Courtesy of Ary Hashim
In the dark ages (2021), back when Fowler was Templeton, when the Odell common room was expansive and homey and the Trail Room was carpeted, there once existed an angelic cafe, tucked away on the residential campus.
Now resigned to the realm of myth and fairytale, the late Maggie’s Caféewas a safe haven on the first floor of the Roberts apartment building, proving to be too good to be true. As the class of 2025 nears graduation, the realization that we are the final class who remembers Maggie’s necessitates one lasting, heartfelt goodbye.
Many times have I regaled my younger friends of the dozens of nights spent in Maggie’s, taking full advantage of the meal swipe hot sandwiches and drinks that were available until midnight on weekends. Not only was Maggie’s the perfect setting for a late night gossip session, fueled with peppermint hot chocolate and Pirate’s Booty, but it was the ideal awkward freshman date spot, solo-study environment or even just reprieve from the bustle of college life.
The smooth curved lines of the building were welcoming, artistic chalk drawings would boast the favorite drinks of baristas and the snack array was vast and diverse. Escaping from F-wing Copeland as a sad freshman who had just been through her first real heartbreak, I found warmth and comfort in Maggie’s Café, the perfect place to hang out for the first time with new friends and always a space to come back to after Akin parties were inevitably disbanded. Along with food and drinks, having restrooms available and centrally located on residential campus was a privilege I never thought to consider back then. Without swipe access to any residential buildings, students who live off campus or in the Forest dorms must make the hasty decision to either run to Fowler or make the trek home.
The smell of cinnamon, oatmilk, coffee, the gentle clinks of ceramic mugs, the hum of the espresso machine and overheard snippets of gossip made time slow down, if even for only a moment. Maggie’s was not only a cafe, it was where weekend plans were concocted and friendships solidified. It was a cultural cornerstone of residential life. It was not a cramped dorm room or the third floor of Miller, the library or one of the numerous beautiful benches around campus — it was a third space, a shared and loved space, bridging the stress of academic rigor and the chaos of social life.
Late night study sessions turned into deep conversations, where discussions of philosophy and politics could easily shift to bellyaching fits of laughter, where you would make apologetic eye contact with the barista as you ordered your third coffee past 8 p.m. and rejoice in academic breakthroughs. As a consistent denizen of Maggie’s, I never knew all of the names of students I saw in the worn-down chairs or gathered leaning against the counters, but I knew their faces and the comfort reflected in them.
Maggie’s was one of my first homes away from home, where I could enter teary eyed and red faced and buy myself a feel-better-croissant. It was my first true taste of college life outside of classes or my dorm. It was a place where all students could come together in the same space to enjoy the ambiance, folks from all over the world, with different majors, languages and interests, to sip a beverage in peace. As a freshman, I could walk in behind a group of seniors and still find a place for myself to feel included in the tapestry of college life.
As the class of 2025 graduates and the space has transformed into a student resource center, there are a few of us who can still see the shadow of the iconic reddish cursive sign glowing in the Portland fog. Hopefully the wonderful, warm energy cultivated in that space is still tangible as it shifts to a new space —The Nest— aimed at supporting students. Farewell Maggie’s Cafe, I will never forget you.
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