by Max Shulman
“Thanks, Rog. Yes, I have been working pretty hard, even if I do say so myself,” he chuckled. “But I want to tell you that there’s no greater satisfaction in the world than working hard—and accomplishing something—for your fraternity. Yes sir.
“Well, first there was the matter of hiring a band. I sent letters to every name band in the country, asking for bids on our dance. They all sent back answers except Jimmy Dorsey, who sent back an autographed picture. I guess he misunderstood my letter. The lowest bid was from Artie Shaw. He wants $10,000, which is not unreasonable, except that he can’t be here to play. He has an engagement in Chicago, but he says he can arrange to have his music broadcast up here to our dance.
“Well, I looked over the bids and I looked them over, and finally I decided that there was only one thing to do: I had to go look for a band myself. So I just dropped everything and hit for New York.
“The trip cost $1,000, but that’s nothing compared to what I saved you kids. I found a band, and what a band. The name of it is Sax Coburg and His Tooters. We haven’t heard much of them out here in the Midwest, but I want to tell you they’ve made quite a name for themselves playing the more intime supper clubs in Brooklyn and Elizabeth, New Jersey. It’s a three-piece combination—drums, accordion, and banjo. And you won’t believe this, but I got them for only $3,000.
“Of course they can’t play all night. They have to quit at nine-thirty to catch a train for an engagement at the Benton Harbor, Michigan, grape festival. But they’re going to leave us a stack of their home recordings, and we can play them all we want on our phonograph. They said we could keep the records.
“Now about the place for the dance. You can’t have a dance without you have a place to have it, can you? Heh, heh, heh. Well, if you remember we held our dance in the gymnasium of Central High School last year, and that didn’t go over at all. Through some error a basketball game had been scheduled for the same night between Central and Hrdlicka Prep. Well, it wasn’t much fun dancing with kids dribbling all around the floor, and throwing body checks into you, and dropping the ball in the punch bowl. Central finally won the game, 32 to 31 in an overtime period.
“I resolved that nothing was going to mar our dance this year. I got a place to hold our dance that’s going to be the talk of the campus for many months to come. I rented a houseboat! Yes, I did. And what’s more, I rented a motor launch to tow us twenty miles down the river and back while we danced. The payoff is that by talking fast and using the old bean I got the whole business for $1,500.”
“Well,” said Roger, “I certainly think we owe Shylock a debt of gratitude for the way he handled the arrangements.”
“There’s a couple more things, Rog,” said Shylock.
“Oh, excuse me. Go ahead, Shy,” said Roger.
“Thanks, Rog. Now about corsages. Every spring formal in the past all us fellows have been spending a lot of money for orchids and roses and whatnot, and we know that by the middle of the evening the corsages were always wilted and looked like something the cat dragged in. Well, that isn’t going to happen this year. No sir.
“I’ve made a deal—I mean I made a deal for you—with the Apex Novelty Company. They are going to supply us with artificial orchids. Believe me, I’ve seen them, and it’s impossible to tell them from the real article. They’re even artificially perfumed. They smell better than orchids. And they positively will not wilt. They’re going to cost us $10 apiece, which is ridiculously low, everything considered.
“And now, last, but certainly not least—heh, heh, heh—let’s discuss the tickets for the formal. We know that we’re going to have the best Alpha Cholera dance ever, and we know, too, that it’s going to cost quite a little money, more than we have in our treasury. Of course it’s worth every cent of it. Yes sir. You can’t buy the time we’re going to have for twice the money. And I know that it’s getting toward the end of the year and you fellows are a little short right now. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to sell you your tickets for $30 apiece, and if there’s any deficit I’ll make it up out of my own pocket.”
“As president of Alpha Cholera,” said Roger, “I want to extend the appreciation of its members to you, Shy. Although you haven’t received any tangible reward for your unselfish labors, I assure you that the thanks of Alpha Cholera are yours.”
“That’s reward enough for me,” said Shylock huskily.
