Mike was from Ohio and rowed crew. Andrew was from China and spoke little English. Jeremy, from Long Island, arrived on campus with a pet snake. Jacob was interested in architecture. Amy had cheerful eyes and long black hair.

There were close to 50 of them, all told: first-year students at Columbia who moved into the thirteenth floor of John Jay Hall in the late summer of 2001. I was a junior and the floor’s resident adviser. I was supposed to answer questions students might have, resolve conflicts between them (good luck), arrange study breaks where we’d eat pizza, and generally ease their passage into college life. Or at least that’s what I assumed. I had no idea what was coming.