Men of the Skull Chapter 7: Pilgrimage

This is the second time that this chapter appeared on this blog.  The first was last September, at the beginning of college football season.  I posted it without comment back then.

In any case, as pretty much everyone knows, football is HUGE at Penn State, for better or for worse.  Football brought fame and money to the University, allowing for the construction of new buildings, endowing a academic chairs, new fields of study, cutting age lab equipment, etc.  By the time I enrolled at Penn State, it truly was a world class university (and it still is, despite all that happened a few years back.)

So many traditions since my day are gone.  Before the south upper deck was built, any field goal going toward the student section was caught (no net) and tossed up until it went over the south rim of the stadium and out.  Also, Several times a game, the crowd would chant "We want the Lion!"  Whichever section shouted the loudest got to body pass the Nittany Lion mascot up to the top of the section.

Then there were marshmallow fights.  I detail them in the chapter.

Game day was a time for me to lose myself in Penn State Traditions.  No one cared about me or the Pain I was secretly carrying.  I was just one voice among 80,000 plus.  They helped me forget.  The few games I attend these days do the same for me.

Many guys wish they were the players on the field.  Not me.  I always wanted to be a cheerleader.  Not the boy type either.  I always thought they had perfect lives- beautiful, athletic, had status...  I never knew any at PSU though, not well anyway.

In any case, this was a happy day, despite some problems.  Oh, and Tri- Delt?  They were kicked off campus a some years ago.


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Chap 7 Pilgrimage

Saturday, September 6, 1986 Gunfire Kills 17 on Hijacked Jet

I had never felt anything like it.  Or seen anything like it.  Everyone was animated, electric, on fire--name the cliché and it fit.  Game day: Penn State vs. Temple.  Even God seemed happy, as the sky was an absolutely perfect and cloudless shade of blue. 

I stopped at the house around 3 PM (it was the first night game held at Beaver Stadium), and the kegs were already tapped.  I overheard the House tailgate was ten rows down the south hill with a Jolly Roger and a tie-dyed flag flying above.  I tapped three beers and melted in with several brothers, handing two of them beers to replace their empties.

“I don’t know--we were about to leave!” said one of them, dressed in a white polo shirt. 

Dogger smirked.  “Then chug it, lame ass!”

And chug we did.  As always, I finished last.  The brothers tossed their plastic cups aside, and one belched loud enough to rattle the windows across the street. 

“Thanks Lance!” said the belcher.  “Hey we’re heading up to the tailgate.  Want to tag along?”

“Sure!”  I was glad I wouldn’t have to go alone.

The walk to the stadium was a full mile, and it was all uphill.  We followed the flow of people.  Several sorority girls joined our group around Pollack Halls.  The closer we came to the stadium, the larger the groups--capillaries to venules to veins heading for the heart. 

Beaver Stadium, facing southwest.  Pic from 1980, but this is how I knew it as well

Standing proudly at the top of the long hill, the pinnacle of the campus, was Beaver Stadium.  Filling all the fields within sight of the stadium were people, cars, RVs and other vehicles.  People of all ages laughing, shouting, throwing footballs, and grilling.  And drinking.  Above them fluttered hundreds of flags in every combination of colors.  Many of them were navy blue and white, with every possible Penn State theme imaginable.  Beaver Stadium was a light battleship grey--the largest all steel stadium in the country.  Hours before the game, and it was already starting to fill.

As we passed Shields building, hundreds of people were trying to sell tickets, holding signs, yelling, quietly imploring.

The crowd dispersed into the surrounding fields.  Dogger and the other guy, Keemo, cruised through the RVs and flags down the south hill.  We passed rows of Porta Potties with long lines in front of each one.  They found the tailgate quick enough.  The Jolly Roger was black and white.

“Why don’t we fly our fraternity flag?  Wouldn’t that be easier?”  I asked.

“We were allowed to until this last spring.  The school banned it because they said it implied that the houses were sponsoring the tailgates” Dogger added with disgust.

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but we’re not allowed to.  Get it?”

