I figured it was some tradition that carried over from the 1970s but wasn’t actually happening anymore. And I don’t remember any dorm streaking while I was living in Cumberland.

But while I was pledging, there was one night when we had to go to the Testudo statue in front of McKeldin Library, and all of us had to strip naked, pose around the giant Terrapin, and sit all over it.

After taking a picture of the undressed pledge class around Testudo, we looked to the pile of our clothes, and they were gone. We had to run naked back to the fraternity house to get our clothes.

Sorry to the students who would rub Testudo’s nose for good luck before an exam. There were lots of naked guys on there before the rub.

Then, during Hell Week, we went to the Sigma Kappa sorority, where we had to wear Speedos under our clothes as part of a pledge activity. After we arrived, we were ushered into their TV room and told to take off all our clothes and run around the sorority house — somehow, this was a sanctioned event between our frat and the sorority.

Again, as we returned to the TV room, our clothes were all gone. Another naked run from the sorority back to our house. We had to run across Route 1 and past all of the bar-goers on the way back.

Naked Stuff After Becoming a Brother

I didn’t really have a choice about stripping naked when I was a pledge. Those were times when we had to do it as part of the pledge class. It was sort of funny and ridiculous, and after a while we just had no shame.

But I was also in my birthday suit in public a number of times after I became a brother in Pi Kappa Alpha (PiKA).

There was a tradition where anytime one of our brothers got lavaliered (a little gold pendant with our fraternity letters on it) or pinned (a pin with our fraternity crest) to a girlfriend, the pledges would kidnap us and tie us naked to the big anchor in front of the Delta Gamma sorority.

I was on that anchor a few times, since I gave lavaliers to two girlfriends and also a pin to one of them. Each time I got tied up, I had to wait for my girlfriend to come and untie me.

Fortunately, this was long before everyone had a camera phone in their pocket, so I don’t think there is any photographic evidence of it.

However, another tradition we had was that pledges would kidnap the fraternity President-elect, and I was that guy for fall 1992. After I was kidnapped and made to drink silly amounts of alcohol, I ended up back in my room in the frat house in nothing but boxers.

I got up to go pee at some point and decided to take a seat because of my booze fatigue, and I was oblivious to a camera in my face as I settled onto the throne. While I was wearing nothing at that point, I ended up angled in a way that the picture was rated PG.

In 1992, I also started up a Greek life newspaper called the Greek Times, and one of the cover photos was a naked brother of mine who had just been crowned the Alpha Phi Silver Sweetheart, and a bunch of brothers stripped him down and brought him to the sorority.

I am not sure whether using this picture on the cover was the reason this was my second-to-last issue of the newspaper (it was funded by the Panhellenic Association and Interfraternity Council), but I thought it might be a candidate for the Pulitzer Prize for Photography, so I went with it.

It was a fun time while it lasted, but I’ve been happy to navigate the world with clothes on since those days.

The post I Was Naked in Public A Lot in College appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

The swamp was framed by wood and a layer of plastic to keep the water in, and there were wood pallets to walk on, so you didn’t have to get your shoes swampy. Based on the picture I have from building it, I think the swamp must have been about 18” or so deep.

Apparently, this was before people were lawsuit-happy, because this swamp was enclosed by walls and a roof and poorly lit, so it would be really easy to lose your footing, fall into the water, and get hurt. I guess someone could even drown if they were drunk and/or bonked their head on the way down.

Anyhow, it was a fantastic party. It was a 4-way event with two fraternities and two sororities. In the case of the Swamp Water that I still have a shirt from, we did it with Alpha Phi, Kappa Alpha Theta, and Delta Tau Delta.

The band for Swamp Water in 1990 was Honor Among Thieves, which was formed that year by students at the University of Maryland. Frontman Mitch Allan was a Theta Chi at Maryland, and they often played local bars and frats at that time.

In the years after all of this, Honor Among Thieves evolved into another band called SR-71, which had a hit single, “Right Now,” which was featured in movies such as American Pie and Dude, Where’s My Car?

Mitch Allan also wrote the song “1985”, which was on an SR-71 record, and he later gave permission to Bowling for Soup to record it, and they had a massive hit with it. Allen also wrote popular songs for Kelly Clarkson, Miley Cyrus, Jason Derulo, Demi Lovato, and others.

