Men of the Skull Chapter 66: Toga '87

Every fraternity at PSU had a "signature" party in my time.  For example: Beta Sig had Regatta, Fiji had the "Islander", and Delta Sig hosted the DG anchor splash, where people chugged goldfish.  Skull had Toga.  It wasn't the most original idea, but the way it was executed is what made it special.

The few times I see brothers from my time, the stories almost always go back to Toga, and each year they get more legendary, exaggerated, and distant.  Parties like Toga (and the Islander and a few others) could never happen today.  Everybody records everything and there's so much money to be made in litigation, etc.  The fact that it can't happen is not a bad thing.  As I re-read this chapter, I was struck by the privileged misogyny of it all: how casually some of the brothers regarded women.  Not all- some.  But the problem was that they were typical guys of the times.  They wanted to revel in their youth and enjoy themselves- we were all still kids playing grown up.  Most of us had no idea of the consequences of our actions, and we didn't really care.  All I wanted to do was be a part of it.  I was complicit.  

There are many stories that the brothers of my time don't want told publically as we age, and they usually involve Toga.  I occasionally will soften something in the book or remove something by request, yet part of me wonders: why should I?  Why should I when 90% of the brothers treated me like dirt?  My answer is always the same: because they are my brothers.  

Toga was about letting loose.  It was about proving manhood to each other- outdrink, outfight, outlast.  Dates were a secondary thought to many- and the women tended to hang with each other anyway, watching either in drunken amusement or horror at the antics- and each year, we kept trying to outdo the year before.  

Reading it now, the tone shocks me.  This was one of the first chapters I wrote for the PSU part of the book.  I sense the anger and frustration in my words.  I attended three Togas as a student (87-89) and three as an alumnae (90-92.)  I didn't attend Toga 93 because that's the weekend I married my Wife.  Also, I no longer wished to attend parties where I was at best tolerated, not wanted.

Now, living here in State College, I visit the house occasionally.  The current brothers have no idea that I was a transfer- now I'm avoided because I'm transgender.  Same old song with a few new lines, really.  

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Chapter 66:  Toga ‘87

Saturday, April 25, 1987 Dollar plunges to record low, driving stocks down, interest up

            All I’d heard was all year was about one event- one party that dwarfed all others.  Reputations, nicknames, and legends were made all on that one day.  Skulls spoke of it like little kids talked about Christmas:  TOGA.

            In case you’re from Mars, or Amish, or just returned from a deep space mission, I’ll explain this.  A Toga party is simply a party in which everyone dresses in togas (usually bed sheets.)  A toga is a thing that was supposedly worn in ancient Rome.  Therefore a Toga party has a Roman theme to it, including the orgy (hopefully.)  Shit- you ever see “Animal House?”  There’s a whole fucking toga party right in the middle.  And if you haven’t seen it, why are reading this?

Toga '88: the chariot approaches

            Skull Toga was the biggest party of the year- the one where we pulled out all the stops.  Toga was always the Saturday before the last week of classes: the end of Greek Week.  As this was Skull’s biggest event, sorority girls would kill, die, spread, or do lesbian scenes to be invited.  Of course the girls from the sorority doing Greek Week with us were in prime position for invitations. 

            It went without saying: a brother bringing a date was going to fuck her.  Sex was the Price of Admission.

            Greek Week flew by with the necessary participation.  We were doing it with Pi Phi and they were much more into it than us.  Oh we won our share of events, but overall the brothers didn’t give a damn.  Was it that the brothers thought they were above all that rah-rah shit?  Or were they saving their energy?

            Friday morning the pledges were at the house early.  When I arrived for lunch, they already had half the house spotless.  This was also an “all hands on deck” thing.  If a brother didn’t have a class he was expected to help.  After all, the alumni were coming.  Most pitched in.  Most.

           

 Early Toga '91, before noon.  Selfie.

            Friday night was “Pre-Toga.”  Fancy name, isn’t it?  This was a private party for brothers, alumni, and girlfriends.  (No mere “date” rated an invite to this as a date was just a fuck and nothing more.)  The bar was top shelf- just like Homecoming.  

            Of course I brought Virginia.  She wore a sleeveless pink top with a long, tight, black skirt.  I wore the dark blue, purple, and black shirt that Julianne gave me and tan pants. 

            Just like Homecoming, the alums tended to stay with others from their time.  The current brothers were all getting wasted, some of them announcing that that they would drink all night and through the next day.  Whatever.

            I saw only two pledges and they were outside on the covered part of the porch watching a pig roast on a very large contraption.  The pig (which they named “Tri Delt”) would be ready around noon the next day.

