Sophomore Stories XV "Theta Chi"

The fall semester of my sophomore year included an ill-advised membership into the KU Chapter of Theta Chi Fraternity. The relationship began in my freshman year when a friend of a friend recruited me to join and I did the beginning of my second year. I wasn't part of traditional rush, I didn't meet any of my pledge brothers until they had already spent two weeks together so when I came along, I was a bit of a stranger, and I was the only pledge who didn't live in the house.
We met one night for a special meeting for an hour and did really important sounding things like elect a pledge class president and vice-president, and I learned everyone's name. When we were done, the frat president told us we had to be at the house tomorrow at 7pm. Reluctantly, I went. We were herded outside in the rain and ordered to stand in line by our pledge class drill sergeant J.T. One by one, we were ushered inside the house. As the door would open, those of us standing in line could see a dimly lit figure holding a paddle. The first pledge was inside for all of 15 seconds when we heard a loud slap and a loud yell of "THEEEEEEEEETAAAAAA CHIIIIIIIII!!!!" The soaked pledges exchanged nervous glances, but I was thinking, 'there;s NO WAY these guys are going to hit us with that thing.'
I was right...as I entered, I was told to face a wall and put my palms on the wall above my head. I did so and the guy with the paddle, I think his name was Ken, said "I'm gonna hit the wall and when I do, yell Theta Chi as loud as you can. I rolled my eyes and participated with all the enthusiasm I could muster. When I finished yelling, I was ordered to go upstairs.
I climbed the stairs to a door threshold with a white curtain. I ducked through the curtain when a voice said...
"Stop! Identify yourself! Last name first. First name last. Middle initial!"
"Dale. John. W."
(sigh of frustration)"Last name first. First name last. Middle initial!"(pause) "Dale. John. W."
(condescendingly)"Last name first. First name last. Middle initial."
(completely baffled)"Dale. John. W."
(indifferently)"Go stand over there."

Somewhat humiliated, although I wasn't sure why, I joined the other members of my pledge class who had screamed before me.

The next guy came through the curtain.
"Stop! Identify yourself! Last name first. First name last. Middle initial!"
"Smith. Kevin. L."
(sigh of frustration)"Last name first. First name last. Middle initial!"
"um...Smith. L. Kevin."
"Good job"

Everyone in the room, about 20 guys, started snapping their fingers, so I instinctively snapped my fingers too. It's funny how peer pressure and the desire to fit in work their way into these kinds of groups.

This little routing went on and on until the last pledge went through...noone else was successful in solving the self-identity riddle, but there was one awkward moment when one pledge came through and the poor guy had no middle name. The interrogator didn't know what to do.

When the last pledge had failed the name test, we were forced, as a pledge class, to stand in a circle, hold hands, and recite the Theta Chi creed. Nobody knew it. Not even close.
The non-pledges started yelling and J.T. came over and pulled apart our circle and yelled something about how we weren't a good pledge class and we were broken...it was probably meant to be motivational, but I just rolled my eyes again.

Next, we were shepherded out to the lawn where we were blindfolded and our right arm placed on the shoulder of a non-pledge. This person sauntered me about for ten minutes or so while others made sheep noises...whatever.

When this was done, we were led to a 'ledge' and while still blindfolded, we were told we fall back and would have to trust that someone would be there to catch us. So we fall back and are summarily caught, each one by his own 'pledge dad.'

My pledge dad was Gary, and he was a super nice guy and I was glad he was assigned to me. As a gift for passing the ultimate trust test and meeting our pledge dads, our fathers each had a present for us...alcohol.

I'll never forget the sight of all my pledge brothers rushing inside, each with their liquor bottle, to huddle around a coffee table and start playing drinking games. I just stood outside with Gary and the 2-liter bottle of Purple Passion that he had given me. I thanked him, shook his hand and went back to the dorm where I immediately poured the everclear-based drink out into the parking lot.

I went to sleep completely unchanged as a person...and more importantly, sober.

Sophomore Stories XIV "Pizza Boxes"

While all of these stories took place during my Sophomore year, some actions could also be described as 'sophomoric' This is one of those times.

For once, I was taking out the trash. I gathered everything to throw away and trudged all the way down to the other end of the hall, through the hall door leading to the staircase and opened the door to the trash room.

When I did, I immediately noticed about a half dozen empty pizza boxes. In retrospect, I should not have been surprised knowing the number of pizza places in close proximity to the dorms and the quality of the cafeteria food.

Anyway, I picked up two empty pizza boxes and started jogging down the hall. The first open door I saw, I flung a pizza box like a frisbee into the room. The second door I saw, same thing.
A couple of curious heads stuck out to see what in the world was going on. I kept running, though the lobby and all the way down the girls hall to the stairs on the opposite end.
Going down one flight to the 4th floor, I traversed the length of Ellsworth Hall again to find myself at the other stairwell where I climbed the 24 steps to the 5th floor and the familiar trash room.

I grabbed two more empty pizza boxes and took off again. Laughing almost uncontrollably as I sprinted down the hall, I bypassed the first two rooms that I got the first go 'round and struck two more rooms in subsequent and rapid fashion.

This time, I was laughing so hard I collapsed in the lobby and pretty soon Brian and Jim were out there giving me grief. I apologized and they both took it really well. Just then, Justin emerges from the hall to inform us that Dave Tran is taking another shower.

Dave Tran was a strange character. He spoke very broken English for someone who was raised in Salina, KS. The son of Korean immigrants, Dave was a freshman who had his own room which was well decorated with posters of swimsuit models.
For reasons we never quite figured out, Dave showered multiple times daily. Some eyewitnesses claimed as many as four showers in a 24 hour period.

The four of us each grabbed a pizza box and huddled outside the entrance to the bathroom. The plan was to bust open the door, yelling all the way, and deposit the pizza boxes over the shower curtain rod.

