KWC, Part 1

Anthony and I were friends long before KWC. My family lived next door to his when we were babies, but sometime during my first year, my dad moved us to another neighborhood, so Anthony and I didn’t really know each other. Later, we went to the same junior high and high school, and although we didn’t plan to attend the same college, once we found out, we decided to room together there.

On move-in day, I spent hours lining the wall on my side of our dorm room with pages of the entertainment section of The Village Voice that had all the club advertisements of my favorite new wave bands. The Ramones at CBGB. Stray Cats at the Peppermint Lounge. Blondie at Max’s Kansas City. Masking tape only holds for so long, and after I pledged the fraternity and moved to their dorm, Anthony was left to be awakened by the slow collapse of The Village Voice, crinkling loudly to the floor of his room. That’s probably not why Anthony pledged soon thereafter, but…

On that first day, Dad had slipped Anthony some cash to help me celebrate my eighteenth birthday. He got a cake with the Playboy logo on it, and there was enough money left for us to see “Heavy Metal” at the local theater. “Heavy Metal” was an R-rated animated film, but at the time, I didn’t look anything like 18, and Anthony was still 17, so of course, we got carded. Apparently, boobs and curse words are unknown to those under 17 and will likely lead them to a life of crime and indigence.

The first week or so was hard. Not so much the classes or the schedule—we knew where to be and when. For me, it was the anonymity.

In high school, we had been mildly popular, had a good circle of friends, knew who we were and what was expected of us socially. Suddenly, we were faced with a total reset. Our first meal in the cafeteria was unlike any we had ever had. In junior high school, we already had friends from our elementary schools, and it was easier to merge with new-to-us kids from other elementary schools. In high school, we already had friends from junior high, and it was easier to merge with new-to-us kids from other junior high schools. But at KWC, we knew no one. Grab a tray, get your food, then step into a huge room full of—strangers.

Finally, I saw a table with a few empty chairs and a group that somehow seemed as uncomfortable as I was. Were they freshmen, too? I stepped up and asked a smiling girl if we could sit there.

“Sure! I’m Annette,” she said, motioning to an empty chair.

“Thanks. I’m Greg,” I said, putting my tray on the table. “And this is Anthony.”

The ice was broken, and as time passed and we got to know more people (some becoming friends, others little more than acquaintances), it all became easier. And when classes started, things began to fit, and we fell into the routines that marked our first month of college.

Shortly after we settled into the dorm, the Resident Assistant, a divinity student studying Greek and Hebrew, introduced himself and laid out the rules. Keep the noise down. No drinking. No drugs. No fighting. No girls in the rooms. The usual. After a week, the RA held a meeting in the dorm lobby to elect a monitor—sort of an assistant to the RA. After a brief discussion, I volunteered and was voted in. But the guy who came in second had such a look of hate on his face that I said, “Unless Richard wants to do it.”

I didn’t really want to do it anyway, but since no one other than Richard had volunteered, and I was trying to make a place for myself in this new world, I raised my hand. Later, Richard would prove to be sort of a stereotypical Tennessee mountain redneck, by turns calm and friendly, then unpredictable and mean. Not long after that meeting, Joe earned a distinction that would follow him throughout his time at KWC.

Joe typically went to bed early, and his roommate Bill often stayed out late partying and had made a habit of playing practical jokes on him. One of Bill’s favorite jokes was to stack pennies on Joe’s forehead while he was sleeping. After several nights of this, Joe had had enough and lay in wait for Bill’s return. When Bill opened the door, Joe began swinging an aluminum bat at him, waking the rest of the dorm. After the dust settled, Bill was unharmed but had seemingly learned his lesson. When Joe pledged the fraternity, one pundit began singing “Hey Joe, where you goin’ with that bat in your hand…” and it stuck. Apologies to Jimi Hendrix, but Joe seemed to glory in the recognition.

I’m not sure why I pledged the fraternity. Maybe it was insecurity, or loneliness, or just wanting to have a group of guaranteed (sort of) friends. But I’m glad I did, because like the old-time “letter of introduction,” joining gave me a leg up on fitting in at KWC. I can’t say all the guys in the frat became my friends—in fact, a few became downright enemies through my college years—but being in the frat gave me room to grow, experiment, and learn what my classes couldn't teach.

© 2026, Brian G Parker