Going to a Frat Party? Atlantic’s Article Says You May be Held Responsible if Things Go Wrong

The latest edition of The Atlantic should be required reading for all students in or entering college and the people who love them. It features a shocking and powerful article about college fraternities by writer Caitlin Flanagan.

The article opens with a story of a frat partygoer who decided to put a bottle rocket up his behind. Another partier falls off a deck while trying to record this moment. The lawsuit that results brings us to the main issue of the article.

The writer provides a description of college fraternities. They are “as old, almost, as the republic” and they, “emanated in part from the Freemasons.” She notes that many very successful men have been fraternity brothers, and that these organizations have done a great deal of community and charity work. However, they “ also have a long, dark history of violence against their own members and visitors to their houses, which makes them in many respects at odds with the core mission of college itself.”

She relays the history of fraternities from 1825 at Union College to a revival thanks to Animal House in the 80s. When the national drinking age was raised to 21, fraternities became a primary source of alcohol to college students.

Thus, there have been many lawsuits against fraternities for issues such as “manslaughter, rape, sexual torture, psychological trauma” as well as, hazing, and many forms of physical injuries. Ms. Flanagan states that since 2005, “more than 60 people—the majority of them students—have died in incidents linked to fraternities, a sobering number in itself, but one that is dwarfed by the numbers of serious injuries, assaults, and sexual crimes that regularly take place in these houses.”

The writer asks and answers the question, “why don’t colleges just get rid of their bad fraternities?” The answer is that fraternity alumni are good donors, fraternities are a source of housing, and fraternities have become so politically and legally powerful that they successfully fight regulation.

Are kids in jeopardy in frat houses? An eighth of college students live in fraternities or sororities. They generate billions of dollars. Lawsuits provide a public record of the problems. These usually involve one of four issues: binge drinking, sexual assault, hazing, or physical or emotional injury. Ms. Flanagan uses the graph below to demonstrate their frequency:

She spends a great deal of time discussing stories of frat party mishaps. She discovered that, “kids fall—disastrously—from the upper heights of fraternity houses with some regularity. They tumble from the open windows they are trying to urinate out of, slip off roofs, lose their grasp on drainpipes, misjudge the width of fire-escape landings.” Students fall from fraternities far more than they fall from dorms or other buildings.

The lawsuits against fraternities were a, “serious threat to their existence.” First, fraternities established their own self funded insurance system, the Fraternity Risk Management Trust. Then they created a risk-management policy called the Fraternal Information and Programming Group (FIPG). This group publishes “a risk-management manual—the current version is 50 pages—that lays out a wide range of (optional) best practices.” The writer states that, “I have read hundreds of fraternity incident reports, not one of which describes an event where massive amounts of alcohol weren’t part of the problem—and the need to manage or transfer risk presented by alcohol is perhaps the most important factor in protecting the system’s longevity.”

Here is a key idea that college students and their parents must understand: these “risk-management” policies are designed “to establish that the young men being charged were not acting within the scope of their status as fraternity members. Once they violated their frat’s alcohol policy, they parted company with the frat.” Thus they are no longer covered by the frat’s insurance. Instead of the frat or the university being liable, individual kids are held responsible.

Fraternities have lots of rules. If they are violated, the violator stands alone, “’I’ve recovered millions and millions of dollars from homeowners’ policies,’ a top fraternal plaintiff’s attorney told me. For that is how many of the claims against boys who violate the strict policies are paid: from their parents’ homeowners’ insurance. As for the exorbitant cost of providing the young man with a legal defense for the civil case (in which, of course, there are no public defenders), that is money he and his parents are going to have to scramble to come up with, perhaps transforming the family home into an ATM to do it. The financial consequences of fraternity membership can be devastating, and they devolve not on the 18-year-old ‘man’ but on his planning-for-retirement parents.”

There are clear procedures to be followed when something goes wrong. However, “the interests of the national organization and the individual members cleave sharply as this crisis-management plan is followed.” The plan is outlined in the article. However, the author notes that, “the young men who typically rush so gratefully into the open arms of the representatives from their beloved national—an outfit to which they have pledged eternal allegiance—would be far better served by not talking to them at all, by walking away from the chapter house as quickly as possible and calling a lawyer.”

The author does provide a counter point that outlines the benefits of fraternity participation. She speaks with a representative from a Greek organization who presents compelling and powerful reasons to join a fraternity. She quotes a mother who says that her son’s fraternity was critical to his success in college, “Her son had waited until sophomore year to rush, and freshman year he had been so lonely and unsure of himself that she had become deeply worried about him. But everything changed after he pledged. He had friends; he was happy.”

