Opinion | In defense of Panther Village

Linley Munson, junior creative writing major

Panther Village has always been treated as the ugly stepchild of Chapman housing ー especially compared to the glossy living spaces of its newer counterpart, Chapman Grand Apartments. If you tell someone you live in Panther Village, there’s bound to be an inevitable, “Oh, what’s that like?” 

It’s not like Panther Village’s bad rap isn’t warranted.

During my time living there, I sent out half a dozen maintenance requests, and I would often attend online classes while a repairman milled about the background of my Zoom square, attempting to fix my fridge, my stove, my garbage disposal or whatever else had broken that week.

The building’s history as a motel is painfully evident. I’m fairly certain someone was murdered in my room. That’s not just me being cheeky; there was a suspiciously large dark splatter of unknown origin on my curtains. Eventually, I managed to convince myself that it was only a soup stain for my own peace of mind, but I still kept the curtains open to avoid any unwanted questions.

Compared to the sleek, modern aesthetic of Chapman Grand, Panther Village comes off a little rough around the edges. It’s the kind of place where you might find a discarded tampon applicator in the grass — which I did.

However, I can’t exclusively criticize; my studio apartment, room 821, represented the first time in my college experience that home wasn’t a source of anxiety. I had an unlucky streak when it came to previous roommates, so I was thrilled to have a place that was mine without dishes piled up in the kitchen or sticky White Claw puddles on the floor. It was a hideous beige and brown refuge from the stress brought on by the pandemic, and I cherished it.

Living in Panther Village during the height of the pandemic was the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to visiting a ghost town — there must’ve been forty people living there at most. Running into neighbors was a rare occurrence. A dark cloud of quarantine depression hung over the lot, leaving me feeling dreadfully lonely. There’s only so much antidepressants can do when you’re 1000 miles away from friends and family. 

Thankfully, I could distract myself with the homemade “Animal Planet” show going on in my backyard. Enter the infamous cats of Panther Village. Now that I’m no longer at risk of getting scolded by an RA, I can openly admit that I was the one feeding them, despite the rule against it (Sorry!). In retrospect, it was probably obvious, seeing as how there were at least two cats following me at all times.

During a time where I could barely see anyone and had lost contact with many people, I found companionship in the local wildlife. In between the rows of buildings, I had my Snow White moment. 

Sometimes there’d be a raccoon or a possum in the mix, but the cats were a constant — each one unique from the next. It took a while for them to warm up to me, but since the world was on hold, I had nothing but time. I didn’t expect them to ever get close to me, let alone trust me. And yet, after months of patient, quiet observation, a single gray tabby would brush against my legs as a greeting. 

That last night before moving out was bittersweet, knowing the feline friends I was leaving behind.  Despite the ongoing hardships of my life, from the isolation of the pandemic to navigating remote learning, I was able to romanticize the crummy joint all the same.

There would be nights where I’d sit on the stairs watching the fireworks from Angel Stadium, hoping for better days to come. I’d stroll among the fern-lined paths, imagining I was in a David Attenborough program where I’d document the life that dwelled in the suburbs. Such practices might be perceived as juvenile and insignificant, but for me, they are overwhelmingly therapeutic.

Living outside of the dorms with a wonderful roommate, my housing situation is the best it has ever been. You can’t put a price on modern luxuries like a functioning fridge, stove or garbage disposal. Despite its shortcomings, there’s times where I miss what I left behind. Moving back during August, I revisited the university’s Super 8. The cats ran up to me like always, as if no time had passed. I don’t know where things are going and whether they’ll get worse or not. But I do know there is charm in even the dingiest of places — if you know where to look.