‘I’ll meet you at the HUB.’ It’s one of the most common statements made in Happy Valley — by students, by faculty members and even by townies. But how many know about the real name behind the acronym?
Major things happen at the HUB, in the building and on the lawn. Yes, the lawn. It’s not just a place to throw a Frisbee or study for a final. At least one life was taken there. And at least one was saved. More about both later. But what about the name?
‘HUB’ is just one of Penn State’s many mysterious monikers. Our football stadium is named ‘Beaver,’ but Lions play therein. Our musicians and actors perform in Eisenhower Auditorium which wasn’t named for the President but was named for the president — of Penn State. ‘Rec Hall’ sounds like ‘Wreck’ but actually serves up recreation.
CLUELESS ABOUT THE NAME
So back to the HUB. How many know the full name of this building that houses so many lounges, eateries, meeting rooms and organizational offices? More specifically, do any of today’s students know why it’s nicknamed ‘HUB’? Well, I did a survey within the Hetzel Union Building-Robeson Center, and the results were not encouraging. OK, I only surveyed five kids. I’ve got other things to do. But here are the answers I got when I asked, ‘Why is this building called the HUB?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe because it’s a central building on campus?’ – Anthony, senior in security and risk analysis
‘There’s a guy who it was named for…’ – Lindsey, senior in biology
‘It’s a name. Whose name is it? I honestly can’t remember.’ — Kenny, junior in electrical engineering
‘HUB refers to a recreation center. I don’t know why.’ — Truman, grad student in geotechnical engineering
‘I know there’s a full form of H-U-B. It stands for a name. I can’t remember the name.’ — Sunaina, sophomore in finance
HETZEL & ROBESON
Apparently, it’s time to do our homework on a guy named Hetzel, the man whose name adorns the student union. Ralph Dorn Hetzel served as president of the Pennsylvania State College from 1927 to 1947. Hetzel made virtually no promises during his inaugural address in ’27, but he delivered big-time breakthroughs over the next 20 years. Low on promises, high on results—that’s a leader.
Despite the financial burdens of the Great Depression (Penn State’s state appropriation was slashed almost in half) and World War II, Penn State’s enrollment doubled under Hetzel’s watch. The school’s research program expanded dramatically. Extension centers and two-year undergraduate centers were launched, forging the way for today’s Commonwealth Campuses.
Soon after Hetzel died of a stroke in 1947, Penn State began to plan for a better facility to replace the temporary union building (it actually was called the ‘TUB’). The new student union opened in 1953, and it carried the name of the former president.
Today, Hetzel is joined by another scholar and gentleman in the updated name of Penn State’s union building. Born in 1898 as the son of a former slave, Paul Robeson was valedictorian of his class at Rutgers. Although he also earned a law degree from Columbia, Robeson is best remembered as an actor and singer who fought for the civil rights of his fellow African-Americans and other oppressed peoples. In 1986, his name was placed upon Penn State’s Black Cultural Center, and in 1999, the Robeson Center moved from the Walnut Building to the HUB. The entire complex was renamed ‘Hetzel Union Building-Robeson Center.’
EISENHOWER’S POST OFFICE
Speaking of name transitions, Penn State moved from ‘college’ to ‘university’ status in 1953, and that prodded the school’s president, Milton Eisenhower, to push for other changes. To Eisenhower, it made no sense to have a university based in a town called ‘State College.’ So the younger brother of U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower proposed a name change for the Borough of State College, but voters chose to retain ‘State College’ rather than the new option of ‘Mount Nittany.’ Eisenhower also created a separate post office for Penn State which opened—in the HUB—on Feb. 22, 1955. (‘University Park’ won this naming battle over such contestants as ‘Atherton,’ and ‘Keystone.’) But don’t try to buy stamps at the HUB these days; the facility was moved to McAllister Building many years ago.
I barely remember the HUB post office, but I can clearly recall the cozy old HUB of the 1960s that was dominated by ping pong tables, pinball machines, trophy cases and a hamburger grill. Today’s HUB looks dramatically different with its large sky-lit commons, outdoor tables on a green roof and national eateries like Burger King, Panda Express and Starbucks.
I’m a big fan of the upgrades and expansions of 1997 and 2015, and I must say today’s facility is fabulous in comparison to the oldy-moldy place where I served as a busboy in 1967. But nothing really basic has changed about the HUB. Students always need a place to recline on somebody else’s furniture, while laughing off their academic pressures or talking about why their football team is going to defeat Ohio State. At Penn State, the HUB is still that place.
