Eagle eyed readers may notice that I've skipped forward a bit on the narrative. Couple reasons for that, really.
The first is that I noticed that people really didn't care as much about the chapters which were more "personal," as in about developing romances and such. How did I know? Well, those chapters would get only a few hundred hits vs the ones about more general University and/or Fraternity events, whose hits would number in the thousands.
So, here's a summary of what got skipped: I completely screwed up one romance, all but wrecked another, and may or may not begun a third maybe. Also during that time, I made one of the stupidest mistakes of my life. Oh, and the football team is still undefeated. And the 'Hood decided I could start attending pledge meetings.
A LOT can happen in three weeks at Penn State. (If you'd like to read the missing chapters, let me know.) Especially since we didn't have "Fall Break" back then. (Seriously? Fall break? Toughen up kids!)
In any case, here we have the first "Game." This happened exactly as I wrote it. The years have lent me perspective on this. Back then, I didn't see the harm- after all, I had pledged as well. The more I thought about it, the more I read, the more I understood how events affect people; I realized this for what it was.
Hazing.
No one got hurt, really. But this was Hazing. Games were not really discussed, except among brothers, and not often then. They were traditions, handed down from class to class- never written down, but never changed. Almost sacred. Always performed in the same order during a pledging period. I'll admit- only one of the games ever bothered me, and it comes much later in the narrative: Cracker Race. That makes me a participant in the hazing. We all were. It would've taken someone braver than myself to say "stop! This is wrong!' I just wanted to fit in- be accepted.
Fortunately, several years later, enough of the brothers (and alumni) DID say "Stop." The games were abolished. The Skull pledge program no longer has "games" of this sort. I ought to know- I helped write it. Since the House was re-established about a decade ago, it has done so with a more positive pledge program.
There's no Glory in winning if the contest is rigged in your favor. And there were no real "winners."
The events which I chronicle are now over thirty years ago. We were DAMN lucky- no one was ever seriously physically hurt. I can't speak for psychological scars though.
Is my perspective different because of my Truth- that I was actually female? No. Older and wiser. And I know a LOT of the Brothers of my time agree with me. Because yes, NOW we talk about games- and almost always with regret. At least among the Brothers I know.
****************************************************
Chapter 30: Pepper Race
Wednesday, November 19, 1986 Iran aid effort outlined
My
first pledge meeting! I was really
excited! They were accepting me!
I
arrived around 10:45 for the 11 PM pre-meeting.
The pledges were hanging out in the dining room, dressed in t-shirts and
scruffy jeans. They didn’t seem nervous
or anything. At about five of eleven
they went up the back “pledge” stairs all the way to the third floor (from the
sound of things). Double D put something
between the bars of the landing railing on the Brotherhood steps: a siren?
I
asked one of the brothers whose name I couldn’t remember.
“Where’d
the siren come from?”
“Off
some World War II destroyer. We’ve had
it for years.”
“What’s
it for?” I asked.
“You’ll
see,” he said.
Double
D called the meeting to order.
“Ok, this week the pledges were
pretty much on time and they’re getting better at cleaning…”
“They fuckin’ suck! The third floor bathroom wasn’t cleaned all
fuckin’ weekend!” one of the guys shouted.
“Ok,
you want to tell them that?” Double D
said, writing something on a small pad.
“Yeah,
yeah I will,” the voice said.
“Maybe
you shouldn’ta shit on the floor if you wanted it so fuckin’ spotless!” another
brother said.
“Fuck
you!” the first brother said.
“Anyone
else?” Double D said loudly to cut off
the argument.
“Slow
getting beers to the brothers in the Commissary at parties. Not just once, either,” said another
brother. I think his name was Bill- a
senior.
“You
want that speech?”
“Sure”
he said, sounding resigned.
“Ok,
I need someone to give the “make sure you keep up with your studies”
speech. Is Clit here?”
“No,”
someone said. “At the library.”
“Shit. How about you, Bean?”
“Yeah,
I got it” said someone I’d never even seen before. Very tall.
Balding with a thin face and big chin.
“Do
you know how it goes? Keep up with your
studies; don’t wanna lose you to grades and all that shit?” Double D asked.
“Heard
it a million times” Bean said.
“Ok. We have the speeches lined up. I wanted them to do Pepper Race tonight. Can enough of you guys stick around?”
Several
“yes’s” and “yeah’s.”
“Ok. Pepper it is.
I’m gonna ring the siren in a minute, so get ready.”
Double
D saw me standing in the back. He walked
over to me.
