In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so remarkably, unbelievably safe.
Robert May was raised the oldest of five siblings in a blue-collar family on the Central Coast of California. Robert spent his teenage years working after school and each summer at the local cement plant where he would shovel sand and repair cement trucks. Robert then made the decision to be the first member of his family to receive a college degree. Robert’s goal was to attend Cal Poly SLO after his grandfather, Bob May, took Robert to the campus (before taking him to the batting cages) to show him where he could get an education. Robert idolized his grandfather and always wanted to make him proud.