My father insisted on coming with me to register at MIT. As we drove in from Logan Airport along Storrow Drive, my father asked the taxi driver, “What are all those factories across the river?” The taxi driver replied, “That’s MIT.” MIT has what might be charitably described as an eclectic utilitarian architecture. The tallest building at MIT houses the Geology and Meteorology departments, also known as the world’s largest cabbage grater.
That evening there was a Freshman Orientation. The speaker said, “Look at the person on your right. Now look at the person on your left. One of you will not be here in four years for graduation.” Little did he know that for the class of the Whole Man, none of us were going to be there.
In those days, Rush Week was held immediately following the orientation. That was a chaotic week where fraternities and other living groups desperately recruited new members from among the hopelessly naïve freshmen. I started out at Chi Phi, a fraternity on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston. It was a nice place with nice guys, but it was a little formal for me with everyone dressed in suits. Also, the decor reeked of Old Money, so I was afraid of breaking something. My next stop was Phi Kappa, which was a couple of blocks down Commonwealth Avenue. Phi Kappa was very informal and owned nothing breakable. When I got there, there were three guys drinking beer on the front steps. One asked if I was a freshman. When I admitted I was, he handed me a beer from the six pack beside him and said, “Welcome to Phi Kap, kid,” and then went back to his conversation, ignoring me. I never left.
A few years later we were sitting on the front stoop playing poker and drinking beer on a nice summer day. The beat cop came by and paused. We said, “Hi, Officer.” (The ‘50s were a kinder, gentler time that allowed for better police/student relationships than the ‘60s.) He just stood there shaking his head and asked, “Don’t you guys ever go home?”