The Stolen Chickens
I’ve told this story before, but it bears repeating. One day, my esteemed associate, one Mr. Bonehead, asked if I was aware that the Gentlemen of Lambda Chi Alpha were cooking chickens. Sniffing the air, I became concerned he might be correct.
We decided to visit our friends down the hill and investigate this chicken business before it got out of hand, in the interest of inter-fraternal prosperity. Once we got there, our suspicions were confirmed. There was a Webber Grill, loaded with chicken quarters and a keg of beer, mostly unattended.
To make sure nothing bad might happen to them, Bonehead picked up the Webber Grill so he might take it to safety. He told me to get the beer.
Beer in those days came in an aluminum keg, usually purchased from one Pat Bowland at CS’s and kept cool in a trash can full of ice. The thing a lot of people never realized was that a full keg of beer could fit pretty easily on your shoulder, should you be able to get it there, and an entire sleeve of red cups could fit under your shirt.
Both the chickens and the beer were now in safe and responsible hands. I’m pretty sure somebody said, “Hey, stop that,” but it’s best to ignore those things.
Sitting on the steps of Ezelle Dormitory for Men, eating the confiscated chicken and drinking the confiscated beer, Montgomery, one of the senior security guards at Millsaps United Methodist College, visited us.
“They don’t want to get you in trouble. They just want the chickens back.”
“Beer too?”
“Beer too.”
So, my associate, Mr. Bonehead, and I returned the chickens, less a breast and a thigh quarter, and most of the beer, and the cups, to the esteemed gentlemen of Lambda Chi Alpha. Who tanked us for our interest in their safety when we tested the chickens for doneness and poison.
It wasn’t ever that hard to get into Millsaps, but you have to work pretty hard to stay there. As many truly remarkable and mostly honest stories there are about Mr. Bonehead, the thing a lot of people leave out is that he was also a really good student, much better than I was.
The fates were genuinely unkind when they decided that Mr. Bonehead wouldn’t last as long on this earth as I did. I would have gladly taken his place when the spectre came knocking, but you don’t ever get to make that choice.
