Letter From A ’27 To Her Mother: My Very First Fraternity Party!

November 2, 2023

Dear Mother,

Last night I attended my very first fraternity party. Oh what fun it was! The lights, the dancing, the action! Good mother, you should have seen it. There I was, all dolled up in my poodle skirt and saddle shoes, thinking to myself, What hubris I must have to think I should entertain such an extraordinary bunch of cultivated young men? Boy, I was nervous! But I had no reason to fear, for this fraternity was everything I could dream of and more.

The door entered right into the dining hall. Seeking to impress, I spoke to the man at the door. “What wonderful feasts of roast goose and wine you must have every night!” He appeared confused. No worries, for he was only a “pledge,” as they called him. He led me into the basement. It sure was swell! The six-and-a-half-foot ceilings, unconcealed water pipes, and free-flowing electrical wires provided an aesthetic I only imagined I would see in the finest architectural magazines. I absolutely adored the massive wooden column in the middle of the dance floor. Yet the crowning achievement of this masterpiece of interior design was a wall of folded cardboard boxes bearing the name “Keystone.” Such magnificent art, I thought. I asked one of the resident fraternity boys who Keystone was, and he said it was their drink of choice. Surely, if these fine young men drink it, it must be gathered from the vines of Tuscany or the French Riviera, fermented from only the finest of grapes!

Sensing my interest, the man brought me to his table of spirits, cocktails, and artisanal brews. Curious sports of all kinds were being played at the table. He demonstrated the game of “Staque,” in which one must bounce a hollow ball on the table such that it should land in his own drinking glass. Should he accomplish this feat with sufficient speed, he may add to the height of his opponent’s glass. What a rush it was! To my right were four young men playing some form of exotic table tennis. Every freshman had lined up to play. None of them did.

Oh, and lest I forget, mother, the floors — how wonderfully sticky! With such impassioned dancing going on all around me, I was grateful to this adhesive film of mysterious substances for bracing my feet. After all, how could I not break out into dance? The band-leader — or “DJ,” as they now refer to him, orchestrated a splendid medley of raucous tunes. Such wonderful storytellers modern music has to offer — tales of washing one’s teeth with a bottle of Jack or of “sexy bitches” incomparable to your “neighborhood hoe.” I tried to teach them the jitterbug and the lindy hop, but they seemed more interested in jumping up and down repeatedly. These “mosh pits,” as they were called, were a great place to meet new people, as they restricted a group of dozens of individuals to approximately ten square feet. I sure did enjoy the wide variety of smells! The superior men in the group would call upon their peers to “open it up,” and then physically assault everyone around them. How delightfully peculiar!

It was in this so-called mosh pit that I met the most dazzling boy: “Brad,” they called him. How dreamy he looked in his red flannel, gray sweatpants, and backwards Budweiser cap — Cary Grant in the flesh, if I do say so myself! I told him I was new here, and he offered to “show me a good time.” How very generous of him! Oh, I was so very excited when Bradley asked if I wanted to see the upstairs. For such men of maturity and academic prowess, I could only imagine what their private studies would look like. I was certainly not let down!

Bradley’s room was tastefully adorned with posters of America’s most beloved classic films: Pulp Fiction, The Wolf of Wall Street, Superbad. Amongst the items in his fastidious decor I observed several discarded boxes of Domino’s pizza, an empty mini-fridge, an unplugged smoke alarm, protein powder galore, and a lone set of dumbbells. Before I knew it, Bradley leaned in for a kiss! I gave him a great big smooch on the cheek, and told him I couldn’t wait for our first night on the town together. Oh, how I await his call! I can picture it already: we’ll visit art galleries and jazz clubs, or share a malt at the local ice cream parlour. Perhaps we’ll stroll alone through the woods, dreaming of our future! You and Papa will be thrilled to meet him.

I am so very excited to begin this new chapter in my life. Enough with lacrosse house! My future lay at the fraternity, with the most respectable men, the most fascinating of locales, and the most stimulating conversations — you can bet your bottom dollar on that!

Your loving daughter,

Mary Lee

— JW ’27