Four (pretty good) Rules for Saving a Fraternity

[hoosier]

(Thanks to Doug Case and Fraternal News)

The Chronicle of Higher Education
From the issue dated December 3, 2004
Students
Volume 51, Issue 15, Page A35

http://chronicle.com/weekly/v51/i15/15a03501.htm


Four Rules for Saving a Fraternity
At Linfield College, one house's president brought his chapter back from
the brink

ELIZABETH F. FARRELL

McMinnville, Ore.

After taking over as president of the Theta Chi fraternity at Linfield
College last fall, Justin Samples lost 15 pounds and the ability to sleep
through the night. That is what the constant stress of trying to rein in an
out-of-control fraternity will do to a 20-year-old.

So it was a surprise that last year on Halloween, a night known for pranks
and mayhem, he dozed off at 10 p.m.

His slumber, however, was brief. At 2 a.m., Jubari Sykes, another Theta Chi
member, called to tell him that the fraternity's vice president, Peter
Munro, had just been caught stealing a digital camera and a laptop from the
neighboring Delta Psi Delta fraternity house. Mr. Munro, who was drunk at
the time of the incident, had brought along a pledging member to assist in
his prank.

Mr. Samples learned that the pledge was missing, the police were
everywhere, and Mr. Munro was behind bars. Mr. Samples says that as he
walked over to meet Mr. Sykes early that morning, he felt "betrayed and
ticked off" by Mr. Munro. He realized Theta Chi had "hit rock bottom." He
also knew what needed to be done.

He pulled Mr. Sykes aside and said, "Pete's out, and we should go alcohol
free." Mr. Samples recalls that Mr. Sykes "just kind of stepped back and
said, 'What?'"

Following a spate of alcohol-related deaths at fraternities across the
country this fall, many fraternity leaders are in a predicament similar to
the one Mr. Samples faced last year. Their members have reputations for
being drunken troublemakers, and they have squandered the good will of
administrators and local police. Many of their chapters are on the brink of
extinction.

Some have already folded. This month, for instance, Sigma Nu closed its
chapter at the University of Oregon despite the recent efforts of some
members to overcome the house's persistent problems, which included alcohol
violations and legal battles with the university. This fall, two
fraternities at universities in Colorado have been closed indefinitely
following alcohol-related deaths at their houses, and many other chapters
across the country are under pressure from police and administrators to
shape up or shut down.

According to experts on Greek life, most fraternities in such a predicament
fail to make the improvements necessary to survive. "Complete cultural
change is quite difficult," says Dan Bureau, president of the Association
of Fraternity Advisors, a group that provides guidance on handling
Greek-life issues to its membership of more than 1,300 college
professionals. "For a fraternity to succeed in going from one end of the
spectrum to another, they usually have to close down and then reopen after
some time."

McMinnville police had already declared Theta Chi a "public nuisance"
before the Halloween incident and were ready to board up the fraternity's
house, which is located off the campus. Administrators at this
2,500-student liberal-arts college had put the chapter on probation,
forbidding the then-40-member fraternity from holding any social functions
until it could prove that it had cleaned up its act.

Saddled with that baggage, Mr. Samples defied expectations. Over the next
four months, he and other house leaders kicked out six members, put an end
to Theta Chi's epic beer bashes, and doubled their recruitment. In July,
McMinnville's police chief awarded Mr. Samples -- who had stepped down as
the fraternity's president in June -- the citizen's police medal for his
efforts.

Barry Tucker, director of multicultural programs at Linfield, admits that
he thought the Theta Chi brothers were too irresponsible to save their
fraternity. "They proved me wrong," Mr. Tucker says. "Justin was very
persistent. He doesn't back down for anybody."

Theta Chi's self-styled makeover is the type of swift turnaround that many
colleges would love to inspire in their own Greek systems. At a time when
many administrators are trying every rule and sanction imaginable to force
troubled fraternities to improve, the story of one house's revival shows
that sometimes the only way to save a fraternity is for the students to do
it from within.

#1: Be Persuasive, Not Preachy

Banning alcohol was a tough sell to many members of Theta Chi who
considered the fraternity their "drinking club," according to Mr. Sykes.
Because so many of the upperclassmen were staunchly opposed to going dry,
Mr. Samples took a low-key approach to promoting the ban. He also did some
politicking among the younger members, telling them about his idea and then
asking, "What do you think of it?"