Our plan was executed to perfection, and Dave's steady stream of hot water was interrupted by pizza boxes raining down upon him. Of course, he just threw them out on the floor and continued his shower, eventually emerging, with a smile on his face.

"You guys got me," he said.

The end.

Sophomore Stories Part XIII "The Phone Call"

This story requires a bit of background, please be patient :)

At the beginning of my Sophomore year, I was a declared business major with my eyes set on becoming a CPA. As such, I enrolled in Financial Accounting I in the fall. It didn't come to me as I thought it would and I ended up getting a C in that course, shoving my business school GPA toward the gutter...and in the spring semester, I made sure it stayed there forever.

Managerial Accounting I was the class, Marci Flannery was the professor. Seeking to remedy my poor performance in the fall, I diligently attended every class each Tuesday and Thursday, took copious notes, even read the book! After the first 5 weeks, we had our first exam. It was on a Tuesday. I was anxious for the results on Thursday...but the tests weren't fully graded yet forcing me to wait 5 more days. The next Tuesday, one week after the test, I fully expected to receive the results. Not only because seven days had passed, but also because the last day to drop a class with no penalty was Wednesday. Knowing that my accounting career had started poorly, I was at a crossroads...if I had done well on this test, I would stick with it...if not, accounting isn't for me, I'd drop the class, no harm, no foul, just walk away.
Well guess what...we get done with class and the tests still aren't ready! There were maybe 30 students in this class...regardless of the withdrawal deadline, what's the sense in making us wait a week and a half to find out how we did?!?
After class, I calmly asked Ms. Flannery about the exam. She said maybe Thursday. I stressed to her that I was hoping to receive the results today as the add/drop day was tomorrow. Seeming unsympathetic, she apologized and said she'd try to have them to us on Thursday.

This was unacceptable to me. So I called the director of the accounting faculty and asked him about this. He gave me a stern lecture about sticking things out and trying harder, etc. Whatever, either I 'got' accounting or I didn't...and at every turn it seemed that the faculty were trying to make it hard for me.

So, I take the dept. head's advice and 'hang tough' like a New Kid or something and you know what happened? After giving a serious effort for those first 5 weeks, I got an even 60 out of 100 on that stupid exam. D minus. Great. Now I have to figure out what I did wrong while absorbing ever increasing amounts of advanced accounting material and ace every other test to save a B for the semester. To top things off, Ms. Flannery was quite offended that I went to her boss to complain and let me know after we FINALLY received our exams.

I decided the best course of action was to give the course the proverbial middle finger.

For the rest of the semester, I attended exactly 2 classes, both exams (the second one I actually got a B on).

Knowing that I was going into the final exam with a D, a B and an unknown grade on the third exam, I felt that if I could somehow salvage an overall C, that it would be a minor victory...in short, I started to care again.

In addition to the three, impossibly slow to grade exams, we students had to complete a massive accounting project by the end of the semester. This is where Paul enters the picture.

Paul G. was a hallmate who had another teacher for the same class and had the same mammoth project to complete. We decided since either of us had a clue that we should work together.
We set about the process of soliciting help from others in the class and Paul was successful in gleaming some knowledge so that we knew what direction to go.

About two-thirds of the way through, Paul and I sat at my desk at the computer lab where I worked because we wanted to use the computer to finish (I was actually on the clock at the time, this is important later). We became confused at one certain section and were hopelessly stuck. Paul suggested we call the instructor. Being at a campus workspace with a campus phone, I had ready access to the faculty phone directory. We looked up Ms. Flannery's phone number and dialed. I fully expected to get a machine or assistant, but to my surprise, she answered. Flustered, I hung up the phone. Paul admonished me for not asking her...and he asked for the phone and her number.

Computer lab employees are not permitted to let non-employees use the phone.

Paul dials the number and promptly gets her machine. After the beep, Paul said "BITCH!" and hung up.

Two days later, sitting in my room not studying for finals, the phone rings. The conversation went something like this.

Me-"Hello."
"Is this Mr. Dale?"
"Yes"
"This Marci Flannery"
"Oh...um, hi."
(sounding very nervous and flustered)"Yeah, I think you and I need to have a talk"
(Obliviously)"Ooooohkaaay."
"Yeah, I really think it's best if we sit down and have a chat"
(Seriously, I'm thinking this is about my attendance or something)"Yeah, sure...um, why exactly did you want to meet?"
"Well, on Tuesday, someone called my office and left an obscene message on my voice mail. I had the campus telecommunications department trace the call and they traced it to you work. I spoke with your boss and he told me that you were working at that time and that you're the only one allowed to use that phone"
(total silence)
"So I think we need to meet and talk through this situation"
"No problem."
"Ok. Good bye"
"Bye"

I found Paul playing ping-pong in the lobby and told him the story. He insisted that he would go to Ms. Flannery and apologize and admit what had happened. I wanted this to happen in one regard, but on the other hand, Paul had a B going into the final and I didn't want his chances at a decent grade ruined. Paul never did talk with Ms. Flannery...and neither did I despite twice calling her to make an appointment and leaving messages each time.

For fun, I decided to show up for the final exam. It was held in conjunction with all the other Managerial Accounting classes that semester in a large auditorium. To avoid cheating, there was assigned seating that was displayed for us as we entered.

I was in the front row, right in the middle.

I reluctantly took my seat with my pencil and calculator, knowing for certain the letter that would find its way onto my report card.

I whizzed through the exam...finishing first or near first. I rose from my seat in the middle of the front row and made a beeline for the exit, casually tossing my multi-page exam in the general direction of my instructor, the poor, misunderstood, grades tests with the speed of molasses in January, Ms. Flannery.

Three weeks later, my parents were 250 miles away when the grades made their way into our mailbox. That made it a little easier. I never saw Paul, or Ms. Flannery again, and I changed my major to Journalism and managed to grade despite earning an 'F' in Managerial Accounting I.