Those parties were amazing, with the beer flowing, fun people, great music, and a backyard swamp. I miss those days.

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But that wasn’t all. In addition to lots of acts on the side stage, we were treated to an unannounced performance by Temple of the Dog! During the Pearl Jam set, Chris Cornell joined them for an absolutely kick-ass version of “Hunger Strike.”

The experience had my head spinning, and I wondered if we could do something similar, but on a much smaller scale, at the University of Maryland. Since the Lollapalooza name was so big at the time, and our fraternity went by PiKA (Pi Kappa Alpha), we went with the name PIKAPALOOZA.

The price of the Lollapalooza ticket included a donation to charity; I decided to do the same and make our event a benefit for SOME (So Others Might Eat), based in Washington, DC.

I can’t remember what we charged, but I think it was either a couple of cans of food or a few dollars to attend the whole festival. These were popular bands that had played at our fraternity house before, but this time there would be a bigger crowd in our parking lot.

There were the acts that day…

• Sean & Dave
• Black Sheep
• Faceplant
• Sorry About Your Daughter
• Avogadro’s Number
• The Unworld
• Lazy Suzan

I got a bunch of sponsors to help cover costs, and the bands donated their time for the good cause. It was an exciting event to put on shortly before I graduated.

One of the sponsors I brought on was New Edge and Beyond, run by a guy named Cosmic Dot. I have no idea what they did or how I even met him, but he was a fun character who helped make the day happen.

One of my favorite acts that day was Sorry About Your Daughter, and their badass rendition of Prince’s “Purple Rain.”

PIKAPALOOZA went off without a hitch, and we gathered plenty of canned goods to bring over to SOME. There were big crowds dancing, singing, drinking, and smiling. Overall, it was a fantastic event, and I was looking forward to other PiKAs taking over for future editions.

In the days before I graduated, I went down to the fraternity basement for something, and when I opened the door to our boiler room, I saw boxes and boxes of food we had collected to donate. Whoever was going to drive it over to SOME never did.

I didn’t have a car or driver’s license, and with the semester wrapping up, I wasn’t able to find a volunteer to drive the food into DC. After that, I got caught up with moving out, trying to get a job, and all of that, and the food just sat there unused. That part of PIKAPALOOZA sucks, but it was a good day otherwise.

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My temporary home was room 13, right there when you walked through the front door of the house. During the semesters, this was the first stop for many people when they came to the house, and the summer was no different, except there were far fewer people around.

When I wasn’t working my summer jobs at Cluck-U Chicken or Campus Rec, I was hanging around with guys at the house. My typical downtime fun was having a 40- or 64-oz bottle of Private Stock malt liquor and a bottle of Cisco (a very strong, disgusting fortified wine) and watching some TV with the guys.

That summer, it seemed like Sanford and Son was always on, so I think I saw every episode a couple or three times. One day I was enjoying a marathon of Fred Sanford’s antics with Lance, and when the drinks kicked in, I decided I really needed to call my girlfriend.

There were no working phones in the house, so I had to gather all my change and walk across the street to a payphone. I was so psyched to talk to her as I dropped my coins into the phone. I excitedly punched in her number, which was long-distance, so I think it was like $1.50 or more for the first few minutes of the call.

My heart was beating fast as the phone rang on the other end. Then an unfamiliar voice said, “Hello.” I asked if my girlfriend was there, and the person on the other end said I had the wrong number, and they hung up.

That was it. I spent what little money I had on that call, and I was left deflated.

Then I got a great idea. I was the Secretary for the Interfraternity Council (IFC) at the time, so I hopped on my bike and rode over to the student union to call her from the IFC office. As I pedaled across the University of Maryland campus, I kept repeating her phone number in my head to be sure I got it right this time.

It was less than a mile on my bike, so after my quick ride, I locked up my bike and headed into the office. I speed-walked to the phone with a smile on my face, punched in the correct number this time, and prepared to chat.

The answering machine picked up, and I left her a message dejectedly. She had no way to call me back, so I probably wouldn’t talk to her until she came back to campus to get ready for sorority rush.