            I drank Absolut screwdrivers.  Virginia drank keg beer from the usual plastic cups.  We stayed close, stealing caresses and kisses when we could.  You see, I intended to fuck her somewhere in the house that night.  Where I wasn’t sure yet- probably in one of the girl’s bathrooms or the Quag or maybe on a couch in the attic.  It was Toga- I wanted to get laid in the house.

            Maple staggered over to me, well maybe staggered is a little harsh.  He was listing hard to starboard as he drank directly from a full pitcher of beer.

            “Hey Lancer!” he said, and then burped.  “You’re in the house this fall.  Congratulations.”  He shook my hand, spilling beer from his pitcher.

            Huh?

            The news took a second to sink in as I shook his hand.

            “Th-thanks!”

            “Room picks are next Friday after senior dinner.  Suit and tie.  Be here...”  BURP!  “…by six.  Drink!”

            He handed me the pitcher.  I handed my screwdriver to a smiling Virginia and drank a little.

            “Chug motherfucker!” he shouted.

            I drank as much as I could then handed him back the pitcher.

            He nodded and said “Remember: six o’clock” and staggered away.

            Virginia gave me back my drink and a kiss.  “I told you those assholes would let you in!” she said smiling.

            I smiled and we toasted.

 

The "Horse " Toga '90.  But they're not standing.

            The night danced forward.  I figured I’d finish my drink then take Virginia to some quiet place and get noisy.  Double D walked over to us, holding a big bottle of Absolut vodka. 

            “Hey Lancer!  Bet I can out-chug ya!” he said, thrusting the bottle into my hands. 

            Hell, even I knew that this was serious misuse of good vodka, but he was offering so…

            I drank some.  He drank more.  We both grimaced.  Double D shook his head like a dog shaking off the rain.

            Virginia smiled and asked “Can I try too?” in a voice dripping with ‘feminine vulnerability.’  She slightly widened her eyes and straightened her shoulders, which pushed out her breasts.

            I smiled.  She knew exactly how to get what she wanted from a guy.

            Double D smiled and handed her the bottle.  As I said, this was one of the big bottles: better than a foot high, maybe four inches in diameter, of red label hundred proof hard core goodness.  Maybe a third of the bottle was left.

            Virginia smiled wider and thanked Double D.  She then lifted the bottle to her lips and chugged.  And chugged.

            And chugged!

Finished the bottle!  The whole fucking bottle!

            Did she puke?  Did she wince?  Nope.  Just wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand as she handed the empty bottle to Double D with her right.  Double D and I looked at each other, wide eyed, then at Virginia- a fragile looking girl- who looked at us.

            “What?” she asked.

            I started to laugh as Double D stumbled away with his now empty bottle.

            “Think he’ll ever… offer me a drink again?”  Virginia asked.  Sounded like it was finally hitting her.

            “No, I can’t s-say that he…he will.”  Whoa!  Tongue not working.

            We stayed a little while longer.  Finished my drink.  By then Virginia had finished two more beers and was staggering and she was getting belligerent.  Time to go!  Fuck her here tomorrow!

 

Me: Toga, '90

            The next day was typical State College: cloudy and cold.  The high grey and white sky suggested rain, but not seriously.  I woke up around ten.  I didn’t feel too badly.  Gravity was a little heavy but that was all.

            Virginia went home the night before.  She’d show up at Toga at noon.  All the dates were arriving at noon.  In fact, no dates were ALLOWED before noon.  I guessed this was so everything would be set up before they arrived.

            I showered, ate a little breakfast and called Virginia.  Judy answered.

            “She’s really sick” Judy said.

            “Virginia hung over?”  I was shocked.

            “Yes.  She won’t be able to go to Toga with you today.”  Judy’s tone was flat- emotionless.  I was getting used to hearing it that way.  For a moment, I thought about inviting her.  She’d look awesome in a Toga.  She may enjoy it.  Maybe even have a few drinks and loosen up and…

            Stop!  That’s dangerous thinking.  Fucking a roommate got me into enough trouble already.

            But you’re still fucking her.  Every day and night.  So it turned out ok didn’t it?

Yes it did, and I don’t want to screw it up.

            But it’s Judy!

Yes.  Yes it is.  I’ll invite her as friends.  No- Virginia wouldn’t understand.  And why am I trying to fucking justify it?

Because it’s Judy.

           

            “Ok” I said into the phone.  “I’ll stop by later.”

“She’ll be here but I won’t.  Richard and I have plans,” Judy said.

