Dik's Ravings
Dik Saalfeld '80
Washington correspondent
Spring 2015

A few years ago I read an article in the paper about how the millennials were inadvertently creating online artifacts of their misspent youths that would dog them throughout eternity, queering their chances for respectable, non-drooling spouses and professional advancement. Mostly these artifacts take the form of digital photographs involving underpants, alcohol, and reckless behavior. “Ha ha,” I thought, “my generation is immune due to the non-digital nature of our youth!” It turns out you can digitize daguerreotypes and whatnot, so we baby boomers aren’t out of the woods. Yet. There is hope, though, hope born through the age-old can-do spirit that built our society, otherwise known as blackmail. If you want to participate in this lucrative opportunity, let me know and I’ll broker some deals. Work from home! Turn the memorabilia you’ve kept in shoeboxes all these years into a new boat! You’ll need the negatives, though, in order to command top dollar. (Someone will have to explain the concept of “negatives” to the millennials.)

In my old age I am tempering my inclination toward slander and libel. Toward that end, I am trying not to identify, by full name, the individuals whose tawdry stories I tell in this rag. You may think this is a noble change of policy, but the fact is that it is completely selfish, given the horrific payback possibilities. Anyway, a brother I will identify only as “A” once passed out drunk and was so insensate that we were able to lay him out on the front table, paint his nails with Whiteout, fold his arms, surround him with candles, and hold a funeral service. There must be pictures. Tragically, I do not have them. Let me know.

If you have no connection to social media, or never look at Ithaca news sources, you may not know that the Chapter House, a.k.a. Jim’s Place, burned to the ground. For Pikes of a certain age, it will be like the Kennedy assassination: where were you when you heard the C-House burned down? (If your answer is “reading Dik’s Ravings,” you really should get out more.) We had some boffo times there. A person I will identify only as “Thomas Andrew Berg ‘80” took off his shirt and danced on tables to Village People tunes. Casey accidentally set his face on fire teaching people how to do flaming shots. While sucking down brewskis at the C-House, I watched Mark Nestle eat a light bulb, and Mike Schadle pound nails up his own nose. I have not encountered high brow entertainment like that in all the years since, and I weep silently for the loss of this institution.

Once, at a party, a skinny four-eyed rube I will identify only as “Dik Saalfeld” got shot down for a dance by a lady who was, by all accounts, a heifer. Rich Goeggel, observing Dik’s humiliation, said “you can’t just ask them to dance – you have to chat them up, and compliment them. Women like to be complimented. Take that last one – you should have said she has a nice dress, and that she doesn’t sweat much for a fat girl.” Rich is so wise, and I want to be just like him when I grow up.

If you haven’t already done so, give the Fraternity some money. Beta Theta raised enough to replace the criminally dangerous front steps and porch, but more is needed. Any amount is welcome, but don’t be a tightwad. If your wife is a feminist and doesn’t believe in the Fraternity concept, tell her the money is for drugs. Forego golf for a few weeks – you suck, anyway.