Oh well, I didn’t want this trip to be in vain, so I fired up the office computer and played Sim City for a while. After I got bored of that, I decided to head back for more hang time. On the way out the door, I saw a big stack of Post-it Notes and grabbed as many as I could for no particular reason.

I got on my bike and pedaled back across campus with one hand holding a bunch of Post-it Notes. All was well until I headed downhill on McKeldin Mall and veered off the sidewalk. With one hand on the handlebar, I went head over ass and landed in a heap.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed, and it was nearly midnight. Lots of hours had passed, and I guess I made it back to the frat on autopilot and climbed into bed with bloody arms and legs.

My bike made it home with me, but the Post-it Notes got lost along the way. Everyone else must have been out at the bars, so I climbed back into bed to go to sleep for the night.

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We were new brothers in Pi Kappa Alpha at the University of Maryland, and there was a low-key get-together with a sorority where everyone drank beer and watched the original version of My Bloody Valentine.

I think it was a double-feature with a Diceman concert at Madison Square Garden.

Anyhow, the Coors beer was flowing from our house bar, and we were tossing back our drinks and enjoying the ridiculous horror film.

Those movies were fun because they were gory, but also silly and campy. I prefer that old slasher style over the shock and gore of current horror.

Anyhow, if you’re not familiar with the movie, it takes place in the small town of Valentine Bluffs, and the residents are planning the first Valentine’s dance in twenty years.

You see, the Valentine’s dance had been banned for a couple of decades after a deranged minder went on a murder spree in town and left the hearts of victims in gift boxes.

The young locals weren’t scared of this old story, though, and they wanted to celebrate, so they held a secret party deep in the nearby coal mine, and the kids were stalked and murdered by someone in full miner’s gear.

I don’t want to give any spoilers, so I won’t say any more, except for the pivotal scene when some characters were terrified in the coal mine and heard a noise. One of the people said something along the lines of, “Don’t worry, those are just some rats.”

Another future victim responded passionately, “That ain’t no rats.”

The line may have been slightly different, but I am not going to rewatch it to verify.

From then on, Pat and I would use “That ain’t no rats” as a greeting and random shout to each other on campus and at parties. We don’t see each other as much anymore, but when we do, we quote My Bloody Valentine.

My last text to him was a week ago, with a video of a rat in a pizza parlor and the text, “Ain’t no.”

The post My Bloody Valentine, Beer, and Decades of Rats appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

I got a job working at the front desk for $5.50 an hour. Five years in college, and the best I could do was $1.25 an hour more than minimum wage. However, the job did have a nice perk: an employee discount at select hotels around the country.

Before I left that job for more exciting opportunities ($7.00 an hour as an Assistant Manager at Blockbuster Video), I reached out to my recently graduated fraternity brothers, Chris and Joe, about a road trip to New Orleans for New Year’s Eve.

I looked into using my employee discount in New Orleans, and there was a Comfort Inn where we could get a discounted room for $19 per night. I booked it for five nights (December 28, 1993, to January 2, 1994), and our plan was set.

By Christmas, our group had grown to six people. A couple of guys from another frat and someone brought their girlfriend. I’d finally gotten my driver’s license, car insurance, and a used 1992 Ford Escort LX with about 12,000 miles on it for $500 down. My “new” car was going on our road trip.

In addition to the McJobs I was working at those days, I was also waiting for concert tickets and selling them while working for “Ticket Ricky.” I reached out to him, and he was willing to have me take a bunch of Sugar Bowl tickets on the trip to sell on consignment. That was perfect, as it would fund my trip.

The Road Trip

On the day we were leaving, I packed my things and went to the local AAA office to get a TripTik, a flipbook with the map for our 1,100-or-so-mile drive from Annapolis, MD, to New Orleans, LA.

I had a few hours to burn before driving over to pick the guys up, so I tucked into the couch to watch the movie Fandango. The movie was about five college buddies from the University of Texas going on one last road trip before entering the real world.

The movie was set in 1971, when characters our age were worried about having to go to Vietnam. Our uncertain future wasn’t quite as perilous, but still scary.

Our drive down to New Orleans was a good time with a rotation of a few cassettes and lots of laughs.