Tying a toga is easy if you know how.  Unfortunately I didn’t know how.  I figured out something using my unwashed bed sheet, five safety pins, and a string.  I wore sneakers, the toga and that was all.  I’d been told by many people that no one wears anything under their togas!

I walked up Beaver Avenue past lots of traffic.  It was Blue/White as well that day.  (Blue/White is where they divide the football team into two squads: Blue and White, and they scrimmage.  A lot of alumni came back for it.  Since Phi Psi died, Blue/White has become the spring homecoming.)  A lot of people shouted comments at me.  I expected it- I’d shout things too!

“Nice dress!”

“TOGA!”

“Want a date babe?”

I arrived at the Bone at eleven.  The pledges had been busy.  First, the wooden hurricane fences surrounded the property, keeping the unwashed plebian hoards out.  In the front yard to the right of the path as I headed up toward the house was a log held maybe four feet off the ground by specially made supports.  Old mattresses covered the ground under and around it, as did some muddy pillows.  So there we had drunk guys standing on a log beating the shit out of each other with pillows until one fell off.  Welcome to Toga!

 

On the left side of the top of the stone steps a tall pole made from broomsticks taped together rose from the bushes.  Atop this pole was a roll of toilet paper.  Really.

The real work happened inside.  Almost every stick of furniture on the first floor was gone (upstairs in the hallways and in the basement if you must know.)  The walls all over the first floor, except for windows and fireplaces, were covered floor to ceiling with brown paper, like the stuff grocery bags are made of.  Brothers wrote all kinds of insults all over the paper with markers that were scattered all over the floor.  I looked around a bit and found some directed at me.  “Lance- no one likes you!  Go away!”  “Lance!  GTFO! (Get the Fuck Out!)”  and that sort of thing.  Apparently this was a brother’s chance to cut loose on another brother without fear of reprisal (aside from other’s could write about him!)

The dining room was empty except for the old mattresses all over the floor. 

In the club room a large painting of a classical Greek/ Roman village hung over the back windows.  It was maybe twenty feet long and maybe five feet wide.  God only knows how old it was.  In the middle of the empty Club room was a stand holding a large brass fountain, the top of which was taller than me.  Bubbling a shooting from the fountain was a red liquid with ice and fruit in the bowl below.  This fountain contained French 75s: a powerful drink with vodka, champagne and other nastiness.  Sure we had beer, but Toga meant French 75s.

Surrounding everything: the abuse walls, the windows, the stairs, everywhere, was layered with Laurel Vines.  The pledges gathered them the night before at a state park not too far away.

This was Toga- half the Hood was Drunk, high, or both already (still?)  The only thing missing was the dates.  They were being gathered. 

Toga '88.  That's the painting and fountain in the pic.  

One of the brothers drove a truck with a rented flatbed trailer, like the type used to pull the homecoming float.  He went around the dorms to pick up the sorority girls (apartment girls had to walk) at various pick up points.  (I always wondered what the waiting girls talked about…)  Someone put a rail around it to keep people from falling out and labeled it with a large sign “SKULL TOGA PIG CART.”  Yeah, I know- and the girls got aboard anyway.  Such was the power of Toga.

Me?  I drank and watched.  Watched as more brothers beat the shit out of each other on the log.  King was especially good at it.  Some of the brothers dragged a small plastic kiddie pool onto the front lawn, filled it, and sat in the pool drinking.  Many brothers lost their footing and toppled off the porch into the bushes, laughing.  The pig continued roasting on the side porch, but the brothers were circling (especially the stoners.)  What’s a little disease between brothers anyway?  And over it all, the Grateful Dead blasting from the ubiquitous window speakers.

Sugar Magnolia blossoms booming Head’s all empty and I don’t care.

Drivers honked their horns as they drove by.  Toga-ed alumni arrived from nearby hotels.  Flounder fell hard on his back from the log after King clocked him hard in the head with a pillow.

Then a cheer from the assembled brothers- the Pig Cart arrived!  It pulled in front of the steps where the squealing girls bounced off the trailer and up the steps.  They took much more care in tying their togas- more to cover.  All of them wore crisp clean white sheets.  For that matter, so did most of the brothers.  The pledges “borrowed” sheets from a nearby hotel’s laundry room.  We returned them on Monday- really!  Muddy and abused, but we did return them!  The girls’ arrival marked the unofficial beginning of Toga.  The official beginning?

At 12:15, the pledges disappeared.  The Deltas (kitchen bros, remember?) took over serving the hopefully now-finished roast pig.  LPC took over security at the steps back and sides.  Where were the pledges?

