurate to construct this argument in reverse. That this continues to transpire with the city’s finest a plastic cup throw away indicates there’s a winking truce here. Of course the cops know what the score is, they have to. They can only bite off so much on a given night, however, which leads to this unspoken pact: you keep it together in public, and we’ll keep you out of these paddy wagons.
It’s kind of funny to read some of the back-and-forth about this and other south campus closings in the papers, actually. The liquor board is claiming they are concerned only with student safety and are in no way influenced by having an agent on Campus Partners’ Safety Committee; business owners who are putting up a fight observe that it’s mighty peculiar all of the bars being targeted seem to sit on south campus, i.e. where Campus Partners is scooping up a ton of land.
Apparently there were a number of apartments above Sloopy’s, too, although I’m not sure the last date where those were actually livable. Nobody is using this address at the moment, although it would have sat roughly where the giant Barnes & Noble is now.
1561 N. High Street – Former cramped quarters for Panini’s, this strange restaurant/danceclub hybrid which lasted up through at least October of ’01. This whole block was knocked down as part of the Gateway project, and I don’t believe the address really exists at present.
They also had one at the corner of 15th and High, which is the one we mostly frequented by this time. I actually wouldn’t have recalled that they overlapped at all until just now, reading such.
1550 N. High Street – Attempting to boycott this Gateway stuff has produced, mmm, let’s say inconsequential results. I’m sure they haven’t really missed my $32 per year or whatever that I might have spent around here. The businesses that went under probably would have anyway, though it’s fun to kid yourself otherwise. In the name of well rounded reporting I am forced to mention that this is the address for Gateway Film Center. Anyway, I’ve been to the Arena District movie palace and can’t really claim with a straight face that this is any worse.
1538 N. High Street – Firdous, a Middle Eastern eatery, was possibly the last tenant to use this address. They have of course successfully maintained a stall at the North Market for going on 20 years now. Their baklava is outstanding and a must have pretty much every time you drift past the establishment, wherever it might be located. As far as the campus location, it went a little something like this: hi there, building, meet Campus Partners wrecking ball – wrecking ball, say hello to your latest acquisition.
1536 N. High Street: Circa 2000, there was a bar here called Sloe Moe’s. Currently a non-existent void, another parcel of the amorphous Gateway blob.
1534 N. High Street – Headquarters for the much maligned Campus Partners consortium. Google Maps lists this as a “point of interest.” That seems like a bit of a stretch.
1532 N. High Street – Once the site for, you guessed it, a bar. The Heidelberg was a below ground cave with a small yet fervent following, for decades upon decades. It too bit the dust somewhere around the late 90s/early 00s.
1516 N. High Street – Chumley’s, which at least one authority apparently considers the premier OSU sports bar. With about 50 beers on tap and almost exactly that many TVs mounted throughout – no joke – this scene might prove a smidgen too bro-tastic for some. If you’re thinking this, you are not wrong.
1479 N. High Street – Bier Stube. Man what an awesome little hole in the wall! It’s the kind of place that would only pop in your head every couple of years, maybe…but then it would start to gnaw at you, because you were certain it would surely close any day now and you’d miss your chance to pay some final respects. Except the next time you thought about the Bier Stube, driving past it maybe in a panicked sweat, you were relieved to see this dingy concrete bunker still standing, set way back from the street there behind its mud/gravel/asphalt parking lot. As it is to this day! I have to admit I’m completely astounded that this place has survived the Campus Partners destruction empire, not to mention business vagaries in general. It’s kind of like the south campus version of Mama’s Pasta & Brew – minus the food, of course. And even Mama’s has now bit the dust, sadly enough. Someone told me there are bullet holes in the walls in a couple of places, but I’m not sure if this tidbit is true.
1453 N. High Street – Formerly the Cousins Army Navy store. This is one enterprise that I know was around from my earliest days coming to campus, no later than the mid ’90s, and lasted well into this century. Now it seems they are located at 2469 instead and have slightly renamed themselves Cousins Army Navy And Survival Supply.
Fraternities/Sororities
Here’s a current list of all the frat house and sorority sister enclaves I could currently rustle up. At some point I would like to plot these on a handy little map, but we are a long way off from that, my friends.