I brushed aside a tear.
“After all Shy has done for us,” said Roger, “I want to see a 100 per cent turnout at the formal. Anybody who doesn’t buy tickets will get fined $100 and get his butter privileges permanently revoked.
“Now, is there any new business?”
“Yah,” said Eino Fflliikkiinnenn, putting down the dead mouse he was stroking. “Ay going to qvit.”
“Quit Alpha Cholera!” cried Roger. “Surely you jest.”
“No. Ay qvit. Ay going to yoin Mu Beta Fistula.”
“Are they going to pay you more than we do, Eino?”
“No.”
“We’ll give you more money.”
“No. Ay qvit.”
“But why, Eino? Don’t we treat you well?”
“Yes, bot Ay qvit.”
“What’s the reason? Are they giving you something that we don’t have?”
“Yes. Dey going to give me nice lady to tell me stories before I go to bed,” said Eino, and was gone.
“That’s a fine how-do-you-do,” complained Roger. “Imagine him walking out like that. After all we’ve done for him—buying him a pony, putting a soda fountain in his room, wiping his nose for him—Oh, what’s the use of talking?”
“That sure leaves Alpha Cholera in a fine spot,” said Shylock. “We haven’t got a single B.M.O.C. in the fraternity now. How are we ever going to get anybody to pledge next year? We did bad enough this year,” he added with a nod at me.
“That’s right,” said Roger sadly. “No football players, no basketball players, not even a baseball player. We haven’t even got anybody in campus politics. If we only had somebody who held some kind of office.”
“There’s a campus election in a few weeks,” Shylock suggested.
“Yes,” Roger answered, “but they’re only electing a bunch of small-time offices—Keep Your Campus Clean Committees, Less Starchy Foods for Lunch Committee, Committee to Acquaint Students with the Words of ‘Minnesota Rouser’—nothing that would make a B.M.O.C.”
“How about the freshman representative to the student council? That’s important enough to make a B.M.O.C.,” said Shylock.
“But what good does that do us?” asked Roger. “We haven’t got any smooth freshman.”
“There’s Asa,” suggested Shylock.
Roger laughed. “This is no time for jokes.”
“I’m serious,” said Shylock.
“But Asa!” protested Roger.
“He’s the only freshman we’ve got.”
Roger thought for a few minutes. “Should we try it?”
“What the hell,” said Shylock.
“Asa,” said Roger, “come up here.” I came to the chair. “We’ve watched you since you’ve joined Alpha Cholera with a great deal of pride and satisfaction. We’ve helped you along whenever we could. We’ve done all in our power for you. We’ve tried to make you an Alpha Cholera.”
“I know! I know!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Shylock. “To us you’ve somehow been more than just another pledge. Maybe it’s because we knew you had the old moxie, the old get out and get. And now we think you’re ready, ready to be tried.”
“Asa,” said Roger softly, “we want you to run for freshman representative to the student council.”
I blanched. Roger blanched. Shylock blanched. We blanched all three. “But who would vote for me?” I cried.
“That is a problem,” said Roger.
“Just leave that to us,” said Shylock. “All you have to do now is file for the office, smile at everybody you see, and
give away all the cigarettes you can.”
“The meeting is now adjourned,” said Roger. “Instead of our usual song to close the meeting we will kneel in silent prayer for sixty seconds.”
CHAPTER XVI
Quelle heure est-il? —FLAUBERT
“Asa,” said Roger, “this is Rudy Caucus, the president of the Yahoo party.”
“How do you do?” I said.
“He ain’t much to look at,” said Rudy.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Shylock. “He’s got a good carriage.”
“Look at his fine head,” added Roger.
“I’ve seen better heads on beers,” said Rudy.
I smiled modestly.
“Besides,” Rudy continued, “nobody ever heard of him.”
“That’s just the point,” said Roger. “You need an unknown to win this election.”
“He’s a dark horse,” said Shylock.
