Krzyzewskiville

The rain that had been falling for days had finally stopped, and for the first time in nearly a week, students of the campout actually had been expected to spend the night in their tents. As the students hastily repack their belongings, the grumbling begins: "I can't believe they didn't grant a grace period," or, "I stayed out here all night and not a single tent check!" New students come to take over, and the still-weary overnighters depart, trudging through the mud back to their dormitory rooms. For them, this is not just any morning in K-ville: This is judgment day, the day to survey the sprawl of nylon that has become their home, and ask themselves: "Is it worth it?"

Ask any student this question, even on the coldest or wettest of nights, and the answer is almost always the same: "I do it because I want to be a part of K-ville, part of a Duke tradition."

But these fans might be surprised to learn that tenting is a relatively new phenomenon.

Although Krzyzewskiville itself was more than two decades away, the tent city's origins can be traced back to the 1960's when students would begin to line up for men's basketball games more than 24 hours before a given matchup, explains Kevin McGinnis, Trinity '96 and a former head line monitor for Duke Student Government. Actual tenting didn't become possible, however, until construction during the 1970's led to the creation of the lawn on which K-ville now stands. During those decades, campouts lasted only one or two days, and tenting was the exception rather than the rule. Still, McGinnis says, almost enviously, "We were just as crazy then."

During those years, junior varsity games used to be played immediately before the varsity team took to the court; to see one, students had to sit through both. "I've heard that all the fans would just sit there, silently waiting," McGinnis says, "waiting for hours."

Tenting as the University now knows it, however, didn't begin until the 1981 arrival of a young Mike Krzyzewski, who would go on to become the NCAA Tournament's winningest active coach and whose teams would capture the 1991 and 1992 national championships. Even then, however, tenting existed only on a much smaller scale. "In the early years," explains Sue Wasiolek, assistant vice president for student affairs, "there were no official policies because there didn't really need to be any. K-ville was a self-contained, self-regulated area."

But as K-ville has grown in both popularity and size, the tenting policy's fairness and students' safety have become overriding concerns for the University administration. During the mid-80s, Associated Students of Duke University-DSG's predecessor-became the legislative body responsible for overseeing the tent city. The Office of Occupational & Environmental Safety also began monitoring safety concerns in the burgeoning home away from home away from home.

"When K-ville first started, one of its major [safety] problems was with electricity," Wasiolek remembers. "Students had a very dangerous electrical arrangement with wires and cords leading out of the tents and snaking all the way into Card [Gymnasium] or into the basement of Cameron [Indoor Stadium], where they ran through doors or windows or anything, just to get electricity. Mainly, they wanted electricity to run their space heaters and hot plates, but it was creating a really dangerous situation."

Still, when asked about positive experiences, her voice immediately becomes serious. Sauter recounts a Valentine's Day cooking accident last year that left her hand burned and, after a trip to the emergency room, bandaged. "I remember one game not long after that, when I was obviously not feeling very well, and I was having to do a lot of yelling to get the lines in order," Sauter says. "The students knew I was not feeling that great, and they passed around this card that lots of people signed just basically saying, 'Thank You.' I remember it was the nicest gesture."

The Chronicle ran an editorial at the end of last season that praised both the line monitors and the clarity of the tenting policy. With pride, Sauter says she hung that editorial on her bulletin board at work. "I have that up because I'm proud of how it went last year," she says. "I know some people probably still consider me the Spawn of Satan, but I consider it to have been a positive experience."

Sauter imparts this enthusiasm to the prospective students she interviews as part of the application process. "Tenting is something that prospective students are so excited about-tenting and the Cameron Crazies and the basketball team, all of it," she says.

This enthusiasm, which gains momentum during the application process and seems to reach its zenith during students' freshmen years, may explain why the campout seems to grow in both duration and size every year, McGinnis explains. "Once the first person puts up their tent, that's it-everyone has to," he says. "And, every year, 10 more students come to the University who are a bit more crazy than the previous class."

There are several aspects of the University that help foster this kind of fanaticism, McGinnis claims. First, Duke is located in the South, where a relatively warm climate makes prolonged campouts possible; second, and perhaps more importantly, Duke students are able to enjoy and foster unique relationships with Cameron because of the way the stadium was constructed. "This kind of thing is only possible with Cameron," he asserts, "because the students are so close to the court and have such a special relationship with the court and with the team."

Many past students also argue that the University's increasing national academic ranking may be contributing to the current flare-up of tenting enthusiasm. As McGinnis explains: "I think there's definitely this attitude of, 'I'll show you; we're taking organic chemistry, but we also have to sit in a tent for weeks on end.'"

The appeal of tenting, however, is not always theoretical in nature. "Tent city, to me, was the biggest social scene-bigger than Mardi Gras," McGinnis gushes. "There was just so much going on there."

And the goings-on of K-ville hardly are run-of-the-mill. McGinnis recalls one tenter who used to paint himself blue for every game. "Blue Boy," as he was known, let nothing deter him from demonstrating his Blue Devil spirit-not even the fact that, in the hustle and bustle of Cameron, much of his war paint would rub off onto other students' formerly pristine pieces of Duke paraphernalia.

"I don't know if I'd call that crazy or stupid," McGinnis admits, "but it's just like now. There are people who are willing to sacrifice their own academic careers for six weeks-and, yeah, I think that's crazy. I bet that's how the name came about."

And it is exactly this kind of blind enthusiasm that has secured Duke a slot in sports lore.

"As a [high school] senior, I always knew that, if I came to Duke, there'd be the fans, there'd be people staying in tents, enduring windstorms and rainstorms to see you play," says Trinity freshman Shane Battier, forward on the men's basketball team. "Really, the fabled Cameron Crazies have legendary status across the country."

