Corona Files, Loosely

A funny and poignant reminiscence from our man in the OBX, with a very timely reminder at the end. The kicker, in the parlance of the ink-stained wretch.

I’ll try to keep this brief, since I’m an adjunct member and most of you know me only marginally or through this digital tree fort. I thought some of you might appreciate it.

On May 1, almost 20 of my college classmates got together for a Zoom call, where we caught up a bit, but mostly remembered and mis-remembered our rampant dumbassery and questionable decisions. The occasion was the 40-year commemoration of our graduating class. May 1 was also the 42nd anniversary of my former roommate’s arrest and brief incarceration for streaking through town, a May Day campus tradition that went sideways that particular evening and was a highlight of our call.

We attended Washington College, a small, liberal arts school in Chestertown on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. The school is notable as the first college chartered in the sovereign United States – George Washington lent his name and served on its first Board – and for the largest literary cash award to an undergraduate in the country. The Sophie Kerr Prize, more than $63,000 this year, is awarded annually to a graduating senior who shows the most promise in the literary field.

Two days after my roommate’s arrest and the absurd aftermath, the story landed on A1 of the Washington Post, what’s referred to in newspapers as a “bright” – a quirky, unusual piece intended to counter more serious news. The story was then picked up by news outlets along the East Coast, including my roommate’s hometown of Miami. It’s an amusing story, with a great kicker. A side note: one of the authors was a young reporter named David Maraniss, who’s still at the Post and who over the next 40 years won two Pulitzers and wrote books on Clinton, Gore, Obama, Vince Lombardi, Roberto Clemente, the Vietnam War and the Tokyo Olympics. We like to think that my naked roommate helped springboard his career and are certain that the story is listed prominently on his curriculum vitae. (The story is available in all its glory at this link.)

The episode seemed to be of a piece within our group, a loosely based fraternal bunch in the late 1970s and early ‘80s whose membership was based on proximity, irreverence, sports and an inclination to color outside the lines. We dubbed ourselves the BOF (Brotherhood of Freshmen) Chi, and though part of the name was taken from the Greek alphabet and campus fraternal system, we intentionally pronounced it “chee.” There were no dues, no recruitment or pledge obligations, and minimal service to the campus and community. Students awoke unaffiliated one day and members the next. Scholarship was optional. Our contributions consisted of the occasional dorm party and a Bizarre Bazaar that included events such as a cat food-eating contest (moist, of course) that drew more contestants than it should have. During one Homecoming parade, our float was a wagon rolled down the street from which we tossed chunks of cheese to the crowd (BOF cheese, get it?).

There were eight charter members, maybe twice that in total before the vibe fizzled. Several of us transferred, a few others left school for academic or personal reasons. We’ve maintained contact off and on through the years. Some of us stay in touch regularly, others we hadn’t seen in decades before the May 1 call. Like I said, loosely based.

Which is why the G:TB community and things such as the OBFT and various informal get-togethers you all arrange are treasures. Our Zoom call was a blast, but as several of you know from your own virtual meetings, it’s kind of a tease. I eagerly await the times when people can commune again. Maybe there’s masks, maybe there’s distance. But it’s human, and that’s the best we have.