DELTA TAU DELTA (#56): After graduating from SPJC, I continued contributing to my delinquency at the University of Florida, where I pledged Delta Tau Delta. During my first semester we had adult supervision, a House Mother. For some reason, some adult somewhere, decided a House Mother was no longer needed.
Quicker than you could say “Dibbs”, dear old Mom was homeless, out on the street. It was decided by the chapter President and Vice President that they would get Mom’s first floor room with private bath. I believe Dan Olmetti and John Kerr were the first occupants and then came Dale Dignum and Chris Wimsett.
I always had an apartment off campus, so I may have some of the details wrong. I know I missed a lot of the fun and camaraderie by not living in the frat house, but I was more interested in enjoying camaraderie with as many female students as possible. I was, however on the meal plan, and never missed lunch or dinner. Johnny, our cook, did a commendable job, serving meals for 40 to 50 still growing boys.
Whoever decided we didn’t need dear old Mom severely over estimated our maturity. A few weeks later at dinner, one of the brothers asked someone at the other end of the table to please pass the rolls. Not expecting a forward pass of two rolls to face, he responded with a fast ball of butter that missed the intended target, but hit a brother at the the next table. It became a matter of honor to retaliate and the situation quickly deteriorated. Soon meatloaf was in the air.
I was sitting next to my big brother, Nelson Stambaugh, and scooped up a handful of mashed potatoes and pushed them in his right ear. As he turned in surprise, I asked “Would you like some gravy with your mashed potatoes?” And dumped the gravy bowl over his head. Nelson responded with a glass of milk, his dinner plate, and then mine.
As tables were being overturned for barricades, I charged the dinner cart for fresh supplies. That turned out to be a brilliant tactical move for the three of us who got there first. No one could get behind us, we had partial cover, and plenty of ammunition. Dinner rolls could be thrown to the end of the dining hall. Meatloaf slices, thrown like a frisbee, could make if over half way. We saved the mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas for any one foolish enough to try to charge us.
After about 15 minutes all the tables were overturned and there was no food left to throw. Several brothers were reduced to wrestling on the floor in the mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, meatloaf, rolls, butter, and milk. I decided it was time for a retreat to my apartment and a shower. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the house when a work party was organized to clean up the devastation.
The next day at lunch, the dining hall was clean. All of the tables and chairs were in place, with none broken. The drapes had been taken down and were thrown in the garbage. We never had drapes again, but drapes were for sissies anyway. To stop another skirmish, severe fines were put in place and there were threats of expulsion.
Worth it! That was one epic food fight. Legendary!
During Pledge Period there were other dangers. A pledge was subject to a road trip if caught at the house after dark on Fridays. I was too broke to miss a meal, so I always ate first shift and was long gone by dark. One Friday, as I was leaving I was stopped by Mike Hubbard and Jim Maslanka. These were two big guys. “Big Jim” was a commercial fisherman. Mike was rumored to have pushed cars around town to get into shape to try out for the football team.
“Where do you think you’re going?” “I have a date.” “Not tonight.” “It isn’t dark yet!” “For you it is!” Big Jim grabbed my arms, Mike grabbed my legs, and they carried me up the stairs stairs to their room.
As they were making plans for where they were going to dump me and what I’d be wearing, I noticed the old double hung window in their room was open and didn’t have a screen. I figured I could grab the window sill as I jumped feet first out the window, then just drop down the last 9 or 10 feet. As I made my move, they didn’t have time to grab me before I got to the window. Rather than risk a pledge with a broken neck, they yelled,”Stop Scott! Don’t jump! We’ll let you go!” Whew! I really hadn’t thought that out, but all is well that doesn’t end with one in the hospital.
Another idea that I didn’t think through, was taking a date to watch the third night of the May 1972 Vietnam War protests. After dinner I walked down University Avenue and took a right on 13th Avenue to the Delta Gamma Sorority House to meet my date.
Hand in hand, we walked up 13th Avenue, but stopped when we saw students were going to try to block the intersection with University Avenue. We walked back to the Administration Building that we had just passed, and went up the steps to talk with a policeman. We told him we were just curious and wanted to watch. He told us it was OK to stay there. A few minutes later a bus pulled up, police got out, and prepared to charge the Admin Building. Our friendly policeman said, “It is time for you to leave. NOW!”
We worked our way around the arriving police before they charged, crossed 13th Avenue and walked down the street towards my apartment building, which was three blocks from the Admin Building. After we’d gone about a block we turned in time to watch the police charge and try clear all the students from the Admin Building area. As the kids scattered, some came running our way. Soon we had to dodge tear gas canisters that were skipping down the street.
Time to get Sally home. After I took her back to the sorority house, I went back to my apartment building. My roommate, Mike Ross was there. Tempers were beginning to flare throughout Gainesville. Rocks were being thrown at police from an apartment building a little further up the street. Police cars were pulling up. Several of us locked all the entrance doors to our building with bicycle chains. Then for some insane reason, Mike and I took the screen out of our first floor window and shot small bottle rockets out the window.
A bus full of police pulled up in front of our apartment building. We put the screen back in and shut the window. This could be bad. We were saved when a police car pulled up and diverted the bus to a dormitory, where a lot of kids were arrested after Peabody hall was set on fire.
Things spun out of control. Police from surrounding redneck communities had volunteered to come to Gainesville to help. They were delighted to have a chance to beat up some long haired hippie freaks. In all, 336 people were arrested that night. Half from UF and most of the others from Santa Fe Junior College and two local high schools. 54 people were injured, including 18 police officers.
Police were so busy arresting kids, and throwing them on buses, they didn’t bother to keep track of who did what. Most charges were dropped. The next morning, my first class was International Law. Our professor was an older, elegant man with an Austrian accent. He was a few minutes late, and when he came in, he took off his glasses, wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, and explained, “I got tear gassed last night!”
Gainesville was tense for the next few weeks. I was at The Library (a bar on University Avenue) waiting my chance to play Foosball. The front door was open, and a customer with long hair was standing just outside on the sidewalk holding a beer. When a policeman with a German Shepard walked, by he yelled, “Hey DOG, where are you walking that PIG?” He was promptly arrest for carrying an open container of alcohol in public. I wonder what would have happened if he had been just inside the open door?
Photos: A typical day of paddling the pledges; my pledge class during a trip home to Gulfport, where we posed with my House Mother; my pledge class cleaned up and ready to be initiated; and my date for the riots (center).
