Okay, here's a new one amidst the current series of revisions. (There are a few more new ones coming up...)
"Well Dave," Winzer said, laying down his cards, "I guess that's it."
The rest of the brothers tossed their hands on the table in agreement, and Burke started sweeping up the poker chips.
"_s_h_i_t_," Dave Dawson said. He slammed his fist on the poker table. "Dammit!"
"Don't get riled now, Dawson." This was Dan Wilkins, the chapter president. "We all decided the terms, right?" Chuckling, Wilkins took down the old three and a half foot initiation paddle everyone had agreed on.
"But come on, man!" Dave complained. He hadn't felt it since going through Hell Night. The paddle was 30 inches long and five wide, a half inch thick, with holes. Sweat broke out on his forehead remembering; he hadn't been able to sit down for a week.
"Be a good sport," Chuck Winzer grinned. "Not trying to back out now, are ya?"
It wasn't just the licks, it was that _d_a_m_n_ed ride on the Wagon. Men who got the Board in their fraternity had to ride the "Paddle Wagon." It was part of the ordeal, and one of the things their house was famous for.
Years ago, some genius had got the idea of rigging up a low, flat-bed cart with a little training toilet for an unlucky brother to sit on when he was going to get a paddling. He got to ride across campus "on the Potty" with his pants down, drawn by the actives, while the man chosen to do the spanking stood on the wagon behind him with the Gamma House 'Board of Education.' There was no question of where the recipient of this "educational lesson" was headed; there was only one destination for the Paddle Wagon: the rectangular bandstand in the middle of Gorton Quad.
That was the popular spot on campus for fraternity punishments, and more than one college man had had his butt blistered there in front of the school. Historically, the administration turned a blind eye to this tradition--even when the britches came down in a spirited hazing. A few good swats and a little public humiliation--they had to go through it; why shouldn't the plebes?
It was one thing for freshmen and pledges, Dawson thought, but he was an upper classman now. It had been stupid to agree to the bet, but now it was too late: he was in for it. _f_u_c_k_. He thought about riding that toilet with some asshole, probably Winzer, waving the _d_a_m_n_ paddle around for everyone to see. This was going to be embarrassing.
"Time to pay up your wager, dude." Two of the bigger brothers, both teammates of Dave's on the football team, took him by his big arms to "assist" him over to the Wagon. "It's allright guys, I'll come quietly," Dave joked. "Sure, Dawson," they said. "Pants down on the seat of honor!"
Dawson took his jeans down and sat in his BVD's nervously, as two thick straps were fastened around his shins. They cinched them tight, while the garage of the fraternity house began to fill up with guys who had heard about what was happening. There hadn't been a Wagon Ride in more than a year.
The fraternity had started doing them back in 1926 when class hazing was still popular, but it wasn't so common nowadays. Even at the time of the tradition's inception it was mostly incoming freshmen who got taken on "The Ride," and in those days it was not by his fraternity brothers, but by the gleeful and vindictive sophomores. Times were different then, and class rivalry was fierce.
In those days it was considered right and proper for young men to be hazed. In fact, shop classes and faculty members often made the paddles the Sophomores would use. First week in October, they were put to work. Freshmen Hell Night was the big event. The highlight of the festivities--in addition to learning the fight song and the Alma Mater, memorizing the loyalty oath and plenty of calisthenics--was the freshmen gauntlet known as the "Hot Seat Express." Upper classmen would invite their girlfriends out to see the Freshman class get a paddling. Often too, alumni and some of the freshmen's fathers would turn out to see their boys go through the hazing. Following the Express, a "ducking party" was held for the Frosh at the pit behind the Ag building, with the infamous "ducking-stool"--and of course plenty of hard swats got dished out there too. Traditionally, this is where the athletic coaches leant a hand; and those with a good arm often put in a good hour or more swinging a paddle! The young men had to step up and take their licks, and they got a most spirited public spanking before being conducted to the dunk seat! The way I hear it, there was not a boy left with dry eyes after that little event. After the fun, lines of the admonished "Tender-Seats" returned to the dorms sopping wet, red-hot on the seat o' the pants! They really knew how to initiate in the old days.
