The Menace of Mandatory On-Campus Senior Housing

The Menace of Mandatory On-Campus Senior Housing

A plan for 100 additional beds poses an existential threat too close for comfort.

(The author’s off-campus senior house. | SOURCE: Author)

Washington and Lee’s seniors have long had the freedom to live off campus, but mandatory on-campus senior housing now looms over the university. Though the current Master Plan provides only 100 additional beds for upper-division students, students and alumni should be skeptical that the university will stop there. 

The administration's track record speaks volumes, with the rapid implementation of third-year housing between 2014 and 2016 showing how quickly the university can upend student life.

That addition of the Village housing — championed by then-Dean Sidney Evans — was predictably justified through cherry-picked quotes from “focus groups” whose representation of the student body was questionable, as The Spectator reported at the time. 

The selected quotes include gems such as “the only time we see the men is on their turf, on their terms, drinking their beer,” revealing that the housing push was tied to an express goal of social engineering to make W&L “more in line with our peers.”

Conveniently, the economics of student housing dictated that living on campus during junior year would be mandatory: “We need to make sure all on-campus buildings are full in order to break even,” Evans said. Optional housing would “not be a money maker for the school.” 

Would administrators trust that enough seniors choose to sleep in the new beds for them to break even? Their dining policy indicates otherwise; the administration’s effort to wring money from students by requiring the purchase of at least 15 meal swipes per week suggests they do not trust students to make their own decisions when it comes to the university’s bottom line.

Once the infrastructure for additional upper-division beds exists, the university will be financially incentivized to make housing mandatory.

The cultural stakes of such a development, of course, could not be higher. W&L's identity rests on customs that span generations — from the Speaking Tradition to the student autonomy rooted in Robert E. Lee's educational philosophy.

Administrators worry that freedom enables poor decision-making, creating risks to students’ health and well-being that could lower W&L’s graduation rate.

But autonomy is essential to learning real-world lessons. As Spectator contributors Marshall Woodward and Christian von Hassell wrote in 2014, “our classroom is the conversation with the dubious landlord, getting snowed in and maybe losing power, and setting up a last-minute tent so the band doesn’t get rained out.”

The W&L education takes place outside a perfectly controlled environment, the slow-burn mayhem produced by choices made while living in Rockbridge County, preparing students for the fast-paced chaos of postgraduate life.

Beyond risk mitigation, the administration also frets about creating an inclusive and cohesive campus community, as revealed in our reporting of last year’s meal plan policy debacle. What they do not recognize is that W&L’s off-campus housing ensures the strong community they purport to want.

Every social group at W&L has an off-campus site to gather, enjoy time, and make memories outside the nanny school bubble. Since access to off-campus spaces is widespread, students can provide reciprocal hospitality: our custom of open parties past 10 p.m. extends to off-campus venues, too.

All students can enjoy time at Windfall Hill, the Poles, Rainforest Cafe, River House, and elsewhere, allowing them to forge connections across groups unique to our small school.

If off-campus venues are made more exclusive, the few privileged students with access might be less willing to let others share their spaces.

The cohesion created by off-campus housing also extends beyond students’ time at W&L: off-campus dwellings represent a bridge connecting past to present, serving as touchstones of institutional memory. Alumni still treasure their off-campus homes and party venues decades later, a testament to experiences impossible to replicate in sterile “housing clusters.”

And living off-campus also helps unite students and alumni in a shared appreciation of place matched by few other schools, our profound love for the quaintness and natural beauty of Rockbridge County and Lexington City — qualities hard to find in manufactured university housing.

Again, Woodward and von Hassel put it best, explaining that off-campus housing offers “the only chance in our otherwise hyperdriven lives to wake up in the woods, to the sound of Buffalo Creek, to the fog rolling off of Hogback Mountain.”

“Just as walking down the colonnade invigorates the academic spirit,” they wrote, “a daily drive from Hooterville cultivates a sense of place that can never be matched by fancy collegiate suburbs, no matter how ‘diverse and stimulating’ the administration envisions they will be.”

Like student autonomy, that “sense of place” harkens back to Lee, who “made a conscious decision not to build more dormitories,” as The Spectator quoted former Director of Communications Brian Shaw explaining. “He felt students should live in the community, not clustered together on campus,” Shaw said.

Mandatory on-campus housing for seniors would certainly entail a significant withdrawal from the local economy, as did the creation of third-year housing. Landlords currently earn approximately $3.85 million annually from W&L students, with median monthly rents of $743 in Rockbridge County and $860 in Lexington City, according to the Census Bureau. Reducing rental demand by 100 beds would subtract roughly $1 million from the local economy — a devastating blow.

(Two new housing sites proposed in W&L’s Master Plan. | SOURCE: Washington and Lee University)

Students would suffer financially as well. Current off-campus housing costs $9,618 annually for twelve months, while nine months of on-campus housing costs $10,125 — a premium of $507 for a shorter duration. Once the university achieves monopolistic control over senior housing, these price disparities will only worsen.

The broader trajectory in higher education is unmistakable. Elite liberal arts colleges are engaged in a race toward administrative micromanagement, transforming from institutions of intellectual challenge into “nanny schools” focused on risk mitigation rather than character development.

Bowdoin, Davidson, and Williams already require all students to live on campus. Amherst forces students to seek approval for off-campus living.

The university’s master plan may specify only 100 additional beds, but institutional incentives guarantee they will not rest content. Once built, these facilities will demand full occupancy to justify their cost. The administration’s history of manipulating student input and explicit desire to conform to peer institutions hints at their true intentions.

Now is the time for W&L students, alumni, and trustees to agitate against additional on-campus housing.

W&L is a school grounded not in a curated experience, but rather in students’ ability to live their best lives while navigating the chaos of the organic, Greek-centric social system and enjoying the earthy, authentic environment of Lexington and Rockbridge. The worldly education that results produces the well-rounded graduates for which Washington and Lee is so renowned, as well as cherished memories and connections.

This unique experience — the W&L experience — hangs in the balance as mandatory senior housing inches toward reality.

This article was drafted with AI assistance.

Andrew L. Thompson was an editor of The Spectator from August 2022 until April 2025. He now lives in Charlotte, N.C.

The opinions expressed in this magazine are the authors’ own and do not reflect the official policy or position of The Spectator, or any students or other contributors associated with the magazine. It is the intention of The Spectator to promote student thought and civil discourse, and it is our hope to maintain that civility in all discussions.