In spring 1991, at the University of Maryland, Pi Kappa Alpha (?KA) asked Kappa Alpha Theta (KA?) to partner, and then my pledge brother Joe Incaprera and I ran as co-Greek Week chairs to organize the week’s events with Theta.

Joe and I put together a couple of fliers for the Greek Week chair election, and we went on to get elected to handle the Greek Week festivities.

After the election, we got together with our fellow chair on the Theta side, Kathleen Gamboa, and started making plans. There were lots of fun events like kickball, ultimate, chariot races, and a carnival, as well as a philanthropy event where members of the fraternity and sorority served as huggers at the Special Olympics. But, really, the focus was on a week of parties.

We put together a schedule with one or more parties every day for six days. Things kicked off with an opening bash at a local firehouse, and continued with four-way and six-way parties packed with kegs, live music, and revelry. The week of parties wrapped up with WHFS DJ Neci spinning records at the PiKA house.

Throughout the week, we may have won some stuff. I don’t actually remember, but we had a lot of fun. I don’t think we ever won overall Greek Week in the five springs I was there. I still have some beach scopes from the week – I guess we sold them as fundraisers.

On the Friday night of Greek Week, I had to sneak out from some of the nighttime partying to go see the Dead Milkmen at the Student Union. I tried to convince them to come back to the house to party, but they had to head on to their next city.

I think I took this last picture during the dance or lip-sync contest at Ritchie Coliseum. I’d like to say I applied some sort of artistic treatment to make some or most of the stuff look blurry and frenzied, but I just had a crappy camera.

Those weeks were some of my favorites, except for when I’d trade a set of letters to some random person and never see them again. But I always gained a Greek Week t-shirt to add to my giant collection of frat t-shirts.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post Greek Weeks Were My Favorite Weeks in College appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

We drove from the University of Maryland out to western Maryland at some campsite. There were two other groups there for the weekend, a couple of families with campers and some Boy Scouts.

After getting our tents set up, we started pounding beers, eating hot dogs and hamburgers, and having a good time overall. But as it got late, one of the brothers lashed out at the pledges because we’d run out of beer and food. We brought the beer we were asked to bring and had nothing to do with the food, but getting blamed for stuff that wasn’t our fault was something I was already used to.

Everyone was drunk, so nobody was driving anywhere to find more food and beer, even if there was anyplace open by then. I went with my dorm roommate and pledge brother, Scott, to wander around, and we decided we’d grab some alcohol and food from a cooler at the neighboring camp.

We came back as heroes with a couple of steaks, some ham, beer, and wine coolers. Brothers were happy, and we went to sleep.

The next morning, we woke up to a bunch of yelling and peeked out of our tent to see a park ranger shouting at some brothers. The campers we’d robbed had reported it, and the park ranger came over to our camp, since he figured the frat boys were more likely to be the culprits than some literal Boy Scouts.

I was ready to keep my mouth shut until the park ranger said that if no one came forward to take responsibility for the theft, our whole group would have to go home. Everyone in our group knew who took the stuff, so I didn’t have much choice but to admit what I’d done.

The park ranger took us to apologize to the victims of the theft, and we did our best to smooth things over. Those people were understandably pissed off, but they said they were not going to press charges.

We were free and clear… until the park ranger said he was going to press charges on behalf of the state. He took us back to the station and told us we were arrested and would have to go to court.

I’m pretty sure he never read our Miranda rights, and he didn’t take mugshots, but we were in the system. He took us back to the campsite and said we’d have to leave immediately. Luckily, a pledge brother had to drive back to campus for his job, so we were able to jump in for the ride.

I got punished for it at a “Pledge Advisory Board,” but then things returned to normal, and I forgot about the impending court case until I checked my mail at the dorm one day and opened a summons to appear in court a few days before Christmas.

I was the dangerous combination of arrogant and ignorant, and figured I’d just have to go to court, and it would all go away. I didn’t tell my dad, and I didn’t ask for a public defender until days before. They told me it was too late, and I’d have to defend myself.

I used to watch the old movie Inherit the Wind with my dad, so I figured I had a grasp of the legal system and could do the pro se thing in court.

When it came time for the court date, my co-defendant told me he was going to skip it and go home for Christmas. My pledge educator, Brad, also got a summons to appear, so I asked if he could drive me. He wasn’t happy.

