The `greek' experience at Duke

I've never liked much of what I've read or watched about fraternities.

Fraternity literature often seems like an exercise in bad writing, interspersing mawkish, self-promoting tales of community service (does it really take 80 guys to paint one house?) and outdoor sporting anecdotes with cheesy photos of neat, sober, happy fellas straight out of the 1950s. Buzzwords like "tradition," "honor," "justice" and "brotherhood" are slathered everywhere (as one Recess writer once wrote) the way Papa John uses tomato sauce.

Fraternity life isn't quite like that. But hilarious as the movie is, it isn't quite National Lampoon's Animal House, either. As the first season of rush and pledging since I graduated progresses, I've thought about how little most people know about these campus institutions whose optimistic rush brochures and bacchanalian public image could not be more dissonant.

Because virtually my entire senior year occurred in either the Chronicle office or my fraternity section, I felt that dissonance most acutely. I lived next door to a guy who woke up one morning next to a barbecued pig head at the same time The Chronicle published scathing editorials about Phi Kappa Psi fraternity. I wrote jokes about Abercrombie and Fitch and mocked monotonous Duke social life fast enough to make it home for mixers. As much as I enjoyed the fraternity system, I always forced myself to think about its limitations.

Fraternities continue to be Duke's single largest quality of life problem. Their exclusive position in housing riles those who argue that they reinforce the divide between wealthy and less wealthy, between black and whites, between party animals and hardcore academics. To some, this system of exclusive organizations exemplifies elitist values that are obnoxious and anachronistic. Some of those criticisms--especially with regard to housing--are valid. If Duke's values--and those of a majority of its students--are in such perpetual conflict with this system, why keep it?

My time in a fraternity saw its share of alcohol and outrageous antics; most people's college experiences do. But I also saw some things that, I think, proved that some of those words--like "brotherhood"--aren't euphemisms for parties and pledging stunts. I often think about the cheers going up when people announced job and grad school acceptances. There were also tears--moments that made the talk of strong bonds quite literal--and arguments that taught this only child a lesson about getting along with "brothers." A lot of those people weren't much like me; despite the stereotypes, my fraternity was hardly monolithic. There were children of doctors and children of recent immigrants, perpetual slackers and scholarship recipients. There were biomedical engineers, future lawyers, helicopter pilots and even a guy who studied island ecology. For me, joining a selective organization meant that I ended up being friends with people more "diverse" than my independent friends--even my friends at The Chronicle.

One of the worst things about graduating is the realization that a lot of the things you loved are over. But unlike most of my Duke experience--editing a magazine, getting free basketball tickets, waking up at noon--the fraternity, in some ways, is not over. Silly though it may sound, it does mean something to walk in the door of somewhere you don't even live anymore and know that everybody will still know your name. Like a lot of things, a fraternity is a shared experience, one that does not go away when you've boxed up your cap and gown.

Fraternities aren't for everybody. Much of my time at Duke was spent outside my fraternity, and it's certainly not the only route to a fulfilling college life. But it is one route, I think, and one that makes Duke different from most of its competition. Fraternities are a part of our "work hard, play hard" mythology, part of what distinguishes our school from our duller competition. Like Duke, they have their inherent flaws and their best and worst representatives. They provide levity amid serious academic rigor, and they offer a sense of continuity that few other organizations enjoy.