Adele convinced me to join a fraternity.
It was night, a January night in 2012, and we – my roommate and I and a few fraternity members – were driving back from dinner when “Someone Like You,” came on the radio.
We had decided against joining fraternities during our first semester, but the spring semester had brought a new “rush” of upper-classmen to our door. That particular night, the brothers of Pong – or as it was formally and formerly known, the Alpha Sigma Chapter of Pi Kappa Phi – had taken us out to dinner.
Despite the treat, I remained unsold on the idea of associating myself with fast-talking, hard-partying guys in collared shirts and frat swoop hairdo. I guess I didn’t think I’d fit in; I know I didn’t think the stigma attached to a fraternity was worth $900 a semester.
The goofy kid who would later become my big brother, Jack Johnson, had spent most of the night elaborating on the partying and the girls and the intramurals – the intangibles – of Greek life. He had also listed the political leaders and wealthy alumni that Greek life claims, as well as the philanthropic opportunities that the fraternity could provide. I still wasn’t sold.
When the song began to play, I expected him to change the station. It was Adele, after all – a far cry from the 2Chainz symphony that dominated most of the fraternity parties I had been to. Surely these frat bros had no interest in ballads of heartbreak. Sure enough, he reached for the dial.
But then he cranked the volume higher and began to belt out the lyrics. I was struck by his lack of inhibition or concern with what we would think. My roommate and I exchanged bemused glances before joining in, and by the time the car had deposited us back at Morrill Hall, we were all cracking up.
A silly moment, to be sure, but it is a memory I return to again and again. One year after our chapter was kicked out of the national organization and off of Frat Row, that foolish sing-along symbolizes the only reason I ever joined a fraternity.
It’s easy to see why so many unaffiliated students despise fraternities, what with their rowdy disregard for “GDIs” and the standard, preposterously floral fashion choices. When Pong was shut down, we joined nearly half the houses on Fraternity Park Drive who had been punished for a wide variety of offenses, including hazing, underage drinking and drug-related charges. The sheer volume of criminal activity in UT’s Greek system challenges the distinction between gang and brotherhood. Articles in The New York Times and The Atlantic show this is not a local issue but rather a national trend.
When Howard H. Baker Jr. passed away this summer, I wondered what he thought of his former chapter’s fall from grace. As one of our nation’s most important politicians (and Pi Kappa Phi’s most distinguished alumna), he represented the best of Pong, all that a true gentleman aspires to be – influential, cultured, respected. Had Baker been born a few decades later, would he have joined the Pong that I did?
I will never know the answer to that question, nor be able to reclaim my time in Pong. Not that I would want to – regret would disrespect the sense of brotherhood that persists beneath all the other cliché reasons that people join fraternities. Cocaine and coeds appeal to some young men, and for many others, it is the philanthropies and networking opportunities that reel them in. More than any other draw, I think Pong’s distinctive sense of belonging won me over. Anyone who’s ever played on a sports team or marched in a band would recognize the longing for something bigger – for better or worse, we want to know that we are accepted.
I don’t often miss my time in Pong; the “GDI” culture is cheaper, healthier and more productive (at least for me), and life outside the exclusive bubble of Greek life has fostered relationships I would have never formed otherwise. Friday marked one year since Pong was kicked off campus, and in most respects, it’s been the best year of my college career.
But whatever it was that attracted a man like Howard H. Baker Jr. to join Pong was true and visceral and timeless. I’d like to think it was the same thing that attracted me – that sense of inclusion I felt on a night in January, when I joined Adele and a car full of frat guys to sing about replacing something you’ve lost.
R.J. Vogt is a senior in College Scholars studying literary journalism. He can be reached at [email protected].
