The biggest party of the year at the Beta Theta Pi House at Denison was the Christmas Dance. Every fraternity had a dance the last Saturday before Christmas break and nearly everyone on campus was Greek affiliated. What made our house so spectacular was the decoration of pine boughs over the ceiling of the living room which was a tradition of long standing. As we had a wooden beamed living room ceiling, we could easily stretch fencing from one end to the other and weave pine boughs throughout the wire. The result was absolutely breathtaking and the sorority girls loved it.
At any rate, the only problem we had decorating was gathering enough pine trees to do the job. In 1954, the committee for decorations was Al Rudolph, Bob Pumphrey and me. We devised a plan to acquire the boughs that would be both inexpensive and exciting, which, of course, would appeal to most college boys. Granville was surrounded by open countryside covered by pine forests and who would miss a few trees?
Alan drove the “Buckeye Laundry truck,” a vintage and some- what unreliable work horse. Bob and I would harvest the trees and have them by the side of the road at precisely 12:45 AM to be picked up by Al.
At the appointed time, the road was quiet and no truck appeared. About 10 minutes later a car went by very slowly, the driver whistling occasionally, but we didn’t recognize the auto. A few minutes later a truck rumbled into view and Bob jumped out of the cover onto the road with relief and joy. Such was short lived as the driver was the farmer who owned the tree farm we had just raided. The last I saw of Bob, he was running back up the hill, full tilt, with the farmer firing his rifle which served to hasten Bob’s exit. The farmer jumped into the truck and in the process of turning around, the headlights illuminated me hiding behind a pine tree which we had just cut and I was holding in an upright position at the side of the road. When he approached the tree with the rifle at the ready, I could tell he was neither amused nor happy.
As I was sitting on his porch waiting for the posse to arrive, I learned there were others who had taken a tree or two and that sort of nefarious activity was making a serious dent in his tree farm and livelihood. Guilty or not, I was going to trial that night and they gave me a choice – either Newark or Granville. I chose Granville simply because it was closer and more familiar. We drove in a caravan to the City Hall at Granville, a rather small and unpretentious room behind the theater. A pot belly stove was fired up and I was placed in a chair next to it and the reality of being in a hot seat was beginning to sink in. The Mayor of Granville arrived in pajamas and a bath robe; he, also, was neither amused nor pleasant as it was about 2 AM. I knew the Mayor through my appointment as “town-gown” representative from the University, but he certainly didn’t let on and neither did I. He asked the crowd if anyone “knew anything about me.” One person opined that I seemed to be a “decent fellow, but was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The farmer said that he wanted to be paid for the tree and I quickly said “I would.” At that, the court was over and the Mayor said that I was on probation and directed me to “pay my debt.”
The farmer drove me up the hill to the Beta House with the rifle between us. As I went in the front door to gather some cash, there was Bob Pumphrey in front of a large crowd of very enchanted brothers telling of his escape from certain death. He hid in a ditch until the caravan had passed and then ran and walked the three miles or so back to campus. Al Rudolph was also there, apologizing about not being able to start the truck again and borrowed a car to pick us up, but couldn’t find us in spite of his whistling which served only to alert the farmer.
The following morning I was mortified to find I had made the front page of the Newark Advocate. Most of the details were correct including my name, but I didn’t divulge the names of my accomplices and they were a little peeved at first to miss out on the notoriety. Of course, the Dean of Men picked up on it right away and invited me to his office to explain the circumstances. Dean Mark Smith was one of a kind and thought like a kid himself so he was on to all of us. He thought it was a wonderful prank, but advised me not to do it again.
I don’t recall how we decorated the ceiling of the Beta House that year. After I arrived home the Christmas cards from my fellow students nearly all mentioned “the incident” which piqued mother’s interest, but I was chary on divulging any information whatsoever. About two weeks later Bob Pumphrey stopped by the house looking for me, but I was out. Mother took a flyer and said, “Bob that was some experience you had before Christmas.” Bob replied, “Yes, and I was certainly the lucky one.” To which, Mother invited Bob in for coffee and cake and extracted the whole story. All in all, it seemed like another “good idea at the time.”
Years later, every time we took the family to Tim-Bucks Tree Nursery just north of Granville to cut our Christmas trees, I was reminded of the admonition from the Mayor of Granville during my college days.