On the day of the case, we got there with minutes to spare, and I sprinted into the courtroom for my case. Flustered and sweaty, I took a seat in the back.

The case before mine was a local teenager who was arrested for the second time for dealing drugs. Judge David Young was conversational and kind with the teen and gave him 50 hours of probation. The judge said he knew this kid was trying to improve himself by getting involved at the local boxing gym.

This was going to be a cakewalk. I’d probably get 10 hours of community service, knock it out, and be done.

But the judge was immediately antagonistic with me for not having a lawyer, and for my co-defendant failing to show. He lectured me for being this kid from the big city coming out and ruining the peace and way of life in the local campground.

I was shaking at this point, and felt like I was going to faint as he read out the sentence. I was going to have to pay $145 in restitution to one victim and another $100 to the other.

Somehow, the food and drinks weren’t the only items they claimed we took. I was also on the hook for some fishing equipment. Now, I did take the food and booze, and that was a stupid thing to do, but I didn’t touch the fishing equipment, and I have no idea how that got included.

Also, I would have to spend the next year completing 500 hours of community service under a Probation Before Judgment (PBJ) ruling, and then my record would be expunged.

Scott didn’t show, and he would only get in trouble if the police picked him up for something else. That was horseshit, and it reminded me of a Billy Bragg lyric from his song, Rotting on Remand:

I said there is no justice

As they led me out of the door

And the Judge said, “This isn’t a court of justice, son

This is a court of law.”

That was a fun Christmas, as I had to explain to my dad that I needed a ride to see my probation officer and that I’d also need to borrow $245 to pay the victims. The cherry on top was telling him I’d earned a 1.0 GPA after that bad news.

He was angry, and I was miserable. My dad said I should look into joining the U.S. Army, since I wasn’t cut out for college.

It was a tense winter break, and all I had to look forward to was Hell Week before the next semester started with me on academic probation. I did get a letter from one of the guys I’d stolen from, and that made me feel a little better.

After my visit to the Prince George’s County Probation Officer, I was assigned to work at the University of Maryland Physical Plant on Saturdays and Sundays from 7:00 AM to 3:30 PM, as well as working spring break, summer, etc., to complete my 500 hours before the end of 1989.

This was in addition to working at the campus gym during school, bussing tables at a sorority, and taking a full course load.

It sucked a lot. I was spending each weekend with a bunch of guys who thought it was hilarious that they were getting paid to sleep in their truck while I did all of the work.

It sucked so much that I wrote a letter to the Governor of Maryland, William Donald Schaefer, begging for leniency. He responded that he thought the judge made a fair decision.

I finished my community service hours during winter break at the end of 1989 with a week of “volunteering” at a local nursing home. That was a lot easier than being a garbage man, but pretty sad, too.

I’d also gotten my grades up enough that I didn’t have to join the army, which I really felt good about when the Gulf War broke out in 1990.

Scott didn’t show up for Hell Week and wasn’t arrested in Maryland, so he wasn’t punished at all. And I didn’t even get any of the steak, ham, beer, or wine coolers that night.

I tell this story to people, and they never believe that I got 500 hours for this crime. But you know now, because you’ve seen the documents.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post I Got Arrested at the Fraternity Pledge Camping Trip appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

I have a whole photo album of these types of pictures, but just a handful of non-event snapshots from 1988-93.

Gen Xers like to reminisce about not having cameras around all the time when we were growing up, so we wouldn’t have embarrassing images or even ones that could be a liability in our personal lives.

And yes, it’s a good thing those pictures don’t exist, because we were getting naked a lot in college. I can remember at least half a dozen times when I was in public without clothes on during my college days.

While I was pledging, we were nude a few times, including when we took a bonding photo of my pledge class on and around the University of Maryland Testudo statue (our Terrapin mascot) in front of McKeldin Library. While we posed, some brothers disappeared with our clothes, so we had to make our way across campus completely naked – 30 or so naked guys sprinting in the cold.

And another time, we did a “Love Run” at the Sigma Kappa (?K) sorority. Again, my pledge class ran around naked, but this time in a house full of sorority girls. Brothers stole our clothes as we made our way through the sorority, and we had to run home naked.

