One thing you’ll notice if you spend enough time with Evangelical Christians, especially the younger ones, if how much they love to talk about love. Love is a big part of it. In fact it’s really the crucial selling point of the whole package. “For God so loved the world” and all that. Christ loved us so much, He came to Earth to die for us. Love your neighbor as yourself. All you need is love . . . wait, never mind. That guy was bigger than Jesus. The point being, there is a great deal of talk about love, and Euphegenia was no exception. Students were always proclaiming their love for the school, for each other, etc. It was enough to make you feel all warm and gooey.
The problem is that too was all bullshit. I mean, yes, I believe a lot of great friendships and relationships are forged in those four years, just as they are on secular campuses. Many probably are founded on love. But there is such a high concentration of cruelty among Christians as well. Also probably common in any school but again, these are people claiming to be different. Claiming literally to be better. Yet they can be downright evil to one another. On a secular campus, if you’re an oddball or an outcast, you’ll probably find your group sooner or later. Or at least you’ll figure out how to not stick out while still somehow sniffing out like-spirits. In the smaller world of a Christian campus, there are so few hiding places. And despite how spiritually elevated they claim to be, it’s still the pretty ones, male and female running the show. Like so many other hierarchal settings, if you look right, talk right, and act right you will probably feel that love and acceptance. If you’re different, or you’re not what they deem aesthetically pleasing, and that’s beyond shiny white teeth and well-coiffed hair, you’ll hope you’re only shunned. Let me stop and say, before you think to yourself “clearly this is just sour grapes. He must have been a weirdo that got picked on there.”
No so. I mean, yes, weirdo for sure and proud of it. But I was actually never picked on at Euphegenia. I dare say I was treated well by most of the students once they got to know me. Sure there were some flannel-tucking frat boys (without a frat) who sneered at me behind my back. And there were a few Barbies with Bibles to whom I was too dark and swarthy to fraternize with. All in all, people talked to me. I was often included, when I chose to be. But I watched. And the more I watched, the less I chose to participate. On one occasion however, I had to participate only to alter the course of another student’s life.
The practice of hazing, especially among fraternities and college athletic organizations dates back God knows how long. Somewhere, at some point, a bunch of dudes (probably harboring some pretty dark inner-shit) were hanging out and decided they were going to let a new guy, probably named Todd enter their circle. However, before Todd could be their friend, one of the others, probably named Troy decided it was only fair Todd suffer some pain and humiliation first, to prove how much he liked them. For some reason when bullying (or worse) is committed in the name of college hazing it seems to get a pass. The world has supposedly cracked down on it lately but I wonder if that’s the true story on today’s college campuses. In the early-90’s it was still running rampant. And while Euphegenia had no fraternities or sororities, I was told early on of a time honored tradition that I’d better beware of. It was called “poling.”
Not of course polling as in going out and measuring public opinion on a subject. Believe me if you’d polled most of the freshman men, you’d get an overwhelmingly unfavorable response to the practice. No, this was a much more insidious thing. I found it quite an ironic name as well given that in 1990, a group of Christian students, not unlike those who participated in this annual poling event, started an event called “See You at the Pole.” During this yearly happening, Christian students in secular schools would gather around the school’s flag pole to pray and read scriptures.
Every spring at Euphegenia one freshman chosen by a committee of upper-classmen bullies was pulled from his bed in the night, dragged, violently if he resisted across campus to a light pole, and duct taped to it like a mummy. Funny, right? So now imagine a bunch of thugs wrapping exposed skin with duct tape. Once he was secure, the group would begin to dump all manner of condiments, eggs, hair product, detergent, and any other disgusting sticky substance all over the victim. And as I understand if the occasional errant punch or kick happened to land on the victim, hey . . . what would Jesus do? Inevitably this happened in front of a large audience of assembled students. Campus security would usually just stand and watch (and laugh) citing fear of the “assembled mob” overpowering them.
From what I understand, they would also throw a selection of the polee’s personal possessions into the campus pond. And so you know, a good number of those involved with this activity were Youth Ministry or Christian Religion and Philosophy (or CRaP) majors. Makes you want to send your kids out to church, doesn’t it? If you happen to be reading this and thinking that’s just a petty, harmless college prank, you’re an asshole. Kill yourself now. Once again, no I am not the bitter survivor of said hazing. But yes, since there was no rhyme or reason to why they every picked their victim, I did from time to time worry I might be the chosen one.
