THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 3, 1996 TAG: 9602290026
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY TAMARA STANLEY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 243 lines
IN THE EARLY days, college roommates had it easy.
At the College of William and Mary when Thomas Jefferson was a student, roomies didn't worry whose turn it was to cook. Boys were provided with high-class chefs who ensured the victuals were the freshest.
And Jefferson didn't have to sniff a rotting stench floating from his roommate's coats and tails piled in the corner. Matrons, washers and linen folders kept things clean.
There was no problem coordinating phone times. And courtships didn't extend into the late hours in TJ's room. William and Mary wasn't co-ed until 1918.
If there were any problems, they were immediately reported to and corrected by the master.
Today, IOUs stack up from late-night pizza deliveries and mud-stained workout clothes fester atop the in-room refrig. Snooze alarms pierce a roommate's morning slumber.
Roommates either deal with it on their own or, as Hampton University senior Marc Hicks put it, ``Roll over and face the wall.''
Or move out. An average of 200 College of William & Mary students do each year. Virginia Tech averages more than 1,000 room changes, officials said. During the 1993-94 academic year, about 395 students at James Madison University changed rooms because of roommate conflicts.
But Hicks and his roommate Jonathan Murray stuck it out. So did William and Mary seniors Kathleen O'Neill and her roommate Thea Richard, and Scott Tiernan and former roommate/current hallmate Matt Flaherty.
Roomies for years, they shrug off any idea that what they have is so unusual. They blow off the trials and tribulations of cohabitation like movie day in psych class.
They stayed together and learned how to be roommates.
And friends.
Thea and Kathleen
``We were going to a bridal shower and it was raining. I was holding the umbrella for the two of us to squeeze under. There was this woman sitting in her car, who didn't know who we were, watching other people yelling at each other.
``We met her later and she told us, `All of a sudden there came these two people holding this umbrella. It just looked like this beautiful picture of friendship.' ''
After she tells the story, Thea Richard and her roommate Kathleen O'Neill crack up.
``I was like, `Oh, yeah. Must have been a Kodak moment,'' Richard says.
``We're not cheesy like that,'' O'Neill adds.
What they are is inseparable. Richard and O'Neill have seen each other through bad rooms, bad frat parties, and some very bad cases of the midnight munchies.
After their first semester, it was a given the two would always room together.
They spent the first year in all-female Barrett. As sophomores, they were in Spotswood and last year they a had a basement room with ``Laverne and Shirley'' windows in Stith.
``The only good thing (about those places) was my roommate,'' Richard says.
Finally this year, they say, they have a good room.
It's a dim, tidy, corner square decorated from floor to ceiling in deep blue. Blue curtains. Blue rug. Blue velvet couch. Blue comforters and sheets on both beds.
Tapes and CDs are stacked along a white wall shelf that also houses several empty beer bottles and a small aquarium.
A stereo, TV and VCR are in the center. Music isn't always playing in their room. They turn it off when they're sleeping.
``That's probably what first bonded us,'' O'Neill explains. ``Dancing and music.''
Before William and Mary, they lived a world away from each other. Richard, born in a military community in Tennessee, lived in Spain for most of her life and says she was very close to her younger brother, a college freshman.
O'Neill grew up a ``pseudo only child'' in Front Royal, but was born in Paraguay. She's the youngest of four, and her closest sibling is eight years older. Her sister moved out when she was 4.
They say they've found a sister in each other.
They visit each other during school breaks and holidays. Their parents say they've got another daughter in each of them.
They belong to the same sorority. ``Kappa Delta,'' they say in unison.
While they share a love of eating out at campus restaurants and delis, they don't share everything, claiming not to be ``close bosom buddies'' all the time. They don't discuss academics and they don't compete. If someone angers the other, it's mentioned. But it's never discussed again.
Even after four years of close quarters, neither admits to a case of cabin fever.
``Now I'm thinking when we get married we're gonna be each other's maids of honor!'' O'Neill says, feigning tears. ``We've never discussed anything like that. She'd be like, `Whatever, let's just see you get a boyfriend first.' ''
With busy schedules, even roommates have a hard time getting together. But they manage.
This night, for example.
``I'm gonna go see a cellist and she's gonna go to Powerhour,'' a sorority hang-out and drinking event, O'Neill says.
``Which you're gonna join me at!''
``Which I'm gonna join her at,'' O'Neill pauses. ``That's how we live our lives.''
``Separate and come right back together,'' Richard adds.
Matt and Scott
Matt Flaherty is comfortably outfitted in a green, plaid button-down, khakis and matching socks. ``A Gap poster boy,'' Scott Tiernan calls him.
Tiernan hides his unbrushed hair under a W&M golf ballcap. He's in jeans, a Wimbledon T-shirt and no socks.
``I haven't showered . . . '' he hums from the side of his mouth.
So what's kept these guys together?
``Take everything in stride,'' says Flaherty.
``He's very accepting,'' says Tiernan.
While they've always got some kind of bet going - whoever can't go through the day without calling the other ``stupid'' or ``idiot'' has to spring for a 12-pack of beer - they know that when the laughter dies down, they have more than fun and games.
They've got an ``open mike'' friendship. Everything is fair game. They say there's no topic they haven't discussed.
The hot topic is girlfriends.
To continue or sever a long-distance romance was an impossible decision for Tiernan to make during his freshman year. He and Flaherty talked about it ``about a hundred times.''
Flaherty had been there before, knew Tiernan's new girlfriend at that time and could ``offer perspectives on how she feels.''