When all of Theta Chi's 40 members gathered to vote on the ban last
November, Mr. Samples told them that every problem they had as a fraternity
stemmed from alcohol. He urged them to vote in favor of banning booze in
the house. Although the law in Oregon, like all states, forbids anyone
under 21 from drinking alcoholic beverages, drinking behind closed doors is
hard to prevent at many institutions.

"You can't sell it as 'Hey! This is awesome!'" says Mr. Samples. "So I
tried to go for shock value, saying, 'Just think how far the chief's jaw
will drop when I tell him we're going dry.'"

Theta Chi bylaws require a two-thirds majority to pass any rule, and when
the members first voted, the measure failed. Fraternity bylaws forbid a
second vote in the same meeting, so Mr. Samples adjourned the gathering.

Mr. Samples says he was "livid," but he kept his cool, calmly expressing
his disappointment. He asked members to reconsider. He commenced a new
meeting five minutes later. This time, the measure passed by one vote.

Despite the stress of the ordeal, the challenge of changing his brothers'
minds intrigued him. "Something about seeing what makes people tick
fascinates me," says Mr. Samples, a senior majoring in business. "I really
like to rally people together and see what I can do to get the best out of
them."

With a trim, muscular build and well-defined jaw, Mr. Samples looks the
part of a lifelong athlete, and says sports have given him leadership
opportunities since his grade-school days as captain of the flag- football
team.

Ryan Monagle, now a junior in charge of rush recruitment, says he and other
members were motivated by Mr. Samples's determination, and his willingness
to do everything possible to improve Theta Chi, including quitting the
football team at the beginning of that semester to devote more time to the
fraternity. "It's really hard to not help out and back him up when you see
him there on his hands and knees scrubbing floors," says Mr. Monagle.

#2: Redefine Loyalty

As difficult as it was to persuade members to approve the alcohol ban, the
real hurdle was enforcing it. Not surprisingly, the Theta Chi members who
had opposed the ban were the same ones who were getting into the
alcohol-related trouble. They refused to change their behavior.

"Things ended up escalating in the house," says Mr. Samples. "There was a
certain faction of brothers who said 'screw this' and were basically giving
the finger to the police."

Kicking out the disruptive members was not an easy decision for any member.
Ultimately, Mr. Monagle says, they had no choice but to remove the
disruptive members, whom he refers to as a "cancer." Still, he says he felt
"kind of like I was stabbing them in the back."

The principles of loyalty and brotherhood are a double-edged sword: They
can either inspire a fraternity to improve or precipitate its downfall. The
problem with organizations that foment such strong bonds among members is
that they sometimes defend one another even when it contradicts the best
interest of the group.

"They're young kids and maybe it's the first time they've felt like a part
of something," says Carl Swanson, the Greek adviser to Linfield's four
fraternities and four sororities. "A lot of them want to belong and don't
want to be the first to say something, even if they think what others in
the group are doing is wrong."

The tide of peer pressure, however, is reversible. In Theta Chi's case, Mr.
Samples and members of the fraternity's executive council held separate
votes on each problematic member, six in all. "With the first person we
suspended, the vote was a lot closer than it should have been," says Mr.
Samples. "But then, with each subsequent member, it got cumulatively less
close."

Amid what members describe as a "civil war," they trusted Mr. Samples's
leadership. Mr. Monagle, who is still good friends with some of the former
members, says they were "not bad people, just good guys who made some bad
decisions."

One of the students they voted out was Mr. Munro, who had stolen the
electronics equipment on Halloween night. Although he insists that he left
voluntarily, and remains on good terms with many of his friends in Theta
Chi, he still faults members of the fraternity for their lack of loyalty.

"With brotherhood, the bottom line is you don't sell out your brothers, no
matter the cost," says Mr. Munro. He calls the theft "a prank that got out
of control." Theta Chi members, he says, "made me look like I was a
horrible person, and made me the scapegoat for all the house's problems."

A month after getting arrested, Mr. Munro says he withdrew from Linfield in
an effort to stop drinking. (He says he now does so only occasionally.) And
some members took his move as a wake-up call. Without the convenience of
free-flowing beer in the house, they did not imbibe nearly as often.

#3: Make Friends With the Police

One of Linfield's top administrators says Greek students on the campus
often think everyone is out to get them. Local police officers complain
that students "act like they're their own lawyers," arguing about their
legal rights instead of taking responsibility for their actions, says Wayne
McFarlin, McMinnville's chief of police.

Yet Mr. Samples sought to build an alliance with the authority figures many
students considered their enemies.