I also got a 'D' in Intro to Economics that semester...


Epilogue: I took Journalism classes for the next three semesters with the special permission of the Dean on the condition that my GPA increase each semester. I received my letter of acceptance into the William Allen White School of Journalism 5 weeks before I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Journalism.

Sophomore Stories Part XII "The Shower Curtain"

My roommate and my new friends on the 5th floor of Ellsworth Hall let my 19th birthday come and go with little fanfare, which was fine with me because even though I had known some of these people only a month, I was a little afraid of what they might do. As it turned out, my fears were justified.

It was a Sunday morning if I remember and I awoke and. as I normally did, gathered my things to take a shower. Our room was on the very end, closest to the lobby and the bathroom/showers were in the middle of the hall, so I trudged the 60 feet or so up the hall to wash my hair.

Everything was going as planned, and perfectly normal, until I pulled back the shower curtain to find my clothes and towel had been taken, and in their place, a birthday card adorned with this Bible verse.

Job 1:21(a) "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return"

Wonderful. I have my birthday card and nothing else. I was dripping wet and in my birthday suit. I didn't have a key to my room. I had two paths back to my room.
1. Open the bathroom window, 5 stories up, crawl naked out onto the ledge and make my way back to my room and crawl through the window.
2. Walk the 60 feet or so back to my room in the buff.

I decided to evaluate the situation for option #2. I peeked out of the door and looked down toward my room to find James, Eric and several others laughing and holding my key. They had conveniently opened the door to the lobby and the door to the girls wing on the other side so anyone in the hallway could see to each end of the building.

Well, I was in quite a pickle, especially when someone noted to James that I could crawl out on the ledge, and he quickly darted into our room to lock the windows. I was down to one option and the longer I waited, the audience was sure to grow.

At this point, I'm coming to grips with the inevitable reality that I was going to have to bare myself to these people...a thought I was none too comfortable with since I'm a rather modest guy.

Then I looked back at the shower stalls. Each of them had a floor length shower curtain hanging from a metal rod. I grabbed the first one I found, methodically removed the rings from the rod until I had a sufficient covering for me to walk as comfortably as possible back to my room.

There was a collective groan from the half-dozen patrons who saw me emerge from the bathroom with a shower curtain around my waist. When I arrived at my door, James reluctantly gave me my room key, and I had averted total embarrassment.

Looking back, it probably would have made for a better story if I had not commandeered the government issue shower curtain...it is the only birthday experience I've had where my birthday suit, and a crowd of onlookers, has been involved. Quite memorable...for me at least.

Sophomore Stories Part XI "Bowling Champion"

My Sophomore year included many rigorously academic classes. Among them, The History of China & Japan, Computer Science (dropped), Analytical Calculus, Drumset Techinque, Spanish IV, University Singers, Introduction to Economics, and Bowling.
I came into my second year of college a well below average bowler...I saw my chance to make that leap to 'no gutter balls for an entire game' level and I took it.

This one credit hour class was great, mainly because it was made up of other students like myself, looking to pad, or protect, the sacred GPA.

Eventually, after we learned the intricacies of scoring a bowling frame and correct delivery and the object of the game, I was placed on a team with some other guy and the only girl in the class.

Off we went, in our little bowling class, twice a week, obliterating the competition. We were an awesome team, mainly because our averages before league play were awful and we were finally getting better.

The last day of class, our team was bowling for the class championship. It wasn't even close as I recall, and the three of us unlaced our bowling shoes the winners of the bowling class championship prize. What was that prize? A beer.

A few things about this prize that surprised me...ha ha ha.

First, I was 19 years old. That is not old enough to legally consume alcohol, but apparently Federal law doesn't extend beyond the door to Jaybowl. I was asked if I wanted Bud or Bud Light. Instinctively I said Bud Light and I was immediately given one bottle.

Second, the great state of Kansas doesn't allow alcohol to be possessed or consumed on state owned property. The University of Kansas is state owned property and therefore doesn't allow alcohol inside its borders except for the Jaybowl. In fact, I heard that the Jaybowl was the only exception to the alcohol rule in the entire state, but to this point, it was foreign to me.

Third, our class met from 9:30am to 10:20am. Being a well-behaved 19 year old to this point, I wasn't familiar with drinking beer, much less drinking beer before noon and right before Accounting at 10:30.

I can't remember what I ended up doing with the Bud Light, except that I didn't drink it...I think I gave it to the other guy on my team. I kind of wish I had kept the bottle as a trophy, it would be my only bowling award as I am firmly cemented in the 'lucky to break 100' category of bowlers. I got an A...my only one besides choir that entire year.

Sophomore Stories Part X "The Barrel Of Cans"

Feeling rather frisky on our last night in Ellsworth Hall, James and I were on a mission to get thrown out of the dorm or at least try our best.

In our lobby were two critical items to make this possible. The first was a flat-top trash can. The type where you can push in a door on either side of the trash can and is about 4 feet tall.
The second item was a 50 gallon round trash can filled to the brim with aluminum cans meant for recycling.

First, I dragged the flat-top trash can so that it sat directly in front of an elevator door, about 3 feet away. Next, James and I got the barrel of cans and set it on top of the flat-top trash can which was about 3 feet away from the elevator door. Then, we gently tilted the barrel of cans so that it leaned against the elevator door. Finally, we pressed both the up and down buttons so that the elevator would stop and its door would open and a 50 gallon barrel of cans would come pouring in.

After we pressed the buttons, we scampered back to our hallway door and peeked through as we held it open just wide enough for our faces. The first two times, the wrong elevator door opened (there were 3 elevators) but the third time was indeed a charm as the door with the cans counting on it for support was rolled away.
Expletives were heard just before the fantastic noise of hundreds of aluminum cans spilling into the elevator.
We couldn't control our laughter as we sheltered ourselves in our room, waiting for someone to come by and yell at us.

