King Quinlan

My door in St. Edward's as decorated by Kyle
and Patrick after my 2nd LSAT

William Shakespeare, a writer that I greatly admire, once said, “Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them."

My ‘greatness’ was thrust upon me.

It is not with pride that I publish this account because it does not seem entirely appropriate that I have been given this title. Rather, I write on this topic to “let everyone in” on the inside joke that is my undeserved nickname and the namesake for half of the title of my blog.

Kyle, Herald of the King and Servant of the Kingdom, and Dan, Knight of the Kingdom, (if I have a title, it's only fair that they have ones too) in the year 2011 gave me the title of “King Quinlan” on the event of our yearly pilgrimage to Washington DC, to bear witness to the life of unborn children and the atrocities committed against these innocents (aka, the March for Life). The night before the march, men and women mingled in the men’s sleeping quarters until well after time permitted in our school’s student rulebook. Some men were attempting to retire to be ready for the early morning ahead; however their attempts were in vain as the incessant giggles and cries from the nearby women made sleep impossibly elusive.

At this injustice, I rose to action. Finding the nearest chair, I mounted it with arms outstretched, to be seen by all the transgressors.

“Everyone, it is now 12:15 AM, fifteen minutes past our school’s parietal policy for weekdays. Since this is a school sponsored field trip, the rules of Du Lac still apply. We have guys trying to sleep here, so the women in the area will need to either go back to their own sleeping quarters or find somewhere else to socialize.”

A young woman with an exasperated expression replied, “But we have nowhere else to go.”

I paused, attempting to determine what bearing this had on what I had just said. Giving up trying to reconcile nonsense with reason, I replied.

“Well, you will just have to find somewhere else to go.”

And with that, the crowd dispersed and the men were allowed peace. It was deemed by Kyle and Dan that I had handled the conflict with such a firm conviction and regal presence that thenceforth, I was given the title of King Quinlan.

However, like Prince “Harry” of Shakespeare’s plays before he became King Henry V, I was not always as kindly and virtuous.

I was a brash, hot-tempered youth. Following a traumatizing sophomore year, I had learned to despise a group of individuals known collectively as the “bros”. They were deplorable individuals who gave themselves to drinking and lewd activities every weekend, and it was such a weekend as these when they incurred my wrath.

I had retired for the evening, as had my roommate Patrick, the King’s Court Fool. It was about 4 AM when there was a loud commotion in the hallway outside our door. The bros had returned from their night of debauchery and were looking to make more trouble.

They sought to disturb a senior who lived across the hall from me and Patrick by finding a nearby vacuum cleaner and turning it on outside his door. They pounded thunderously upon his door and jeered at him. This went on for nearly 10 minutes without any sign of the arrival of hall authorities to put an end to this madness. Fully awake and angry now, I leapt from my 8 foot high loft, flung open the door, and entered the guilty hallway in naught but a pair of shorts.

Consumed by unfathomable rage, I cannot recall exactly what I said upon my appearance. I do remember that whatever it was, I had used such profuse profanity that the transgressors immediately ceased their depravities and met my fury with surprise and uncertainty. I could feel every muscle in my body strained, resisting the urge to enter the throng of at least a dozen miscreants and commit violence to each of them. With vulgar bellowing, I advanced upon them and forced most of them to retreat.

Scott, alone, defied me.

Of all those previously present, Scott despised me the most. I had never injured him, so it always puzzled me as to why he hated me. It actually was he that had stolen my Xbox the previous semester and used it for his own purposes in his room. Of course, the established social understanding among this group was that whatever belonged to one, by default, was accessible to all. I never agreed with this policy and Scott had frequently taken advantage of my belongings. Thus, I deprived his sense of entitlement to whatever he desired and invited his derision.

Now, three yards separated Scott and me in the deserted hallway.

“Go on! Get out of here!” I shouted at him.

With eyes glassed over, he slurred a reply, “It’s a free hallway.”

With deft agility, I closed the distance between us in a moment and was now close enough to smell the repulsive combination of Kamchatka vodka and Keystone beer on his brutish breath.

“No, it’s not,” I trembled with rage, “It’s MY [expletive] hallway! Now get the [expletive] out!”

With each word, he cringed as I involuntarily spewed him with venomous spittle. Thankfully, this had the desired effect because he drunkenly turned and stumbled in the same general direction as his friends. Had he not moved, I dread to think of what might have happened next.

Upon my return to the room, Patrick had remained silent. We had only known one another for a few weeks, and I imagine this event had cast some doubt on my general mental health. Kyle, who lived in a room next door to the commotion, also later bore witness to these events, but it was only well into our friendship that the topic of that night arose. He had not realized that it was I who had walked out into the hallway, surging with wrathful madness. We shared a good laugh over the incident and it became only greater cause for the royal title. Though I am certainly not proud of my intemperate behavior, I have endeavored since then to become more level-headed, and I am largely succeeding in this task.

All such incidents aside, though, I regret to admit that the title of King is primarily due to my manner of speech. As is the habit of the Quinlan family, I have a tone that exudes confidence and the force of truth. I rarely begin my thoughts with the words, “I think that” or “I feel like”. To me, this seems repetitive and unnecessary because anything that I say is, of course, my own statement.

This linguistic style and confidence, I have been told, creates an air of authority to my statements. My self-assuredness and lack of soft language projects each word as one of ironclad truth, unassailable by any argument. Even on topics which I have no practical experience on, I make an estimation as to a reasonable position and defend it.

However, this strength of tone often appears as arrogance to many. I will be the first to admit that truthfully, at times, my words carry at least a tinge of haughtiness. However, I do not apologize for my self-confidence, the root of this character of speech. It is sad to see many unwilling to engage in open debate with others for fear of conflict. I carry myself in a way that I hope others will follow.

Every man must be ruler and king of himself. If a man is apprehensive of the slight breezes that barely change the course of his ship, how will he weather the torrential gales and roaring maelstroms of life? A king can have no subjects under his governance until he learns to govern himself properly in the sight of God. As I have not yet learned to rule myself completely with justice, I claim no subjects as my own, but with all eagerness, I welcome into my court those willing to receive my love and affection.