As a brother, I ended up getting lavaliered twice and pinned once to girlfriends, and each time I’d be grabbed off the street by pledges and tied naked to the anchor in front of the Delta Gamma (??) sorority. Then the girlfriend would have to come and untie me.

There are no photos of any of these events, as far as I know, but another time, when I was in my birthday suit, I was captured on film, and I didn’t find out until months later.

I was elected President of Pi Kappa Alpha (?KA) at the University of Maryland for the fall 1992 semester. We had a tradition where pledges would kidnap the new president, get them very drunk, and deliver them back to their room many hours later.

After lots and lots of drinks, I guess I passed out along the way. That’s when the pledges “smurfed” me. I think this must have gotten the name in the past because passed-out guys were painted blue. But when I was in college, “smurfing” meant someone was passed out and had stuff written all over them in marker.

Anyhow, I guess I needed to pee after getting back to the fraternity house, so I wandered into the bathroom and dropped my boxers, since I couldn’t stand up straight. Someone snapped a picture and gave it to me months later, when they developed their film. I don’t even remember who took the photo.

Late that night/morning, naked, covered in marker, and having a couple of scraped knees, my phone rang. Some townies had parked in our house parking lot, and we had a tow company that would come by and give a heads up that they were towing cars parked illegally.

I went out to see the tow truck driver, still oblivious to the ink on my body and face, and the driver laughed and asked what the hell I was up to. I looked in his sideview mirror, and my head pounded as I squinted at my messed-up reflection.

It took many showers to get all of the marker off my skin. I think I skipped class the next day, due to my jacked-up appearance and torturous hangover. But I got a cool picture out of it.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post My Most Compromising Gen X Photo appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

I paid my way through college with a combination of a Stafford Loan and working menial jobs. But often, there were shortfalls, and I couldn’t afford some expenses that would come up, like food.

Fortunately, when I was a fraternity pledge in the first semester of my freshman year, I was sent to cover for one of the brothers as a busboy for a sorority. I went there and worked for about an hour and a half, setting up tables, serving food, bussing tables, and cleaning dishes, pots, and pans, in exchange for a hot meal.

After my first semester, I moved into an apartment and no longer had a meal plan, so I had to figure out a way to eat. In addition to being cash poor, there were no grocery stores near campus, and I didn’t have a car.

So, I headed over to the Alpha Chi Omega (AX?) sorority house and asked about being a busboy, and my “will work for food” side hustle got started. Some sororities paid the busboys money in addition to food, but I was just getting food, and that was fine because I was working at my girlfriend’s sorority.

My fraternity house didn’t have a dining option. The story I was told as a pledge was that there was once a kitchen that burned down, and they turned the area into another bar. Whatever the reason, we didn’t have a kitchen, so many of the sorority busboys were my brothers. That was a good time.

That also led to some hijinks, as we would sometimes try to finish early so we could sneak off with some eggs, tomatoes, and stuff from the kitchen and ambush our brothers at other sororities as they left their busboy jobs.

When we weren’t grabbing food from the kitchen to throw at our brothers, we’d also put good food in garbage bags and put the bags outside to take home after we got off. It was a nice, if disreputable, way to get some staples to bring home, since we only had the option to work on weekdays, at lunch, and dinner.

Sometimes, when there was a rush event or something, we’d be put into service as cooks, too. Well, not in the kitchen. We’d be outside grilling hot dogs and hamburgers. It was a lot of fun meeting everyone in the sorority and eating real food, because ramen or mac and cheese without milk or butter got really old.

During my time at AX?, I was voted as the “sweetheart” and got to be on their composite.

The guy who was picked the year before had his name listed with his first initial, and then his middle and last name. That seemed cheesy and pretentious to me, so I figured I’d follow suit and have my name listed as “S. Brendan Collins.” It was a dopey inside joke that only made sense to me, but I enjoyed it.

There were times when the girls would forget we were there, as we worked in the background, and we’d hear some spicy gossip. When dated parties and formals came along, available busboys were default dates for girls who didn’t have one at the last minute.

After a breakup with my girlfriend, it was awkward to continue bussing at her sorority, so I bounced around at some other houses before ending up at Kappa Alpha Theta (KA?) for the rest of college.