About 10 minutes later, a knock on the door. James pretended to be asleep but it was no use. They knew we did it. Our punishment was to pick up the remaining cans. It was SO worth it.

Sophomore Stories Part IX "The Designated Driver"

The Fall 1993 Semester at KU ended on a Monday. This meant that unless you were one of the unfortunate souls who happened to have a final exam scheduled for Monday, you had already left for winter break.
I did not have a final on Monday...I did however have to work on Monday at my little job in the computer lab downstairs. So I, along with 6 others on the floor, hung around all weekend.
I remember too that I was sick this particular weekend, dealing with a bout of nasty nasal congestion. Upon retiring for the evening on Saturday, I took an antihistamine to ease my labored breathing and to help me fall asleep. I quickly fell asleep under the influence of some powerful, over-the-counter medication.
2:14 am...the phone rings...I let the machine pick it up.

"John, um, this is Scott...GUYS, SHUT UP, I'M ON THE PHONE! Hey, we're at Benchwarmers, SHUT UP!!! we're at Benchwarmers and we need someo...IF YOU GUYS DON'T SH...GAWD...can you come pick us up because we're all too drunk to drive home."

At this point a million questions are running through my fuzzy brain. Should I pick up the phone? Or should I let him call someone else? What if they can't find anyone else? What if they decide to drive home and wreck? What if someone gets hurt or dies?
I end up picking up the phone. "Scott, where are you? Benchwarmers...ok wait there, I'm on my way."

I repel down from my sleeping perch and evaluate my condition. I was clearly medically sedated. I wasn't so sure I was in any shape to be driving. I popped in my contact lenses, threw on a hat and some jeans and took off.

I arrive at Benchwarmers, a cozy sports bar over by Colony Woods, about minutes later. I'm 19 years old, and I look at least 3 years younger than that. I'm wondering how exactly I'm going to even get past the front door to let them know I'm here when they come stumbling out. Here's who 'they' are...all are 5th floor residents.

Scott-> 23-year-old Freshman, non-traditional student from Denver whom I just met in August.
Jason-> Sophomore who once partied with Punky Brewster. Borderline alcoholic.
Brian from across the hall->Sophomore who drinks a lot of beer.
Shocker->Freshman who lives down at the other end of the hall.
***I'd tell you Shocker's real name except I don't remember it. I know him only as 'Shocker' because that's what everyone called him. He earned this dubious title when, early in the semester, he was digging through a dumpster for some reason and stumbled upon a discarded heart defibrillator. He thought it wise to haul this medical marvel up to his room and proceeded to plug it in and administer a pulse on his leg. The shock threw him to the ground and left two giant welts. From that day forward, he was known as Shocker.***

The gang of four sauntered their way over to my car. Scott, the smallest of the four makes his way to the Maxima first and promptly yells out "shotgun!" This throws Shocker, he's about 6'3" and 230lbs, into a frenzy. He yells at Scott and threatens to beat him up but drunk Scott insists that because he 'called' it, he should get to ride shotgun even though the most logical thing to do is have Shocker ride shotgun because he's the biggest and the other three would be more comfortable during the trip up to the dorm.
It takes us about ten minutes to get Shocker calmed down...all the while Scott has taken up position in the passenger seat and is yelling things like "man it sure is comfortable up here!" and "I've got a great view out of the windshield!"
Eventually, Shocker, Brian and Jason squeeze into the back seat and we head home.
On the way, Scott starts telling me about how he knew me before I got religious and how I wasn't going to church and me and him would hang out (remember, I've known this guy 4 months) and I'm trying to convince him this isn't true when I finally learned designated driver proverb, "Never argue with someone who's drunk." Scott got so frustrated with me denying his story he started pushing random buttons on my car stereo saying "take THAT!" and then laughing/yelling. Meanwhile, Shocker has passed out and the other two guys are occupying less than half of the entire backseat.
Upon arrival at the dorm, Jason and Brian wake Shocker up to let him know we're home. Usually, at 3 in the morning, we'd have to park 100 yards away, but because everyone was gone, we parked right in front of the building, approximately 10 yards from the door. Well, Shocker decided that we parked too far away for him to hold it any longer and proceeded to relieve himself behind my car. We all waited patiently and made our way up the steps until Shocker fell off the steps into a giant evergreen bush where he laid peacefully. Scott totally freaked out and started yelling at him to get up while Jason, Brian and I try to pull him up. We get him on his feet and go inside.
From 7am to 11pm, you're free to enter and exit the dorm as you please, but from 11pm to 7am, you can only enter the front door and only then with a valid student ID. Because it's 3am, the friendly security folks want to see our IDs. Scott, still suffering from the effects of seeing Shocker tumble into the hedge, gives the student security people a lecture about the ID policy.
"But you guys know me! I come in here every night! Why do I have to keep showing you my ID?!?"
Security wouldn't budge. Even as Scott delivered his angry monologue, he stumbled dangerously close to crossing the security line and as he did, the growing audience moved in to stop him (or catch him).
Scott finally relented, "OK, but this is the LAST TIME!!!" They scanned his precious student ID and I had almost completed my mission of delivering these guys to their rooms.
When you enter Ellsworth dorm from the street, you're not on the first floor, but rather the 3rd floor (don't ask) so our 5th floor rooms are only up two flights of stairs. We would often give grief to anyone lazy enough to take the elevator to the 5th floor...but tonight, we took the elevator.
Being inside an ancient elevator with four drunk guys is not an experience I'm anxious to repeat. Upon the elevator door closing, all four guys started yelling and banging on the walls and creating chaos. This was the most fearful part of the trip for me. I mean these guys went absolutely bananas. You'd have thought the elevator was filling up with water and we needed to be rescued.
In what seemed like a lifetime, the elevator made its way up to our familiar 5th floor lobby and Scott took off with Brian and Shocker to start banging on doors and yelling down the hall. Jason stayed behind and walked with me to my room, the first on the right.
As we said goodbye, he reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a beer mug (presumably from Benchwarmers) and handed it to me. "Thanks for picking us up, man," he said.
"You're welcome," I replied.

