On the evening of March 31 the ghost of Whitman’s third president, Stephen B. Penrose, returned to campus for his usual centennial visit. Surprised by the lack of enthusiasm that his visit garnered among students, it is fair to say that Penrose was not totally enthralled with the current state of the college.

“He’s kind of a bummer,” said first-year Henry Lyons.

The issue that jarred Penrose most about his visit, however, was the lack of decorum shown by Whitman’s own twenty-first century female students.

“Never have I seen such lust! Where are their manners? Their ladylike passivity and willingness to obey? Blasphemy I tell you!” he blustered.
Hoping to find a scrap of familiarity from his glory days, Penrose visited Prentiss Hall. There he found solace in the ornamental furniture and the spotlessly organized common area. He walked past the main corridor and, looking to his left and to his right realized that, to his horror, his favorite rug was missing!

Aghast, he walked down the corridor of A-Sec, attempting to find a young lady to explain this misfortune. Before he could spot some unassuming soul, a strange smell began to surround him. It triggered a feeling of disgust … a skunk! “This place has turned to the dumps!” He yelled, throwing open the door and running outside.

A clairvoyant man, Penrose found himself exiting next to the Prentiss trash and recycling bins. Plastic handles and beer cans overflowed onto the pavement. “Well never have I ever …” he stammered.

Reaching a state of delirium, Penrose stumbled into the parking lot outside of Prentiss dining hall. A group of women passed him and, seeing his disoriented state, ran over to help.

“Lie him down, I don’t think he can’t breathe!” said one student.

“Don’t worry, I’m WFR certified,” exclaimed another as she grabbed his face and kneeled down to administer CPR.

At this, Penrose let out a shriek and jumped up, sprinting away. Nothing has been heard from him since, but it can be assumed that he traveled back in time to a place more comforting and familiar than ours.