“What
you see doesn’t happen. Never
happened. Got that?” he said.
“Of
course. Third rule.”
Right,”
he said, and headed up the Brotherhood Steps to the landing.
The
carpet in the foyer was pulled back a couple of feet from the steps and the
brothers lined up on the edge of it.
Double D put his foot on the siren to keep it in place and used both
hands to crank it. It was loud!
RRR-RRRRR-RRRRRR-RROOOOWWWWWWWWWWW-RRRRRRRRRRR!
The Siren. It eventually fell apart.
As
the siren quieted slowly, thunder rumbled.
No- not thunder: the frenzied stampede of feet charging down the back
steps.
Suddenly
all of the brothers started shouting, yelling and stomping their feet.
“Get
the fuck down here!”
“Run
motherfuckers!”
“Why aren’t you here yet you lazy
fucks!”
“The
gross national product of China
is six billion yen!”
“Move
it you assholes!”
The
pledges opened the side door (the one that leads to the kitchen, party room,
and outside) and spilled out into a line in front of the brothers. They were all dressed in white t-shirts and
blue jeans.
“Count
off!” the brothers shouted. I
smiled. This count off shit must be
universal.
“One!” “Two!”
“Three!” “Four!” “Five!”
“Six!” “Seven!” “Eight!”
“Nine!”
“Backwards!”
the brothers yelled.
“Nine!”
“Eight” “Seven!” “Six!”
“Five!” “Four!” “Three!”
“Two!” “One!”
“Inside out!” the
brothers yelled.
“Five!” “Four!”
“Six!” “Three” “Seven!”
“Two!” “Eight!” “Nine!”
“One!”
“Outside in!” the
brothers yelled.
“One!” “Nine!”
“Two!” “Eight!” “Three!”
“Seven!” “Four!” “Six!”
“Five!”
“What’s the
greatest fraternity in the world!?”
“Skull,
sir!”
“What?”
“SKULL,
sir!”
“Louder!”
“SKULL, SIR!”
“Fuck off! “You guys suck!” “Damn right!”
“Blah blah blah!”
The brothers all
stepped back a little as one brother slid through the line. I’d seen him around, but not much. He had a very early Eighties style haircut
which seemed very out of place with the rest of the brothers who had fairly
conservative lids.
“Listen, you
fucking worms. Why can’t you get fucking
anything right?”
He paused and
looked at them for a moment.
“Answer me!” he
shouted.
“What’s your fucking problem?”
“He asked you a
question, shitheads!”
Fucking
graduating senior!”
The pledges all
answered “Sir! We don’t know sir!”
“That’s fucking
right you don’t know!” Haircut
said. “Why wasn’t the third floor
bathroom cleaned ALL FUCKING WEEKEND? IT
SMELLED SO BAD I HAD TO TAKE A SHIT DOWNSTAIRS!”
“What the fuck!”
“Second floor shits!”
“Listen up,
assholes. By tomorrow morning I want
that shitter standing tall and so clean your mom could suck my dick off
it! Got me?”
“Sir yes
sir!” The pledges were trying not to
laugh.
“WHAT?”
“SIR YES SIR!”
Bathroom brother
gave them a dirty look and faded back into the group. As he did, Bill stepped forward. He paced back and forth one, silently looking
each of the pledges in the eye.
“What’s my fucking
rundown?” he said.
“Sir, William Lazarus
the Third. Senior, Marketing. Towanda,
Pa. Don’t take anything seriously. Sir!”
“Oh, so you know
who I am?” William Lazarus the Third said
with mock surprise.
“Sir yes sir!”
“And I’m a
brother?”
“Sir yes sir!”
Then why CAN’T I
GET A FUCKING BEER AT MY OWN FUCKING PARTY?
CAN YOU ANSWER THAT YOU TOOLS?”
“Sir no sir!”
“I was in the Commissary
with the fucking President of IFC! I.F.
fucking C! And I couldn’t get us
beers! Were you too busy serving the
cracks to get a brother a beer? ANSWER
ME!”
“Sir no sir!”
“If I, or any
other fucking brother in the fucking Commissary have to wait for a beer at our
own fucking party, I will personally come around and rip those pins right off
your chests! Do you understand?”
“Sir yes sir!”
“WHAT?”
“SIR YES SIR!”
William Lazarus
the Third disappeared back into the crowd.
He walked past me (I stood in the back behind everyone) and went out the
front door with a couple of brothers. I
guess they were going to the bars. As
William Lazarus the Third stepped away, Ted stepped out of the group.