The menus were pretty similar at each sorority, and I remember one in particular that I didn’t like was veggie lasagna. It tasted fine, though not as good as lasagna with meat. Without that protein, I would feel hungry again hours later.

Before I started working as a busboy, I was pissed off that I had to work for food in addition to my regular jobs at school, but in the end, I made some of my best memories during those lunches and dinners.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post I Was a Sorority Busboy During College appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

The list of things to repair in the house was long. If I remember correctly, we’d have around one-hundred or more items to fix or replace around the house to pass inspection. It was an onerous and expensive list every year.

One year, when I was the fraternity vice-president (or IMC, as we called it), I came up with an idea to massage the city manager’s ego, hopefully making our inspections go more smoothly. So, I created a raffle for a “basket of cheer,” with the proceeds going towards the inevitable bills to fix the house.

I approached Don Byrd, the City Manager of College Park, MD, who oversaw the house inspections, and I asked if he would be willing to select the winner of our raffle. I explained that we had a vote among the brothers to determine which local official we respected most, and that Don Byrd was the winner. He was very flattered by that vote that never happened.

We sold lots of raffle tickets and raised money for the house, which was definitely helpful, but the biggest benefit for us was that the city took it way easier on us during the inspection that time around.

Don was proud that a bunch of hooligan frat boys respected him, and we were all happy to have a doable list to fix things and pass inspection. And, the winner of the “basket of cheer” was happy to get the prize. There wasn’t an actual basket, but there was a lot of cheer.

This was one of the most important lessons I learned in my five years of college. And it’s very simple… the Law of Reciprocity, the Golden Rule, Quid pro quo, or whatever you prefer to call it. The end result is that when someone does something for you, you feel obligated to reciprocate.

It doesn’t always work out that way, but it did in this case.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post Cajoling to Keep the Fraternity House Open appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

From the start, I had one clear goal: join the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity. The parties and the lifestyle were intoxicating, and I knew I wanted in. Beyond the fun, the recruitment literature promised a lot more: a built-in community and support system, lifelong friendships, philanthropy, leadership opportunities, and a powerful alumni network for my future career.

I took those promises to heart. Over the next five years, I stayed deeply involved and stepped into various leadership roles, convinced that this level of activity would be my “magic ticket” to success. By my final semester, I was already leaning on those connections, firing off letters to alumni in hopes of turning that fraternity network into a professional reality.

First, I reached out to well-known alumni… the Prominent Pikes. Later, I compiled a list of all alumni of my chapter in the Washington, DC area and sent them a mailing.

I received 100% rejections, but those from my brothers on Capitol Hill hurt the most, because that’s really where I wanted to be. I still have those rejections in a binder from back in 1993. Here are some of my favorites.

Rejection letter from Senator Strom Thurmond

Rejection letter from Senator Thad Cochran

Rejection letter from Representative Herbert Bateman

Rejection letter from Representative Tom Bevill

Rejection letter from Representative Jon Kyl

Rejection letter from Representative Alan Mollohan

After graduating and not getting the job offers I was sure were inevitable, I moved back in with my dad and looked for local jobs.

Rather than an entry-level position with a power player in Washington, I got a position working the front desk of the Comfort Inn and Suites in Laurel, MD, for $5.50/hour. After a few months, I moved on to an assistant manager role at the Blockbuster Video in town. That job paid $7.00/hour.

I was on my way, but the way was no clearer than it was back in 1988. Just another Gen Xer who was underemployed with student loans, car payments, car insurance, and credit card debt.

But at least I managed to move out of my dad’s house in the spring of 1994 and move in with some friends.

I bought a twelve-pack of Private Stock malt liquor 40s to my new home to celebrate with the new roommates. In spring 1995, I headed to New York City with the hopes of getting a job as a writer. I sold one article to a free paper, the New York Press, for $100.

It wouldn’t be until early 1996 that I finally found a job with benefits. But I did have a lot of fun in college.

Originally published at https://shawncollins512.substack.com.

The post I Actually Expected to Get a Job from Fraternity Connections appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

The town where we lived, Laurel, MD, was a generic strip mall suburb. We lived in the central part of town, a predominantly middle-class area of townhouses, apartments, and run-down single-family homes.

