In the fall semester of 2011, a bright and ambitious first-year art student, Jean Tuttle (C ’15), mysteriously disappeared. The official police report from the time of her disappearance included a statement from her roommate, who described Tuttle’s nighttime trek to the Dorothy Young Center for the Arts prior to the incident. On Wednesday of this week, Elliot Yap (’28) cracked open a seemingly abandoned storage closet, searching for more Phthalo Blue paint, only to find Tuttle alive and well, and 15 years older.
Tuttle, inspired by her introduction to oil painting course, had been clocking exhausting hours in the studio long before her official disappearance. As a beginner oil painter, Tuttle was not aware of the profound health effects caused by long term exposure to oil mediums, notably Gamsol—an odorless mineral spirit used to thin the paint for application.
While searching for a missing piece of fabric to drape for her still life painting in a dank storage closet, countless hours of inhaling the Gamsol finally caught up to Tuttle. Falling unconscious into the small closet, she kicked out the trash can which kept the door propped open. It wasn’t until hours later that Tuttle awoke, finding herself locked in the closet, disoriented, with the heavy metal door deafening her cries for help.
Using only her paintbrushes and palette knife, which had been sitting pretty in her apron pocket at the time of the incident, Tuttle formulated a plan of survival. With the sharp edge of her palette knife, she dug tunnels through the cement and cinder block walls, crawling above drop ceilings and finding warmth next to hot water pipes.
As she explored the DOYO, she created a detailed and elaborate map, unsuccessfully attempting to escape from the walls on multiple occasions. After untold hours, the student was able to nudge a small hole into one of the lower-floor vending machines, with Doritos and water bottles acting as her sustenance all these years.
One frequent “DOYOer,” Lauren Tucci (’28), recalls this evident snack-deficit, stating, “Those vending machines are always empty. Everyone knows that. I guess now we just know who’s responsible.”
Many professors, especially those of the art department, have expressed their sadness and regret at her discovery.
“Well, we all thought it was mice,” stated a torn and disappointed professor, who had reported hearing scratching in the walls years prior. “Who would even consider that it was Jeanie?” Years of maintenance, work orders and hundreds of dollars worth of mouse poison never seemed to halt the scratches and thumps. Now, they know why.
It has long since been the standard for art, theater, music and other students to spend countless hours in the DOYO. Some dedicated members of the community, such as Adrian Wood (‘27) of the theater department, confess to sleeping there overnight when workloads grow too great.
While the university officially hashes out the legal complications, Tuttle’s story presents a pressing question: Do students indeed spend too long “DOYOing”?
Jorts J’Oschmann is a frat boy majoring in tomfoolery and minoring in hijinks and solitaire. J. Dog is a tree hugger majoring in queer mischief and minoring in dad jokes.