The tailgate centered on an alumni’s new red pickup truck.  The grass was flattened by so many people walking around on it.  The flags flew from a tall makeshift wooden pole.  Four kegs sat in the back of the truck while three barbeques smoked and sizzled behind it.  On a large folding table in the space next to the truck (I guess he set up the night before) were plates of rolls, condiments, napkins, and, most important, cups.  Each of us took our turn at the keg next to the lowered tailgate of the truck.  Swarming all around this set up, the space between the sides of the truck and the twenty feet between the back of the truck and the next row of cars were brothers, older guys (alumni?), and women.  Whole bunches of women, mostly wearing blue and white, some pink, all collars turned up, lavalieres and expensive sunglasses.  Tri Delt (Delta Delta Delta) was our special “invited” guest to the tailgate.  Maybe thirty of their hundred plus sisters were here.  The rest were probably flitting between the tailgates of various other houses: smiling, flirting, and mooching free food and beer.  Sororities were really good at that.

Several beers and hot dogs later, I was standing with Ernie, a pledge named Pluto who I met during the Triangle fight, and a recent alum.  Ernie was flirting with a blue dressed Tri Delt with a little blue paw print painted on her cheek who seemed enraptured with his every word.  Even I could tell she was faking interest.  Two other sisters joined us, both blonde like every other Tri Delt. 

“Hey Steph!  We’re going in soon!  Coming?” the taller one chirped, smiling.  Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that dangled just below the collar of her white polo. 

“In a minute.  I want to finish my beer!”  Steph, Ernie’s target, replied.

“Would you ladies like a beer?”  I asked.

The shorter of the two girls looked me up and down and rolled her eyes.  “Who do you know in the house?” she asked a sneer.

“I’m a brother.  What does that have to do with the beer?”

“Oh.  You must be a legacy then.”

“No, I just transferred up from Drexel.  Why?”

“It figures” she said with a giggle.  “You’re too dorky to be a real Skull.”

Ernie, Matt, and the alumni all laughed.

The taller one jumped in. “Yes, a couple of beers would be great, thanks!”  She said with an embarrassed smile.  She was cute.  And I loved tall women.

I went and tapped three beers--one for myself.  I held all three in both hands walked the ten feet back downhill to the group. 

Just as I arrived, I accidentally on purpose tripped on a stone, spilling all three beers all over the shorter girl’s white polo, her hair, her blue shorts, everywhere.  She shrieked, and everyone in the area turned to see.  Brothers and others nearby started laughing.  Some of her sisters tried to hide their smiles, while a couple other sisters came to her aid.  The cold beer made her nipples stick out quite nicely I noticed (as I’m sure everyone else did as well.) 

“I’m so sorry!  I tripped!  Let me help you!”  I said, attempting sincerity.

“You asshole!” she shouted breathlessly.  “Look what you’ve done!”

The truck owner pulled a dark green beach towel from the cab of the truck and handed it to a couple of sisters who wrapped the cursing blonde with it and tried to dry her off.

“Oh!  Now my underwear is wet!”

“Hey Lance--you got her excited!” shouted a voice I recognized as one of the alums I’d met that day.  More laughter. 

A few sisters bundled the now crying girl off, a couple of them glaring at me.  Steph stayed with us, and laughed when the girl was out of earshot.

“She can be such a bitch!”  Steph said, smiling.

“I guess a real Skull wouldn’t be so clumsy” I replied.

“Face it, you’re too dorky to be a Skull” replied Pluto.

“Thanks, pledge!”  I said with mock anger.

A pledge came over with a plastic pitcher and refilled all of our beers.  Dogger joined us as well.  He held two bags of marshmallows.  “Finish up.  We’re heading in.”

Ernie and Pluto chugged theirs and looked at me.  I slowly chugged my sixth beer, stopping twice.  We tossed the cups into the trash and flowed up the hill toward the stadium.  As we walked, one of the other brothers punched me in the arm.  Really hard.

“Hey dork!  What did you do that for?  She’s a fuckin’ Tri Delt!  She’s better than you’ll ever get!  You want them pissed at us?  Use your fuckin’ head, asshole!”

“Hey Veal, cut him a break!  It was a fucking accident!”  Ernie said.

Veal glared at him.  Veal was as tall as me, strong, with reddish blond hair and strong features that people would call “All American.”  He wore a blue and white rugby shirt.

“Fuckin’ tool!”  Veal hit me again and melted into the crowd.