Battier acknowledges that Krzyzewskiville plays a part in the recruiting process. Mainly, he says, the tent city serves as a continual reminder that, every time a player dons his white Duke jersey, he's going to be playing in front of a sold-out crowd.

Beyond the recruiting process, however, the fans clearly have an influence upon the players who choose to come to the University. "The fans have a huge impact," asserts Trinity senior Steve Wojciechowski, co-captain of the men's basketball team. "We have a few more home games to go, and we'll really need [the fans] then. But they've been great all season, in terms of coming out for every game. And I certainly don't expect anything less for the last few games."

When asked to speculate upon the Krzyzewskiville faithful's motivations, Battier seems unwilling to unnecessarily examine a good thing. "Tenting?" Battier asks, preparing to launch into one of his trademark quotes. "Only at Duke. I don't know why that is. I really can't explain it, and I really don't want to explain it. It's just wonderful."

Still, not all members of the University community rely upon the Cameron Crazies for that second-half spark or for that home-court advantage: Many of them feel as though students pay excessive attention to the men's basketball team.

William Willimon, dean of the chapel and co-author of the now-legendary critique of Duke's "Work hard/Play hard" ethic, uses one particular instance to illustrate his opinion: Years ago, as Willimon reached the crescendo of one of his sermons, the radio broadcast that usually covers his speech from beginning to end suddenly cut him off in order to air a pregame show featuring Krzyzewski.

Willimon recalls one woman who later wrote to him that preempting a church service was a "sacrilege."

"I wrote her back, completely agreeing with her, saying that, like her, I couldn't figure out why Coach K was more important than I am on this campus," Willimon says. "I sent a copy to Coach K. He wrote me back with a one-sentence letter, saying simply: 'You are a sore loser.'"

Willimon self-deprecatingly claims, however, that he is not affected by students' collective failure to offer similar demonstrations of loyalty to the Church. "I worry that time [spent in Krzyzewskiville] might be better spent elsewhere," he argues. "Then again, I think I'm jealous that no Duke students camp out all night to hear any of my sermons."

Jealousy aside, as the duration of the tenting season-which reached six weeks this year-increases, administrative concerns that students are spending too much time in their tents and are ignoring their studies have become increasingly valid. Many other factors also have contributed to the general critique of this year's tenting policy-a critique that culminated in the recent creation of a DSG ad-hoc committee that will develop permanent tenting by-laws by March 1998 for the 1998-99 and succeeding seasons.

This year, however, is not the first during which the tenting season has been so lengthy: In 1991, students also faced a "season-long" campout. Much of this year's criticism has been aimed, as it was in '91, at the head line monitors who, in the absence of concrete DSG by-laws, are responsible for designing the tenting policy year-to-year. Although recommended, it is not necessary to have prior line-monitoring experience before becoming a head line monitor.

This year's head line monitors, engineering senior Rajeev Chopra and Trinity senior Kevin Kiefert, had no line monitoring or DSG experience before Trinity senior and DSG president Lino Marrero appointed them to their current posts-a fact Sauter says may help to explain some of this season's communication and regulatory problems. Most notably, she feels as though Chopra and Kiefert were remiss in not upholding the unofficial rule that states that tenters cannot pitch their tents until 10 days before any given home game.

This miscalculation, Sauter continues, sparked a mad dash to erect tents before the 100-tent maximum-a stipulation imposed this year because of the on-going construction of the Wilson Recreation Center-was reached. Also, the lenient tent-check policy, which allows for one missed check and grants grace periods nearly every night, meant that students not in a tent during the first week of classes gave up altogether on getting into men's basketball games.

"There is the assumption that everyone in those tents is going to all the games, so other students don't show up on game day to stand in line," says Wasiolek, who points out that, for all but the "most important games," there have been plenty of seats available in the student section. "This policy has discouraged students who might otherwise be interested."

These sentiments were echoed by President Nan Keohane, who adds that she feels as though an ideal policy would be one that awards seating priority to tenters without sacrificing other students' rights to attend. "I think it's important that students who are not able to camp out in any particular season have a shot at seats in the student section for all but the most popular games," Keohane says. "For those games, however, the grit and dedication demonstrated by camping out is appropriately rewarded with a prize opportunity to cheer the Devils on."

Although Krzyzewski says he does not follow the tenting policy closely because "quite frankly, it confuses me," he adds that he does see ample room for improvement. "Tenting, as it is now, does help to get the really die-hard fans into Cameron," he says. "But there are still many diehards who, for whatever reason, can't make that kind of time commitment, so they don't get in. That's not really fair." Krzyzewski says that he would be willing to help formulate a more fair policy after this season ends.

Many student leaders, however, hope Krzyzewski's intervention will not be necessary.

"It's absolutely important to have a clearly defined policy," Sauter says, "because it can help avoid so many problems." She is quick to point out, however, that trying to follow an annual procedure rigidly would be just as problematic. "The policy has to be fluid enough to move from year to year," she says. "To legislate that with a strict set of rules is dangerous."

Night falls, and it's raining again in K-ville. The grumbling, however, is noticeably quieter. The home game against North Carolina-the true "judgment day"-is one day closer.

"Of course there's a risk that, when you're out there for so long, you get worn out," McGinnis admits. "I remember my freshman year, I think that, by Carolina, we all had bronchitis. But, in general, when you've been tenting for a while, you're so excited to be at the games [that], when you get in, you stay there and scream for two hours."

Some people call it crazy, but this annual ritual, unique to Duke, has become the nation's most elaborate-and most beloved-precursor to madness of the March variety.