He admits that the specter of sanctions from the police and college "forced
us to deal with problems in a very abrupt fashion, a lot faster than I
would have liked."

Instead of rebelling against authority, however, Mr. Samples set up weekly
meetings with Linfield's student-life adviser, the Greek-life adviser, and
his fraternity's faculty adviser. He asked many former Theta Chi leaders
and alumni advisers for advice, and consulted with the executive director
of Theta Chi's national office, David Westol, in a series of telephone
conversations during the reorganization.

He also met with Chief McFarlin at least once a month.

He even followed Chief McFarlin's suggestion to erect a fence bordering
Theta Chi's property, to keep inebriated students from wandering into the
fraternity's yard. His openness to such ideas pleasantly surprised Chief
McFarlin, and it played a large role in earning Mr. Samples the citizen's
police medal.

"His leadership was something I really wanted to capture," says Chief
McFarlin. "He took a lot of personal risks. Nobody, not even police chiefs
want to do something that makes people upset with them, but he understood
that sometimes the mission takes precedence over personal feelings."

#4: Change Your Image

The most demoralizing effect of Theta Chi's problems was the treatment its
members received on the campus and around town. Wearing Theta Chi letters,
they say, was like having "Kick Me" signs on their backs. Mr. Samples
recalls walking into a 7-Eleven in his Theta Chi shirt, which prompted the
clerk to remark, "You guys are in a lot of trouble, huh?"

Both the campus and local newspapers had reported all of the fraternity's
misdeeds. So Mr. Samples started off his fraternity's image makeover by
writing a letter to the student newspaper, The Linfield Review, in which he
apologized for Theta Chi's behavior and explained what its members were
doing to improve.

Mr. Samples also helped pass a new rule that required every Theta Chi
member to increase his community-service commitment from 4 hours to 10
hours per semester. That paid off with some good press: Local newspapers
published articles about Theta Chi members volunteering at local tutoring
programs and co-sponsoring a Toys for Tots drive with the McMinnville Fire
Department.

Recognizing that a handful of bad apples can spoil an entire house's image,
Mr. Samples and other members of the fraternity examined their recruitment
practices and decided to become more selective. "We paid for the
recruitment mistakes of other classes," says Mr. Samples, "because the
emphasis was on getting large numbers of people instead of focusing on
quality members."

That approach is often a result of financial pressures -- without enough
members, expenses, including hefty mortgages and party costs, can become
prohibitive. Sometimes that means that house leaders do not carefully
consider how dedicated each student will be to their organization.

But instead of hurting its popularity, Theta Chi's new membership
requirements, including a minimum 3.0 grade-point average for new members
-- based on high-school grades for freshmen -- and demonstrated leadership
skills, increased interest among prospective members, attracting the
largest pledge class ever the following fall, with 22 members compared with
an average of 6 for each of the previous four years.

The image overhaul has changed perceptions of the house on the campus.
"They used to be bad, but are getting better," says one Linfield student of
the fraternity.

Administrators at Linfield are impressed by Theta Chi's progress, though
they qualify their praise by noting that the fraternity has plenty of room
for improvement. Under Linfield's new Greek Standards Program, fraternities
are assigned points in four categories: academic performance, financial
responsibility, community service, and member education. Theta Chi, like
all the college's fraternities, falls short of the minimum requirements,
meaning it cannot hold more than two social events per semester. The Theta
Chi house will also retain its status as a "public nuisance" unless no
complaints are filed with the police until next August, according to Chief
McFarlin.

As of late November, Theta Chi had only one noise complaint for the whole
semester.

"They are doing a really nice job managing their property," says Chief
McFarlin, who was so impressed by the improvement that he sent a letter to
Linfield College's president in early November commending Theta Chi -- and
other Linfield fraternities -- for their progress.

Mr. Samples says he does not mind if his brothers drink -- as long as it's
not in the house. Even though he is no longer Theta Chi's president, he
still patrols the halls of the fraternity house at 2 or 3 a.m. on weekends,
to make sure residents are following the rules.

Despite his diligence, his brothers sometimes break the rules. On a recent
Friday afternoon, for instance, a 24-pack of Busch beer and unopened bottle
of Bacardi rum sit on top of the mini-fridge in one member's room. Upon
hearing about it, Mr. Samples shakes his head. But he is not surprised.

"It makes me mad," he says. "But going dry is an ongoing process, and we
have to remind everyone each week that we are still an alcohol-free house."

[James]

Deja Vu . . i swear i just read this . .