Here is the key question: should college students who make poor choices, usually under the influence of alcohol, be held personally responsible when there are terrible consequences? To what degree should the organization that facilitated that consumption be called to account? Right now, if you step into a fraternity, member or not, there is a chance that those consequences may be laid at your feet.

I have boiled down a detailed article to less than 20% of the whole. I urge you to read the entire piece.

Joining a fraternity in college can help a student make friends, do good work, and have an active social life. It could mean taking responsibility, both personally and financially, for the many ills and issues that plague Greek life.

I ❤ Science Fiction

I was introduced to science fiction in Sunday School. Yes, religious school! I attended a Humanistic Jewish Sunday School (now called Kol Hadash) and my teacher used Star Trek to teach values, decision-making, and the power of human beings. I remember debating Captain Kirk’s choice to destroy the “god” Val in the episode, “The Apple.” Another teacher used the short stories of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. to teach similar lessons. I was hooked.  I had always been a reader, but now I devoured science fiction short stories, novels, television shows, and movies.

I didn’t know many other people who shared my interest. I found fan groups and subscribed to a few publications, but that wasn’t the same as having real people with whom to discuss my passion.

In high school, I joined a fan organization called Star Fleet and started a chapter. While my group had few meetings, I developed pen pal relationships as we created a very amateurish fanzine.

At the end of my high school career (when I could take the car for longer journeys on my own), I discovered science fiction conventions. For a few years, I even had the courage to drive to a convention in St. Louis each year. I made friends whom I only saw at these cons.

I wandered into the student union during my first week of college, and asked if there were any science fiction groups on campus, “Oh,” the bored person behind the desk yawned, “you mean the Galaxy Rangers.” I winced at the name, but answered, “Yes, I guess I do.” The Galaxy Rangers turned out to be a social group that met every Tuesday night. They became my lifelong friends.

After college, as the Galaxy Rangers grew up, conventions served a double purpose. They were a celebration of SF of course, but they were also reunions. There was always a Saturday night dinner with the Rangers at a con, and plenty of catching up time. Eventually, we only saw each other at conventions.

The Galaxy Rangers got married and had children. We bought homes. Getting to conventions became more of a luxury. Real life got in the way of my SF habit. I was working hard at my “real” job, and it was all I could do to read an SF book here and there and get to the Saturday of a convention.

A few years ago, I went to a book club meeting at one of the local SF conventions. The discussion was lively and the group warm and open. I joined the book club, and I have participated every since. Now, I have another group with whom to explore this wonderful passion.

And then, one year ago, a friend invited me to work on one of the local fan-run conventions, Capricon. Hesitantly, I said, “yes.” My wife asked when I would have the time to do this, and I quickly quit one of my many work committees!

While I cannot say that I was a huge help with this year’s convention, I learned even more about the magnificent SF fan community. I got a peak backstage at a con, and it further reinforced my deep connection to the world of science fiction fandom.

And let’s be candid: we science fiction fans can be a lonely bunch. Don’t jump to stereotypes. Don’t play the “get a life” card. They are an accepting, welcoming, and interesting group of people.

It is so important to be connected to strong and healthy communities. Whether this is through participation on a sports team, performing group, or religious organization, these communities keep us grounded and connected. I am so lucky to have fallen in love with science fiction and its fantastic fans. 

The Grading Game

I have memorized all of my students’ grades. That’s right. I didn’t need to copy them from the school system on to my spreadsheet. I knew them. I double-checked, of course, but I was correct.

I know my students’ grades because I worked on them for hours. I reviewed each student’s progress for the last five months. I went back to their assignments and my notes. My family thinks I perseverate over these grades. They may be correct.

I am struggling with grades and grading – again. This year I have fully committed to grading by standards. My students’ grades are determined by their proficiency in eleven specific targets. Each assignment focuses on one or more targets and is recorded in my grade book, not by assignment, but by the skill.

So what should be so difficult about assigning an end of the semester grade? A student is proficient in some skills, inconsistently proficient in some, and still developing in others. Great. We know which skills this student needs to focus on next semester.

But is that a B? Is it an A? What is it?

Then there are things that are not easily measurable: passion, engagement, or even growth. Grades must be justified, so most teachers base them solely on things we count, and then we only see those things and something important silently slips away.

Did I mention that I hate grades? I think grades shift focus away from real learning and redirect it to a game of collecting a kind of college currency. Grades plant poison in the teacher-student relationship. I wish we could just look at students’ skill levels and leave it at that. But that is not my world.