Bill Horlacher’s lifetime of HUB memories began with his work as a busboy there in 1967.
TRAGEDY ON THE HUB LAWN
Although the happy HUB stories clearly outnumber the sad ones, no summary of the Hetzel Union Building-Robeson Center would be complete without describing the previously-mentioned death on its lawn.
It was about 9:30 am on Sept. 17, 1996 when a tormented young woman named Jillian Robbins began firing with a telescopic rifle. Suffering from a host of psychiatric problems, this 19-year old State College native hid herself in bushes on the southwest corner of the HUB lawn. Her gunfire killed Melanie Spalla, a 21-year old senior, injured Nicholas Mensah, a 22-year old sophomore, and harmlessly hit the backpacks of two other students. Others might have been injured or killed, but a hero stepped in as Robbins reloaded.
Brendon Malovrh, a 21-year old senior, grabbed the woman’s high-powered military rifle. Robbins then tried to stab Malovrh with a knife but she accidentally sunk the blade three inches into her own thigh. Unbelievably, Malovrh then had the presence of mind and the compassion to care for a woman who had just sought to maim or kill him. He pulled out the belt from his coat to help stop Robbins’ bleeding. She survived her injury, later pled guilty to third-degree murder and is currently serving 30-60 years at a Pennsylvania correctional facility.
* * *
My own HUB story is significantly less dramatic. No one was injured or killed, and only a handful of people ever heard all of the details. But it was life-changing for me, and it involved several experiences within the complex that is now called Hetzel Union Building-Robeson Center.
As a townie who entered Penn State in 1970, I viewed the HUB as an oasis of familiarity in a strange world. OK, I admit I should have been the last freshman at Penn State to feel uprooted. After all, I went to a campus located halfway between the College Heights home where I grew up and the high school I had just left. Yet I was a freshman, and I felt intimidated by the tens of thousands of new faces at PSU.
So there I sat in the friendly confines of the HUB one day in the fall of 1970. Somehow, I entered into a spiritual conversation with a student from a religious background that was different from my own. Despite his non-Christian background, he had discovered a meaningful faith in Jesus; despite a positive upbringing in Grace Lutheran Church (yes, ‘The Dorito Church’ on Beaver Avenue), I had no such faith. Even though our conversation didn’t bring any closure to my quest for God, it gave me added impetus to read and think. ‘Is there really a personal God?’ I wondered. ‘If there is, how can I know Him in a personal way?’
This sky-lit commons is a feature of the HUB’s 2015 expansion. Photo by Bill Horlacher
During the next academic quarter (Penn State had not yet transitioned to semesters) I was walking home after an 8 a.m. class, and my route took me past the HUB. A little grumpy at having to get up for such an ‘early’ lecture, I began to analyze my life. ‘I enjoy Saturdays and Sundays,’ I thought to myself, ‘but I hate Monday through Friday. That’s five bad days and two good days — every week. There must be a better way to live.’
Summer didn’t bring any breakthroughs, but I kept wondering about the message of Jesus. And I knew my best friend from high school had recently become more committed in his faith. One day in September of 1971, I asked a Christian friend to join me for a conversation, on the HUB lawn. I asked a series of questions about the gospel, but I really wasn’t listening to my friend’s answers. That’s because I was caught up in some new thoughts.
For reasons too numerous to cite, I realized that I did believe in a God who loved me. But, also for reasons too many to list, I knew I was a sinful person. ‘If God were to allow me into His presence as I am right now,’ I decided, ‘I would be polluting heaven’s atmosphere with my sin.’ With that perspective in mind, I could finally appreciate the idea that Jesus gave his life to forgive me and separate me from my sin. On that day, September 29, 1971, I prayed a simple prayer to put my faith in him. By the way, many Christians talk of how their lives were transformed after being ‘saved,’ perhaps mentioning a newfound ability to manage their tempers or avoid addictive substances. As for me, I realized my life had changed when I caught myself happily humming a worship song while walking to an 8 a.m. class on a rainy Monday morning.
Even though a whopping total of 46 years have passed, my story doesn’t feel like it should be mothballed quite yet.I’m still enjoying an ongoing faith, one that is always stimulated by this week that precedes Easter. And I’m still grateful for my experiences in one of Penn State’s iconic places. So perhaps the least I can do is to share a few memories from the Hetzel Union Building-Robeson Center and explain why the HUB became a spiritual hub to me.
Students can confer on group projects while catching a view of Mount Nittany from the HUB’s new green roof. Photo by Bill Horlacher.