I whinnied modestly.
“Look at the Mafia candidate,” Shylock went on. “Petey Loadsafun, the smoothest freshman on campus. You couldn’t possibly get a candidate half as smooth as Loadsafun. That’s out. The only sharp thing to do is to run an unknown, a dark horse.”
“Asa’s a dark horse,” said Roger.
“So was Landon,” said Rudy.
“Yes, but so was Franklin Pierce,” Roger said.
“Who was Franklin Pierce?” asked Rudy.
“‘Who was Franklin Pierce?’ he says,” said Shylock. “Just the President of the United States, that’s all.
“And he was a dark horse,” Roger said.
“I never heard of him,” Rudy said. “When was he President?”
“Did you ever hear of Black Friday?” asked Shylock.
“No,” said Rudy.
“Black Friday occurred during the administration of Franklin Pierce,” Shylock explained. “Black Friday was so called because of a total eclipse of the sun which took place on that day. Taking advantage of the darkness, Jay Gould, a financier, walked into the vault of the subtreasury in New York, told a bemused guard that he was Grover Whalen, then secretary of the treasury, and made off with all the gold in the country.
“When the gold was discovered missing, the entire financial structure of the nation threatened to collapse. Jay Gould notified the President, Franklin Pierce—”
“The dark horse,” Roger put in.
“—that he had the gold, but he wouldn’t give it back unless Thomas Nasty, political cartoonist on the New York Domestick Intelligencer, quit drawing funny pictures of Boss Tweed who was betrothed to Gould’s daughter Eileen or Irene. Nasty replied, ‘I’m d-mned if I will.’
“It looked pretty black for a while, but at the last minute Franklin Pierce appealed to Nasty’s wife, an eczemic harridan named Birdie, to intercede for the benefit of the country. Birdie persuaded Nasty to quit his job on the Domestick Intelligencer and go to work as weigh-master at the Reading Coal and Dock Company. Nasty consented, but proclaimed that he had not been intimidated and that he was taking the new job merely to be nearer his family in Wilkes-Barre. He said that he had not heard from his family in several years because his mother, a religious fanatic, would not allow a telephone in the house.
“Gould, true to his word, gave all the gold back save one bar of bullion which he had fashioned into a soap dish and which can still be seen at the Gould mansion in Plenty-wood, Montana. The country was saved.”
“And you say this Pierce was a dark horse?” asked Rudy.
“Like Asa,” said Roger.
Rudy considered for a moment. “All right, I’ll take a chance.”
“You’ll never regret it,” said Shylock. “Now let’s figure out a campaign for Asa.”
“That’s easy,” said Roger. “The Mafia has been in power for three years. We’ll charge them with malfeasance.”
“I thought of that,” said Rudy. “But you can’t. They never did anything.”
“What do you mean?” asked Roger. “They’ve controlled the student council for three years. They must have done something.”
“No,” said Rudy. “They were careful. They never took any action. Whenever something came up they always passed a resolution to take action. They never took action.”
“How astute,” said Shylock.
“Yes,” agreed Rudy.
“Well, let’s introduce a new issue then,” Roger suggested.
“How about lowering tuition?” asked Shylock.
“No good,” Rudy answered. “It would make the election too popular. The whole student body would get out and vote. We wouldn’t be able to control the election. It’s getting hard enough to handle the fraternity and sorority votes without letting every Tom, Dick, and Harry in on the election. We want an issue that won’t attract too much attention, something controversial, but of no concern to the barbs.”
“That’s right,” Shylock said. “Well, is there anything in the Mafia party platform that we could make an issue of?”
“I don’t think so,” said Rudy. “It is by way of being the most innocuous political document of our time. We’re dealing with a shrewd adversary.”
“Have you got a copy? Let’s take a look at it. Maybe we can find something,” said Roger.
“All right. I’ll read it,” Rudy said. “The Mafia party,’” he read, “‘with the straightforwardness that has carried it to victory in the last three years and with a firm conviction of the intelligence of the student voters which has been conclusively demonstrated in the last three years, announces its program and aims in this election.
