“Those Were The Days” – Mary Hopkin
Hef was almost late as he drove quickly to a parking place behind the house. The chapter meetings were held every Monday night, except during registration and finals week, starting promptly at 7 p.m. on the second floor of the coach house. There, under the watchful eyes of the signature of everyone ever to graduate Kent State University as a Phi Psi Kappa brother, the chapter conducted business following Robert’s Rules of Order and the will of the majority.
He took the steps two at a time and reached the top just as the president slammed his gavel on the table that was at the front of the room. Ben Martin, serving his second term as President, sat in the center chair at the officer’s table. The other chapter members had elected him because they believed that he was controllable in all sorts of critical policy and business matters. Trouble was, and Ben was more than fifty percent causal, he was in his fifth year of a four-year program. Ben was all of five foot nine inches tall, well over 200 pounds and he wore thick glasses. Apparently, none of those things seemed to detract from his physical appeal as far as the female sex was concerned. In his three prior years as a brother, at every social gathering Ben, or Bozo to his brothers, always managed to bring a girl that everyone agreed looked just like their first grade teachers. But at least he always had a date.
Mike, the vice-president, was usually a five-day-a-week brother as he spent weekends at home with his family more than half the time. During the week, he was consumed with aerodynamics, physics, calculus and a variety of classes requiring lab work almost every evening. And now, of course, there was Barbie. As an officer of the fraternity Mike had proved invaluable. An independent and extremely logical thinker, Mike didn’t have an abundance of patience with those less blessed with common sense and problem-solving capability. He could be counted on to have questions much deeper than his opponent was prepared to defend.
Stan was chapter secretary and an interesting combination of physical, emotional and mental attributes. He was another five-day-a-week officer who spent weekends at home with his family in the nearby Cleveland area. Physically, he was slight of build and sort of gangly. Stan was an English literature major who would graduate at the end of his fourth year and aspired to teach college. He had a thorough command of literary references that everyone was sure were on the mark, but his true value to the chapter meetings centered on his ability to speak powerfully on any subject. Plus, he kept very accurate minutes. On any given Monday night someone would be late to the meetings and subject to a small fine. None the less, everyone who came in late would ask the same question, “What’s Stan said so far?”
The final person at the officer’s table was Ted McCoy, treasurer. He was voted in as treasurer for two reasons. One, there were no business or finance or accounting majors in the chapter who could handle the job and two, everyone thought anyone studying to become an attorney was probably going to be honest. Not enough could be said about the naivety of college students. An added bonus was that Ted was on the University’s football team and could press a lot more weight than anyone else. Size mattered when it was time to collect room, board and activity fees.
President Bozo pounded the gavel on the table four times starting sharply at 7 p.m. “Please come to order. The first fall, 1969 chapter meeting of the Kent State chapter of the Phi Psi Kappa fraternity is in session. Brother Freeman please call the roll.”
Every meeting, the chapter secretary would read the names of all those members expected to be at the meeting. “Final attendance Mr. President, 31 present and 1 absent, Kevin Nash.”
“Anyone know the whereabouts of Kevin?”
From the back of the meeting room came a mumbled response. “He’s being pussy whipped, Mr. President. It’s been going on since last spring.” The meeting erupted in laughter.
“Order, order,” Ben yelled as he pounded the table with his gavel. “Mr. Secretary let the record reflect Kevin was not in attendance, and he will be fined the customary $5. Mr. Treasurer, please record in Mr. Nash’s personal record his fine.”
“I move we suspend the reading of the minutes from the last meeting of last spring quarter,” Hef proposed.
“Any objection?” Ben glanced up for a brief moment. “Hearing no objections, so ordered. New business?”
“Mr. President.” Gary stood.
“Mr. Summers. You have the floor for no more than five minutes.”
“Thank you Mr. President. I rise tonight to propose we establish a Little Sis chapter of Phi Psi Kappa fraternity. I have it on good authority that there are at least six other fraternities in the process of establishing Little Sis chapters this quarter at Kent State.”
Gary was interrupted as many of the other chapter members began applauding and knocking on the tables. It was a few minutes before Ben was able to regain order.
I object,” Fred yelled from the far left side of the meeting room.
“You can’t object, Brother Thomas . . . the proposal hasn’t been debated and the question hasn’t been called yet,” stated Ben. “Stay in process, please.”
Frank, with a broad smile on his face stood to be heard. “Mr. President, Parliamentary Inquiry.”
Ben hit the table. “What’s the nature of your inquiry, Mr. Pucci?”
“In order to expedite the discussion, I would like to know the reason for Brother Thomas’ objection.” Frank sat.
“So ordered. Brother Thomas, what is the nature of your objection?”