Acacia – fraternity at basically the outer reaches for such, at 166 E. Woodruff Avenue.
Alpha Chi Omega – sorority which has had an OSU presence since 1923. Currently and possibly always located at 103 E. 15th Avenue, they boast what is billed as “the only working balcony on Greek row.” Which seems bizarre, but might explain why I seem to recall that sunbathing on rooftops was always popular around these parts.
Alpha Epsilon Phi – this stately building at 200 E. 17th Avenue vaguely resembles a medical office, albeit a soothing, highly modernized, three story one. But it is instead occupied by a sorority.
Alpha Gamma Delta – sorority house that wouldn’t look out of place on the richest streets of Upper Arlington. 1832 Indianola Avenue.
Alpha Gamma Rho – another somewhat distantly located frat, clear up at 1979 Iuka Avenue.
Alpha Gamma Sigma – this sleek, modern looking looking building at 1918 Indianola houses a fraternity, about which I know nothing.
Alpha Xi Delta – sorority, 76 E. 15th Avenue.
Alpha Tau Zeta – located at 153 E. 14th Avenue, they are also known as the “FarmHouse Fraternity” for some reason.
Beta Theta Pi – this fraternity occupies a sprawling manor at 165 E. 15th Avenue
Chi Omega – sorority house at 1770 Indianola Avenue
Delta Chi – I really believe that this house, at 191 E. 15th Avenue, was the site of a memorable party some of us attended in March 2000. It’s the most realistic candidate I’ve been able to spot, though I couldn’t really confirm without setting foot inside the place again. Whether or not it was Delta Chi at the time, I’m not sure, but this is still a frat house.
Delta Delta Delta – this Tri Delta outpost bills itself as the “Nu Chapter,” but I’m not so sure about that. I think they’ve actually been at 229 E. 15th Avenue for quite some time.
Delta Gamma – otherwise standard sorority house at 131 E. 15th Avenue, apart from this huge, mysterious, boat anchor looking art piece in the front yard.
Delta Omega Kappa – sorority for medical majors at 1965 Indianola. I like the red Greek letters on the front of the house – they really pop.
Delta Tau Delta – frat house at 67 E. 15th Avenue
Delta Theta Sigma – another farming related fraternity, at 80 E. 13th Avenue
Delta Zeta – a sorority located at 212 E. 15th Avenue.
Gamma Phi Beta – this sorority house, at 43 E. 15th Avenue, has undergone many a transformation over the years, externally. At present it kind of looks like some futuristic home a minimalist, cutting edge composer might occupy.
Kappa Alpha Theta – gigantic sprawling mansion of a sorority, the official address for which is 1861 Indianola Avenue. However they basically have their own dedicated road, as the only structure upon it, which loops around the backside and connects Indianola to E. 16th Avenue.
Kappa Delta – rather lovely sorority house you may encounter in your travels, at 116 E. 15th Avenue.
Kappa Delta Rho – these names are beyond confusing after a little while, to say nothing of their locations. I’ve seen 3 different addresses for them, within the recent past alone, so either they bounce around a lot or some of these “reputable” sources have it all wrong. Presently they are at 124 E. 14th Avenue, but appear to have once occupied 240 E. 15th and possibly even 234 E. 17th as well.
Kappa Kappa Gamma – gorgeous red brick sorority house, with well-maintained lawn, at 55 E. 15th Avenue.
Phi Kappa Tau – frat house at 141 E. 15th Avenue. Tall white columns, Greek letters, et cetera.
Phi Gamma Delta – these dudes have enjoyed an interesting if occasionally checkered history here. They were actually the first fraternity at OSU, period, and at some point were even the ones who campaigned to change school colors from black and orange to the now beloved scarlet and grey. Owing to various scandals, they were booted from campus in 1998 on a five year ban. Upon returning in 2003, these fine upstanding fellows took over the former Alpha Delta Pi house at 94 E. 15th Avenue. Nowadays this chapter offers a gathering room with pool and ping pong, some TV lounges, a dedicated chef named Harry and even a Jack Nicklaus library.