On a typical Friday night, if we weren’t working as cashiers at People’s Drug Store, my buddy Eric would pick me up, and we’d drive some laps around the mall parking lot in his puke green Ford Pinto. The thing was about ten years old, and it was a used heap of junk when his dad got it years before. It ran on hope and the cheapest gas we could find.

Our mission at the mall was to find a townie to buy us a six-pack of Milwaukee’s Best (aka Beast). If we could pull that off, we’d head to Cinder Road, an out-of-the-way street with no lights.

There were usually lots of other kids from our school drinking some Beast and hanging out. A bunch of the cars would be tuned into 98 Rock out of Baltimore, and songs like “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake or “Livin’ on a Prayer” from Bon Jovi would blast across the night.

For some reason, the local cops hardly ever drove through to chase us away. But plenty of guys from our school would slowly drive down the road with a flashlight hanging out on the side of the car to pretend they were the police. That would get everybody scrambling to hide and drink somewhere else.

If Cinder was quiet, Eric and I would check who was working at the Laurel Centre Mall and bug them for a while.

After that got old, we’d head over to Erol’s Video store and maybe pick up Faces of Death III and watch it in my basement as we sipped the now-warm cans of Beast. As the night wore on, we’d turn on the Night Flight show on the USA Network and finish the beers with B movies, like Suburbia or Pink Flamingos.

This routine was so tiring, and I wanted something different. We played soccer and were part of the “in crowd,” but I never felt comfortable there. I wanted something more. This all felt too small for me.

One Friday afternoon, my dad called from work and asked if I could get someone to drive me to the Mid-Atlantic** campus to drop off some food for my brother. He had planned to leave early from his job as a statistician for the federal government, but he got tied up with something. So, he needed me to make the food run for Alex.

I looked at the grocery bags on the kitchen table—lots of cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, Oodles of Noodles ramen, Kraft mac and cheese, a couple of two-liter bottles of Pepsi, and some Utz crab chips.

I called Eric to see if he could drive, and he was excited to make the trip. We lived about ten miles away, but I hadn’t gone to the campus since we dropped Alex off in late August 1986 at his freshman dorm.

He hadn’t been home since Christmas break, and why would he come back except to wash his comforter for the first time that school year and grab some groceries? There was nothing in Laurel for him, and I totally felt the same for me, even though I still had another year of high school.

Alex was living in his frat, Alpha Delta Beta (A?B)*. He’d just become a brother before the spring semester, and I was dying to see if he was living in a busted-up party place like in Animal House.

We were driving along the street looking for the address of the A?B house when a football slammed into Eric’s windshield, and he almost veered into the curb. I looked over, and my brother was laughing with some other guys.

“That was me, jackass. Park that nasty ass car and bring me my food,” shouted my brother.

He was on the porch of a big, white mansion with giant columns on the patio. It was a little run-down and could use a fresh coat of paint, but his house still looked cool. Guys were drinking cups of beer on some ratty couches on the porch. Some others had picked up the football from the street and tossed it around the yard with one hand while gulping their beers in the other.

“With or Without You” by U2 was pumping from speakers hanging on the front of the house. A constant flow of guys streamed in and out of the front door wearing sweatshirts with the A?B letters.

As Alex led Eric and me inside, things got even better. There was a pool table, a beach volleyball court outside, and a big TV room. Alex asked if we were thirsty, and Eric piped up, “Thirsty for beer.” Alex rolled his eyes and said, “Follow me.”

We scurried after him to their basement. “This was our kitchen at one time, but there was a fire,” Alex said, pointing to a large area filled with a bar, a large wooden table, and chairs.

“After the fire, all of the kitchen appliances were destroyed, so they just threw them in the garbage and made a second bar in their place,” he continued.

“So, there is another bar?” I asked.

“No, just a second bar. Of course, there is another bar, you fucking idiot,” replied Alex as we turned a corner and saw this mammoth bar. A sign behind the bar read “End of the World.”

The bar must have been thirty feet long and had beer taps for Coors, Coors Light, and Coors Extra Gold. Sleeves of clear plastic cups were piled in the corner. Guys were leaning against the bar, downing beers. I went behind it with Eric to grab a couple of cups and pour some of our own.

