Viveca Stucke ’26
Staff Writer
Image courtesy of College of the Holy Cross
The allure of having a vehicle on campus is a dream that everyone aspires for. Underclassmen students yearn for the liberating sensation of driving on campus and the opportunities for exploration it promises. It is a symbolic milestone in a student’s journey while at Holy Cross, landmarking their path as an upperclassman. However, the privilege of having your car on campus is not without its caveats.
Beyond navigating the hilly parking lots or contending with the crowded parking garage (which you frequently have to move your car from), students encounter a central struggle: accessing the campus itself. During my freshman year, accessing campus was like a puzzle, where the struggle was veiled behind the face of Doordash deliveries. Guiding drivers through the difficulties of the difference between Loyola Gate versus the entrance to Easy St. became a skill that I honed to perfection, as I led them — and usually my order of “Thai Time” — to their destination of Hanselman Hall. My familiarity with the campus landmarks and my description became so adept that I could have been a tour guide for the delivery drivers in Worcester.
However, my sophomore year was marked by a significant change. As an RA, the privilege of having my car on campus granted a new freedom upon me. Suddenly, I could effortlessly frolic into Worcester, embark on shopping sprees at Walmart, satisfy my cravings for a Dunkin’ Donuts medium iced caramel swirl with regular cream and sugar, and impress my friends with my offers of rides when they expressed a need to escape campus. My sense of pride would skyrocket as I pulled up to my friends’ dorms, waiting in my car as I watched other students journey down Easy St. with a shadow of envy.
But then, it was as if Holy Cross conspired the plot of my downfall, as what I truly cherished came crashing down. In the midst of the fall semester, I was met with a disparaging, gut wrenching blow. Just as I was about to turn onto Easy St. to pick up my best friend Caroline for coffee, my world shattered. There, suddenly blocking my path, stood an ugly and disgusting gate. It loomed like an evil and sinister barrier, a threshold between my joy and the downfall of my ego — a bridge between my savored lifestyle and the crushing impossibility of its continuance.
The Easy St. gate became the judge, jury, and executioner of my pride, halting the progression of my confidence as a budding upperclassmen. This new exclusivist policy left me feeling unwelcome on my own campus, and as a member of the Holy Cross community, I was met not with open arms and unrestricted access, but with alienation and rejection.
The challenges extended far beyond mere coffee runs or social needs. When it came time for winter break, the gate posed as my formidable enemy, denying me access to my dorm. My stubbornness prevented me from conceding to hauling my belongings across campus to my parked car, inspiring a creative solution so that I could drive up to the doors of Lehy Hall. As I often go home for weekends, this issue has still prevailed, where I have found myself unable to drive up to my dorm to retrieve my laundry or items needed for my trip.
The installation of the Easy St. gate is a form of cruel punishment, and perhaps even the most egregious act to befall our campus. Everyday, I endure misery knowing that I cannot access campus with my car. It is a constant source of shame and embarrassment as I trek up to the Figge lot with my backpack and laundry, or having to force my friends to endure the inconvenience of going to my car just for a simple coffee outing.
Copy Edited by Caroline Kramer ’26
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