The 18-year-old from Massachusetts flashed the bewildered freshman look as his parents maneuvered a van loaded with his belongings up the driveway of a residence hall at Carnegie Mellon University.

Matt Freed, Post-Gazette Resident assistant Ryan Menefee greets Chris Herlich, 18, of Andover, Mass., as he arrives at Mudge Hall on the Carnegie Mellon University campus. Click photo for larger image. About the series    The opening of school each year brings new hope for a fresh start. This back-to-school series focuses on students -- from kindergarten through college -- who are starting the school year with dreams and challenges that face students everywhere. Day One: Transitions smoother now for kindergartners Day Two: Tough decisions -- middle schools or K-8? Day Three: Picking up the tools he'll need at vo-tech Day Four: Oakland Catholic star driven to swim Day Five: Special programs for special students Day Six: Helping African Americans get into private high schools

Taking his cue instantly, Ryan Menefee, a 19-year-old with a black T-shirt that read "RA," stepped in to offer help. His reassuring smile and calming voice belied the fact that Menefee had been up all night, too nervous to sleep.

Like other newly trained resident assistants on just about any college campus in America, Menefee's excitement about his new job was tempered by the imagined horrors of what could go wrong when you're suddenly the "adult" in charge of a floor full of strangers barely a year younger than you.

"All these horrible scenarios like my floor rising up and murdering me or something," he said with a laugh.

But on this day, gratitude was all Menefee encountered after he and other student helpers emptied the freshman's van in minutes. "Grab whatever looks big and go," Menefee urged before heading into Mudge House. "We'll get you moved right in."

This fall, nearly 3 million freshmen will begin studies on campuses nationwide. Often, parents who have invested tens of thousands of dollars in their child's education will look at class sizes, professors' reputations and glitzy recreational centers as indicators of whether a student will thrive far from home.

But sometimes survival in such a competitive place is influenced by something far less heralded. RAs, if they do their jobs correctly, will become social directors, trusted mentors and in rare cases may literally save a student's life.

Menefee, a sophomore from Plano, Texas, is among 58 brand-new RAs testing their people skills and their stamina this fall on a science-heavy campus whose punishing workload and far-flung enrollment (arriving from 47 states and 22 foreign countries) make Carnegie Mellon a petri dish for homesickness and other freshman angst. Menefee and his peers will be judged in large part by how quickly and completely they help transform rows of boxy dorm rooms into vibrant student communities.

Menefee said his own freshman year taught him that everybody arrives with a hidden vulnerability, a missing piece of the puzzle keeping them from truly enjoying college.

"Everyone is freaked out about something," he said. "It could be they're awkward at relationships, their academic performance, their physical abilities. It's what scares them the most."

He views his job as spotting those vulnerabilities and, in a non-intrusive way, helping students keep them in check.

For most freshmen, adjusting to campus is no more traumatic than garden-variety loneliness, a breakup with a high school sweetheart or maybe a failing grade. But there is no shortage of unease, and sometimes things escalate.

	Matt Freed, Post-Gazette Resident assistants Ryan Menefee and Eva Lin share a laugh Sunday morning as they wait for new students to arrive at Mudge Hall on the CMU campus. Click photo for larger image.

Nationwide, 39 percent of freshmen report feeling frequently overwhelmed, according to a survey by researchers at UCLA, done in collaboration with the South Carolina-based National Resource Center for the First-Year Experience and Students in Transition. Thirty-two percent said they occasionally or frequently felt isolated from campus life, and nearly as many -- 30 percent -- had roommate problems.

And in an age when students come to campus diagnosed increasingly with depression and other problems, resident assistants at schools like Carnegie Mellon are told to watch for signs of trouble ranging from alcohol abuse to bulimia to suicidal tendencies.

Trainees are told that they are not expected to be professional counselors, but their job is dicey nevertheless. They are liable to be the first responders if a student breaks an arm or gets food poisoning, and they could be the final safety net if a teenager's hidden torment has eluded every other form of family or campus support.