When we rolled up to the Comfort Inn on Chef Menteur Highway in New Orleans, I realized why I had gotten such an amazing deal. It was in a pretty sketchy area, and the hotel was in rough shape. But we didn’t care; we had a place to stay that would be about $20 each for five nights, so that was awesome.

The second car arrived shortly after us, and the six of us settled into the hotel room with a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door for the rest of our trip, so the hotel wouldn’t realize we had so many people jammed in there.

Nearly Drunknapped to Mississippi

The bunch of us had Hurricanes and Turbodog beer day and night, as well as lots of Cherry Bombs, which were maraschino cherries in Everclear. I think they were $1 for five.

As we bar-hopped on New Year’s Eve, in that era before cell phones, we all eventually lost each other. I ended up with a group from the University of Southern Mississippi, and we became fast friends.

From what I recall, it was a lot of fun, and as midnight approached, I was chatting with a woman with an adorable Mississippi accent. We ended up kissing as the clock struck 12, and I was smitten.

She asked if I’d like to hop in their car back to Hattiesburg, MS, and I was really close to joining them. Fortunately, I had a moment of clarity and realized I had my car keys, so if I disappeared across state lines, no one could take my car and rescue me from over one-hundred miles away.

My last kiss of 1993 and first of 1994 was not meant to be anything else. Oh well, I still had lots of Sugar Bowl tickets to sell.

Sugar Bowl Tickets, Dr. Pepper, and Robbery

The Sugar Bowl tickets were moving nicely. It was a big matchup with the #8 Florida Gators facing the #3 West Virginia Mountaineers. I was feeling really good, aside from my hangover, as I sold tickets for more money than expected and was dreaming of a tidy profit from the ticket sales.

There were still like twenty tickets left on the afternoon of January 1, 1994, as I sold them a few blocks from the Superdome near Tulane University School of Medicine.

A couple of guys pulled up to a stoplight and asked how much I was selling the tickets for, and I walked over to show them what I had. In a flash, the guy in the passenger seat swiped the tickets from my hand, and the driver floored it.

I chased after these thieves in vain, and in one last attempt to stop them, I hurled my bottle of Dr. Pepper at the back of their truck.

All of that money just drove away from me. I was going to end up negative from this trip after I worked out how much I’d have to pay out of pocket for the stolen tickets. I heard some guy on the sidewalk laughing and looked over.

He said, “That was a waste of a perfectly good Dr. Pepper.”

It sure was. Now I was out many hundreds of dollars in tickets, as well as my drink. Those monsters.

By the time the game came along, we bought some cheap tickets to get in and salvaged the night. Actually, it was an awesome night. We got to see our first college bowl game with Florida beating down West Virginia 41-7 as we sipped Mint Juleps.

The Long Journey Home

After the game, we continued our partying on Bourbon Street for one last night before driving home in the morning.

Over time, people in our group gradually headed back to the hotel room to get a little sleep. I forget what time I made it back, but I was the second-to-last one to get there.

By morning, we were still missing one person. We were trying to figure out what to do as check-out time approached, and we got the cars packed up. Just then, the missing guy wandered up, and he was still drunk out of his mind.

He had a great time partying until the last minute, which meant he wasn’t going to be sharing the driving duties anytime soon.

The journey home in my car was not fun, with all of us heading back to work the next day. I think we may have gotten home after midnight, or at least it felt like it. Back to reality and my life of underemployment. But things would get better a year later when I moved to New York City.

Still, I loved a line from Kevin Costner’s character, Gardner Barnes, in Fandango… “There’s nothing wrong with going nowhere, son. It’s a privilege of youth.”

The post Fandango: A Road Trip to New Orleans After College appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

My pledge class had to dedicate a lot of time from Monday, October 10, through Saturday, October 15, 1988, setting up and cleaning after parties, participating in Homecoming activities, and holding seats at the stadium for the Homecoming football game between our Maryland Terrapins and Wake Forest.

The Terps lost that Homecoming game 27-24, bringing their record to 5-6.

Before Homecoming week started, each pledge had to buy a T-shirt, and I still have mine. The overall theme that year was “Out of This World,” and our matchup was with Kappa (KK?) and AGR (A??).

During our various competitions, like volleyball and a float we built for the Homecoming parade, we had a simple chant that is still an earworm for me…

Are we psyched?

