A spectre is haunting the University — the Rotumpkin.
With the dawn of Halloweekend on Grounds, the rainbow of fall leaves is accompanied by hundreds of kids and students arriving for traditions like Trick or Treating on the Lawn, in costumes from the classic Charlie Brown white-sheet-ghost to Busch Can.
After what has been an unusually uneasy beginning to the semester, members of the University community should be looking forward to the holiday with no holds barred. But even with the Trump administration’s Compact rejected, Virginia’s athletic teams experiencing landmark success and Grubhub returned to its rightful place after the death of WahooEats, something is missing. North and South Lawn may maintain their classic fall aura and overenthusiastic Lawnies, but on the other side of the academical village, an eerie quiet remains.
There will be no Rotumpkin. And therefore, there will be no Halloween.
First launched in 2020, the Rotumpkin was a projection on the Rotunda that “[transforms] the iconic building into a massive movie screen” per the Student Affairs website. In the past, the show has been free to the public and featured from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m on Oct. 31 to Nov. 2, with different “mini-shows” played. Its most hallmark feature, however, was the loop of spooky music accompanying images of cauldrons, skulls, dancing skeletons and, of course, one big pumpkin.
A product of both the COVID-19 pandemic and the worst year known to man, the Rotumpkin was used as a way to unite the community while keeping the spirit of Halloween and giant gourds alive. Thinking back on the glow it casts over the University community, the Rotumpkin almost brings a tear to the eye as a beacon of hope.
The Rotumpkin may have been recent, but this iconic and extremely Instagram story-friendly hallmark of Halloween at the University made an impact in its short life. Beyond the whimsy it added to the walk home from a Thursday night bender, with a plethora of wires and cords for drunk students to trip over, it showed the Rotunda and surrounding Academical Village are not just good for hosting the annual Lighting of the Lawn. The Rotumpkin, just by existing, shows these very old buildings can be digitally manipulated via visual projection and audio accompaniment to somehow, some way, be a part of all major holidays.
This Halloweekend, the clock will strike 10:30 p.m. on Thursday, Oct. 30, triggering the typical flash flood of people approaching the Corner’s bars and Greek row. But this year, as they drunkenly skip to Rugby Road, students will be without the blinding light of the Rotumpkin — and without answers.
Have we run out of funds? No. Projectors that can canvas the entire front half of the Rotunda? Last time I checked, the School of Engineering still had students. Is it a lack of ideas for creepified animations that somehow have to do with Thomas Jefferson or the Cavalier? Scott Stadium’s animated pre-game feature “The Ride” premiering at every single home game so far makes that an impossibility.
So, what is the hang up? Has the University community exceeded their limit on gimmicks that revolve around our neighborhood UNESCO World Heritage site? Did the ever-benevolent P.U.M.P.K.I.N. Society feel threatened by the competition? It just can’t be.
These questions are doomed to the same fate as Freedom of Information Act requests sent to University administration — complete and utter silence.
But even if they go unanswered, the impending absence of the Rotumpkin seems to continue the trend of unannounced change at the University. From the metal fences installed on Scott Stadium’s Hill in 2024 to the University’s governing boards — even the switch of food companies serving Runk and O’Hill Dining halls in 2024 — developments that impact all aspects of student life seem to be made in the hope that students simply won’t notice them to begin with.
Despite whether it is owed or even feasible, students do not deserve a Rotumpkin-less Halloween. From its orange curves to its eerie theme music, it constitutes a celebration of the uniqueness of the Rotunda and the University at large, where a relentless adherence to having an endless stream of quirky traditions helps distract from less palatable news.
In a sea of costumes and fake blood, the scariest part of Halloweekend 2025 won’t be falling down the Trin stairs or the threat of JMU students visiting for the weekend — instead, it will be the shadows that surround the Rotunda, a place that emanated silliness just a year ago. It might be a landmark students pass almost each day without a second look, but if we continue to take it for granted, the Rotumpkin may never return.
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