``Matt is very objective,'' Tiernan says. ``He doesn't judge people.''
They also lean on each other in times of tragedy. When Flaherty's grandfather died during their sophomore year, Tiernan was there for support.
With three years of room-sharing history behind them at William and Mary, they say being open helps them to understand their behavior and to accept their differences.
And there are many.
Flaherty's a finance and anthropology major who'll work in business after graduation for stability. He looks to grad school in a few years, to study archaeology.
Tiernan doesn't have a resume. He wants to turn pro or maybe teach golf at country clubs. Maybe law school.
Friends describe Tiernan as ``chatty.'' Flaherty is soft-spoken.
But, they found common ground and learned that beneath the surface they're very compatible.
Some of Flaherty's organization has rubbed off on Tiernan. Flaherty's gotten more laid-back like Tiernan.
But it took some time. When Tiernan arrived in their room freshman year, Flaherty had already picked his side of the room, had his stuff put away and sheets on his bed.
Tiernan wasn't put off. It was just a little strange, he said. After several ``first days'' with Flaherty, now he laughs it off.
They're not as close this year. In fact, they've grown apart - four feet apart. A dorm hallway separates them. (They chose to carry underclassmen on their senior lottery housing numbers. Otherwise they'd still be living together.)
But who can tell the difference.
``This stuff right here,'' Tiernan points to a cluster of stuff where he sits in Flaherty's room, ``This is mine. We're always in here or in my room.''
Marc and Jonathan
When Jonathan Murray met Marc Hicks, it was a slap in the face.
Sitting behind Murray during freshman orientation, Hicks turned around to meet the guy behind him. His face met Murray's hand, reaching for a handshake.
``I was like, `Damn!'' said Murray, adjusting an ivory scarf.
Since then, it's been a kick in the pants. In an off-campus apartment at Hampton University, the 22-year-old roomies say they have nothing but fun.
Unless it's Murray's turn to do the dishes.
``I've never done dishes, never, ever. Never. I look at them and I'm just like, `What do you want me to do with these?''
Dishwashing. The reason for their only real disagreement. After a week of frustration during their junior year, Hicks playfully tackled and punched Murray.
Since then, Murray has been doing dishes.
In their four years together, they've seen roommates, girlfriends and their own stuff come and go.
But they remain, splitting the grocery, electric and phone bills 50-50, and shaking their heads in amusement at each other's quirks.
Hicks, who handles all the bills, is a neat freak but keeps an even keel.
Murray is an admitted mama's boy, talkative, articulate.
He says growing up a spoiled only child in a Houston suburb did not prepare him for roommate life.
He was only responsible for cleaning his room.
Hicks has worked since he was 14, from refereeing youth league games to raking leaves, mulching plants, vacuuming, doing dishes and re-roofing his parents' house in Nashville.
``I'm very independent,'' he says. ``I don't expect anyone to do anything for me.''
So when Hicks encountered Murray in their freshman year, he didn't know what to think.
``He was coming up stairs with his mother, carrying a TV in his arms,'' Hicks recalls, squinting his eyes, wrinkling his nose. ``His hair was permed and real long at the time. I was like, `Who is this guy?' ''
``I had a perm, but I was fly, I was fly,'' Murray says.
And he still is in a floor-length, black trench coat, navy suit and tie. He loves his clothes. Appearance is everything.
``Jon is the type of person who will stand in front of the mirror looking at himself. . . '' Hicks pauses, and shrugs, ``until he's done looking at himself. Or until I yank him out of the mirror, which I've had to do.''
But Murray has gotten better. When they were juniors, he'd iron four outfits a day while trying to decide what to wear.
Hicks has gotten better, too, although he's still a ``cleaning machine.''
``It used to get on my nerves at first,'' Murray said. ``When I first started living (with him) I would be drinking something and I'd put it down and come back and it would be gone! It would be poured out and in the dishwasher. I wasn't done! I just went to the bathroom!''
After their stereo was ripped off by an unwelcome visitor during sophomore year, they spent their junior year in an off-campus townhouse with another roommate.
They look back on the experience hesitantly.
Two would gang up on one. Dividing the bills three ways was a strain. IOUs among three got complicated.
And then the girls - Murray's and the other roommate's girlfriends - ``moved in.''
``It was stressful at times,'' Hicks admits.
Now it's the two of them again, forecasting each other's chili cravings (``I'll be wanting chili all day and I'll come home and he'll be cooking chili. That happens all the time,'' said Hicks), sharing ideas, and, as always, respectfully disagreeing.
Something they definitely agree on is the environmental law firm they hope to open once they've both completed law school.
It will combine Murray's major of political science and Hicks' major, marine environmental science.
And they won't have to worry about who'll do the dishes. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos
VICKI CRONIS/The Virginian-Pilot
MATT FLAHERTY & SCOTT TIERNAN
COLLEGE OF WILLIAM & MARY
They have an ``open mike'' friendship, where everything is fair
game. They say there's no topic they haven't discussed. The hot
topic is girlfriends, but they also lean on each other in times of
tragedy.
THEA RICHARD & KATHLEEN O'NEIL
COLLEGE OF WILLIAM & MARY
They've seen each other through bad rooms, bad frat parties and some
very bad cases of midnight munchies. After their first semester, it
was a given the two would always room together.
MARC HICKS & JONATHAN MURRAY
HAMPTON UNIVERSITY
They shake their heads at each other's quirks. Hicks, who handles
all the bills, is a neat freak but keeps an even keel. Murray is an
admitted mama's boy, talkative, articulate.
by CNB