If you’re anything like me, the first thought that crossed your mind when you heard about NIU’s Founders Memorial Library replacing its classic, history-rich, 30-year-old tri-color carpet with a sterile, blue-gray one was a gentle wave of bittersweet nostalgia. The second thought was, “Man, I sure could go for a sandwich right now.” And the third thought was, “Wait – we have a library?”

Putting my finely-tuned investigative journalism skills to the test, I decided to get to the bottom of it and find this so-called “library” and its alleged “carpet.”

I began – as any right-minded person would – by going to the leading authority on all campus matters: NIU freshmen. Canvassing the local dorms, I quickly learned the rumors of this “library” were not so widespread as I first thought. Interview after interview seemed to reveal this building was merely the stuff of local urban legend. A sampling of my responses:

“Library? Oh, you mean the bookstore.”

“The library? Is that the new bar on Lincoln? Hang on, I’ll get my I.D.”

“Don’t bother me now. I’m playing Halo II with all my friends.”

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I’m calling security!”

After straightening out a terrible misunderstanding with campus security (in which the words “restraining order” seemed to come up a lot), I resumed my search. Just when I had given up hope, a solid lead surfaced. “Library?” said a student to me, scratching his well-moussed hair. “What’s that?” It’s a place, I told him, where you can get books and journals and things you need to write a paper. “Oh,” he said, with a look of sudden revelation. “You mean the Internet!”

Did I mean the Internet? After days of fruitless searching, I wasn’t sure anymore. As a last resort, I checked there, and discovered the rumors were true: NIU does in fact have a library. Barely able to contain myself, I hurried out the door. And sure enough, rising dream-like out of the dawn mists of the Kishwaukee River, like a lost Camelot, like a spellbound Brigadoon, like an early Sunday morning walk of shame, stood Founders Memorial Library.

At last, I got to see first-hand this carpeting that had caused all the uproar. Calmly, I took in the experience, the soothing visual euphony of its orange, black and yellow medley. It was, without a doubt, the ugliest, most god-awful, nightmarish piece of rejected-Halloween-looking home or office decor I’d ever laid eyes on.

I’d expected to see a candlelit vigil, with grieving students arm in arm with generations of alumni, lamenting the quiet tragedy of their loss. Yet all I could find was about a dozen students tapping instant messages to their friends. Finally, I thought I saw a lone mourner, a student balled up on the floor, weeping, her fingers clutching desperately at the old tri-colored carpet. To my disappointment, I found that she wasn’t grieving the carpet at all. She was just a graduate student.

“Three papers!” she cried, to no one in particular. “Three! How can they expect that by the end of the semester? Don’t they know I’m human? I’m only human…”

I decided it best to leave her to her research and left the library. I’d seen what I’d come to see.

Besides, I sure could go for a sandwich right now.

Columns reflect the opinion of the author and not necessarily that of the Northern Star staff.