College years were ones in which strange events became part of my life. Things happened that were totally different from any I had encountered in high school and would never have expected, given the limited social interactions I had back then. One of them began in a very unanticipated way.
It was midweek when my pledge class had been called together for an evening work-session to prepare the House for a weekend rush party. Fraternities seemed to be constantly desiring to expand memberships. As a result of the winter smoker, we had become pledges only a month ago, but we were now part of the spring season for recruitment. My class was required to get the House ready for the event.
Our work started about 10:30 p.m. We cleaned the House from top to bottom. I, like fellow pledges, tried to get out of doing some of the work, or at least, to find something that was not too energy demanding. About 2:00 a.m. Jerry Lange, the house-manager, sent me out for newspapers to line the cupboards. I was returning from the J&E all-night diner when Chuck Ramsey, one of the Actives, yelled to me from a car he was driving. I stopped.
Suddenly three other Actives rushed toward me from the idling car. There wasn’t much use in my running. The four of them shoved me into the car and blindfolded me. Off we drove. We passed the greenhouses on the edge of town (the blindfold had been placed rather haphazardly) and I was lost. Finally, after many bumps, we stopped.
I was led out of the car. I heard nearby crickets; we were definitely in the country outside the town of Kent. I was told not to remove the blindfold until I heard the motor start up. Then I was to remove it and walk down the road at my right until I came to Jack Hinley, a fellow pledge, who was tied up. The car drove off; minutes later I found Jack and untied him.
The moon was bright so walking wasn’t too bad. But why walk back to Kent; what other way was there? The trucks that passed wouldn’t stop. Finally a car with a somewhat drunken driver squealed to a stop. He gave us a ride into Brimfield. There we found a telephone. The actives had taken my money but Jack had a dime. We called the House in hopes that a pledge would answer. Ed Burley, our pledge-class president, finally did, after a struggle with one of the Actives who had been in the car with me. Jerry finally allowed one of the other pledges to come for us; he claimed he needed our help to finish cleaning the House.
Our fellow pledge finally found Jack and me. My only problem was: Why, while we were walking for an hour, did Jack have to keep singing, “Boomerang?” (“What can I do? Why can’t I come back to you? Just like a boomerang … boom, boom, boom-erang … right back to you …”)
We worked until 4:30 a.m. and polished shoes until 5:30 a.m. Then we marched through the House, singing. The Actives didn’t appreciate our recital. I then went to the Diner for coffee. I had wake-duty at 7:00 a.m. and saw no point in going to bed.
The strain didn’t show until that afternoon when one of the Actives told me he didn’t like the parody script for the rush party he had asked me to prepare. I was to write another one. For some reason I felt like crying. I almost de-pledged right there. But that would have never gone over. I wrote a new script which he turned down in favor of the first one. That evening we didn’t use either one.
But we did use our best smiles as we drank beer at Rocky’s. Afterwards, a “cut session” was held to determine who should be invited for another smoker. The session lasted much too long. I saw the Actives in all their oratorical glory, even though we were merely pledges and had no inclusion in the decisions made. And then I went to bed. Exhausted, but happy.