[AlphaSigOU]

I think everyone needs to read this essay by Dave Westol:

DEATH OF A FRATERNITY
by Dave Westol

BULLETIN: January 20, 1972-Sigma Beta Fraternity of Michigan State University died today. Death was attributed to lack of funds and interest. Surviving are twenty brothers, a flag, and two bells. Funeral arrangements were not immediately available.
Tom Johnson, president of Sigma Beta Fraternity, MSU chapter, sat in a wicker rocking chair in his comfortable off-campus apartment and talked about his fraternity and why it died. "It's hard, really hard to believe its actually gone," he said, rocking slowly back and forth. "The 'Rules of the Game' say when you fight and struggle for something you believe in, then you'll win. We didn't.

"I guess you could say our troubles began about the same time they did for everyone else, in the autumn of 1968," he continued. "I had joined the year before, and that was my first term in the house. I guess it wasn't the best time to get in."

Fall term, 1968, was a bad time for all fraternities. The Greek System, long the recognized way of getting through college while living the "good life," was suffering from a general lack of interest by the student body at MSU.

For many years membership in a fraternity had been the highest possible status attainable by young college men. At Michigan State as well as other universities fraternity men were the leaders in government, the athletes, the social lions. Fraternities were the only alternative to the dormitories, for all practical purposes, and the Greek System dominated campus life in almost every facet.

"The rules of the game say when you fight and struggle for something you believe in, then you'll win. We didn't."

But by the middle Sixties, a change was becoming apparent. Interest in parties, the bars, homecoming floats and water carnivals began to wane, replaced by social activism sparked by anti-war sentiments. Anti-military-establishment-fascist-capitalistic-industrial-complex movements made themselves felt. The New Left, the counter-culture, the movement had begun, and with its beginning a corresponding decline in interest in fraternities and other traditional forms of college life appeared.

Fall term, 1968, was the last term, according to older Greeks at MSU, when rush brought out a respectable showing of men interested in joining a fraternity. In previous years it was not uncommon to entertain as many as 350 to 400 men per night at a large house. Winter term of 1969 most houses recorded nightly rushes of 35 to 40, or fewer.

Another factor that fall was the emergence of the "party guys" as the dominant group in the fraternity. So called because of their penchant for parties and good times, but little else that was constructive, they became, according to Johnson, the rule rather than the exception in the chapter. The new pledges, accordingly, looked up to them as the best example of a Sigma Beta and followed their lead.

Every chapter, Johnson noted, has party guys in a minority. They add some depth and balance to the group. When they become the majority, however, negative forces are set in motion.

"The result was that we kept developing more and more guys who looked to the fraternity as a good time and nothing else," Johnson said.

Still another factor in the beginnings of the Sigma Beta downfall was the easing of standards for entry. Many fraternities, faced with the recruitment and activation of a large pledge class or the possibility of going under, eased or eliminated entire requirements for activation into the fraternity.

Sigma Beta followed suit, to the detriment of the pledge program and eventually the chapter. By eliminating much of the work and knowledge requirements, Johnson said, the pride and feeling that you have had to work and sweat for something was also eliminated, resulting in a lack of spirit and feeling of accomplishment once pledging had ended.

Johnson stubbed out a Marlboro in the already overflowing ashtray in front of him. "I always figured we had a pretty tight house, you know, in comparison with others at State. By spring term of '69, though, things had changed. You couldn't really put your finger on it, but the differences were there."

One change had been the retirement of the housemother, at the end of winter term. The effects were subtle but noticeable, as manners deteriorated at supper, the traditional fraternity song at the end of a meal became history, and the general volume of noise rose in the house. A housefather was hired for spring term, but failed to have the desired effect, and in the interest of money was not rehired the next fall.

Another factor that fall was the emergence of the "party guys" as the dominant group in the fraternity.

Pledge programs became more lax term by term. Spring term of 1969, the pledge marshal sat down with the fairly good sized class and asked them, "What do you guys think you should have to do in order to go active?" "We lost about half of those guys," Johnson grimaced. "But then, can you blame them? What kind of pledge program is that?"

At the end of spring term, 1969; Sigma Beta outwardly appeared to be in good shape. Inwardly, the cracks were beginning to appear. The physical shape of the house was poor, dangerous cliques had formed with definite lines among brothers, financial responsibilities were beginning to be regarded as a joke.

"Guys kept saying, 'wait until next year, we'll be better.' We had a lot of new guys moving in, and we still had some guys who cared about the house, who would pick up after the others and carry the responsibilities."