Yes, we are!

PiKA, Kappa, AGR!

It was a lot of fun having daily parties, and some days we’d have a happy hour and a party at night. This was one of those weeks when I just forgot about class, and it helps explain my 1.0 GPA that semester.

Right below the words “Out of This World” on the front of my t-shirt, there is a hole. That hole was where my pledge pin had been, and it was ripped off my shirt by some drunk brother. I no longer have the pin, but the hole has reminded me all these years later.

That was the second time in two weeks that a brother ripped my pledge pin off. The week before, I had to go to PAB (Pledge Advisory Board) to explain myself after getting arrested at our pledge camping trip.

After going through the frat kangaroo court, I had my pledge pin ripped off and was told I was kicked out of my pledge class. I came back to the football tailgate the next morning and got my pin back. I was never actually kicked out. Just some of the drunk hazing mind games.

Anyhow, the thing I most remember from the night of PAB was that it got in the way of a free MTV concert outside of my dorm with the Godfathers and Living Colour.

As I got closer to my dorm after PAB, I could hear the music blasting, but I wasn’t up for standing in the crowd at that point. I thought I was bounced from the frat. But I loved those bands.

When I got to my room, 8151 Cumberland facing La Plata Beach, I opened my window right as Living Colour was playing “Cult of Personality.”

Look in my eyes, what do you see?

Cult of personality

I know your anger, I know your dreams

I’ve been everything you want to be

I’m the cult of personality

That was pretty apt for my night at the hands of the brothers. And the whole pledging semester.

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We were all tight on cash, so flying was never an option. So, our way there was by car, and we packed as many people and their bags in as possible for the 1,200-plus-mile journey from College Park, MD, to Key West, FL.

Most of the drive is a blur at this point, but I do remember everyone being pretty psyched about stopping at South of the Border, which was near the border of North Carolina and South Carolina.

Otherwise, the driving highlight was Big Joe sticking his hand out the window at each state line and shouting, “First one to Virginia,” “First one to North Carolina,” etc. But, as we waited at a stoplight before entering Florida, one of the guys with us jumped out of the car and ran to the Florida state line and announced, “First one to Florida.”

Big Joe was pissed, and we all laughed in our delirium. We actually thought we were fairly close to Key West at that point. Little did we know that we were still over 500 miles away.

When we arrived, we found our home for the next week, one of the cheap, two-story tourist motels. I think there were 8 or so people staying in the room, so we decided to make it first-come, first-served each night for the two beds. Everyone else got a spot on the floor.

Our first move after dumping our bags in the room was to go out and rent scooters. To this day, I don’t know how none of us got into an accident, because we were young and stupid and driving drunk all over the island for a week. The rest of the spring breakers were, too.

After a night or two on the floor, I decided that I would stay out as late as I could each night, and then migrate from the floor to a bed as the bed guys woke up. And I’d sleep in some version of comfort until the afternoon.

My late-night tradition after the bars was to stop by a gas station for a box of fried chicken and a 40 of malt liquor. I don’t remember the brand, but it was whichever was cheapest. I’d take my feast to the Southernmost Point and enjoy it before going for one more lap around the island.

After a day or two of driving the scooter around, I realized I needed some sunglasses to protect my eyes from bugs and dirt. I went to a store and bought a pair of Ray-Bans on my credit card. This may be hard to believe, but I still have those Ray-Bans. I think they are my oldest possession.

They came in handy that week, and I still use them, though I don’t wear sunglasses very often.

I don’t remember ever being on the small Key West beaches during the trip, but we’d wheel in coolers to the motel pool and spend a ton of daylight time floating around and enjoying cheap beer.

At night, we’d go to the bars I’d heard about from older Pi Kappa Alpha brothers or in Jimmy Buffett songs. The one I was most excited to visit was Capt. Tony’s.

Unfortunately, my stop at that bar was brief, because when I went to the men’s room and saw the long lines, I copied some other guys and tried using the sink. The bouncers didn’t like that, and I ended up getting tossed.

The drive back to college at the end of Spring break wasn’t nearly as fun as the drive to Key West. All I had in front of me at this point was a couple more months of classes, exams, and then graduation.

