There is a phenomenon in Lawrence that is only felt by those who actively participate in the academic pseudo-city known as the University of Kansas. It is first noticeable in August, inaudible and faint, like a whisper through the trees on the 950-acre campus as Mount Oread sleepily awakens from its summer hibernation.

A weak pulse is detectable on the hill, a sort of buzzing anticipation for the new school year to begin. Every day it grows stronger as the bookstores repeatedly run out of textbooks and the streets become crowded with U-Hauls and stuffed sedans. The quiet anticipation boils into hectic excitement as freshmen pour into the dorms, juniors scramble to declare their majors and the parking department kicks into high gear, ticketing cars that have parking passes on the wrong side of the windshield. Classes start. Wescoe Beach becomes flooded with charity drives, KU organization promotions and Bible-waving religious fanatics. Suddenly KU has a heartbeat, rhythmic and familiar, pulsating through everything on campus. If you stand still for a moment you can feel it; the crimson and blue blood that runs through the veins of the hill, fueling the University like gasoline on a fire.

This phenomenon is what has been come to be known as Jayhawk Spirit, but be cautioned not to confuse it with Homecoming Fever or March Madness. No amount of face paint or pom-poms can equal Jayhawk Spirit, and while the blood drives and t-shirts do contribute to the heartbeat of KU, they are not what keep it steadily beating. The life of the University lies in the loyalty and nostalgic affection of the students, professors and staff that call it home.

Historically, the term Jayhawk signified the ruffians that fought to keep Kansas a free state during the Civil War. According to KU Traditions, the name was coined from combining two birds, “The blue jay, a noisy, quarrelsome thing known to rob other nests, and the sparrow hawk, a stealthy hunter.” Anyone who has been to a game at Allen Fieldhouse or stolen a keg off of a back porch can identify. Our mascot first appeared in 1886 in the famous Rock Chalk chant, and suddenly Jayhawk Spirit was born.

What strikes a beat into the heart of KU is that feeling of fierce pride to be a Jayhawk, that feeling of protective anger when some ignorant fool insists that Aggieville trumps Massachusetts Street. True Jayhawk Spirit is the awe and respect that floods your body when you lay eyes on Watson Library for the first time, and that warm feeling of homecoming when Fraser Hall rises out of the western horizon above K-10.

Jayhawk Spirit was built on principles of determination and loyalty, and true Jayhawks fight for what they believe in with unwavering fervent allegiance. For more than 150 years, thousands of young adults have been filled with the pulse of KU. It’s here that Jayhawks are born and bred, permanently marked with the brand of a mythological bird that crushes Wildcats and conquers Tigers. In our years here we meet soul mates and lovers, future ex-trophy wives and baby daddies. We make friends, break ties and set the mold of our future selves, all while building these characteristics that set us apart from other Universities.

It’s senior year, and as my time at KU inches towards a (relative) close, I find myself desperately clinging to this familiar heartbeat, knowing that even if I do take another two years to graduate, I will inevitably have to leave behind this institution that has become my home and venture out into the real world.

Time went so fast, and although I’ve always considered my self a full-blooded Jayhawk, it wasn’t until this year that I really understand what that meant.

Think about it, and the next time you’re with the rest of the crowd in Memorial Stadium, stand proud to sing our Alma Mater, because it’s up to those with true Jayhawk Spirit to keep the meaning of Mount Oread alive.

All together now:

Far above the golden valley,

Glorious to view,

Stands our noble Alma Mater

Towering towards the blue.

Lift the chorus ever onward,

Crimson and the blue

Hail to three, our Alma Mater

Hail to old KU.

McLeod is an Overland Park senior in journalism and Middle Eastern Studies.