To this day I have that mug, perched among many other decorative glasses. It is the only one without a name of a restaurant or bar. It stands apart as a reminder of my first, and most memorable experience as a designated driver.

Sophomore Stories Part VIII "The Heater Is Broken"

Sometime in February, on a Sunday, the heater broke in our dorm room. It was cold out, being winter and all, and James and I were anxious for it to be fixed. James called down to the front desk after lunch and reported the broken heater. They told him that because it was Sunday, someone may not be able to come until Monday, but that a maintenance person might be by later that afternoon.
For a reason I can't remember now, James took off (probably to study or something crazy like that) and I was left alone to study...guitar.
Because of the whole salad thing, I had started a couple of incense torches in the room to help the aroma.
**Important side note: It is against the rules to burn incense in your dorm room at KU. Students use them to mask other smells apparently...plus it's a fire hazard***
So there I am, by myself, playing guitar, inhaling scented smoke with our door slightly open when all of the sudden, there's a knock at the door.
It was none other than the Director of Student Housing for The University of Kansas, Jim Rupprecht!
I immediately put out both incense torches with my fingers leaving bad burns and let him in (like he wouldn't be able to smell it). How kind of him to come and fix the heater on a Sunday I told him, trying to suck up. He made his way to the heater which was located under James' bed frame which was propped up by cinder blocks.
***Important side note: It is against the rules to have your bed propped up by cinder blocks. James had two at each corner...I had three.***
Jim seemingly ignored the cinder blocks (perhaps lulled into a trance by the incense) and proceeded to remove James' belongings from sub-sleeping storage space. Jim began handing things to me to place somewhere else. First a backpack, then a suitcase, then a cardboard box, then a cafeteria tray.
***Important side note: It is against the rules to remove cafeteria trays from the cafeteria...and it's a fun challenge too.***
Jim finally tunnels through James' stuff to reach the heater and he starts to repair it. Meanwhile, I'm wondering how I'm going to tell my parents that I need to commute from home for the last 10 weeks of spring semester.
Well it didn't take handy Jim long to get the warm air flowing again and I'm totally petrified at this point. This guy is in charge of all the dorms at KU and he just caught me sitting on my elevated bed burning incense on a cafeteria tray. I'm doomed!
As he leaves, he turns around and calmly mentions, 'when you get a chance, please return that cafeteria tray...they're expensive to replace.'
'Yes, sir' was the immediate reply.
What amazing grace shown by Jim that day...now the wise thing to do would be to take the beds down off their concrete pillars...but it didn't happen...not until the end of the semester.

At Home in Boulder

We'll be back with more Sophomore Stories, right after this quick break.

------------------

Wednesday night I traversed this wonderful state of Colorado northward to see our Kansas Jayhawk Basketball team defeat the Colorado Buffaloes 75-63.

Some quick notes...
*The CU Express is Boulder's answer to The Crimson Girls...a wrong answer. Especially dancing to "Livin' On The Edge" by Aerosmith.
*I was not prepared to see the following things...empty seats at a KU Basketball game...frisbee catching dogs for halftime entertainment...tuba players dancing on the court during a TV timeout culminating in one female tuba player doing the splits, all while playing the tuba...A sign made by a CU student referring to Bucknell (all's fair in love and basketball)
*Judging just from the clothes those attending donned, for every CU fan, there were at least 2 KU fans. This was really a home game for KU, which is great for the KU faithful, but the CU folks have got to be mad. I can't imaging being a CU basketball player, leaving the court after a loss to thunderous applause...eerily reminiscent of the Soviets chanting 'Rocky' before round 15 vs. Drago in Rocky IV.
*With that last point in mind, why on earth, if you're CU, do you decide to come out of the locker room first? Sure enough, the Buffaloes emerge from the tunnel to enthusiastic applause. Then, KU takes the court and you'd have thought Oprah just gave everyone a Pontiac...before the game even starts, I'm demoralized if I'm a Buffalo.
*The Public Address System at the Coors Events Center is a shade worse than your local Dairy Queen drive through speaker.
*Midway through the first half, they recognized Max Falkenstein, the KU broadcaster for the last 60 years. A touching tribute, even if the scoreboard spelled out "Congratulation Max Falkenstein" Obviously some K-State grad was running that aspect of the game.

Basketball Notes
--Brandon Rush read what Tubby Smith said after the UK game "You'd think our players would read the scouting report, he can't go to his left." Well, Brandon spent the entire first half unsuccessfully trying to prove him wrong, but in the end, solidified his position. First half - no points. Second half - 17 points. Two of which were the most unbelievable dunk I've ever seen in person. He took off about four feet outside the lane and slammed it one-handed over a CU defender. When he first jumped, I thought to myself, 'There's no way he's going to make it, why did he jump so early?' Holy cow, was it awesome.
--Mario Chalmers is either selfish or lacks point guard vision or both. He plays much better when he's not running the show.
--Jeff Hawkins is leading by example, and that's very bad. This team excels in many areas, one of which is the uncanny ability to give the ball to the other team. Oh, how I longed for Jacque Vaughn.
--Darnell Jackson plays like his hair is on fire...he's the funniest player to watch in a KU uniform since Greg Ostertag, but for different reasons.
--Russell Robinson is the toughest guard I've ever seen play, and the worst free-throw shooter on a team full of them. I guess he didn't practice free-throws growing up in Brooklyn.
--This team won't go very far if Christian Moody is the leading scorer every game.
--I saw C.J. Giles and Sasha Kaun at the game...on a milk carton.
--Julian Wright needs to let the game come to him, and once he does, it could be a while before it does.
--This KU team plays amazing defense and after watching Roy's boys run teams out of the gym, I must admit, it's fun to watch the opposing team struggle offensively.

