WINTER BREAKout! III -- BOWS & TOES! -- "I Will Survive"

It’s a bitter, bitter, bitter, BITTERLY cold day in the City of Champions, and as I made my daily five-block trek (against the wind) down Liberty Avenue to BSH Law this morning, I was reminded of the coldest night of my life. Like soccer players trapped in the Andes, destined to eat each other, young men faced with the arctic chill of an early-winter evening will resort to anything to stay alive. Jump in the wayback machine with me, friends, as we travel back to late November, 1999. A night where 8 young men gathered with plastic jugs of booze, wrapped themselves in sheets, and braved the elements. Let us go back, to Survival Night.

As I recently noted here in the Kingdom, my pledge class just observed its Fifth Anniversary, leaving me a little more nostalgic than usual. I was talking about the Long Lost Good Old Days with Marc, and asked him what I should write about, being the very popular “Bows & Toes” has been on hiatus for far too long. When he echoed the only story idea I had in my head, it convinced me that I must discuss Survival Night.

Now, I don’t like to give away pledging secrets more than I have to, so it’s tough for me to tread the line between telling a good story and divulging a little too much about my house, but I’m going to try. Let’s just say that after being given about twenty minutes of prep-time, the eight of us (Buff, Kup, Kurt, Bromberg, Jerry, Marc, Taylor, and myself) were shuttled to an undisclosed location for a night under the stars in the beautiful backwoods of Central PA. I remember the overwhelming feeling of apprehension, being we were blindfolded, and didn’t know where we were going to be left for dead. Such feelings of dread were for naught, however, and they were quickly eradicated by the overwhelming feeling of awe and excitement that overcame me after the blinders were removed. The traditional spot for everything OX Pi is truly magnificent. There are HUGE rock formations that allow for adventurous climbing, leading to breathtaking star-filled views above the woods. In the metaphorical sense (or more accurately, simile-sense) it was like being born into a larger, more powerful world, with 7 brothers at your side.

But, like all things pledging, it wasn’t THAT romantic. There were a few problems, though.

First, I don’t even remember if we had any flashlights. Maybe one or two, at that. The thing was, our pledge class, unlike most other OX classes, didn’t really have any outdoorsmen. Buff was a pretty accomplished camper, I suppose. And we all had varying backgrounds in nature. I don’t think any of us were scared. We just weren’t necessarily prepared. No tents, that’s for sure. Maybe only one or two sleeping bags. Hell, Bromberg didn’t even have any outdoorsy-heavyweight clothes. Let’s break down his appearance, for a second.

Broms is oh, about 5’6 -8’’ and I’m probably being generous. (We didn’t call him the “Bromwok” for no reason). Averagely built, he was especially top heavy at the time, because he hadn’t cut his hair or shaved since pledging began. With his Jewish heritage, I’m certain you can imagine how hairy this kid had gotten. Well, despite the fact that he grew up in New England, he didn’t own any gloves. Nor did he really have a good winter jacket. In the twenty minutes we had to run to our rooms, prep for the trip, and get back, he could only come up with a few solutions to these problems. First, he wore, if my memory serves me correctly, a t-shirt as a jerry-rigged had/scarf combo. And I’m certain he was using old sox as mittens. In essence, he looked like a homeless man. To top it off, somewhere over the course of the night, he ended up with soot on his teeth, making him look as though some were missing. He’s a microcosm of how we’d all look by the time it was all said and done.

Soot, ahh—the fire. Probably the best idea we came up with was to not waste a lot of time getting our fire started. We gathered some kindling quickly, and then I think it was Jerry who hit the motherload- a downed, dry, tree trunk. A few of us dragged it up the hillside to the flat stone landing that would become our campsite. You’d be amazed how well a fire burns when you just keep pushing a 12 foot tree through the flame, burning it down like a candlewick overnight. If you’re ever making a campfire, it’s certainly the way to go—don’t waste time gathering firewood. The boyscouts don’t have a damn clue.

Once the fire was burning, the fun began. Within minutes of arriving, Buff was definitely calling his girlfriend on his cell, despite the fact we were supposed to be bonding. Don’t worry, even though he eventually married her, we still don’t let him live it down. While he checked in, we scurried up the rickety pipe-ladder that someone had already bolted into the rockside sometime ago. It felt like we were climbing ruins in a post-apocalyptic world. But the presence of the ladder brought out a few fears. “Who PUT it there?” “Devil worshippers?” “Evil Mountainmen?” “Hippies?”

These questions subsided, though, as we reached the top (and I conquered my semi-inhibiting fear of heights) to look out over the view I described earlier. Simply amazing, the second-most beautiful array of stars I’ve ever seen. I guess that’s when the bonding began, because I remember a few of us just lying up there, watching meteorites extinguish like bottlerockets in the crisp night, finally escaping the intense hecticness of pledging and just getting to know each other. Many of us were already friends before starting pledging, but I think it was this night, where we just really got a chance to dig deep inside each others’ minds and get to know one another that made us brothers. It was such a great experience that we repeated it when we woke the next morning—climbing the other rock formations and exploring and joking and just looking out over this island Earth. This night is one of the reasons some of you out there think “we can’t let go” of our funny little frat-days. It’s because it was never about girls and parties and hazing. It was about connections like this. But I digress, and I get sappy. So it’s time to move on.

At some point not long after, I think we all realized that survival night meant we actually got to get some sleep for once. So we tried to bundle up and turn in early. That is, except for Taylor. Because Taylor found the jungle juice the brothers had sent with us. I remember this as the first time he really came out of shell around the guys he hadn’t known already. Sure, we already knew he was funny, and a dick, but this was when he just got wild. He probably drank close to a gallon on his own, and started dancing around the fire, waking everyone up, and trying to have fun. I can’t give him enough credit for keeping the night going, because that’s when we had stupid 10-year old fun. Funny high school stories, picking on those that wouldn’t wake up, wrestling matches, it was all happening. For the record, I woke Bromberg up with a People’s Elbow, then pinned him cleanly, 1-2-3. It was the first of about 73 times I would kick his ass over our three years together. Sooner or later, though, we all ran out of gas. I think, because that’s when it got cold. And windy. And COLD. That was the first time I ever cuddled up with another man for warmth, as Kurt, Jerry, and I became a little closer than we would’ve liked. But hell, at least we didn’t have to eat each other like those soccer players. We had one flannel blanket I had brought from my room, and some knapsacks as pillows. Like Jon Bon Jovi in “Blaze of Glory,” we had an old coat for a pillow, and the earth was last night’s bed.” But really. It was fun. And no animals attacked us. So there was that.

After some exploring the next morning, the brothers came and picked us up, and Survival Night was over. There are plenty of inside jokes and funny stories I’m sure I’ve neglected to mention, or even just forgot. But that’s what the post-forum’s for, if any of you D-OXers are actually out there. The point of this little column, I guess, was just to point out one way that we all became so close, and how the bond is so much more than beer and womens. And I guess if ‘letting go’ or growing up means having to forget about the good ol’ days, or to discount these friendships as just ‘frat stuff,’ then I guess I’m never going to let go.

If you had memories like that, would you?

So here’s to D-OX, one last time. Much love to you all.

-apk