When U of All People was founded back in 1970 (briefly losted in the foreclosure of 1987), little thought was given to its surroundings, the sleepy hamlet of Ennyville -- primarily because there was no Ennyville. The university itself emerged on 150 acres of reclaimed swampland, a federal land grant only in the sense that the government wanted to distance itself from a toxic sludge event that at the time was termed “accident at the plant.” But as the university grew from pontoons and quonset huts to potholed paths and faux Gothic halls in dire need of repair, the blind forces of capitalism have seen to the birth and growth of the town.
Ennyville started in 1975 with Sleep Here, a forty-room flea lodge built to accommodate the families of graduating students, campus guests, and sordid trysts. From there, it was a short series of steps to enterprises such as Mart’s Fuel Mart (“We’ll give you gas”) and Main Street Movie Theater (now Main Event, a performance space whose latest show was devoted to foot flogging, linked to the university art department). For obvious reasons, Ennyville has a close relationship to U of All People, or, as biology professor Jen Edix describes it, “the parasitism that exists between a nematode and the human intestine.” Other faculty have been less kind in their assessments. Yet Ennyville is careful to preserve a traditional college town air, if only to attract those at U of All People who consider themselves traditional or collegiate.
The Down Home Diner, housed in an authentic old railway car, remains a bit of a mystery, since no train service exists within 100 miles of Ennyville. Affectionately termed “the Roach Coach” by its clientele, Down Home has survived countless code violations, ranging from clogged grease traps to rodent droppings in the pantry. But the diner remains a favorite university hangout, particularly because so few options exist. And Down Home serves breakfast all day, especially for students whose idea of morning fare is French fries and gravy.
Perhaps in reaction to the dining venues on and off the campus, an upscale café called the Purple Plum does a brisk business in muffins, coffee, herbal tea, and more muffins. The school’s seven student vegans dine here. A 2003 foray into lunch business -- stuffed muffins with a choice of three fillings -- didn’t succeed, and now the Purple Plum is back to what it does best.
Charming Boutique #3 is the third incarnation of a candle and scented soap shop, whose owner in 1985 moved to the graveyard off Route 17. Chloe Retro, a recent graduate at the time, bought the business and turned it into Groovy Antiques, featuring items from the Sixties, such as giraffe-shaped bongs and peace signs made from barbed wire. Under new ownership after a drug raid, the store is now back to soap and candles, with a sideline in wobbly ceramics.
Wrecks-All Drugstore near Fraternity Row stocks what its customers need most, including a dozen brands of condoms and over-the-counter sedatives. Pharmacist “Pops” Popper aims to please, as he has for over twenty-five years, and also does a brisk backdoor business in what he vaguely refers to as “secondhand Rx.”
Boo Briar is the friendly proprietor of Boo’s, a liquor store that deals mainly in pint bottles. Open late, Boo’s has been deemed responsible for a large percentage of the DWI incidents around campus, but as Boo likes to joke, “Alcohol don’t kill people. It preserves ’em.”
Five houses of worship anchor the town, including the First Presbyterian church and two close Seconds. The Catholic church, Our Lady of Groaning, merges spiritual consolation with tutoring aid. “Haven’t got a prayer of passing the test?” reads the marquee sign. “We can help.” The Interfaith Chapel, recognizable by its defaced outdoor sculpture, is visited by no one.
The Swampland Bank (the name a nod to the college’s roots), offered free checking in the days when students still wrote checks, but now demands a minimum balance of $500 (with a creative option, still pending in court, for the equivalent in goods and services). The card slot in the ATM has been repeatedly jammed with super-glue since 2007, but the smashed security camera has shown nothing.
Of course, Ennyville does more than just cater to the buying patterns of students. The town boasted a population of 1,713 in the 2010 census and has learned to be self-sufficient (except in June, July, and August). The buildings around town house three second-rate doctors, an insurance-real estate-tax accountancy-law-and-carpentry firm, a nail salon staffed by illegal immigrants — even semi-affordable housing in a development called Kollege Rowe. In reciprocity, U of All People has reached out to Ennyville, offering a senior-citizen course-credit discount that amounts to $15.99, as well as free access to campus cultural events like Museum Night. The school also rents its 15,000-seat football stadium to local meetings of the Kiwanis Club.
Even the latest Omicron Upsilon prank, involving a gallon of sheep’s blood and the Interfaith Chapel, hasn’t done much to sour town-gown relations, after the fraternity paid an unnamed sum in restitution. As head of the local Chamber of Commerce, Len Meesum, puts it,“The love just keeps on coming.”