“Mr. President. I brought this very same exact proposal before this group last spring and last fall quarter. Both times it was soundly defeated. Regardless of the outbreak you just heard, I don’t think there have been enough new members added to our chapter for this to survive a vote this quarter. I think we are wasting valuable time, and I ask that Brother Summers withdraw his motion at this time.”
At that exact instant Frank bolted back to his feet. “Point of Order, Mr. President.”
“What is it now Brother Pucci?” Ben asked, shaking his head. This was looking to become a marathon meeting.
“Mr. President. I have inside information that the reason the motion before us tonight, or about to be before us tonight, is being objected to because of who will decide who will be a Little Sis and who won’t be a Little Sis.”
“What are you getting at Brother Pucci? We have a lot to accomplish tonight,” Ben demanded.
“Have you seen Brother Thomas’ dates at our parties?” Frank asked.
The room again erupted with yelling and table knocking. Ben again pounded on the table with his gavel numerous times. “And your point Brother Pucci?”
“And have you seen Brother Summers’ dates and his current girlfriend, Mary?” Frank demanded to know as he looked around the room. “Now here’s my point, Brothers. The no vote last year had a valid reason. Based on Brother Thomas’ lack of discernment and Brother Summers’ ability to tell the good, from the bad and the ugly, I vote YES.” Frank raised his clenched fist, complete with a black leather glove, and bowed his head in a pose reminiscing of the Black Power salute at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics.
Frank sat down to applause from all but a handful of the attendees. He leaned over to Don Williams and removed the glove. “It fell out of my car when I got out so I thought I’d bring it along.”
The meeting lasted for another two hours with the Little Sis Chapter approved and a committee of five brothers named to select the first chapter draft. Fred Thomas was voted in, along with Gary Summers, Jeff Tallmadge, Frank Pucci and Mike Anderson.
When the meeting ended several of the brothers, mostly those without an early class followed Larry’s lead and drove downtown to the Venice Café on West Erie Street. The Venice Café was housed in a brick building with a small parking lot and was managed by a bald-headed Navy veteran with little patience for the college crowd. Except for a handful of fraternity members, there was little business at The Venice during the week, especially on a Monday night. It was an ideal location for a couple of quick beer drinking rounds of Shit-shit, a smashing way to get plastered cheaply with your friends
Larry was able to convince Fred and Bozo to come along. They were joined by Kevin who saw his brothers pull into the parking lot as he walked through town back to the house. While he had missed the meeting, Kevin was up for some man company after Donna had whipped him back into shape. He knew he would be facing some intense ridicule, not so much for having skipped the first meeting of the quarter, but more because he had turned his balls over to his girlfriend for safe keeping, and she showed no signs of returning them any time soon. The brothers viewed Donna as an activist and a threat to the overall balance between fraternity brothers and their dates, girlfriends, Lavaliere Mates, Pin-mates or fiancées. But it was worth a little ribbing to participate in Shit-shit with his friends.
The game began with all of the players gathered around a large table near the bar. Jake, the bartender, had supplied each brother with a full glass of 3.2 beer. With so many games under their belts, the names of the players were drawn at random to prevent memorization from game to game. Tonight the names drawn were Fred drawing dogshit, Larry got cowshit, Bozo got sheepshit and Kevin appropriately drew horseshit. The game would take a little longer tonight as there were so few players which reduced the combinations that would become more and more confusing as the beer consumption increased.
Alphabetically, the game started. Kevin began with his story. “I was walking back from the campus through the Commons and stepped into some cowshit.”
Tonight Larry was cowshit and it was his duty to respond as quickly as possible. “Bullshit!”
Kevin responded per the rules, “Who shit?”
Larry, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, cowshit, horseshit, sheepshit.”
For a moment no one answered the call and clapping began.
At this point Bozo, who tonight was sheepshit, should have answered with bullshit. He did not do so fast enough in the judgment of the participants. Bozo enjoyed chugging beer and this represented a great excuse, so he downed the beer in one swallow. Following the emptying of Bozo’s glass and its refilling by Jake, it was Bozo’s turn to start the game.
“I was at the Phi Psi Kappa fraternity tonight and attended their meeting. When I got up to leave I noticed I stepped into some dogshit.”
The game obviously didn’t challenge anyone’s intellect, but it was a great excuse for getting plastered. Tonight’s losers, or winners depending on your outlook, were Kevin and Bozo who both became increasingly loud and clumsy. Jake didn’t have to eject anyone because with so few patrons, there were no complaints. Besides, it was a time-honored pastime that even Jake had participated in when he wasn’t on the job. It was all about pacing and breath control. Being the annual Shit-shit champion never made it onto anyone’s job resume, but the winner was guaranteed celebrity status at parties and rush smokers.