A Southern Place by Elaine Drennon Little Page B

his clothes, car, and spending money were enough , and life was good.
    Phil and his fraternity brothers had plenty of female companionship, usually girls who’d hang out in the frat house for the free beer or ones they’d meet up with on the tracks, a section of railroad adjacent to the stadium, popular with the heavy drinkers on game nights. But in May of ’58, a great many of the Sigma keg kings found themselves escorting gorgeous sisters of Alpha Omicron Pi to the UGA Spring Mixer, a formal affair requiring tuxedos and corsages.
    The Sigmas weren’t big on official college functions, but this was a master plan. In exchange for their duties as escorts, these stacked but somewhat conservative beauties would accompany their dates to the fraternity’s Wild Water Weekend, a nonstop beach party held on St. Simons Island. The Alphas had their own hotel rooms, paid for by the fraternity, of course.
    Phil and his buddies washed and waxed their cars, shook the mothballs from their spiffy formalwear, and made sure they knew the exact shades of their ladies’ dresses. They sipped real liquor from discreet flasks and kept their buzz to a minimum, far less than a typical school night. The Monarchs, a six-piece combo from Memphis, played, and the Sigmas showed their dates a relentless time on the dance floor.
    “Mind your manners, Phil, my boy,” said Kent, Sigma Nu president and resident ladies’ man. “Watch the knockers bounce when she jitterbugs, lean into those bare shoulders and smell her perfume. If your hand brushes her ass when you slow dance, make sure she doesn’t know it was on purpose. Cha cha with her like a faggot on cruise ship, but nothing more than a nice kiss when you take her back to the house. Perfect gentlemen, we are.”
    “Okay,” Phil said.
    “Then the next two nights we’ll fuck their eyes out!” Kent laughed, slapped Phil on the back, then squeezed him in a brotherly hug.
    Phil and the rest of the guys followed Kent’s instructions perfectly.
    Sunday morning was a bad dream. Only asleep for a few hours, the Sigmas awakened to police bullhorns outside, telling them all to come out, other officers pounding on individual doors. A girl screamed, a boy passed out, and several of the crew had to be shaken before waking up. The fifty reserved rooms were emptied, forty-six of which held one or more male-female unmarried couples. Several remaining gallons of liquor were confiscated, and an estimated $1,400 in damages were owed to the renowned King and Prince Hotel.
    The girls left crying and hiding their faces, running to the arms of irate parents. Several were bruised but more ashamed and embarrassed than hurt. Two young ladies were taken to the ER to have their stomachs pumped, and one was treated on site for hyperventilation. Forty-three Sigma Nu brothers were escorted to the Glynn County Jail. After parents posted bail on Monday, a motley group returned to the Sig house late that afternoon. Awaiting their entrance were the Dean of Student Affairs, Chancellor of the Greek Council, and the President of the College.
    Through the years, Phil tried his best to forget that painful alliance and the consequences it brought, but it still came back, decades later when he saw a showing of Animal House on late night television. Seeing practically the same experience happen to John Belushi, Phil threw up again then, too, wondering how the average American could view this flick as a comedy.
    Phil and the rest of his new friends were sent packing. For once, Phil’s father didn’t seem that disappointed; it was like he’d expected it all along. He had a speech and a life planned for Phil, and it was mapped out and ready for execution the morning Delores first saw Phil at the factory entrance.
    “Well, son, you’ve had your vacation,” his father said. “I knew you didn’t have enough sense to last, so I hope you enjoyed yourself. It’s time to go to work.”
    “Whatever. Where am I working, Dad?” They