It was a really fun week, and I wish I had the funds to go on more than one Spring Break, but I’ll always have this one. I haven’t been back to Key West since 1993, but I do want to go back there soon.

My next time in Key West, I plan to have a bed for every night, and if I do any driving, it would maybe be from Miami. Otherwise, I am flying the whole way.

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As Country Joe and the Fish came on stage to sing the “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag,” the lyrics would take me back to those protests against the Vietnam War.

“And it’s one, two, three, what are we fighting for?

Don’t ask me I don’t give a damn

Next stop is Vietnam.

And it’s five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates,

Well there ain’t no time to wonder why,

Whoopie! We’re all gonna die!”

I’d grown up hearing my dad play records with protest songs from the likes of Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger, and the Weavers, and it had a big impression on me.

I cared about the world and wanted to make a difference. So much of the music I was into was railing against Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.

I was deep into stopping apartheid in South Africa, calling attention to the Troubles in Northern Ireland, and fighting for human rights all over, protesting animal experimentation, and being outraged by U.S. military intervention in Central America.

I even spent a year not eating meat after getting radicalized by the Smiths’ “Meat is Murder” album.

When I discovered Billy Bragg on MTV’s 120 Minutes, I raced out to get his “Talking With the Taxman About Poetry” album, as well as his earlier work, and I loved songs like “Help Save the Youth of America,” “There Is Power in a Union,” and “Between the Wars.”

Activism to Apathy

When I got to the University of Maryland in fall 1988, I was sure it was going to be just like the grainy videos I’d seen of college campuses in the 60s and early 70s.

I’m sure there was activism going on, but I didn’t see it anywhere. I went to the various events for freshmen about campus organizations, and the only groups I saw that looked interesting were fraternities, and they cited philanthropy as a core part of their groups. That was cool.

So, I rushed and pledged Pi Kappa Alpha during my first semester, and while I kept listening to my music about various causes, I wasn’t really doing anything about it.

When the first Gulf War came along, I was sure that was going to be the moment when I could join protesters on campus. I’d heard how on May 1, 1970, there was a rally in front of McKeldin Library at the University of Maryland that turned into a nearly two-week violent protest after President Nixon announced expanding the war into Cambodia.

But 1990 was a long way from 1970 in College Park, MD. Some modest protests happened, but it wasn’t the scale I was anticipating.

By 1992, I did the most politically radical thing I’d done in my college years and voted for Bill Clinton and Al Gore. Before the general election, I went to a rally on campus where I shook Al Gore’s hand and got a Clinton/Gore sign to put in my frat house room window.

I wanted to make a bigger impact, but it never happened; that election did usher in an exciting new day when the decision-makers weren’t all older than my grandparents.

The post I Thought There Would Be More College Activism in the 1980s appeared first on Shawn Collins' Blog.

The front page read, “The Four Pi’s,” and everyone raced over to read the latest edition, which was written by the graduating seniors to roast the brothers who still had more time left in college.

Now, I have the old copies of ragsheets, but I am not going to show the contents of them, because most of the stuff in there didn’t age well.

But the issues of the Four Pi’s typically had columns of what was “In” and “Out” for that semester, as well as “clubs” that made fun of brothers for how they dressed, dumb stuff they’d done, where they would be in ten years, etc.

One of those predictions that was pretty close was for Scott Van Pelt, and it said he’d be doing color commentary on NBC. About ten years after graduation, he was finishing a stint on the Golf Channel and off to ESPN, where he still is today.

As I paged through that first issue I’d seen, I saw my name came up in the “America’s Most Wanted Club,” because I’d gotten arrested at our pledge camping trip.

The issues of the Four Pi’s that came out at the fall graduation parties had the typical trash talk, as well as “stocking stuffer,” where the seniors left things behind for brothers.

I was usually a little anxious at the graduation parties about what might be in the rag sheets about me.

Typically, the worst I got was being on a list of guys who were “whipped” by their girlfriends. There were funny digs here and there towards me, but some other guys would get destroyed by words.

By the time the graduation party for spring 1993 came around, I was happy to get my chance to work on the Four Pi’s with the other graduating seniors, and we put out the biggest edition during my time in the house. We had lots to say.

In the end, there were laughs, feelings hurt, and memories.

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