Only the new men who failed to show up for these festivities that got taken on "The Ride." Instead of the cover of darkness and the solidarity of their classmates, shirkers were given a very personal lesson in broad daylight. Most often a football coach would lend his paddle for the job when this was the case, and stand by to oversee its application. And from what I hear, it was applied very, very soundly! Freshmen were to be taught their place, and in this the Sophomores had the full support of the school.
In the following years the practice was adopted by the Greek organizations for unruly members or inept pledges. But even with the change in focus it remained a memorable and effective punishment. My grandfather remembers being on the receiving end of this tradition and recalls the ordeal with a chuckle. He tended to have the attitude that this kind of thing would "make a man out of you."
Well, if it was a lesson in manhood Dave wanted, class was about to begin. The Paddle Wagon rounded the corner--straight for a group of frisbee throwing students--and Chuck Winzer grabbed his megaphone.
"Mr. Dawson of Alpha Gamma Nu here lost a bet," he announced. Knowing laughs came from all around as Winzer held up the paddle. "If you wanna watch him pay up, come over to Gorton Quad," Winzer said. "He's about to get a seat-warming!"
Apparently there was still quite a lot of interest in this sort of thing, to judge by the reaction of the bystanders. Winzer decided to put in a couple of extra jibes, just for Dave's sake.
"Come on over if you wanna see his punishment carried out," he added. "We're paddling a dunce today!"
There was the platform, there were the steps. In the middle was the red box, freshly repainted, where victims were pantsed. He had forgotten about losing his shorts in this deal. _s_h_i_t_, people were all over the _f_u_c_k_ing place, he thought, realizing that he sting of the paddle would be nothing to the embarrassment of bending over.
His brothers released his leg straps now and helped him to his feet, all grins. Up he went and stepped inside the pantsing box, facing straight ahead as he tried to ignore the assembling spectators. Dave turned scarlet and put his hands to his crotch, as he was followed by Winzer and two assistants with the hazing paddle.
Winzer got into position, with both hands on the big wooden instrument. The assistants--Burke and Wilkins--stood by. Dave took down his underpants now, and placed both hands over his crotch.
The place was crowded now, and Dave's eye's started to well with tears.
"Touch your toes!"
Already stinging with humiliation, Dave bent over and grabbed his ankles.
"Ten swats with the paddle, Mr. Dawson!"
"Yes SIR!" he growled.
Wwwaackkkk!!!!!
The Board of Education met the Seat of Learning, as they gave Dave his first swat with the hazing paddle.
He clenched his teeth as tears ran down his face. Men in the crowd began to laugh at the huge pink mark, and Winzer drew back the hazing paddle to give him another swat.
SMMMAACKK!!!!
"AAAGGHHHH!!" Dave hollered. The licks stung just like he remembered; he was gonna have something to think about for a good long time!
SWWAAAATT!!!!
"YEEEEOOOOWWWW!!!"
Dave jumped up and grabbed his butt and the spectators roared with laughter. "That's the stuff!" they called. "A few more like that one!" Men from different fraternities on campus were there to watch, and they all knew what it was like to get paddled. "Assume the position!" they taunted.
Dave bent over and grit his teeth. Winzer didn't wait for any commentary now, but commenced a series of swift, hard pops; WHHHACKK! WHHHACKK! WHHHACKK! WHHHACKK! Big, athletic Dave Dawson gripped his ankles and bawled as his fraternity brothers paddled his heinie. This was a lesson alright: no more gambling, he swallowed, sobbing, never again! WHHHACKK! WHHHACKK! WHHHACKK! It was going to be a long ride back on the Paddle Wagon!