I hate grading so much that I’ll write a blog post to avoid doing it. I really should be finishing those grades right now.

I translated my scores into numbers that reflect their degrees of mastery. A 4 is a student who could teach the skill, a 3 is a student who is proficient, a 2 is a student who is developing proficiency, and a 1 is a student who doesn’t demonstrate the skill adequately.

We work on these skills in class. We practice, and they get feedback. We look at models and respond to each other’s work. We conference and revise and review and discuss and do all sorts of activities.

So why can’t I just give them a grade?

I made a chart: a student getting an A should have primarily 4s, 3s and 2.5s. A student getting a B should have 2.5s and an occasional 3 or 2. My son looked at the chart and detected its flaw: “you are weighting all the targets the same,” he said.

We have spent more time on reading. Should it count for more? How much more? We only had one unit using research skills. Some skills are interrelated: writing a paragraph claim is a step toward writing a thesis. And how much should “work completion,” “class participation,” and the other “effort” skills weigh?

I played math games, and tried to add the numbers together. I came up weighted and unweighted scores. I gave some targets a multiplier.

I ended up using everything. I looked at all the systems and scrutinized each student’s grade individually. I stayed up late several nights in a row checking and rechecking.

There has to be a better way. I have resolved to ask my students to help me find it. If you have it, please share. Yes, simply averaging their grades and coming up with an 88% would be easier –but it would be wrong (look here, here, and here if you want to know my thoughts on averaged grades).

I want my students’ grades to accurately and honestly reflect their skills and learning. I want their grades to be fair. And I want to get some sleep!

Cold Days Slide Us Back To School

Every year, snow days are wonderful surprises. A day off for something else is unusual. Two days off is rare. Two days off attached to a break is unprecedented. But that’s what happened.

At the end of summer vacation, I am ready for school. I am eager to meet my new students, rise to new challenges, see my colleagues, and get back in the game. Spring break is always too short. The week flies by, and school vengefully returns. Winter break is just about the right length. Although a third week would be accepted gladly, two weeks are long enough to let go of school.

However, going back to school isn’t exactly welcome. I was bracing myself for the return last Saturday. The break had been especially meaningful. My elder child had rejoined the family after being way since August. It was a joyful reunion, and we had a week in splendid Hawaiian isolation.

We returned to cold Chicago, and my children got touch with their friends, and made plans. We unpacked and prepared for school.  The four of us got together with neighbors and family, too. Winter break was waning.

And then it got cold – real cold. On Sunday, I drove my daughter to her grandparents’ house in the morning. My van’s doors froze shut on the way. It was a sign of what was coming. Soon after, the superintendent announced there would be no school on Monday.

Monday morning felt like Sunday. We slept late, and had a leisurely breakfast together. Although my daughter wanted to go out with friends, she was easily dissuaded by the terrible conditions outside. So the four of us stayed home – together.

We watched TV, read, and played games. We did family work together. We filled out forms, planned for school, and enjoyed a very different kind of isolation. We opened all the cabinets, ran the faucets, and checked the water pipes in the basement regularly. It was an extra vacation day spent in the arctic.

We played a game after dinner, looked at photos of my daughter’s African journey, and went to bed warm and relaxed. We were shocked when we got notice of a second canceled day.

The second day was our transition back into reality. First, I realized that there was cold air coming through the vents. The furnace was no longer heating the house. Then, as my kids left to go to the movies, the garage door wouldn’t close. When it ceased to work entirely, we realized that the power was out. No problem, we have a generator. It didn’t work either.

Our super handyman came over and was able to make three of our four issues go away. Commonwealth Edison eventually got the power back on.

My wife and I sat down to a late lunch exhausted, but pleased that the kids had spent the drama time at the movie theater with friends. The second snow day felt more like a frantic Saturday.

Thus, we are ready to get back to school tomorrow. The two extra days were more than icing on winter break. They were a last chance to circle the wagons and spend time with important people. They were also a reminder of why school had been canceled in the first place, and that real problems and real responsibilities are never far away.

Currently it is 1° outside. My son is studying. My daughter is packing. My wife is at a meeting. I am writing. Winter break is over. Tomorrow: school!

Helpless and Holding My Breath

I didn’t know what it was like to hold my breath for four months, until I was finally able to exhale. I didn’t know what it was like to have one of my children away – really far away, 7000 miles away – and how difficult that would be. And I didn’t know the relief and the incredible release that her return would bring.

