“He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” – The Hollies
“The meeting will come to order,” Bozo banged the gavel at 8 p.m. sharp. “Do I have a motion to suspend the reading of the minutes from our last meeting?”
“I move to suspend the reading of the minutes from our last meeting,” spoke up Bob.
‘Second?”
“I second,” said Rick.
“In favor? Opposed? The motion’s passed.”
“First order of new business is brother Tallmadge’s about next weeks’ Winterfest Party. Brother Tallmadge.”
Jeff rose to speak from a spiral notebook. “Men, next Saturday’s party is a joint effort between myself, Cliff and Rick. Both Cliff and Rick must be complimented for their enthusiasm in coming up with ideas and a number of creative ways to make this weekend something special . . . so thank you Rick and Cliff. First, we have a guest, Brother Brendan Harrigan.” Jeff turned toward the top of the stairs as Brendan came into the meeting.
A couple inches under six feet tall, wearing his usual uniform of a white crumpled pharmacist’s smock with khaki slacks and tennis shoes, he seemed least likely to be rich enough to have bought and kept this house afloat for two decades. Several of the actives stood and applauded, and soon everyone was on their feet applauding. Brendan found a vacant chair at the end of a row and declined Bozo’s arm waving to encourage him to sit at the head table.
As the noise and clapping subsided, Jeff continued, “Brendan, I’m probably in trouble because I didn’t tell anyone I invited you here tonight. But I thought it was important. Allow me first to complete my report on this Saturday’s Winterfest party. With the work that Gary has done with our Little Sis chapter and knowing that we always have higher heating and electric costs in the winter, Rick, Cliff and I decided this Winterfest will break all traditions. First, we are going to the Party Barn, yes that’s right, the place where you can go on hayrides in the fall. Second, the Little Sis members have drawn names of the actives and are going to help us prepare dishes and desserts for a potluck dinner. The bar will be BYOB and Bob has convinced his friends to play one more gig in their college careers and at a much lower price than a union band would charge us. The result brothers and Brother Harrigan, is a $2,500 savings . . . which means we will have the ability to pay our benefactor for the winter quarter and one month into the spring quarter.” Jeff stood nervously as the idea of the Party Barn and potluck dinner prepared with the help of the Little Sis chapter was sinking in.
Mike stood as everyone else remained stunned. “I think this is what is expected of us. Take care of our obligations first, then if there is money remaining, celebrate a little. I mentioned this to Barbie and she’s going to volunteer to help too. I bet others would as well. By the way Jeff, cool move, no one will complain in front of Brendan.”
Bozo still looked like a deer in the headlights, but the news was out, and there was no way he could stop the plan from going forward. “Okay . . . any questions of Jeff?” He waited a moment. “Jeff, you’ll get with everyone, individually, as to what they need to do and which Little Sis they are working with.”
Jeff nodded.
“Brendan, this is a surprise and a pleasure. I’m sure we all want to hear from you tonight. Men, most of you already know that this is Brendan Harrigan. He is our benefactor and the only reason we even have a house is through his generosity. Brendan, the floor is yours.”
The members applauded once again as Brendan walked to the front and stood and gazed over the crowd. “Some of you men I know pretty well, and some faces are new to me. You four must be the new pledges.” He looked at each one and nodded a greeting as they introduced themselves.
“Bob Stumps, sir.”
“Michael Cross, sir.”
“Vito Gatti, sir.”
“And I already know Rick. He has worked as my intern for several years.” Brendan gave him a smile.
“Good to see you, sir.” Rick smiled back.
“I will catch up with the rest of you after the meeting. I won’t keep you long tonight. When Jeff first called and told me what he had up his sleeve, I asked him if I could come and see the expression on your faces as you hear how you’re going to give up your fancy party in order to keep me happy. I really wanted to see Bozo’s puss . . . and yes, I’ve known from day one, Ben, that your nickname was Bozo. Pretty appropriate, I think.”
The members laughed.
“Thanks Brendan,” Bozo said as his face turned beet red, particularly his nose.
“But there is a more serious reason for my visit.” Brendan continued to look at the men in front of him. “When I attended Kent and pledged this fraternity, World War II and Korea were behind us, and we weren’t off fighting some foreign war that no one understands and no one supports. Then that crazy California Republican went and screwed with the draft and now a number of you are sitting here tonight, afraid to graduate and follow your dreams or afraid to drop a class or, heaven forbid, fail a class and get no credit. You don’t have the freedom of choice to do what is best for you because we’ve had the wrong men in the White House for all these years.
“I learned a long time ago not to worry about the things you can’t change and put your energy, your creativity and your mind into taking action doing the things you can do. I can’t give you any specific advice because I don’t pretend to know your specific situations. My advice, in general, is to make your mind up about what you’re going to do, then ask yourself what others will think of you this year and what you will think about yourself for the rest of your life. Good luck. Thanks for listening.” He turned toward the officers. “Invite me back. I enjoyed this.”
Brendan sat down at the table as everyone applauded.
“Meeting adjourned,” Bozo declared and he heard someone yell a motion and a second in the commotion. The new men hung around and introduced themselves to Brendan and the actives all took time to catch up with him. By the end of the evening, the talk about the potluck dinner party at the Party Barn instead of their quarterly formal affair actually began to turn positive.
Bozo got Jeff off to the side. “If you ever do something like this again, I will make it my life’s work to have you voted out of this chapter.” Bozo walked away.
Rick walked up and put his arm around Jeff’s shoulder. “He was pissed, I heard it.”
“Don’t worry about it. This is an idea that will save money we don’t have, and we’ll have a ton of fun doing it. Thanks for your support. But I’m not really worried. There’s only four months left until Bozo never has to see me again.”
Rick laughed. “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to the party. It’ll be a blast.”
“Jeff, thanks for the call,” Brendan said as he tapped Jeff on his shoulder. Rick started to leave. “Hold on son . . . how have you been doing here?”
“Really well. These guys are great,” Rick commented. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me.”
“Glad to do it. What are you studying?” Brendan asked.
“Business management with a major in accounting,” Rick answered.
“With a major in Cindy to be more precise,” Jeff kidded him and Rick blushed.
“Cindy?” Brendan remarked. “Nice name.”
“She was runner up Miss Ohio last year,” Jeff added to Brendan’s image of Rick.
“Good job!” Brendan smiled, almost proudly. “You’re doing a fine job on the books for the chapter, I’m told.”
“Yes sir . . . they were a little messed up, but we know where we’re at now. When Jeff came to me about the party budget, I was able to help make the party happen and not break us in the process.”
“Well, I need to head back to Akron . . . I have some orphans to evict in the morning,” Brendan said as he winked at Jeff and Rick.
“Why don’t you come Saturday night?” Jeff asked.
“I wish I could, but I have other plans. Maybe I’ll make Spring Fling.” Brendan shook their hands and others as he made his way to the stairway.