Women???

pantyraid

1950’s Panty Raid

Panty-Raid-2

A Very Large Panty-Raid

In the nineteen fifties when I went to college things were a bit different between the sexes. Men lived in male dorms on one side of campus and women in ladies dorms on the opposite side. Fraternities and sororities were pretty much the same. We spent our time going to bars to meet girls; clubs were another avenue. Study time at libraries was also a popular venue, as was our student center with the coffee shop. My classes in engineering were void of women. They just didn’t want to become engineers yet. If they did they faced a very biased male teaching staff that believed a women’s place belonged in home economics rather than in thermodynamics.

When spring finally came, and everyone was suffering with cabin fever the hormonal juices increased with the level of sunshine. Both testosterone and estrogen began doing the job intended by our Creator. One evening I sat at my desk when I heard a noise in the distance. Not knowing what it was I ran outside to discover that a panty-raid was in process about six blocks away. Not wanting to get into trouble near the end of the year I stayed away, but listened to all the stories with relish after is was over. Our student newspaper also recorded the event with photos.

During a panty-raid the men marched en masse cheering and chanting from the west side of campus to the east   to raid the girls dorms to steal panties. With all the noise the men made, the proctors in the ladies’ dorms had enough warning to lock all the doors to keep men out. The girls knew beforehand what was happening and flocked to the windows to the delight of the men. Of course the boys would begin to crawl through the lower level windows to gain entry. Girls in the upper floors began to dangle their panties out to tempt the guys. Mayhem ensued when the girls began tossing their undies out to the crowd, and the guys who made it into the rooms had quite a story to tell about how they acquired underwear. Without being the room with them I could never know exactly what ensued. I am sure that by the time the stories were told they were embellished and expanded beyond what actually happened.

Today’s students may read this and think how lame. Yes, compared to today’s coed dorms, and free sex on demand are quite something. Our kids probably believe a panty-raid is something you do at Sunday school. The moral of this story is to tell the story some sixty-two years after the fact. I participated in my own style of sexual experimentation with the opposite sex, but it too was tame by today’s standards. But what if I were being considered for a big job in government and one of my college dates decided to write to her Congressman about how traumatized she was by my crude and unsuccessful advances. Could she really remember that time accurately? I told you a story above about panty-raids to the best of my ability, but I’m sure if you were to research panty-raids you might learn they were much different from my tale. Would our youthful experiments in sexuality really matter to anyone or to anything? I am also certain that each of us has their own story to tell about a youthful adventure in sex education.

I finished college with a degree, and so did all my dates. I have never seen any of them since that time to know if I traumatized them. I pray they all had happy lives and found faithful partners. I did.

I met the girl of my dreams on a blind date. I was a perfect gentleman throughout our courtship and can very proudly state that we were both virgins when we married, although I tried like heck to not be one.

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2018 Version of a Panty-Raid

Another Job I Cannot Do

It has been a week since I posted an original piece and I can’t say that I care too much. I seem to be passing through a period of laziness, and writer’s block. I had fun in the past bashing Obama at every chance, but my effort to get rid of him as president failed.  Now that I am stuck with him I have sunk into despair. I don’t care what he does, nor do I want to know. I can’t do anything about it except to vote for someone different when that time comes. So, my desire to write has waned.

Writing is a hard job, and I don’t like to work hard anymore. My writing skills were never very good, and it showed throughout my education. There were so many obstacles along the way, like grammar, punctuation, spelling, sentence structure, nouns, verbs, adverbs, pronouns, modifiers, subjects, and logical thought. There were a few instances along the way when I wrote something good and a teacher recognized me for it. Like the piece I wrote in college for Professor Will McCarthy titled the “Green Beauty.” That story related a date when I took my Irish girlfriend to her Senior prom at the Del Prado Hotel in Chicago.  The Green Beauty referred to the car I used, my dad’s 1939 four door, dark green Buick Special. The name Green Beauty came to me from a radio show I listened to called “The Green Hornet.” The Green Hornet called his car the Black Beauty. My final grade for this course was “C”.

Dad’s Buick was already sixteen years old when I used it for this date. The door hinges were worn and when a door opened it dropped a couple of inches. If one was not aware of this phenomenon when opening the door it came as a surprise. I wrote about the reaction the Del Prado doorman had when he rushed up to open the door for my date. The look on his face is something that I still chuckle about when I think about it. In fact I’m chuckling as I write this. Professor McCarthy gave me an “A’ for that story. He even read it out loud to the class as an example of good writing.

The next year another prof named Holub gave us an assignment to find a picture of a piece of equipment and to write a short paragraph describing what it was. I don’t remember what piece of equipment I selected but I described it accurately. Again, Professor Holub read the piece in class as an example of good writing. My final grade for this course was “C”.

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It came time to transfer from Saint Joseph’s College to the University of Illinois and they required transferees to take a test to decide if someone doing into the school had proper English writing skill to be worthy of the University of Illinois.  I sweat that one because the idea of taking remedial english courses gave me the willies. The day of reckoning came and I showed up at the auditorium on the south end of the quad for the test. They told us to take a seat, but to leave a space between. We were handed a little blue examination tablet with lined paper, and a list of topics. The test was to write an essay on one of the twenty topics listed. Thankfully, I remember Professor Holub’s advice to turn any topic into what it is you want to write about. I don’t remember anymore which subject line I spotted, but it triggered me to write about the morality of abortion. The words flowed, and I filled the blue tablet with what I believed to be logical and moral arguments against abortion. In today’s world I would have been thrown out of the auditorium for picking such a topic.

Several days went by before I got the news that my essay was good enough to keep me from having to take remedial english, what a relief.

Since those few times when I got lucky with my writing the need to write seriously never occurred. There were many times when I had to write reports for experiments,  but I don’t count that as serious writing. For one thing report writing almost always uses passive voice because it refers to something that was done. In writing today, when I run the grammar check, it nearly always bongs me for using past tense. It seems that using phrases like “was done” are verboten because the reader finds them hard to decipher.

One of the things I realized this week as I struggled with my writer’s block, is that I would never have been able to make a living as a writer. The idea of having to produce essay’s of value on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis scares me to death. I guess it boils down to when it is fun, the words flow, but when it is required your brain goes into lockdown.

Note:  Grammar check found seven instances of passive voice within this essay. I did not rewrite those sentences. My lab report skill is still at work today.

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