My elder child’s study abroad semester in Kenya was a learning experience for all of us. It felt like a long time. It felt like that old joke: I spent a month with my in-laws one weekend.

While the departure was difficult, it now feels like the easiest part of the journey. The random panic attacks, sudden teary eyes, and overwhelming anticipation of a video chat became rituals to which I never fully adjusted.

And then the early morning phone call:  At 6am on Saturday, September 20, it rang. I was half asleep when I answered it; my daughter said, “Daddy, I’m fine.” Great, I thought, “Why are you calling? What is going on?” There had been a terrorist attack at a shopping mall about two kilometers from her apartment. The siege on that mall would last several days. Only later would my daughter tell me that, at the time of the attack, she and her roommate were on their way there.

My brother called and said we should bring her home. Now. And having her home would certainly have been good for my blood pressure and racing heartbeat. Yet, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. The university told us she was safe. My wife pointed out that there are dangers everywhere. Most of all, my daughter did not think it was necessary to leave. I had to rely her judgment. Her judgment is excellent, and I have come to trust it. My emotional and protective side wanted her under my care. But I knew that I could no more protect her here, than I could there. She was going to have to navigate these situations on her own. And although I knew she could, I wanted to be by her side. I wanted to continue coaching and parenting. I couldn’t and I shouldn’t and it was one of the most difficult things NOT to do.

Things did calm down. Life returned to the new normal in both Africa and our home. We scheduled a weekly video chat. We exchanged occasional text messages and emails. I can’t say I got used to it. I would race home from Sunday school and set up for our weekly sighting. And when she didn’t want to say goodbye, I wanted to reach through the screen and hug her.

There were the little illnesses, difficulties with classes, and the usual bumps that any college student or world traveler experiences. I watched her handle them beautifully.   I worried when she wasn’t feeling well and wondered about where she could get good medical care if she needed it. Being thousands of miles from campus, I marveled as she registered for next semester, applied for a job, and arranged for housing from afar.

For one week, she was staying in a home in a distant part of Kenya. Rural week, it was called. She didn’t know if her hosts would have electricity, running water, or would even speak English. We talked the day before she left and then we crossed our fingers.

Midweek, my phone rang! She was checking in! Fortunately, she was staying in the home of a government official and college professor! Other students had much more primitive lodgings. She could use her cell phone to call us and I was relieved. It worked out fine.

That, I guess, is the theme of this entire experience: It worked out fine. I knew that she could take care of difficult challenges without me. I learned that I could not only let her do that, but I would survive standing on the sidelines and being so far out of the action.

And now, she is back in the arms of the family. After a grueling two-day journey, we are back together, and I can breathe again. I wanted to fly to Africa and accompany her home. I exercised all my bad helicopter parent tendencies on the last leg of the journey. I tracked her flight and touched base at each of her five cities. I raced to the airport to meet her. I got there too soon and paced and fretted.

And I know the big lesson: we are going to do this again – and again and again. I better get used to it. I don’t know if I will. I was jealous of parents whose kids came home for Thanksgiving. I was jealous of parents of students studying in London, Rome, Madrid, and even Perth. But that isn’t my child. My child will be going to learn in much more remote and unusual locations. And I am going to practice breathing.

Finding Poetry and the Man in the Chair

In the winter of 1996, I was struggling to help my Freshman English students understand and appreciate poetry. We were reading Romeo and Juliet, and Shakespeare felt concrete and foreign. Through an article in a professional journal, I stumbled on to the concept of “found poetry.”

Found poetry is verse created out ordinary everyday sources: product labels, cereal boxes, instruction manuals, and newspaper articles. The journal had an example of a poem by Julius Lester called “Parents” based an article from a paper in Arizona.

I presented the Lester poem to my students. Then I showed them two examples of my own: a piece written from a computer program manual and another based on a recent newspaper article.

The article was entitled “Hope grows on vines of love: Faith nourishes paralyzed teen, family.” It was about a high school hockey player who was paralyzed during a game and struggling to recover. I don’t remember my thoughts when selecting this article. I might have wanted a piece about teenager. It was in the “PrepsPlus” part of the Sunday paper, which I rarely read. In addition, the article has strong traditional religious overtones, which is hardly my style. It seems an unlikely selection.

Modeling the process for my students, I wrote a brief piece using the article as my found source:

Hope is where you find it.

O'Connor's eyes

are half open.