Fall term, 1969, however, brought new troubles to Sigma Beta.

Rush was "way, way down," according to Johnson, and the few men who did come through the house seemed unimpressed. A small pledge class was formed, but again the mortality rate of pledges dropping out was high, over fifty per cent. In addition, relations within the house were strained.

Many fraternities, faced with the possibility of going under, eased or eliminated entirely requirements for activation in the fraternity.

"People seemed to forget about consideration, other people, brotherhood if you want to label it. Guys would have their girlfriends up in their rooms, and their roommates would burst through the door half drunk, yelling, banging on the walls, stuff like that. You couldn't study around there, people had stereos up loud, and there always seemed to be some commotion going on."

Fraternity traditions continued to fall victim to the efforts to streamline pledging and make the house "easier to live in, with less complications."

"I always figured we had a pretty tight house, you know, in comparison with the others at State."

Take away the traditions, all of them, and as Tom Johnson and Sigma Beta found, only the house and some guys living in it are left. The idealism, the goals, the "brotherhood," the feelings of belonging after accomplishing the same thing that others for years and years have accomplished, are gone.

Sigma Beta is a non-secret fraternity - non-secret in that it does not have a grip or passwords or long, mysterious rites and rituals of activation. The MSU chapter had always prided itself on that, Johnson said, and even though the Sigma Beta's had only been on campus since 1952, they were among the six or seven biggest chapters in terms of numbers.

"When other guys told us of two day rituals and stuff like that, we always laughed and said we didn't need it to have a good chapter. And before then, we didn't."

"I still don't think you need it to have a strong fraternity," Johnson continued, "but I see now where we cut our own throat by taking away everything that made us different from, say, some co-op or something."

Leadership was another problem. The president elected that fall term was, as Johnson put it, a "good guy, a good leader." But winter term, 1970, he left to student teach. His replacement, was a second term active who had moved into the house just that fall. He was young, naive, and inexperienced in the position. He was unable to cope with the pressures that were to bear upon him the following terms, resulting in a loss of confidence in house leadership at the very time strong and efficient people were needed to put Sigma Beta back on its financial feet.

"People seemed to forget about consideration, other people, brotherhood if you want to label it."

Johnson, by now the unofficial leader of the element in the chapter that saw the problems developing, tried to raise enough support to have the president replaced with someone with more experience and ability. He failed - the majority of the brothers felt that to take away the young president's position would hurt him and alienate him from the house, and thus he stayed on.

By now financial problems were plaguing the troubled chapter. An addition to the house had been built several years previous, and the entire structure had been remortgaged, resulting in a higher house bill. With the decline of numbers of men in the house, and the irresponsibility of brothers in payment of bills, the financial problems were compounded.

"The last meeting of spring term of '70 was a real zoo. Things came to a head, I guess, and you could have heard the shouting at the west complex across the campus.

"Some of the stuff was cleared up, and we made plans for the coming year to be a kind of building year for the house, with a return as far as possible to the old days. I guess it sounds kind of funny now, but then things seemed to be shaping up a little."

The young ex-president leaned forward, gesturing with his hands.

"We weren't even sure whether we could open up the house that fall, because we wouldn't have enough guys to keep the bills down, to break even, much less make a profit. But some of the upperclassmen said they'd stick it out, for another year, for the fraternity. It made me feel good, to hear stuff like that. It was the old Sigma Beta spirit, you know?"

Fall rush was planned in great detail. Meetings were held that summer, work committees named to clean the house and yard, advertising space was purchased in the State News. Only one thing went wrong, Johnson said. No one came through rush.

With the decline of numbers of men living in the house, and the irresponsibility of brothers in payment of bills, the financial problems were compounded.

"We should have figured, but nobody really thought that things had changed that much. We just thought that if we did things like we had done them before, then everything would be okay, back in order again. By then no amount of posters or ads would bring people through rush, you had to have the dorm contacts and go out and get rushees. We didn't have the horses."

Johnson spoke softly, the words coming slowly, carefully, as though he was unwrapping an old wound.

That fall of 1970 was "an abortion," he said. Although a few people eventually came through the house, due to frantic efforts by Johnson and several others, only two pledges. It was a heavy blow to the sagging chapter spirit, and its effects were felt to the end of the term.

Noise and lack of consideration for others in the house reached monumental proportions. Many of the seniors who volunteered to live in the house for the entire year called it quits after final exams in December of 1970. "They were just bummed out with the whole thing, and no amount of talking, promises or threats would make them change their minds," Johnson said.