Being in the middle of the fraternity like this was like the soundtrack to Animal House, but for my nose. The smell of stale beer that I grew up liking when I’d go to the bar with my dad on Saturdays, guys wearing too much Polo and Calvin Klein’s Obsession for Men cologne, and the faint smell of weed wafting through the house.

I wanted this.

They had the bars wired with the stereo, too—U2 followed us down there, and “Running to Stand Still” played as I sipped on some Coors Extra Gold. I hadn’t had many beers, but this was easily the best.

Alex told us there would be a happy hour soon, so we needed to leave. Damn, I was hoping he was going to ask us to stay for the frat party.

We headed out of the basement and back to Eric’s car. I looked back at the house, and the big A?B attached to the front, and knew I wanted to be one of them when I went to college. It wasn’t just the parties, although they sounded awesome. It was a place to belong and an identity with a bunch of fun, cool guys. As we drove home, Eric and I talked about our brief peek into the frat life and how cool it looked.

Neither of us could get the frat life out of our minds, so I hitched another ride with Eric to the Mid-Atlantic campus after school the following Monday. We both bought sweatshirts with A?B on them. We were a little scared that the person at the campus store would ask why we were buying them, and we had a whole story about how they were gifts. But nobody said a thing, and we purchased our “letters.”

We told our high school friends that we were junior pledges. Although nothing like that existed, we found a cool identity that was unlike our high school world and went with it.

We would hang out at the campus whenever we could for the rest of high school. We weren’t going to the frat house—my brother wasn’t inviting us. Instead, we were soaking it all in. We bought T-shirts, sweatshirts, and hats for Mid-Atlantic and wandered around while we waited to finish high school.

None of this got me laid or anything. But it got my attention, and I think I probably wanted that more in high school.

*Alpha Delta Beta is a fictionalized name of the fraternity
**Mid-Atlantic State University is a fictionalized name of the university

Originally published at Substack.

The post I Started Wearing Fraternity Letters in High School appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

Along the way, I took notes, because I thought the whole process from rush through initiation would make for a good short story.

The stories and experiences resulting in a lot of notes, and I thought I might try writing a book one day to share what I went through. I worked on it sporadically and I have finally finished writing 90,000 words about being a fraternity pledge. The name of the novel is The Escape Goat.

Escape Goat is a raw and unflinching novel that delves into the underbelly of fraternity life: hazing, substance abuse, misogyny, racism, criminal activity, homophobia, sexual assault, and suicide, alongside the camaraderie and traditions that draw young men into Greek life.

While many books romanticize college, this novel offers an unfiltered exploration of the moral dilemmas, coerced loyalty, and dangerous initiation rituals that define the fraternity experience.

Told through the lens of a young man seeking a sense of belonging, The Escape Goat captures the highs and devastating lows of the pledging process.

With honesty, dark humor, and gripping realism, it confronts the question: How far will someone go to prove their worth? And at what cost?

At its core, this book is more than just a recollection of fraternity traditions; it reflects the universal human need for connection and acceptance. Readers will resonate with the themes of loss, ambition, and the desire to be part of something bigger than themselves.

Currently, I am searching for an agent to represent the book to publishers, so if you happen to have a connection, please give me a shout.

For more details, visit ShawnCollinsWriter.com and FraternityPledge.com.

The post I Wrote a Novel and I am Looking for an Agent appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

My life changed in a big way twenty years ago today. It was the first Affiliate Summit that I organized with Missy Ward and it took place at Baruch College in New York City on November 3, 2003.

Pulling the whole thing together happened pretty fast. We chatted on the phone about trying to start a conference and registered AffiliateSummit.com on May 19, 2003.

The original goal was to put on a conference on a cruise in 2004, but we decided to do a small event before that to get the name out there and build a list.

I heard about an opportunity at Baruch College, which was a few blocks from where I worked at the time, and I went over to speak with them. We were able to get a room for 200 with chairs, tables, A/V, etc. for free in exchange for giving some passes to their marketing students.

That was perfect since we didn’t have money. If it wasn’t for that free spot from Baruch, the rise of Affiliate Summit may never have happened.

In the months we had to set up out first conference, we called in favors from friends to staff the event, and did everything very primitive. All sales went through my PayPal account and confirmation emails for people who registered were manually pasted from a Word doc and sent from our emails.

