Instead of trying to find private developers for a 750-bed dorm on south campus this year, university administrators tried, and failed, to get the project publicly financed. Somehow, the mistake that got us into this mess isn’t getting us out of it, and in addition to the more than 1,000 upperclassmen who will lose on-campus housing next year, hundreds more underclassmen will be crammed into suites and apartments that weren’t intended to house them.

This year, for the first time ever, there has been a huge influx of freshmen into the Leonardtown Community, and I have had the privilege of supervising them as a Resident Assistant.

The freshmen love it here. Why wouldn’t they? The apartments are perfectly sized for throwing huge parties, are a hundred feet from Fraternity Row and are a quarter-mile from bars that have lower standards for entry than many of their underage patrons.

We have a great time together. One night, I was called to calm down a screaming resident after he stumbled into the bathroom in a drunken delirium, failed to find the light switch, peed all over the floor and could not find his way back out. When I got there and turned the lights on, he was naked, sitting in a puddle of his own urine, feverishly trying to will his way out of the bathroom by kicking a hole through the wall.

But the funny incidents are in the minority: I’ve dialed 911 more times in one weekend than most people do in their entire lives.

On a warm autumn evening, a group of gentlemen found themselves gambling over beer pong (Who does that?). One fine chap started losing and gradually became dangerously intoxicated and increasingly averse to losing his cash. So he grabbed his money, ran to another apartment and was chased by a mob of his opponents who took great offense to his poor show of sportsmanship. They attempted to get into the apartment by busting down the door. It didn’t work. But chucking a chair through the window did, and it even came with the bonus of lacerating the apartment’s inhabitants with shards of broken glass.

The alcohol poisoning cases are the worst. Last time I reported one, it was for a kid who tried to drink a fifth of SoCo solo. When I arrived on the scene, he was glazed in vomit and unresponsive. The EMTs had to strap him into a wheelchair so he wouldn’t fall out of it while they transported him. He survived, but he was lucky. I hope I graduate before the next tragedy happens, so I won’t have to live with it on my conscience.

These kids aren’t blameless. Many of the incidents require an uncanny propensity for making poor decisions in rapid succession. But the environment here in Leonardtown Community on the outskirts of the campus, where students aren’t contained in large buildings with easily monitored hallways, puts them at unnecessary risk.

I’ve contemplated writing this column for a long time. I’ve worked tirelessly at my position as an RA, developed good relationships with my supervisors and was even awarded the title of RA of the Year for 2006-2007. Airing the department’s dirty laundry will likely destroy my working relationships with many, many of the Department of Resident Life’s administrators and may even get me fired for disclosing information.

But the sacrifice will be worthwhile if it convinces administrators who seem obsessively devoted to public financing of dorms to realize the urgency of the situation and pursue public-private partnerships.

If the department is serious about its commitment to promote a safe and secure environment for residents, we don’t just need enough beds to house everyone who wants one on the campus. We need the flexibility to get underclassmen out of suites and apartments and put them back on north campus.

I care deeply about the health and safety of my residents. I’m finding it hard to believe that our top administrators feel the same way.

Benjamin Johnson is the Opinion Editor of The Diamondback. He can be reached at opinion.dbk@gmail.com.