Stacy had been the first to tell me about the poling tradition. When I expressed concern and disgust at the event, he went on to tell me the guy who’d been “poled” the year before I got there was a kid named Ben. He apparently “could be a loud mouth” and “upset some people.” In other words, even in conservative caring Stacy’s opinion, he deserved it. I didn’t know Ben. I couldn’t make such a judgment for myself, because Ben not surprisingly didn’t return to Euphegenia the following fall. Go figure.
Most every freshman male was aware of what lurked in the shadows of the spring. We didn’t discuss it, but I would hear the occasional upper classman bring it up toward a group of freshman, as if a threat. Our dorm had a rec room full of pool tables right across the hall from my room downstairs. One night Artemis and I were in there screwing around playing pool, when an upperclassman named Woody wandered in with his constant, sidekick Todd. Woody was actually Stacy’s former roommate and the manager of the radio station. They were both twerps. Todd was short and chunky and his eyes were perpetually squinting. Woody was a thin-haired hayseed from Indiana that could be knocked out by a strong breeze. For some reason they thought Artemis and a couple other guys who’d joined us, were being too cocky and loud. They told him to tone it down, to which I think he smarted off in return. I remember Woody saying “you won’t be so cocky when you’re hanging from that pole.” And little Todd squinting and grinning “that’s right!”
Ok, shall we break this down? A. They had essentially made an out and out threat. B. Two rednecks had just insinuated hanging a black student from a pole (do we really want to dive into the connotations of that one?) C. They were both heavily involved with spiritual leadership on campus.
Yet there they were confident that, just by virtue of their grade level, they could threaten Artemis and really all of us. And we knew they were right, more or less. There had been a decree from on high early that spring that any one participating in poling a student would be expelled, but I wasn’t confident it would be enforced. Even if it were, there were a few nut jobs that I didn’t think would consider it a deterrent. Three of the ringleaders of last year’s poling lived in the room next door to Artemis and I, and they had on multiple occasions bitched about us being too loud. Artemis and his damned Michael Jackson . . .
I was certain we might at least be on a short list.
Fortunately, those guys actually kind of liked me. I was not, it turned out on the enemies list. At least not on the night the big event was to take place. After all, I’m sure it was an organic list, and when the committee met, each member probably had some other freshman in mind that pissed them off that day. That year, there hadn’t even been a scheduled poling day. Too much risk someone might leak it to the powers that be. It more or less happened spontaneously. I know, because I was standing there shell shocked when the group declared, expulsion be damned, someone was getting their ass taped to the light post. A group of guys were just hanging out in the second floor lounge bullshitting around midnight. Those neighbors I mentioned were among the throng. Suddenly, the subject of to pole or not came up, and it started a fervor among them. It was late, the year was coming to an end, and there was a strange energy in the air. In a matter of seconds, it was on and it was happening! I couldn’t believe my dumb luck. I wasn’t going to be the victim, but I was at the very least an accomplice by association! The question was who would be the target?
Dylan was the sweetest guy you could ever meet. He was a soft-spoken, good hearted man who always gave you a smile and nod. He was always encouraging. I never heard an unkind or judgmental word come out of his mouth. If Danny had any private malice toward any one, you never caught a hint of it. Before I pull out another cliché to describe what a saint he seemed, I’ll just say I honestly believe he would have literally given you the shirt off his back, if that was really what you needed.
Dylan was also older than most of the students in his graduating class. The reason was Dylan’s slew of health problems. I want to say the worst of which was Hodgkin’s but I’m not sure. I just know he was in a great deal of pain a great deal of the time, and the source of which was something of a medical mystery. In my time at Euphegenia there was a point where he left school to take a little trip to the Mayo Clinic. Even they were having difficulty pinpointing what the hell was wrong with him. I often watched Dylan in chapel or in group settings. He was an observer as well, and didn’t talk a lot or draw attention to himself. Still waters run deep as they say. But something tells me if he were brutally honest, at least back then, those waters were saying “I’m fucking dying and I don’t even know why!”
The point is, he had suffered hardships, he was dealing with hardship, and yet he never moped or complained. He never snapped at anyone. In fact there were numerous times I’d find myself having a conversation with Dylan where I was bitching about some problem or another. He would smile, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses and offer sage advice, or just be an ear that heard. It’s almost embarrassing to remember now. But Dylan was literally a stand-up guy. He was a role model. And Dylan was a man of stoic faith, staggering on rejoicing as it were. So imagine the way I felt when one of the guys shouted out “let’s get Dylan. That guy annoys me.”