Overall, a much more positive experience than 7 years ago when I mistakenly purchased unclaimed student tickets (being from KU, I didn't think such a thing existed) and spent the entire game among unruly CU students. We won by 22 back then, but I swore I'd never go back, but I'm glad I did.

It was fun to chant again.

Rock Chalk, Jayhawk. KU!

Sophomore Stories Part VII "The Salad"

Something like this has happened to most people...this is what happened to me.

My roommate my sophomore year was James. He is a tremendous roommate. Very little snoring. No stealing. Relatively clean. Will always listen and he let me play his guitar all year. He is the best roommate I had in college, no question.

Late in our first semester, James had begun dating a girl (I think her name was Heather). Since James, like all of us, had very little money, he decided to play up the 'I'm poor' angle by making Heather dinner in our dorm room. There is still some mystery for me as to how he accomplished this since there is no stove in our room, just a microwave, and no plates or eating utensils of any kind. Anyway, James politely asks me to be somewhere else on this particular Saturday night as I would definitely be a third wheel in a 12x12 room with two beds. No problem for me...I happily oblige him and vacate the premises at the prearranged time.
Unfortunately, we never settled on an 'ending' time, which I understand because if the date goes well, you never know when it might end...or not end.
My memory tells me the date went very well in so much as I was locked out of my room until after midnight. It is my personal belief that nothing promiscuous was going on as I know James well and he was/is a man of character but that he and Heather wanted to be alone and for me to quit knocking on the door (I was admittedly annoying that night)
Like anyone would, James cleans up his homemade dinner stuff and places everything where it would go...the croutons took their place next to the Pop-Tarts, the leftover non-alcoholic champagne was by the other beverages and the rest of the salad that James had prepared was put in the refrigerator. Everything was rosy.

When the students leave between semesters, the dorm residents are asked to unplug all sensitive electronic equipment, i.e. computers, televisions, and refrigerators! The Department of Student Housing cuts off electricity for those three weeks or so to save power and anything you leave plugged in will forcibly be turned off because of a lack of electricity.

I forgot to clean out the refrigerator before I left.

It was my fault. I was there until the last day you could occupy the dorms that semester. I should have done it, I didn't and the consequences were severe.

The smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. A stench I knew would only get worse when I opened the small refrigerator.
When I did, I saw the lettuce and other salad items only they were several different shades of brown and black. After I discarded the rotting produce, I thoroughly cleaned the refrigerator and opened our door and windows to let the smell out.

James noticed when he returned from Winter Break the next day. I apologized and told him I was working on a solution. The problem was the smell had been absorbed by everything in the room! Our bed sheets, our couch, our carpet, our clothes...it took a couple of weeks before the smell wasn't constant. And of course the refrigerator was never the same. It was unfortunately discarded at the end of the semester...lesson learned.

Sophomore Stories Part VI "Beavis & Butts Up"

Soon after classes started, a familiar routine quickly developed with about 20 of us from the 5th floor of Ellsworth Hall. Every weekday evening, we gathered at 5:30pm to walk the obligatory 250 yards outside to our dorm cafeteria cleverly dubbed "Mrs. E's" by the creative types in the Department of Student Housing.
After ingesting our pain-inducing food, we trekked back to our 5th floor lobby to watch MTV's latest cartoon hit, Beavis and Butthead. At the time, this was THE thing to do. Now, it's undeniably juvenile, but again, when this show debuted, from 6:30 to 7pm, you could not peel us away from the lobby television. In addition, I'm pretty sure there was a group dynamic working that made the show actually funnier than it really was. This happens when a large group of people are enjoying the same entertainment and for some reason, it's easier to laugh out loud in a crowd, so this increased, uninhibited laughter tricks your brain into remembering something is funnier than it is (this also happened to me with "The Waterboy")
Anyhow, after our 30 minutes with Beavis, we turned our attention to our new game, Butts Up. As I have described this game to others over the years, I've heard it referred to as many different names, but for me and my friends in Ellsworth, it was Butts Up.
The geography looked like this...entering our floor from the stairs or elevator, there was a ten foot section of government issue linoleum square flooring anchored on each side by a concrete wall, 8 feet high. This was our arena for Butts Up. Using the concrete wall and a medium sized nerf ball, we took turns risking our physical health in the name of good, mostly-clean, college fun.
The Rules Of Butts Up:
1. Play begins when a random player throws the ball against the wall without the ball hitting the ground first. Another player tries to catch the ball and repeat the process.
2. If a player throws the ball but hits the ground before it hits the wall, he must run and touch the wall before another player can pick up the ball and throw it against the wall. If the ball arrives at the wall before the player, he is awarded a point (points are bad, you don't want them)
3. If a player mishandles, bobbles or drops a ball they are trying to catch, they must run and touch the wall before another player can pick up the ball and throw it against the wall. If the ball arrives at the wall before the player, he is awarded a point (again, no points is best)
4. When a player acquires three points, he is required to position himself, facing the wall, hands more than shoulder width apart and over his head. Bending slightly at the waist, he showcases the target for the arbitrarily chosen thrower. When correctly positioned, the thrower takes his place no closer than 10 feet and aims for the posterior of the unfortunate soul who amassed three points. The thrower gets one throw only, if he misses, a loud groan will ensue from the other players. If there is a direct hit, much laughter and carousing follows.
5. The game continues until everyone is at least 'glistening' with sweat or until the girls Resident Assistant yells at us to stop.

