What I most remember from my Frosh year was hashing at Encina Hall. How adept we became at carrying 36 glasses of milk on a tray on our shoulders!  I remember a new hasher who tried it, came thru the swinging doors, and dropped the whole tray.  I can still see him going backwards thru the same door, and plastering himself against the wall in shock - don't think he ever recovered.  One very smart roommate at the time was working as hard as he could to flunk out, spending most of his time at the races, but slipped by. Once you were in Stanford, you had to be a really dedicated "no shower" to flunk out.

I did concern myself about the initiation, so odious as a "Kimmer" in Piedmont High with expected paddling, and my Zete upperclassmen were physical giants - but again I was fooled. The House could not bother with the hazing common to the rest of campus. Our initiation began at noon on Friday, while all the others made their "hell week" last that long. We sat for hours on our hard dining room chairs unmoving, treated to a break at least once a day from the "Spirit of Zeta Psi," an alumnus hand picked for his overwhelming halitosis, who made full use of it as he spoke inches away.  I asked for a paddle or two just to break the monotony, but no luck, and on noon Sunday it was over and all members were relieved that they had done their duty. That was when I appreciated that I was part of a group of mature men, the only such on campus, and I suppose made possible because of our location well off the Row and the full occupation of our members in the classroom and on the athletic field, most on scholarships.

Zete Howie Turner, basketball immortal with Hank Luisetti of the "one handed push shot push fame" would often ride in our primitive Model A Ford convertible - a hair-raising ride as we bounced over the hillocks before the Dunbarton Bridge and routinely burned out bearings.  I say "we" because Don Gibson had 50% ownership in our $12 model, and he would put a new bearing in while I practiced basketball - a great friend!

As a sophomore in the Zete House, everything changed. I was with a blockbuster class of 14 leaders, including 12 major sport letters and a number of minor sport champs, three team captains from tennis golf, and football, three Phi Beta Kappa's, and a student body president. Two others, Bill and Bob, were outstanding in their own rights as actors & singers. I was up to my neck in doers, and not a little insecure at the start. However, after one quarter, Brother Ted and I were off around the world and returned the next fall with new names. I was Marco and Ted was Polo, and I never had another name to my brothers throughout my life.  When we returned, I met my new room mate, senior Don Reed, who promptly decided to clean up my act. Don was an immaculate dresser and wasn't going to have a roommate from the Bronx. So, downtown to Phelps Terkel, the leading store at the time for smart dressers.  I had to discard my real silk socks, all black and easily washable and in place for at least the first half of our trip, washed out each night until fragmenting. Next went the racetrack plaid sports coat from Hastings, replaced by a cool brown jacket of simple sophisticated design. And so on. The result was a complete and permanent change in how I regarded what I would wear. The odd thing was that these clothes were not that expensive but satisfied Don for the rest of his tenure. He still laughed about it when we met years later.

The last two years with my original class of '38 were spent with roommates Tom 'Kilo' Killefer and Bob 'Undy' Underwood, both Phi Betes, and Undy was almost first in his class and at least one of the courses he took he also graded! Kilo was the politician par excellence with a lot of "independent study" courses, ending up with the fanciest girls and the student body presidency. Undy was on scholarship for tennis and Kilo for baseball at first base. Kilo couldn't hit his hat but was the son of a famous coach of the Hollywood professional team, so stayed in place. Undy, and Bob Pommer, were big time in tennis, winning some major collegiate doubles championships.

Pop Warner, legendary coach and likely father of the forward pass, suddenly retired as these men became sophomores. The new coach was Tiny Thornhill, and nothing like Pop as the forward pass disappeared and the Vow Boys just tore up the ground. What a loss!  Keith Topping had no peer as a ball handler. He proved this on the basketball court maneuvering USC All American Lee Guerrero time and again!  On the football field, I can't imagine what a safety thought as Topping and Moscrip charged down on him. The wins were always by just a few points as, without the pass, the few plays available meant repeated off-tackle slants.  The Vow Boys lost two Rose Bowls for no good reason. As seniors, the stage was set for another loss to powerful Southern Methodist. The Texans showed up in Pasadena in all their glory, but at half-time, the stadium became silent as Texans started for home. The Vow Boys with their four Mu Zete All-Americans were piling on the yards even as they informed opposing linemen exactly where they would run.  Having cemented the odds against their winning, our men somehow placed bets in the right places, and the outcome was not in doubt. Who could complain about betting on yourself?

The most interesting class was that of '41", sophomores who called themselves the "Little Oaks", led by two mischief makers, Paul 'Red' Fay, later to be Sec. of the Navy for Jack Kennedy, whose real job was to get Jack out of many beds before he could get into trouble. Don "Willie' Williams, the other miscreant, was a top basketball player from Oakland High.  The football team was now coached by the great Clark Shaunessy, inventor of the "T Formation".  Again, Zetes made up a good part of the team.  Stan Graff at end, Jack Warneke and Leo Firko at tackle, Chick Orme at guard were part of the Frankie Albert contingent that revolutionized the game and went to the Rose Bowl.  Because I was house manager at the time, I had to try and keep some line on them, but to no avail.

One Cal game that was expected to be a win, Red and Willie went up to Cal Memorial Stadium the night before and with hack saws cut 3/4 of the way thru the new steel goal posts. As the game ended, the younger Zetes ran to the field, and shook the posts until they fell, causing shocked silence from the UC rooters. It was a great stunt, no question, but our luck was pushed pretty far - had the falling goal struck some fan, the Zete House would have been gone and its participating members, particularly Don and Red, erased from history - and Red would probably never have met Jack Kennedy on the PT tender in the Philippines.  A second stunt that did not pay off was these two stealing their sophomore class beer cache at the picnic. Retribution led to our magnificent dining room chairs afloat in nearby Lake Lagunitas, never again to be the same. This went on and on - In the Big Game parade, we put in a last minute float - just a bunch of sloppy beer drinkers - and these guys expected the Dekes to wreck some havoc as we went by.  It turned out that they plnaned to hose the float down, but at that moment, with their devious minds, Willy and Red cut the hoses at the faucets!

A lot was just plain clean fun. On "Farm Day" who should show up in the auditorium but our cowboy football player Chick Orme, on a rented nag he trotted it down to the stage, leaving little "remembrances" along the way. The new Dean, the inadequate humorless John Bunn of basketball fame was going to throw Chick out of school, but Chick promptly when to President Ray Lyman Wilbur who each day walked by our house from his residence just a short distance away - and I think developed a fondness for these irreverent but productive kids - and reversed the suspension on the condition that Chick behave himself!

Then there was Jack Grover, the mysterious loner, who showed up in his green gabardine suit, and gave up his football career after being a frosh star. He was one of the first to get into martial arts, and wrote a few books about it.  He slept only a few hours at a time on the porch - at any time of day or night, and moved around like a mouse. Once, someone was stealing valuables and I lost two special cameras before we decided something had to be done. Jack said he would take care of things, and sure enough, the culprit, one of our wealthiest members, a legacy, but no athlete, was caught by Jack who had scattered post-toasties in the halls and heard the thief from the third floor porch, and grabbed him.  Jack also did a little teaching, showing us how to disarm a thief who touched one's back with a gun. Never had a chance to test this, which is probably a good thing!  One odd thing, as the war started Jack got a job in a South American Embassy and never went into combat.  Wonder what happened to him?