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As the drawing rolled around during my senior year, I remember classmates saying little prayers, hoping divine intervention would deliver them into the Mods. You could score a Mod only by selecting five potential roommates and then hoping your number was drawn in the annual housing lottery. So, despite the fact that they were small and dingy, there wasn’t a single person I knew who didn’t want to call one of the ruddy-brown huts home. As one friend used to say-without a whiff of hyperbole-“Everything happens in the Mods.” Sure, you get in through sheer luck, but the perception has always been that people who live in the Mods are part of a special club. Being a Mod resident carries with it a certain cachet.

The prefab, two-story Mods (short for modular housing) were installed in 1970, and they’ve developed a certain mystique, both because they are somewhat exclusive-there’s room for only 438 seniors to live there, about a fifth of the class-and an epicenter of campus culture.