The alumni advisor, who had maintained casual relations with the fraternity over the past three years, now said they had to pay off some of the debts run up over the '69-'70 school year. With even fewer brothers in the house, with the possibility of raising the house bill and forcing even more out, with mortgage payments due and no immediate source of money available, the fraternity factionalized and split up, with rush at a standstill, the Sigma Beta's made the only possible decision - to close the house.

The rest of the story is standard cause and effect. Many of the brothers moved into an apartment complex east of the fraternity house on River Street in East Lansing. Some didn't. Others deactivated.

Those that moved into the apartments tried to maintain the chapter integrity but found too many restriction, too many walls. Rush was attempted in the spring of 1971, but failed miserably. Johnson, who had been elected the previous fall, decided to tool up the brothers left for one more crack at rush the fall of '71. It failed again. On January twentieth, 1972, Johnson and 19 remaining brothers voted the fraternity out of existence. Their chapter remains with the university, to be used again perhaps someday in the future when another group of young men will want to form a chapter of Sigma Beta at MSU.

The big colonial style house still stands at the northwest corner of River Street and Park Avenue but the tasteful gray paint has peeled away, leaving ragged patches of bare, worn wood. The green trimmed shutters hang at crazy angles, with slats broken or missing, and most of the windows are shattered or cracked. The lawn is overgrown with weeds and strewn with litter. Students with classes in nearby Aker-Fee complex and construction workers resurfacing Park Avenue near the house use the potholed and dusty parking lot.

The Sigma Beta's thought that by letting the house fall to ruin, the city of East Lansing would change its zoning of the corner and allow a gas station to be built, thus giving the fraternity about $250,000 in payment to pay off debts and construct a new house to be used for parties, meeting and social functions only.

"The city hasn't backed off, though," Johnson said. "I'm not sure what we'll do with the old wreck right now. I get sad every time I walk by it."

"I guess everyone does," he continued. "The guys who worked, who cared, sure, we got discouraged, wanted to quit, but we always figured we'd somehow pull it off, that it would never get this far.

Only one thing went wrong, Johnson said. No one came through rush.

Johnson rocks very slowly now. His voice is thick, and trails off at times.

"Sometimes I'll get a call from the police-they know me by now-and I'll go over to the house; it'll be around four in the morning, and there will be maybe five or six brothers, some of the guys who cared.

They'll be drunk, back from the bars or a party, sitting on the living room floor singing the old songs. I can't help it, I'll sit down with them, and we'll talk about the old Hell Weeks, and raids and parties, and the house.

The old Sigma Beta bell, rung at all MSU home football games for years, is gone now, stolen from the front yard, Johnson thinks by a fraternity from the University of Michigan.

Johnson smiles quietly. "It's kind of ironic," he said. "I guess they figured we'd chase them and hassle them for it. I'm surprised they got it out of those weeds." The second, newer bell is hidden deep within a Sigma Beta's closet somewhere in East Lansing - Johnson won't say where.

The reasons why Sigma Beta folded - and there are many - could be written down an labeled like a diagnosis of a disease. Poor leadership. Lack of education for new members. The almost frantic cutting away of all traditions and ideals to appeal to more people. Division of the fraternity into separate, polarized cliques. Financial irresponsibility. Lack of good alumni relations and a strong, smart fraternity advisor to help them. Insufficient peer pressure to stifle noise level and lack of consideration. And many more reasons, except one, for Tom Johnson and some of the brothers.

The reasons Sigma Beta folded-and there are many-could be written down and labeled like the diagnosis of a disease.

"I, well, if I had to do it all over again, I'd do it, because I think it was worth it, whether we lost or not," Johnson smiled sadly. "The old Sigma Beta spirit, you know?"

The above story is factual, accounting the demise of an important fraternity at Michigan State.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dave Westol has been an Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for Kalamazoo County, Michigan, National Vice President and Executive Director of the Theta Chi Fraternity. In addition, Westol has served as the Fraternity Advisor at Michigan State University and has lectured at over 90 campus and 40 national fraternity/sorority conventions. As an undergraduate, he served as the IFC president and as his chapter's rush chairman (2 terms) and pledge educator. Westol is best known for his presentation, "Hazing on Trial," a graphic presentation of the prosecution of a chapter president following the hazing death of a pledge.

[mmcat]

such a sad story from msu

[mmcat]

such a sad story from msu