Living in Johnson House (J House)

Last year, when I applied to be a residential assistant, I listed J House on my application. It is technically Oberlin’s Hebrew Heritage House, so about half of the residents are Jewish, if not more, but it’s not exclusively for Jewish people. More than that, it is known for being a ten-minute walk from most of campus and for being hauntingly beautiful—a colorful mansion nestled in the heart of the arboretum and surrounded by some of Oberlin’s best wildlife. But did I mention the ten-minute walk from the rest of campus?

Little did I know that when I listed J House on my application, I would be offered the RA position in the house. As much as I wanted to live in another dorm, I couldn’t deny the allure of living in Johnson House with its beauty and ties to Judaism.

This summer, I moved in. The walk up the stairs was grueling—there is no elevator. But this wasn’t a big deal because, with all the extra stairs and the uphill trek to J House, I figured I would become ripped in no time. I had tried to find my room on the floor plan, but it was listed as a lounge, which made me skeptical of its quality. When I finally huffed up three flights of stairs, I found myself outside a tall wooden door in a hallway that was not well-lit but had the charm of a place once occupied by someone marvelous, with servants and roaring fires in the dead of an Ohioan winter. I removed my keycard, swiped the door, and pushed it open.

There are no words for love at first sight, but I think I could try. I had expected a small, dark room. Instead, sunlight poured through tall, wide windows facing the arboretum in great golden sheets. There was a bed pushed against the wall, a desk, and a walk-in closet with a small lightbulb. There were vinyl wood flooring and a ceiling so tall that I could jump and spin and dance in my room without ever touching anything. Past the windows, there was a fire escape that climbed down the side of the building. I leaned out of the window, breathed in the clean summer air, and gazed at the tree grove practically within arm’s reach. I decided I wouldn’t close my windows until winter.

Of course, I forgot to mention that the windows had no screens. I could have filed a work order to get them installed, but there was something so romantic about hauling up my window at sunset, climbing out, and sitting on the fire escape with my book and a snack. I could watch the sunset and deer frolicking in the yard behind J House. When insects began to hum, I’d climb back inside.

I was not the only one who found my room inviting. It could have been worse—like a bat or a squirrel—but it wasn’t too bad. That first night of sleep was terrible. Frogs sang so loudly outside that I felt they were practically in my bed. I went to my first day of work, and when I returned, I was watering my many plants only to find a small green frog on my windowsill. No worries, I thought, moving along to my aloe before stopping cartoonishly. A small green frog. Inside my room. I looked back, and there it was—a color-changing small tree frog with toes as fat as its eyes. I called my friend, gathered it in a cup, and we walked barefoot into the long grass at the edge of the forest, releasing it to the calls of the wild. I was sad to see it go. I had named it Moonlight.

That was the hold of J House. It captivated you just like that—a night of bad sleep and a sky sparkled with stars. I fell in love with J House in no small amounts. I loved my windows, the sunrise at dawn, and the sunset at night, my window angled to see both of them. There was such perfect laziness in the afternoon when dust motes floated through the air, warming my bed and practically inviting me to nap. I fell in love with it when autumn came and the bugs quieted. Outside, it would rain as I folded laundry, Nina Simone crooning from my speaker and candles flickering on my desk. Autumn was sweet and perfect.

Winter followed too, an ever-faithful companion. On the first snowfall, I could hardly believe how white and pure it was. My room lit up as if enchanted by the snow, just as I was. At night, as it snowed, my radiator would hiss and gurgle, and I would light up blue and gold string lights in my room. For a time, it was safe to be held by the comfort and warmth of the house.

The house has such promise, such story. It invites wondrous questions—who lived here? What esteemed tales were hallowed in these halls? Why would anyone want to leave, and when would they return?

I will probably not live in J House again, but my experience has been truly magical. In late autumn, my friend Emmy moved into one of the first-floor rooms, and it was wonderful to walk downstairs every morning to see her or stumble home late at night to hang out. There is such community in J House, and I am so fortunate that so many of my residents come to Ellis (the other RA) and me for events. We often hold cake, berry, and Martinelli’s parties. I cannot promise anything, but if you live here one year, maybe you’ll find the ghost of our wonderful parties enchanting its warm lounges.

P.S. If you are interested in living in J House and less interested in the magic of it, I have assembled a short explanation of the benefits and downsides of living here. Please enjoy.

Pros:

• The rooms are huge. You may have a triple or double to yourself as many of my residents do.
• It is far enough off-campus that you won’t be bothered by drunk people singing late at night or sirens down Professor Street.
• It is in a beautiful location.
• The kitchen is very nice.
• You’ll probably be lucky enough to get a fire escape, and there is a small parking area behind it if you have a car.

Cons:

• The showers take a long time (~5 minutes) to heat up.
• It is a 10-15 minute walk from most of campus.
• The floors are very creaky, and the radiators can be loud.
• The facilities have not been well-kept, so the lounges and kitchens may not be as clean or uniform as other dorms.
• It is an old house. You will find a few ladybugs in your room come December.

That being said, these flaws only make the house more lovable. Yes, people could wash their dishes more, but I dare you to find a dorm that doesn’t suffer from this malady.