Five years ago, a friend and I watched as maintenance workers drilled eight-foot tall, half inch-thick pieces of Plexiglas into the sides of the railings at New York University's Bobst Library.The railings, which encircle the library's central atrium, weren't high enough to prevent students from climbing over them-and where, from the library's tenth floor, they would tumble to their death.Since 2002, there have been at least 10 suicides at NYU The most recent ended the promising career of a 37-year-old computer science professor, Sam Roweis, who jumped from his university-owned apartment on Tuesday night.While all universities struggle with suicide, and while NYU's suicides are no more frequent than those that occur at a number of other large research universities, ours nevertheless seem to feel more public, more scrutinized.NYU, much like the city itself, is a place where the sheer number and density of people lathers tragic events like these into a kind of anxious foam. In the days or weeks after a suicide, there is a kind of perverse, gossipy attention, as if it were all that NYU had to talk about.There are few shared conversations, little in the way of social structure to cobble together the 16 schools and 50,000 students that make up NYU Unfortunately, the university is not a "close knit community, a large community of small communities," which President John Sexton evoked last fall in an email to the NYU student body following Andrew Williamson-Noble's suicide.Part of the difficulty, of course, is that the university's "campus" is more or less a series of purple NYU banners used to distinguish otherwise ordinary city blocks. Absent are quads and green spaces that allow for shared social interaction. But the larger issue is simply the issue of size: NYU is huge. Its bureaucracy can be formidable, and its students, perhaps even its professors, often feel lost in the fray.
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