That was it. They all just shrugged and then decided yeah, he was as good a victim as anyone. At this point the dogs smelled blood and they JUST wanted to sink their teeth into some meat. They leapt to their feet and headed for the stairs toward Dylan’s room. I knew I had to stop them. Aside from how much he did not deserve this, I also worried about his health and the idea that these baboons could cause him more problems or even kill him. In a panic I called out “wait guys, no!”
They all stopped like in a teen movie and looked back at me with that look of “what?!?” I explained that I knew he had health problems and they could really get in trouble if they go after him. I even threw out the idea they could all get sued. That seemed to work. Till the ringleaders turned to me, still in that weird movie scene and demanded a new name. It literally felt like they were saying either I give them an acceptable alternate or they go get Dylan, or they just take me. I spit out the first name that came to mind. I knew if they were going to get somebody, it had to be someone that could handle it, someone strong enough to bounce back from it, and as horrible as this is sounds, deserved it a little bit. That’s right; I became the thing I hated. I found a way to justify it. But a sacrificial lamb had to be named in that moment.
“What about Billy C?”
“Who?” one of them asked. That was a bad sign.
“You know,” I said, “the guy on the third floor always blaring his fucking stereo. He’s a campus cop. So is his older brother.”
“Oh yeah,” someone said. “Yeah, he is a prick.”
Billy wasn’t really a prick. He was loud, cocky, and a bit boorish but he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact he had been one of my first friends on campus, sort of. Early on I took a shine to a girl name Celine (if you knew her real name, that would be so much funnier!) She was a little thick with a perfectly round butt, but had a sharp, sexy face. I don’t know how more to explain that. She had dark almond-shaped eyes that always belied a bit of mischief behind them. And a sideways, almost patronizing grin. I loved that. I wouldn’t say I liked her, but I was definitely attracted to her. She looked like if you could break down that moral wall a little bit, she would be a lot of fun. It was also pretty apparent that wall wasn’t too sturdy to begin with. You could probably penetrate it with a tiny stick, which was exactly what I fantasized about doing!
It’s no secret, but a man’s attraction to a woman is not based entirely on looks. There’s that intangible, something that just clicks in a very primeval place inside. In other words, we look at a woman and can size up whether she would just lay there like a limp piece of meat, or she locks her knees together and takes charge. Celine looked like a caged cat pacing back and forth, waiting for someone to let their guard down and forget to lock the door. Once she pounced there’d be no stopping her until she left you quivering, oozing life, while she licked her paws purring. At least, I liked to think so.
I think I befriended Celine and her roommate Katie at lunch one day. They lived in Volgmann hall, the same apartment-style dorm Kori lived in. I haven’t mentioned this little nugget of information yet, but boys weren’t allowed to cross the threshold of any girl’s rooms. And the policy was actually worded just like that. The rooms opened directly to the outside, and tt was common to see guys leaning inside the doorways all across that building. Before Kori and I got together, I spent many evenings hanging out in Celine and Katie’s doorway, keeping my toes right on the doorstop.
Unbeknownst to me Billy C. had also noticed Celine, and being a little more confident, and maybe just a little too stupid to know better, he’d begun to make moves. I remember discovering them having lunch together one afternoon after chapel. And then he began appearing in her door as well. He was cock-blocking me, but in his defense he had no idea. In fact it turned out they thought I liked Katie. Billy liked me and was always friendly, even if overbearing. He invited me to sit with them at lunch. He included me in the conversations when we’d both meet in the girls’ doorway. Billy and Celine were engaged by Christmas. Yes, that means only about 3 months after meeting. And neither one even old enough to drink.
That’s what a culture that outlaws premarital sex creates; a whole bunch of horny bastards who will desperately marry too young and too impulsively just to have sex. Clearly that wild cat Celine needed it and she sank her claws in. Of course, we all know a lioness in her prime doesn’t want some dumb deer with his dick out standing around waiting for it. She wants worthy quarry. I doubt she ever got it.
Still, whether he denied me a chance to tangle with her or not, I couldn’t help but like the Indiana farm boy turned Public Safety officer. His brother had indeed been on the campus security force and essentially gave Billy a spot. He encouraged me to apply as well, saying it paid like a real job. You just had to take pepper spray to the face as part of the interview process. No thanks, I said. I’d rather stick to my job where I farted around doing nothing (except actual farting) for two hours . . . when I even bothered showing up at all.