"You're going to be in the position of asking yourself questions like, 'Oh my God, do I have to walk this person over to get help now?' " Michele Keffer, a campus psychologist, told a rapt group of trainees last month inside Mudge, a stone mansion converted into undergraduate housing. "This is messy stuff."

But the life of an RA is also a lot of fun.

Organizing softball games, knowing the most about campus and simply being the first upperclassmen many freshmen meet make RAs mini-celebrities on their floors. There is plenty of outlet for creativity.

Sophomore Eva Lin, 19, of Hershey, another new RA assigned to Mudge, crafted personalized mailboxes for the doors of her nearly 30 incoming students by cutting up cereal boxes. She painted them, added scrapbook paper and then tacked on something extra -- flags.

"They say 'Mudge Love' on them, which is kind of our motto here," she said. "So if they're getting mail, they're getting Mudge love."

She wanted a freshman floor because others told her it's rewarding to see the transformation that occurs the first year. If nothing else, said Lin, she wants those on her floor to discover something they're passionate about on campus "whether it's robots or music."

The job at Carnegie Mellon pays about $5,000 to start, a stipend nearly equal to a year's room costs, but many are motivated by other factors, like an experience with their own first-year RA, said John Hannon, director of student development at Carnegie Mellon. Among them is Andy Butler, who wrote a book this year, "New House 5: How a Dorm Becomes a Home," based on his experiences as a Carnegie Mellon RA.

He aspired to have the same impact on young people as his RA, recalling how the woman helped him reconcile his own blue-collar upbringing outside Rochester, N.Y., with life on an affluent campus where brainiacs and BMWs are everyday scenery. She gently steered him toward activities like sports, and she listened.

"I was a very introverted person," he said. "I felt comfortable confiding in her. She said, 'You know, Andy, you can't let yourself be intimidated.' "

Among dorm dwellers, RAs enjoy a job approval rate that would make some professors salivate. Eighty-four percent gave their RA good marks, according to data from Missouri-based Educational Benchmarking Inc., which surveys nearly 300,000 dorm students each year. Darlena Jones, the firm's director of research and development, said it's in part because RAs are not seen as traditional authority figures like faculty or administrators.

After all, when's the last time a professor let himself be taped to a chair and then signed in marker by an entire floor to foster camaraderie? How many college presidents can say they've spent a sleepless night comforting a student vomiting from a night of partying, or trying to sort through his sexuality?

Like that of a firefighter, an RA's job description includes being roused from sleep at all hours, sometimes to hear things a teenager wouldn't dare tell a parent.

For all the responsibility and stress, competition for the job is intense.

At Carnegie Mellon, there were three applicants for each vacancy this fall. Each of them needed a resume, faced multiple interviews and, upon selection, underwent a week of live-in dormitory training on topics from group facilitation to first-year student development to multiculturalism.

A session called "Behind Closed Doors" required trainees to enter a room and -- as their peers watched -- confront an actor simulating a real-life problem. Menefee, for instance, coaxed a "student" into talking about an eating disorder. Another trainee mediated a roommate dispute involving pornography posted in plain view. In yet another, a trainee approached a room where marijuana use was suspected.

"You knock on the door and you hear all these drawers start slamming shut," said Menefee, who observed the session. "You hear 'Oh no, it's an RA!' "

The training week's opening night felt like a motivational seminar, as administrators welcomed 103 new and returning RAs and other dorm staff. The crowd in ball caps and shorts and flip-flops shouted and thrust their hands skyward when asked who had a great summer and who was glad to be back at school.

"All your training will not occur this week, obviously," interim dean of student affairs Jennifer Church told them. "Your training will take place all year."

And in Lin's case, the weight of her new responsibility became apparent even before she officially started the job. As her own parents helped her move into Mudge a couple weeks back, a football player with his mother in tow showed up to check out his soon-to-be home. The woman peppered Lin with questions about dining and about campus, then floored her with this parting request: "Take good care of my son."