Fischer and I met as pledges of the same fraternity, Phi Delta Theta. He knew all about it, I knew nothing about it. Many of the other pledges had been second or third generation members and it was a big deal. When I said I would pledge, they gave me a free call home to share the news with my family. I remember my Dad saying, “Why did you do that? All of those frat boys are spoiled brats. How much does it cost?” Not exactly congratulations.
I guess we were kind of spoiled brats and privileged white slobs.
I did become tight with a few of the guys, including Chris.
We had a “western” party in October and transformed the house into a barn. I got cowboy boots, Justin roughouts, I actually came to like them and would wear them a lot.
We had an all black band from E. St. Louis, Ill. They were excellent. Chris and I went into E. St. Louis to a club called the Nosebag (this was 1965).
We talked to the band during the day at the bar, threw down a few beers and shots and arrived on a price, which included supplying them with booze.
They were great and I danced with this debutante from Little Rock, Arkansas all night. She was great and beautiful.
I later took her to a club in the middle of nowhere, The Corn Crib and some hick started hitting on her and I got in a semi-fight with him where I tried to negotiate peace and he he busted me in the face. I put him in a headlock and threw him to floor, he didn’t get hurt too bad but it scared me so I walked away.
My buddy said, “That guy is waiting for you outside and I think he has a knife. ”
Fuck, just what I need, I am not a fighter.
We walked out the front door, he was coming up the steps and I kicked him in the head, got him pretty good, he went down and stayed down and we got the fuck out of there.