I turned to Ernie.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about him.  He hasn’t been laid yet this semester.”

The crowd thickened as it slowly passed through the gates of the stadium.  The security people punched a hole through the number one on the bottom of my season ticket.  Up, up we all climbed--thousands of pairs of feet clanging on the steel walkways.  Then we walked into daylight and up even steeper stairs until we found several seats together about two thirds up the stadium.  I noticed that somewhere we’d lost Steph.

After we all sat down, Dogger, who sat next to me, tossed one bag of marshmallows to Ernie, and opened the other.  “Marshmallow?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“Trust me--you want one--just don’t eat it.”

I took one and looked around the place.  Beaver Stadium sat aligned North South, with the student section being all around the south end.  The freshmen sat on the south “curve,” and as your class year advanced, your seats moved up the east end toward the fifty yard line.  We sat at the south side of the east stands.  The upper decks on the north and south stands were still years away, so all the freshmen sat out in the sun below the scoreboard.  The west stands were all alumni.  North stands were alums, others, and fans of the other team.

Looking over at the freshmen section, I saw what Dogger meant: streaking about the section like shooting stars were marshmallows.  The whole south end was a huge marshmallow fight.  I smiled and prepared to throw at some dude in a florescent orange cap--seemed as good a target as any. 

“No… wait ‘til the game starts- everyone else will be out of ammo” Dogger said.

Then, as if on cue, a sticky marshmallow hit him in the left ear with a dull splat.

“Mother fucker!”  Dogger shouted as he grabbed at the gooey mess.  The rest of us looked in the general direction where the shot came from, and saw two guys high fiving.

“There!”  Keemo pointed.

All five of us whipped marshmallows at the two guys.  Maybe one came close, the others impacting innocent civilians.  Suddenly the section was a war zone, marshmallows flying everywhere.

Then the crowd roared!  Eighty thousand people welcomed the number six ranked Nittany Lions onto the field.  I cheered and yelled…and two marshmallows hit me in the chest.

The announcer directed our eyes toward the bright blue sky.  You see, this was the opening of Penn State football’s one hundredth season, so the powers that be wanted to make it special.  A plane flew over, and we could see a speck, small and black.  Then a blossom of color- a sky diver.  He bobbed and directed, and landed right on the fifty yard line, where he handed an official the game ball to the approval of the crowd.  I cheered and then threw a marshmallow down toward the area I thought the two that hit me came from.

"We want the Lion!"  

The navy blue-shirted Nittany Lions scored quickly.  The cheerleaders bounced and yelled.  Any time a Temple player came close to the student section, a rain of marshmallows fell upon him.  The Nittany Lion mascot- a guy dressed in a brown Lion costume, did one armed pushups for every point Penn State scored.  Then he was blanket tossed.  The “Wave” swirled around the stadium several times. 

As directed by the distant cheerleaders down on the field, the East and South sides of the stadium shouted “WE ARE!”

The people in the West and North stands shouted “PENN STATE!”

This made sense:  we were the students, and they currently were not.

“WE ARE!”

“PENN STATE!”

After a few exchanges like this, a pause.  The cheerleaders then pointed at our side and everyone shouted “THANK YOU!”

The other side replied “YOU’RE WELCOME!”

That was kinda neat.  Years later, I figured out the metaphor.  All of Penn State is based upon tradition-hell, it’s all we heard about.  Where did all that tradition come from?  It was handed down from the people who were students there before us.  Because they kept traditions alive, we had them to enjoy.  Those students were now the alumni- sitting on the other side of the field.  So whether we knew it or not, the students were not only thanking them for helping with the cheer, but also were thanking them for all that Penn State was and “is.”  Will be?  That was up to us.  Deep shit, eh?

The crowd shouted and waved and threw marshmallows and all kind of fun stuff.  A fight broke out in the freshman section, and everyone chanted “ASSHOLE!” as the two guys were forcibly ejected by security.  When the game ended, everyone was hoarse, sweaty, happy, and for the most part sober.  We all were working another kind of buzz- Holy Shit that was awesome!

We made our way back to the tailgate, drank a few more, then walked back to the house.  Tonight, the House, and all of Penn State, would party.

Oh yeah, by the way, the Nittany Lions beat Temple45-15. 

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