"I think I'm in a pretty good mood

for a kid with a broken neck."

hope has become

a finger twitch

"It's very slight,"

a flicker of movement

Doctors may know about

probability

but they don't know about building

hope

"it was just an accident"

"My arms looked

real far away. And my neck

hurt."

Ehhhhh, you're doomed

"It's hard sometimes"

He still has body spasms that frighten him.

"It's never going to get easy,"

it just tears your heart out

But not yet.

It could have been worse.

It isn’t much compared to Lester’s disturbing and professional poem. I figured I needed to show my students some sample found poems. Kids brought in things from menus to maps to magazines. We created all sorts of fun, interesting, and powerful poetry together.

And that was that. For seventeen years, I used this example and wrote a few others.

Then, I went to today’s annual charity drive assembly. Our school holds a big fund raising campaign between Thanksgiving and Winter Break. We have contributed to causes ranging from children with cancer to congenital heart defects to helping soldiers in Africa. This year’s charity helps disabled people engage in athletic activities.

The assembly began with our student council leaders. They talked about why they picked this group: the Great Lakes Adaptive Sports Association. They introduced the director and she spoke. Then a local mother of a child told her story.

Then they introduced the man in the wheelchair who had been sitting up front beside the podium: J.J. O’Connor. I recognized the name right away, but I wasn’t sure. I whispered to the teacher sitting next to me, “I wonder if he was paralyzed playing hockey.” Sure enough.

It was him: the boy in the article, seventeen years later. He found me. How unlikely! I was amazed.

I ran to my office and retrieved the poem. I couldn’t find the actual article until the end of the day. I got a copy of the poem and rushed back to the assembly, but it was almost time for my next class, so I left the auditorium as the assembly ended. I told my students about it, and they asked, “Why didn’t you go tell him?” My answer was simple, “Because I needed to come to class with you!”

I saw one of the student leaders after school, and he told me that J.J. O’Connor will be at the big charity benefit this Sunday. I’ll be there. I’ll bring the article, and the poem – and my thanks and admiration. I’ll find him again. How poetic!

The Vacation Before the Vacation

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Absent,

I am sorry we missed Marcus right before Thanksgiving break – and winter break – and spring break. I hope your trips were everything you hoped. I have attached our daily class agendas, assignment sheets, homework, and handouts.

When my children were in elementary and middle school, I remember being very frustrated just before holidays. It seemed like the day or even the week before breaks was filled with parties, movies, and non-academic fluff. I wish that were the case in high school. Unfortunately, it is quite the reverse. We barely have enough time to cover the curriculum.

In high school, we do our really need every moment. In fact, instead of showing Finding Nemo seven times, students frequently have major assignments, tests, or other assessments due right before or after the breaks. Part of this is due to where these holidays land on the school calendar. Thanksgiving is almost the mid-point of the second quarter. Winter break comes only two weeks before final exams and the end of the semester. Spring break usually marks the end of third quarter. It is highly probable that Marcus will have several tests, papers, projects, and presentations during the days immediately preceding each of these major school holidays.

I’ve heard that flights and hotels are cheaper before the holiday. It is so much nicer at the resort when it isn’t so crowded. I can fully understand why you are so eager to get away. I wish I could join you. Marcus is fortunate to get that extra time. Rest assured that, even if Marcus is traveling instead of being in class, the other students are still learning– just without Marcus. I am sure Marcus will eventually catch up. He will have to either turn in work prior to leaving or make up work upon returning. Some teachers will also assign homework over the break, so please remind Marcus to do that as well. Although this might be stressful and difficult, no doubt the trip will provide the necessary relaxation.

I am hopeful that Marcus can figure out the material without the instruction I provide in class. The activities and experiences in class would make his learning easier, but I am sure you can help him, and there must be some resources at the resort. You probably did something vaguely similar to our unit of study when you were in school twenty or thirty years ago, so you are well prepared to assist your child.

And Marcus was so good at being proactive before his absences. It is fortunate that I overheard him talking to the other students. I am sure Marcus will be just as responsible when making up work after the vacation. I believe he is missing a few days on that end, too. Right? I will send those additional materials, but Marcus has already told me that there may or may not be an Internet connection at your resort. Besides, who likes to do homework on the beach?

As we approach the end of the marking period, I will be in touch about Marcus’s grade. No one likes that kind of surprise. By the way, Marcus is still missing work from his prior absences due to his doctor’s appointments, soccer tournaments, and that extra special trip downtown.

Have a wonderful holiday, enjoy the beach, and please help Marcus learn the skills listed on the daily agenda!

Yours truly,

Mr. Hirsch