NO DORM? NO SWEAT

The house on Quebec Street sits quiet and lazy on a Saturday afternoon. The six upperclassmen living there have just finished watching a basketball game, and a Simpsons episode is now flickering across the TV screen. The roommates sprawl across beds and beat-up couches as they chat about plans — bars, house parties, homework — for the evening.

Students like these are among the 70 percent living off-campus, many due to the housing shortage over the past few years. The Resident Life Department announced yesterday that only 550 sophomores would receive beds on-campus next year, and the South Campus Commons and Courtyards filled their roughly 1,200 vacant spaces last week, though over 2,000 applied. This leaves about half of the sophomore class looking for other options.

But this could end up being the best thing to happen to them, if you ask those six upperclassmen, whose house in the Berwyn neighborhood is known as "The Corner House," a title based on its location and the roommates who are recognized in their tight-knit community for the get-togethers held there.

Senior government and politics major and resident of "The Corner House" Matthew McManus had lived on-campus during his first of college but did not receive a good enough lottery number for on-campus housing, Commons or Courtyards.

"I always just assumed I would get into Commons," McManus said. "So I was just clueless."

After the initial panic, McManus pulled together five other roommates and moved into a house in the Berwyn neighborhood just in time to start a June lease.

"I was left scrambling," McManus said. "It was an awkward situation. I was basically looking for whatever room I could find."

Their eventual selection was unassuming. From the outside, the two-story house's blue paint is crumbling, and the screen in the front door is missing. But there is no doubt the house has seen some good times. And now, as McManus and his roommates lounge around in rooms bigger than dorm rooms or Commons singles, the days of on-campus housing seem far away.

Many other upperclassman who were forced off-campus two years ago would tell today's homeless sophomores not to panic. They say their low housing lottery numbers, and what they thought was bad luck eventually led them to an unexpected but exciting off-campus lifestyles.

The campus housing bubble first burst in spring 2007 when Resident Life announced that seniors would be kicked out of on-campus housing completely for the first time. Students were outraged. Though Resident Life had warned them of the possibility, many felt the announcement came too late, leaving them with little time to find alternatives and secure off-campus leases. Students posted signs decrying Resident Life and circulated petitions. The Student Government Association organized a camp-out in tents on McKeldin Mall in protest.

"I'm actually really scared," then-senior Monique Johnson told The Diamondback in April 2007. "I really feel like if I don't get to live on or near campus next semester, I won't be able to finish my last semester."

Spring 2008 did not bring better news. Resident Life instituted the housing lottery system, and only 300 sophomores received on-campus housing. Only 850 spots were available in Commons and Courtyards combined.

"When seniors were told to move off-campus, the issue was that we never had to do it before," said Resident Life Assistant Director Scott Young.

For many sophomores that year, Commons or Courtyards had been the promised land, the next logical step for housing. Few made back-up plans.

Senior business major Christine Gueritot was among those who did. When she was a sophomore, she planned to live on-campus with several friends for the remainder of her time in college.

Worried about the lack of beds, however, the group found a house off-campus, just in case. They continued to hold out hope, but after Resident Life announced an initial estimate of only 136 open spots for sophomores, Gueritot and her friends mobilized.

"I remember so many people went through the same thing," Gueritot said. "I personally cried over this, because I was so confused at one point. My parents were involved and thought I could have handled it better, but I couldn't handle it better because ResLife couldn't handle it."

Now, Gueritot and her friends have extra space, their own kitchen and a driveway to park in. They pay between $675 and $735 per month for rent including utilities, compared to the between $715 and $975 Commons currently charges.

"I live with people I would have wanted to live with," Gueritot said. "We worked out the best situation. We have a spare room. We have plenty of couch space. We can have parties if we want to. We are as close to campus as we can get."

Last summer, the Office of Off-Campus Housing officially became a part of Resident Life, and Young said administrators work together to help students find alternative solutions.

McManus's roommate, senior elementary education major Sarah Kluh, transferred to the university, meaning she basically never had a shot at living on-campus, since transfers are sent to the bottom of the waiting list. But she said she never felt gypped in her living situation.

"When I think about how I missed out on dorm life, I really like my privacy," Kluh said. "When I come home and don't want to talk to anyone, I just go in my room."

And the group of six love living in their off-campus house. They can wander four blocks to the liquor store or go next door to the neighbors' house for a bonfire and a few beers. They like to grill outside and often have parties at their house.

And for McManus, campus life and the housing chaos his sophomore year seem far away.

"In hindsight, I am happy with how it turned out, but at the time it was so hectic," McManus said.

tousignant@umdbk.com