An un-fraternal thing to do

Napoleon, though surely not the greatest of listeners, employed a noble practice in hearing complaints. Despite being very short and bitter, like certain chronic complainers in The Chronicle, Napoleon refused to hear a gripe from anyone-from subjects to close counselors-without also hearing two viable solutions for the problem presented. I have no doubt that this not only limited complaints (and beheadings), but also kept an extremely efficient state.

I am not usually a complainer. I am an optimist-I find it difficult not to be optimistic here. Each student's letter of acceptance came with a brand new pair of rose-colored glasses. Many choose to wear them and, the ones that don't, end up writing ridiculous columns in this very publication. Just last week, a complainer devoted two lines of precious ink in her column to correcting a spelling mistake in mine. Maybe she should have focused a bit more on her own writing and less on mine. But anyway, I do not wish to use my space on this page to vent complaints I have. I also did not intend to stick strictly to fraternity-related subjects, but sometimes you have to adapt.

Life imitates art, or art imitates life. No one is ever really sure which statement holds true. But last Wednesday, I realized in an alarming and terrible fashion that life clearly mirrors art. The art I refer to is my previous column. In it, I said that contrary to the administration's belief, partygoers, not the hosts of fraternity parties, do the damage that occasionally occurs. This once again hit home for my particular fraternity, Delta Sigma Phi. As the-hurricane-that-wasn't raged outside Wednesday evening, many students, myself included, retreated to their sections. Many of those who are 21 years of age even drank alcoholic beverages. Classes were canceled for the first time in my time here, and a festive atmosphere developed.

Late in the evening, a few young gentlemen who are not brothers and do not live in my fraternity section decided to come over to share their joy with us. But these were not regular gentlemen. These brave souls were crusaders. These gallant men decided that the urinals that have plagued our section for as long as I can remember should no longer "reek" havoc on the innocent fraternity brothers with whom I live.

As the picture and police report in last Thursday's edition of The Chronicle distinctly showed, they accomplished their mission, as both urinals were completely removed from their fixtures. Wednesday and Thursday were good days for all those connected to the anti-urinal cause. Much to our regret, these men, our saviors from the wrath of urinals, remain somewhat anonymous, so the fraternity has no one to thank.

We did, however, get to meet with a dean for over three hours instead of preparing for the party we had planned. In some of the most twisted logic I have ever encountered, the dean kindly placed my fraternity back on suspension, laying full responsibility for the damage on us. We are apparently guilty until proven innocent.

I have a few problems I cannot figure out. First of all, why on Earth would we tear our own urinals out of the wall? We do like to urinate in the sinks, but the urinals were always good to have around, you know, for backup. Secondly, the dean wants to hear from an eyewitness. Who vandalizes anything when there are people watching?

When I was a third grader, a classmate of mine named Stuie was excused from class to go to the bathroom. He returned a short while later and another student left for the bathroom. When the second bathroom-goer returned, he reported to my teacher that "Stuie" had been written in permanent marker across a stall door. Stuie was not a smart boy. He forgot the golden rule of vandalism-don't let anyone know you did it, especially by using your real name. Silly Stuie might as well have written his name right across the teacher's desk.