  At 12:30, Detour shouted “Chariot!”  Turning the corner from S. Pugh Street was a chariot done in black and gold and pulled by pledges!  (It was our chariot race entry from Greek Week- how convenient!)  Riding the chariot was the pledge captain, Windex, completely nude with words and designs scrawled all over him in black marker, drunk out of his mind, and holding aloft a flaming torch made of, what else:  a pole and a roll of blazing toilet paper.  His pledge brothers pulled him down the street and stopped in front of the steps to the cheers of the Hood and the assembled people on Beaver Avenue and assorted apartment balconies.  Torch in hand, he ran up the steps and lit the toilet paper torch that waited at the top!  Cameras clicked, brothers shouted, and toilet paper burned as he held the torch high over his head.

Toga had officially begun!

The whole house became a whirl of drunken activity.  Dancing, chugging, flirting, pissing, here we go falling backwards into the bushes.  I tried the pillow fight log and Veal knocked me halfway to Beaver Avenue!  It didn’t hurt- French 75s are a great anesthetic. 

            Went inside to take a leak.  Up to the second floor where I was greeted by the familiar pot smell, but stronger.  It seemed to come from everywhere.  I half expected to see clouds whisping out from under doors.

Goodbye Mama and Papa!  Goodbye Jack and Jill!  The grass ain’t greener, the wine ain’t sweeter either side of the hill.

           After an hour or day or something I was out front again when Beef and a few other brothers stumbled out the front door.  They all had headbands made of torn white sheet decorated with a large red spot and some black characters- their attempt at Japanese I guess.  Drawn all over their bodies with red magic marker were more attempts at Oriental lettering.

            They were the “Samurai:” a little club they put together that added members each Toga.  Actually, I think it only existed at Toga.  They liked it- it’d been happening at least five years at that point.  So why?  Well, it was a chance to “initiate” someone by getting them incredibly drunk and high.  That was it as far as I know- I wasn’t Samurai.  Just another way to exclude others I guess. 

            Anyway, the Samurai were silent, grunted only to each other and drank a hell of a lot.  Real positive fucking additions to the party.

New Samurai: Toga '90 (I think)

            Nine-mile Skid on a ten-mile ride.  Hot as a pistol but cool inside.

            Toga churned on through the cold afternoon.  I was hit several times by thrown pig parts.  Brothers passed out from the porch into the bushes that other brothers had been pissing in all day.  Of course, having people lying in these bushes didn’t stop other brothers from continuing the public urination.  Probably encouraged it.

            A huge crash!  Dairy knocked over the entire fucking French 75 fountain!  He was coated in red liquid and alcohol soaked fruit.  Some people laughed, some cursed- I mean the fountain was rented after all.

            The chant began quickly “Swirley!  Swirley!”  and continued louder.  “SWIRLEY!  SWIRLEY!”  Dairy laid on the floor trying to wring the drink from his toga into his mouth.  He knew he fucked up and he was prepared to pay the price. 

Saint, Veal, and Flounder carried him off to the girls head below the stairs for his well earned swirley.  A few other guys fixed the fountain.  Within minutes it was refilled with fresh bubbly red goodness. 

I don’t know, maybe it was the roses.  All I know, I could not leave her there.

Back out on the lawn, two girls sat in the kiddie pool having a splash fight.  People on the Penn Tower balconies cheered and passing cars beeped their horns.  The girls were wearing their togas correctly- nothing beneath. 

People were beginning to pass out all over the place, especially on the mattresses in the dining room.  This meant that there were now dateless girls…  It was a great day to be a Skull.

Unless you didn’t have the guts to talk to the now dateless girls.  Or if your girlfriend was at her apartment with a hangover.

There I was at the best party I’d ever seen- the event of the year, the gathering that defined us as a house… and I was bored.

Yup.  Bored.

Party’s no fun if no one is really talking to you.  So, figuring I’d leave soon, I finished my drink and grabbed two more.  Chugged down one as I watched two Samurai play tug of war with either end a of laughing girl’s toga.  Headed up the Brotherhood steps, avoiding two red puddles of puke, to the bathroom so I could take a leak.  Saint was in the shower, water running, banging some chick from behind.  Her cries gave me a hard on making it difficult to piss.

But piss I did, and when I finished I had a nasty drunk idea.  See, it bears repeating that the plumbing at the Bone was old and that flushing a toilet meant a sudden rush of scalding hot water in the shower.  And that motherfucker had done nothing but get on my shit since I met him.  Still with me?  Right- I quietly washed my hands and took the two steps to the door (the urinal is right next to the door.)  Opened the door, flushed the john and got the hell out.  As I plunked down the Pledge steps I could hear them.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHH!!! MOTHER FUCKIN SONUVABITCH!!!”

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