“I want you guys
to listen very closely to what I have to say” he said.
“Graduating
senior!” someone shouted followed by an “Ow!” after the guy next to the shouter
slapped him offside the head.
Ted ignored all
the commotion. “We are all here at Penn State
for one reason. It isn’t to get drunk,
get laid, do coke or any of that. All of
us are here to get an education: To
study and to learn. If you don’t study
You-Will-FAIL. If you fail, they throw
you out of Penn State, which means out of here. Now you guys may be rock headed morons, but
we took a long time selecting you, and we don’t want to lose you, especially to
something as stupid as flunking out. Now
look at all these guys.”
He pointed at the
brothers.
“Every one of the
guys is here to help you. Chances are
there are at least two brothers here in your major. Ask for help if you need it. Use the study hours and test library we
provide. We want you here. With all of us behind you, if you fail it’s
your own fucking fault.”
Ted stepped off to
the side and Double D sounded the siren just a little.
“Turn around you
fucks!”
Pay attention to your
Iota!”
The pledges
huddled up tight as they could under the stair landing. Someone turned on the lights for the
stairwell so that the pledges would stare up into them unless they focused on
Double D.
Double D stood on
the landing, bent over the rail.
“Did you enjoy
that meeting you little worms?” he shouted down at them. One of the pledges blinked as a bit of spit
hit him in the face. He didn’t wipe it
off.
“Sir yes
sir!” The pledges shouted.
“WHAT?!?!?! Basics!
Basics basics basics!” Double D
yelled as e slammed his hand on the rail for emphasis.
“If you can’t even
fucking get the basics right, we’ll just have to find a way to fix you!”
“Games!” a voice
said from the crowd.
“Games! GAMES!” the chant was joined by all the
brothers, then it became synchronized.
“GAMES! GAMES! GAMES!” as the brothers clapped and stomped
their feet.
Double D held up
his hands, and the brothers silenced. He
must’ve felt like Godly powerful.
“Games!” he
shouted.
Then
one brother shouted “Elephant walk!”
Another
shouted “Cracker!”
Then
from all through the crowd:
“Ceiling tiles!”
“Hide
the banana!”
“Man
O War!”
“Goat
Ride!”
“Pepper
Race!”
“Pepper
Race!”
They
all started chanting “Pep-per Race!
Pep-per Race! Pep-per Race! Hey!
Pep-per Race! Hey! Pep-per Race!”
Double
D held up his hands again. Silence.
“Pepper
Race!” He shouted down at the pledges.
The
brothers cheered.
“And like all games at Skull House, there
are a few rules!”
“A
FEW RULES!” the brothers leaned in to shout into the pledges ears.
“First
rule: No talking!” Double D shouted.
“NO
TALKING!”
“Second
rule! Line up and each of you chooses
the brother you hate the most!”
They lined back up
in order. One by one, the pledges
shouted the name of a brother. The
brothers would shout stuff like “Bad choice!
He’s the best at this! “You’re
fucked!” Then the pledges were sent
running back up to wherever they came from as the brothers set up the game.
Several
brothers found push brooms and removed the handles. Another brother produced a jar of hot green
peppers and some spoons.
The
game was simple- it was a relay race.
The racer would walk from “start” (where the foyer joined the clubroom)
to the other side, where the foyer met the dining room and back. That was maybe twenty feet each way. They would do this with a spoon clenched in
their teeth. The business end of the
spoon held a hot green pepper. Drop the
pepper, eat the pepper. Then the person
received a fresh pepper and kept going until everyone made it through the course. Sounds easy?
That’s where the broom handles come in.
Ever
do “the Limbo?”
Participants
would have to go under poles held by the brothers at varying heights.
Of
course, the House was on tap for this, as nothing goes better than volcanically
hot green peppers than a cold beer. Of
course, some beer was “accidentally” spilled on the course as well, making it
quite slick. Oops!
So
the pledges came back downstairs, the lights were turned on, salsa music
played, and lots of beer was drunk. The
pledges ate many peppers. The brothers
didn’t eat a single one. Why? Was it because they were pros?
Hell
no! Their spoons had a small coating of
peanut butter beneath the pepper. It may
as well have been glue. As long as the
brothers didn’t flaunt it, the pledges would never suspect.
Anyway, when it
was over the pledges learned once again an important lesson about fraternity
life and pledging: the Hood (brotherhood) always wins.
Then,
after the game was over, the pledges went upstairs, drunk, tired and with
stinging mouths, to clean the third floor bathroom.
