Dorman Hall is the home of the Department of Plant and Soil Sciences and the Department of Biochemistry, Nutrition and Health Promotion. Or at least it is in name only. The actual Dorman Hall sits — mostly — vacant now. In remembrance of how I once knew her, this is Dorman Hall’s candlelit vigil.

Even though most Mississippi State University students are not involved with soil sciences or the arts of biochemistry, many have experienced a class in Dorman 140. This lecture hall, which rests on the east side of the building, once housed several general education classes, as well as final exams at the end of each semester.

Most people describe it as a kind of suffering. Yes, the walls are wood paneled and have intricate wood structures hanging from them, of which I have no idea their real purposes. These structures are usually littered with half-empty water bottles that the adventurous student tries to land at the very top. The seats squeak every time someone has the audacity to use them, and the fold-away desks are clunky and loud.

What I believe is usually overlooked is the quiet beauty of this suffering.

The seats creak with anticipation of new lessons to be learned, and the cluttering sounds of desks being slammed shut are a surefire indicator that the lecturer has passed the agreed-upon time.

The wood paneling is dirty, and so is the floor, but if you have ever spilled a drink on this floor, you know that because it is already so dirty, no one will truly expect you to move heaven and earth to clean it up. Dorman is forgiving. She knows we all make mistakes. She is ready to absorb ours.

The elevators are unreliable, to say the least. As a freshman biochemistry student, I heard many horror stories of students getting stuck in the Dorman elevators. What I did not realize at the time was that the freshman 15 was starting to press in. Dorman knew I could use the exercise of taking the stairs. But she said it in such a polite way. When I was 5 minutes late for my spring advising appointment, I cursed the Dorman elevator for being out of order. In retaliation, one of the steps on the way up to the fourth floor became suddenly slick, and I fell and busted my knee open. I can appreciate that kind of karma. It humanized the building for me. I treat her with respect now.

Construction is ongoing in Dorman Hall, and as a junior now, my major-specific classes have been scattered to the wind. It has led me to spend much more time than I could have ever imagined in Giles Hall’s lecture hall. Every time the doors to Giles 220 will not open, or the mic fizzes out halfway through class or I have to crawl over people to leave during a test, I dream of Dorman Hall.

Sitting in church on Sunday with a small plastic cup of grape juice and a hunk of bread, I pray that the construction crews tasked with altering her stature are treating her well. I pray that she can live on as a staple of student life and a warm, comforting presence on this university’s campus.