Industry friends volunteered to be speakers and we got a bunch of friends with companies to “sponsor” it (we didn’t charge them, so we would have a bunch of “sponsors” out of the gate).

We scheduled it on the first day of the ad:tech conference in New York, which was a huge event at the time, so we could capitalize on people coming into town, and we set a low price point ($75 for all day and lunch).

Our only expenses were lunch and printing for the day, and with ticket sales we broke even but became rich in industry reputation for Affiliate Summit.

Affiliate Summit 2003 was a sell-out a handful of days before. We had a dozen or so people show up hoping to attend, and we quietly loved that we couldn’t fit them, because it created a buzz and demand when we started promoting our next event.

So many things worked out just right and propelled us into a dream that lasted nearly two decades.

Check out photos from Affiliate Summit 2003.

The post The First Affiliate Summit Was 20 Years Ago Today appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

The graduation ceremonies were pretty uneventful. I was just waiting for it to be over and get on with things. I had to look back to see that Dr. Frank M. Snowden, Jr., Distinguished Professor emeritus of classics at Howard University, was the commencement speaker.

My mind was focused more on what the hell I was going to do. I neglected to get an internship and didn’t really have any marketable skills, even though I thought my activities and offices in school merited a two-page resume.

I left campus with no job and no idea what I was going to do with my Communications degree.

It all really hit me when I gave from graduating senior speech at my Pi Kappa Alpha Graduation Party. I was overwhelmed by the future as I double-fisted cheap champagne and babbled some words about all of the memories at the frat.

When I packed my things, I moved home with my dad for a while. I was sending out resumes like crazy to all sorts of jobs and hundreds of fraternity alumni in the area. I got rejected from all of them, but I did get some cool rejection letters from U.S. Senators and congressmen who were in my fraternity.

As I kept sending out applications and resumes, I pounded the pavement in my hometown, and most stores didn’t want me because I was overqualified. I finally ended up at the front desk of the Comfort Suites in Laurel, MD for $5.50/hour. It was crappy shift work, but it was something. After a few months, I became an Assistant Manager at the local Blockbuster for $7.00/hour.

The low point was when an old high school friend stopped in and said they thought I went to college.

Later in 1993, I got an administrative job at the University of Maryland for less than $9.00/hour with no benefits. I stayed there until moving up to New York City and getting a start in magazine publishing at a few stops. Finally, I had some meager benefits and could start chipping away at credit card debt, student loans, car payments, etc.

All along, I was optimistic that I was going to find my place. I’d hoped I could work as a writer, but my total take was $100 for one article at the defunct New York Press.

I was 27 and still didn’t have any direction. And then, one day, I was looking at the classifieds and saw a job with a start-up that needed a marketing person for their new affiliate program. I was curious about it but had never taken a marketing class. My entire knowledge was that I’d joined the Amazon affiliate program earlier in 1997 to try and make some extra money.

I dazzled the guy hiring for the position by dropping some buzzwords I’d remembered from Amazon, and I got the job. At 27, I got the first job that I enjoyed, and I found the industry I’d work in for decades.

While in the industry, I wrote lots of columns and books for money, so I got to be a writer after all.

So, if you’re a recent graduate or still looking for the right spot way later in life, don’t freak out. The path to success, contentment, and happiness isn’t straight and may not make sense, but you can get there.

I got some of my favorite advice when former New York Yankees pitcher, author, and entrepreneur, Jim Bouton, gave the keynote speech at Affiliate Summit in 2006.

“I stumbled on the secret of success, and that is persistence… you don’t have to be educated, you don’t have to be talented, you don’t have to be rich, you don’t have to be lucky. It’s available for anyone.

I’m convinced most people don’t fail, they simply stop trying. If persistence is the key to success, how does one be persistent?

I believe, from my experience, the answer to that you must love the process. You must love what you’re doing. Not the success, not the reward, not the bonus, the trophy. None of that stuff.

Just the process. If you love what you do, you have a chance to be successful at it. I think everyone needs to do what they love, or find a way to love what you’re doing.

If you focus on the process, you achieve the goals more often.”

I was really scared in 1993 and for many years after. But just like with my rough start in college, I eventually came out on the other side after I found love for the process of my work.

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