“‘1. We believe that except for saddle shoes, white shoes should not be worn on campus before Memorial Day and after Labor Day.’”
“You can’t quarrel with that,” Shylock admitted.
“‘2. We believe that students should help blind men across streets unless the students themselves are blind.”
“That’s sound enough,” said Roger.
“‘3. We believe that the last student to leave a classroom, in the interests of economy and conservation of the resources of our beloved country, the United States of America, should turn out the lights, unless there is someone remaining in the room.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Shylock said.
“‘4. We believe that when visiting sick patients in hospitals students should bring along candy, fruit, or flowers whenever possible.’”
“That sounds all right,” said Roger.
“‘5. We believe that in case of fire in one or more campus buildings students should proceed in an orderly manner to the nearest exit, unless there is one closer.’”
“No argument there,” Shylock said.
“‘6. We believe that male students should remove their hats in elevators when there are ladies present.’”
“You can’t make an issue of that,” said Roger.
“Wait a minute,” Shylock cried. “That’s it. There’s our issue. Listen, the Mafia says flatly that a fellow should take his hat off when there are women in an elevator. Well, what if the elevator is real crowded, jam packed? Say there’s a fellow in there with his hat on. A woman comes in. She’s loaded down with packages. She just barely manages to squeeze into the elevator. Now, if this fellow takes off his hat it means that he is going to have to hold it in front of him. All right. In order to hold his hat in front of him, he’s got to hold his arm straight out from the elbow. See what I mean? He’s taking up twice as much room as he did when the hat was on his head! All right. Remember the elevator was jammed. This fellow was standing with his hands pinned down at his sides, unable to move, when the woman came in. Now he has to take his hat off and hold it. He can’t hold it on either side; he has to hold it in front of him. Now then, who is in front of him? The woman, of course. So he takes off his hat, puts it in his hand, sticks out his arm, jabs the woman in the back, knocks her packages out of her hand, shoves her into the elevator doors, and causes her to suffer severe physical injury and perhaps trauma. That’s what the Mafia wants you t
o do.”
“Shy, you’re a genius!” exclaimed Roger.
Shylock smiled modestly. “I try my best,” he said simply.
“I think that’s going to be all right,” Rudy said. “It’s a brand-new issue. Maybe we’ll catch Mafia off their guard.”
Roger and Shylock shook hands.
“Yes,” said Rudy. “I like that. It’s controversial enough to provide a little action during the campaign and insipid enough to keep the riffraff from voting.”
“You know,” mused Roger, “it’s a wonder they don’t put up a candidate of their own. They’ve got the votes to elect anybody they want.”
“No organization,” said Rudy. “Numbers aren’t enough. You got to have organization. We and the Mafia are the only campus parties that amount to anything, and that’s because we’ve got organization. Oh, of course the Subversive Elements League always runs somebody, but we don’t even count their ballots. Then there’s the independent candidates, but they’re usually kids majoring in elocution who use the election to practice their lessons. We’ve got nothing to worry about from the barbs.
“Besides, they don’t even want to have anything to do with campus politics. I’ve talked to them, and I know. Just the other day I met a kid and asked him if he was going to vote. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘What for?’
“‘Don’t you care who runs your student government?’ I asked.
“‘Nah,’ he said. “They don’t govern. They just hold meetings. What do I care who holds meetings?’
“‘What school are you in?’ I asked him.
“‘Medicine,’ he said.
“‘I see. And what are you getting out of the University?’
“‘I’m learning to be a doctor,’ he said. ‘And when I graduate I’ll go out and heal the sick.’
“‘Then he said to me, ‘Are you going to vote?’
“‘I’m the president of the Yahoo party,’ I answered with becoming modesty.
“‘What do you get out of it?’ he asked.
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m making contacts and learning how to deal with people and discovering my own character.’
