By Seth Morris
Columbia Daily Spectator  

Unity in DIversity: Orgo Night
                    Everything I learned about Columbia I learned at Orgo Night. As a first-year,
                    I learned why the fire hydrant on 114th is purple. As a sophomore, I learned
                    about the liberating sexual atmosphere at Barnard, and as a junior, I learned
                    about Elián Gonzalez's application to the LLC. But the knowledge I gathered
                    on those occasions wasn't limited to the content of the scripts. I learned about
                    something far greater. 

                    On the night of Dec. 11, 1997, I was dragged from John Jay 1504 by my
                    RA, hearing jumbled words that impressed upon me notions of something
                    great as we walked briskly toward Butler. I had patience with her because
                    she was a wise town elder and I was still in my Columbia diapers. What
                    commenced in the pre-renovation version of ''Room 209'' a.k.a. ''College
                    Reading Room'' a.k.a. ''Milstein Undergraduate Library'' was something that
                    forced my jaw to drop and my eyes to widen. After four months of being idly
                    swept into the belief that ''Columbia'' and ''school spirit'' didn't often hang
                    out--even on weekends--I saw something incredible. 

                    Blue and white stripes, shiny brass horns, bearded men beating giant white
                    drums, and a room full of smiles. I experienced that Orgo Night with some of
                    my first-year friends, sweating and smashed into one of the back corners.
                    Each semester from then on, I trekked to that same room to see how our
                    court jesters would entertain us that year. I was one of the people who spent
                    their spring 2000 Orgo Night on top of a bookcase. It was madness, and it
                    was beautiful. 

                    But my perspective of what Orgo Night really means didn't grow clear until I
                    had the honor of watching the event from one of the more unique (and most
                    conspicuous) angles this past fall. I walked in with the band, my blue and
                    white rugby shirt still smelling new from the plastic packaging, and pulled
                    myself atop the center cubicle to deliver unto the hundreds of hanging ears the
                    gospel they so eagerly awaited. I started, ''Ladies and Gentlemen, and
                    organic chemistry students, back despite the Furies' best efforts to keep us
                    out of Butler, it's the most grandly triumphant band in the world, the Columbia
                    University Marching Band!'' 

                    The crowd erupted into applause, and the moment seemed to stand still in
                    time, giving me the opportunity to look around. I looked at each face, from
                    entrance to exit. I saw us. I saw first-years standing next to seniors. Barnard
                    next to Columbia next to SEAS. The collared shirt next to the hemp
                    necklace, the light blue mesh shorts next to the tight black pants.

                    For a short while we all stood together. Together in the moment, and together
                    in the history of the moment. Together in the knowledge that Columbians for
                    the last 40 years have stood in the same place, cheering for the same sake.
                    Together in the ownership of something unique and proudly creative. It's
                    something for us that no one else understands, and that we don't intend to
                    explain. 

                    I can't offer all of you the chance to stand in my shoes and see what I saw.
                    But I can tell you what that moment means to a second semester senior who's
                    been around keeping his eye out for these types of moments. They are few
                    and disappearing quickly. Moments of pure unified jubilation, celebration of
                    anti-establishment folly. We need moments like this to honor our uniqueness
                    as Columbians, to capture that thing tour guides and stuffy alumni tell us is so
                    great about this place. 

                    And that moment happens in its purest sense only twice a year. Emphatic
                    disregard for authority and unruly enforcement of ruckus in our temple of
                    proper serenity. Obnoxious beating of drums and blaring trumpets shake up
                    our self-inflicted stuffiness and keep us tied to some sense of the college
                    experience we see on TV and in the movies. While we can find the light blue
                    in us when we see our boys and girls shoot, score, kick, thrust, hit, swim, run,
                    row, and score touchdowns, the band brings it to us. And that's something
                    Columbians need, because we don't always go out and look for it. 

                    So while we sit back and reflect on where to go from here, there are a few
                    things we know we have to do. We have to grab hold of this tradition while
                    it's still here and squeeze it close. We have to sit down and figure this out and
                    keep Orgo Night alive. For the phone messages, for the songs, for the
                    craziness, for the kids out there filling out their applications, but also for the
                    moment. It defines us. I saw it myself.