Phi Sigma Rho – 1951 Indianola Avenue. Rather unremarkable looking sorority house, apart from the big sunroom type area up front.
Pi Beta Phi – sorority house at 1845 Indianola Avenue
Pi Kappa Phi – some fraternities gain an unwanted reputation for unspeakable, possibly hazing related monstrosities transpiring in the deepest secret recesses of their basements; this one, however, appears to bring you in directly through the dungeon door. I’m thinking this chapter, found at 200 E. 15th Avenue, doesn’t experience too many faint hearted, shaky kneed recruits.
Pi Lambda Phi – 1962 Iuka Avenue hosts the previously unheard of double-dipper, of two fraternities in the same gigantic house. Or at least it did until recently – Alpha Tau Omega, located on the other half, may have recently left the scene, although I haven’t confirmed this point. Either way, I can only imagine what kind of debauchery and rivalry transpired on these grounds.
Psi Omega – this one meanwhile is known as the “Dental Fraternity” and can be found at 85 E. 13th Avenue
Sigma Chi – the longest running OSU fraternity, at 260 E. 15th. One interior wall has been painted with a mockup of the Las Vegas welcome sign – except with Sigma Chi inserted instead – which is possibly all you need to know. In case the volleyball pit to the side of their massive front steps wasn’t enough of a signpost.
Sigma Phi Epsilon – I kind of dig the anonymous, secret blank slate of this building’s facade, featuring nary a window apart from one tiny row overlooking the porch. You can find this fraternity at 1943 Waldeck Avenue.
Tau Kappa Epsilon – the legitimately verifiable current occupants of 234 E. 17th Avenue. This fraternity house somewhat resembles a Tudor style home, somewhat a proper English castle.
Theta Tau – some report this fraternity as having lost their chapter, others state that they are still open for business. I suppose it’s difficult to know for sure without strolling up and knocking on their door. It’s 1946 Indianola Avenue if you care to try.
Theta Xi – totally funky looking fraternity building at 174-ish East Woodruff Avenue, which I walked past countless times without paying any attention to whatsoever. Studying it now, I can’t decide if it’s oddly beautiful or totally horrendous. An out of place looking blue door (which surely has some significance) sits within an otherwise towering slab of grey stone. The remainder of the building resembles some community college that taught “computer skills” in the early 1990s or something – except for the bizarre, sprawling wooden patio in front of it, the basketball hoop and picnic table below.
Zeta Tau Alpha – more of those popular tall white columns front this sorority house, at 84 E. 15th Avenue
the departed:
Alpha Delta Pi – site of many a shenanigan filled night, this sorority house was at 94 E. 15th Avenue from 1949 to the early 2000s. Those boys at Phi Gamma Delta have occupied it since they moved out.
Alpha Omicron Pi – former occupants of a fully Tudor looking house at 240 E. 15th, this sorority is now toast.
Alpha Phi – formerly of 134 E. 15th Avenue, this sorority has since pulled up its stakes and left town.
Alpha Sigma Phi – was formerly located at 81 E. 15th Avenue, but no longer appears to be.
Chi Phi – this fraternity, whose base of operations was 2000 Indianola Avenue, lost its charter in 2020.
Delta Sigma Phi – this fraternity seems to have vacated the OSU program. Which is perhaps just as well. Their rather sad looking house sat on a hill at 1952 Iuka Avenue and looked like something your out of work uncle might have lived in, but only because he bought the place two decades earlier when it was much cheaper. Before he lost his job and completely stopped caring about anything.
Kappa Sigma – once occupying a glorious white, Southern plantation looking estate at 1842 Indianola Avenue, they not only lost their local chapter in 2020 but the national one as well.
Phi Kappa Psi – former fraternity at 124 E. 14th Avenue, who lost their charter in 2018.
Pi Kappa Alpha – this frat house, which occupied 73 E. 15th Avenue at the time, lost their national charter in 2021.
Sigma Alpha Epsilon – was once a fraternity at 1934 Indianola Avenue, with a sprawling front lawn, some cool looking statues, and more of those ever present tall white columns.