This game provided hours of fun and a needed distraction from the endless, unreasonable reading assignments and studying we all had to do.

Sophomore Stories Part V "The Potato Gun"

When you first move into a dorm with a bunch of strangers, undoubtedly the best way to get to know your new hallmates is to unveil your homemade firearm. This certainly was the case for Grant and Brian. Grant and Brian are identical twins and they're both the type of guys who could engineer an erector set to change your oil filter or something...anyway, these twins were smart and creative and a little introverted, so brandishing a bazooka-like shoulder cannon was really the best thing they could do to break the ice.
The potato gun they made was constructed from white, 2-inch PVC pipe with an ignition switch about 3/4 of the way down. The way it worked was you unscrewed the cap on the short end, which exposed the back end of the ignition switch, and inserted 'fuel' (heretofore known as Right Guard aerosol deodorant with a warning label that read HIGHLY FLAMMABLE) then screwed the cap on quickly so no 'fuel' escaped.
Then a large potato was stuffed into the long end down toward the ignition switch in the same manner that a Civil War soldier would ram his ammunition inside the barrel of his rifle.
When the spud had sufficiently made its way in, you simply aimed and fired.
If you were able to trap enough 'fuel' the potato would often travel in excess of 100 ft. We took turns aiming for the backboards on the basketball court behind our dorm. Some shot from the hip, others fired with the gun on their shoulder as we slapped them on top of their head.
We made it through about a dozen potatoes before we ran out of ammo, then we took turns holding it and imagining what else we could stuff in there.
For some unknown reason, that was the last we ever saw of the potato gun, but like a lot of things that year, it was great fun while it lasted.

Sophomore Stories Part IV "The Stop Sign"

Beginning my freshman year, I made it a regular habit to walk around pretending to run into things. Doors, cars, street signs, anything that made noise. It probably didn't help that the first couple of times I did this people laughed because it only encouraged me to do it more.
Well, I had put this behavior to rest for the most part until one night a bunch of us were walking back up the hill after a KU Basketball game. We were on the North side of the street and our dorm was on the South. We would have just jaywalked across the road except that there were two lanes of exiting bumper-to-bumper traffic on a two-lane road. So we resigned ourselves to walk all the way up to the intersection and then cross when the cop directing traffic let us.
We were almost to the intersection when I noticed the stop sign. It was right at eye-level. I walked past this sign every day at least twice to go eat. How had I never noticed it before now? In the dark no less?!?
I saw my opportunity, within a large group of herding students I flung myself into the sign (not really, I just banged my open hand against it while getting my head just barely) and you'd have thought I had just fired a shotgun because people didn't know whether they should run away or surround me.
I fell to the ground, feigning a head injury, while my friend Jeff laughed and laughed because he knew what had really happened. Then the cop directing traffic yells out, "Hey, is he alright?"
Someone 'helped' me up and the cop stopped traffic so we could all cross. As we did a couple of guys thanked the cop just in case.
If you're that policeman and you're reading this...I'm sorry, but I was a stupid sophomore.

Sophomore Stories Part III "The Power Ball"

After waiting many hours, as was custom, to get the best available student seats at a KU Basketball game, we were let in the door 3 hours before tipoff. As we entered, ushers handed each of us a complimentary Power Bar which we stuffed into our pockets as we ran to secure good seats under the basket. Once we settled in, the free Power Bars quickly became the focus of our attention.
As college students, not only are we mostly poor and grateful to receive free food, we're also immature enough to play with our free food if it tastes like berry/chocolate/honey nut flavored cardboard. Upon the realization that our complimentary semi-edible energy bars were not going to be eaten, James fashioned his on to a ball. I gave him mine, which he quickly added to his, noting how the two bars molded together.
We started looking for, and easily finding, discarded Power Bars on the floor of the bleachers. Six, seven, eight more Power Bars and our sticky mass was growing. After exhausting our supply of Power Bars from the floor, we started asking fellow students if they would donate their free bars. Not suprisingly, most gladly handed them over, although we experienced a couple of 'wince' moments when a couple of students apologized, saying they had already eaten theirs.
Before long, we had over 20 bars and we could hardly open the dumb things fast enough. Every 3 or 4 bars added, James would laugh his unique laugh and say "man, this is awesome" or "man, this is disgusting!"
As we kept adding more and more bars, nearby students took note and began collecting more bars for our cause. Meanwhile the 'ball' of Power Bars had grown to the size of a honeydew melon.
By now, both my and James' hands were covered with sticky, Power Bar residue and the bars we added were only making our Power Bar ball misshapen. James then took the mostly pink ball of molded together Power Bars and hoisted it one-handed over his head which drew a large cheer from the student section. Then I went to thoroughly wash my hands.
Soon, the game started (my how that time flew by) and we were caught up in the action. Sitting behind the basket at KU carries with it a certain responsibility. For it is the job of the students sitting in that particular section to attempt to make it as difficult as possible for the opposing shooter to make free throws. As the second half started, we were ready because the entire first half, KU had been shooting at our basket. We started with the basic tactics...everyone hopping up and down, pointing our arms to the left and moving them over our head to the right as the shooter was letting the ball go, etc. Well, none of it was working, until, James hoisted the Power Bar ball up in the air. It got a reaction from the students, and we don't know if the shooter saw it or what, but he missed! Then, I took the Power Bar ball and everyone was shhhhing in preparation to scream once the shooter was about to release the ball. Right before everyone yelled, I slammed the disgusting mass onto the bleachers as hard as I could. It made a tremendous noise and the shooter once again missed. We were laughing uncontrollably and not even paying attention to the game at this point, reveling in our vicarious participation of KU's basketball success.
We tried our tactics a few more times with some players overcoming the mystique of the Power Ball and some who were not so fortunate.
When the game ended, James decided to carry it with him back to the dorm, mostly over his head in triumph, celebrating the KU victory. He brought it back to our room and there it sat for a couple of days, brining us warm feelings as we waxed philosophical about the strange powers behind the mass of energy bars.
Eventually, the Power Ball found its way into a cardboard box and then onto the ledge outside our 5th story dorm room...and there it sat, until May...when it was removed by the Lawrence biohazard squad.