My little job at the computer lab also required no recognizable Rent-A-Cop uniform to incur the hostility and ridicule of about 90% of the student body. Just like Mall Cops, our security force, as I imagine most campuses discover, took their jobs a little too seriously. Something about giving someone too young and unqualified a badge and a Billy club goes right to their head and turns them into an enormous cocksucker. Sadly I watched it happen quickly to Billy. One night I was out after curfew (yes freshman had a curfew. We had to be signed in and inside the dorm by midnight Sunday through Thursday.) Billy came upon me, just out walking and I gave him a friendly greeting. He was alone, but you’d have thought his superiors were observing from the bushes as he proceeded to dress me down and threaten to report me if I didn’t get back to the dorm. He informed me I was lucky we were friends or he wouldn’t even give me the warning. You know, in hindsight, maybe his name flying out of my mouth that night wasn’t quite so unwarranted after all.
Billy also lived in my old room on the third floor. I knew they had put the bunk beds back together for more space, and that they were right next to the door. I also knew, having a habit of forgetting keys that continues today, that the lock would give if you turned the handle to the right just hard and fast enough while pushing in. I explained this as well. This intel made Billy seem all the more desirable because they now had easy access to their prey. It was enough to change their minds. And that’s how it happened. Dylan was spared. Billy C was fucked. And I was no longer an accomplice; I was the goddamn Offensive Coordinator of this assault. I’m not proud of myself for any involvement, let alone the fact that it was me who threw Billy’s name out. Once the die was cast, the pack was off.
They thundered up the stairs toBilly’s room and quietly gathered outside the door. I followed a few feet behind, not sure what to do. I wanted to somehow make it stop, without putting my own head on the block. I watched as they whispered their big plan, so much as it was. One of them would open the door in a swift motion and they would all fall in, grabbing Billy out of bed (bottom bunk – could he have made it any easier?) and dragging him down the hall, the stairs, and out the back door. That was it. A snatch and grab job. His only saving grace was they hadn’t had time to get duct tape or anything to pour on him. The bad news: they were planning to simply toss him right into the pond. And the pond was not a pleasant, crystalline body of water. It was a disgusting murky brown cesspool covered with thick green algae. The bottom was just muck and slime and old furniture and bicycles and God knew what else! Going in that water was not an acceptable alternative by any stretch of the imagination. The risks of getting that shit in your ear or God forbid swallowing a mouthful was frightening.
In an instant (just as I’d informed them) the door opened with a forceful twist and in they bound. Fortunately, they were about as quiet as a pack of incontinent gorillas and Billy woke up immediately. He wasn’t going to go quietly. He fought, and he yelled as he struggled. His security training, so much as it was, probably helped. It took a real effort and a few minutes just to get him from his bed to the hallway. By that time, another Bill, the R.A. at the end of the hall had woken up and appeared in the hall. As soon as he yelled, things went nuts as the group dropped Billy C. and ran like hell for the other staircase. They remembered the maxim of expulsion for hazing and the beasts scattered, I with them.
One Bill had saved another. No freshman would be hazed that spring of 1994. But for a moment, I’m pretty sure one was scared shitless. I felt like the biggest heal on campus. I suppose that night is why I feel some degree of sympathy for Pontius Pilate. He’s been demonized for nearly 2000 years, yet Pilate tried to turn the angry mob’s attention away from Jesus. Pilate offered them Barabbas, a deserving target for the tree. Sadly he failed in his redirection, while I succeeded.
I wasn’t sure if Billy had seen me in the crowd that night or not. But I got my answer the following day. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen them as I carried my tray, but Celine waved me over. She smiled but not the same friendly, inviting smile she usually gave me. I sat down and we made small talk but then inevitably he brought up the events of a few hours before. He wasn’t making accusations. Just being very passive-aggressive. I tried to get out in front of it and explain what had happened, how they wanted Dylan. I downplayed the fact that I’d suggested Billy’s name. After that, Billy more or less played it off as no big deal, nothing he couldn’t handle. Celine couldn’t believe they would have attacked someone like Dylan. It was almost as though she would have willingly let them toss her fiancé into the slime to avoid the alternative. But it affected our friendship permanently. I wasn’t invited to their wedding that summer. And neither of them returned the following year.
I think I apologized to Billy that day. But now that I’ve given full-disclosure let me say again, sincerely, despite the reason why, I am truly sorry I threw Billy’s name out there. I had no ill-will. I honestly thought given the choice between Billy and Dylan, Billy could take it. Dylan probably couldn’t. Billy was strong. Dylan wasn’t. Doesn’t make it right. I know that. Maybe it wasn’t my call to make. Maybe I should have let the animals go for Dylan. Maybe I should have just run away from the situation. I did not and would not have chosen to be in that position. It is what is.
Fortunately nothing happened, other than a few moments of fear and embarrassment. That’s enough to make me feel terrible. Billy didn’t deserve even that. I’m sorry it happened.
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