Sophomore Stories Part II "The Broken Nose"

Basketball is a passion for many at The University Of Kansas and the are pick-up games are attended more regularly than classes. Behind our beloved Ellsworth Hall Dorm, there were two concrete courts encircled by a 15 foot chain link fence. One particular spring day the weather was so perfect it prevented me from going to my Economics lab, so I joined my roommate, James, and several other friends out back for some roundball. I'm a below-average basketball player, but I somehow got into a game and was enjoying myself much more than I would be learning about supply and demand curves.
While playing defense on the perimeter a teammate stole the ball and dribbled it to our basket. I sprinted right behind then around to the opposite side of the free-throw lane in case he needed to pass or rebound a miss. I ended up a couple of feet from the basket when my teammate attempted a layup. Then, out of nowhere, an opposing player jumped and emphatically blocked the layup with great force and the ball hit me square in the nose!
I stumbled back away from the basket and eventually caught myself on the chain link fence. Blood was streaming from my nose and was quickly forming a growing puddle on the grey concrete. Play was stopped and several guys gathered around to see if I was ok.
The pain was sharp and distinctly inside my nose. The weather had been dry and I'd experienced a few bloody noses lately so I wasn't too worried about the blood except that it was really flowing and wouldn't stop. After a minute, I told the guys I would be ok and stumbled away to stop the bleeding.
With a giant puddle of blood on the court and with Magic Johnson recently revealing his HIV condition, someone wondered aloud if they needed to be worried about AIDS. As I made my way up the hill back to the dorm, my wonderful roommate and friend, James, calmed everyone's fears by loudly proclaiming "Don't worry...John's a virgin!"
True words at the time (until I was married, in fact) but still, not necessarily something you want shouted from the rooftops. But this information seemed to have eased any fears because by the time I was up the hill, the game had resumed.
I made my way to the first bathroom I could find, just past the front desk of my dorm. From there I tried unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding, but it was constant and I started to panic. I rushed up to my room, holding my white shirt to my nose to absorb the blood, and grabbed my car keys. I then ran out to the parking lot to find my car and providentially ran into my favorite Paraguayan friend, Gabriella, who, seeing my need for emergency assistance, drove me to Watkins Health Facility where the staffers at the front door, upon seeing the blood everywhere, rushed me into a room where at nurse stuffed cotton in my nostrils.
Later, I took the x-rays back to my room and showed everyone the evidence of my detatched cartilage. It was the first confirmed broken bone in my life.

Sophomore Stories, Part I "Fun With A Super Soaker"

Sometime in October, looking to put my newly acquired super-soaker water gun to use, I was wandering the hall, fully-loaded, and encountered Mormon Justin. He suggested we should shoot something that would explode. He then reached up in an attempt to remove one of the ten or so light fixtures that lined the ceiling of our dorm hallway. Being 6 feet 4 inches, Mormon Justin had no trouble reaching the first light fixture he came to. Sure enough, he was able to pull the edge down just far enough for me to fire a stream of water through. As Mormon Justin theorized, the water would cause the lightbulb to implode. So, as he used his body weight to hold the fixture down, I fired a direct hit and with a loud crash, the lightbulb imploded.
The noise closely resembled the sound of a shotgun followed by crashing glass and conveniently, all the broken glass from the lightbulb remained inside the bowl-shaped light fixture.
Immediately, three or four guys jumped out of their rooms with the inevitable, "What was that?" question. Of course, Mormon Justin and I were happy to demonstrate. So, we moved on to the next one and promptly shot it out. The second implosion was even louder than the first, bringing a cheer from our spectators. We continued down our little hall, systematically destroying each lightbulb with an ever increasing audience. When we had successfully eliminated all electric lighting from our hallway, we had everyone go shut their open doors, shutting out any sunlight.
And there we stood, admiring our incandescently challenged hallway, utterly devoid of light despite the fact that outside, the sun was shining brightly.
From my vantage point in the first room from the lobby, I thoroughly enjoyed each and every reaction from my hallmates as they made their way back from class. Each "What the...?" caused me to rock back on my couch and laugh.
The next day, three, yes THREE facilities employees came up to our floor to change out each lightbulb which I suppose answers the question, "How many University of Kansas Residence Hall Maintenance employees does it take to change a lightbulb?"

New Year's Resolution

For several years now I've had a growing desire to create a record of the events that took place in my life between roughly August of 1993 and June of 1994...basically, my sophomore year of college. It occured to me over the years since that most of my best stories, the tales I tell again and again and my favorite life stories to tell come from that time. So, I'm endeavoring to begin the process of writing them down at the rate of no fewer than ONCE A WEEK, and perhaps even attempt to publish them at some point.

Some of the stories included will be...

The Mystery of the Disappearing Shower Curtain
The Power Bar/Ball
Fire Alarm?
The Flying Carpet
The Barrel of Cans
Moving Beds
The Potato Gun
Fun With A Super Soaker
The Laundry Detergent
Cinder Blocks
Astros
Fire Alarm? (part 2)
Butts Up
The Designated Driver
I'm Late For Work
Fun With A Super Soaker (part 2)
The Pledge Class/Tales of a Student Alcoholic
Pizza in the Shower
The Salad
Going To The Airport
The Broken Nose
Cinder Blocks (part 2)
The Heater is Broken
The Phone Call
The Stop Sign
The Door
The Legend of 'Muffin'
and of course...
The Gong Show!

For those of you in the know, I humbly ask your input and will be contacting you to verify the facts...stay tuned!