The Ohio University Halloween (Pt. 1)

It’s a Wednesday, and I’m sober. So I’m going to delve into my archives for story time (sit back, this will be a long one):

In October 2003, my good friend (we’ll call him “Tommy College,” or “T.C.”; not so much to protect his identity, but because it really pisses him off) called me with an idea. He had heard about Ohio University’s annual costumed Bacchanalia, which O.U. students and alumni downplay as a “Halloween party.” Now, I am going to assume that you’re like me; when you see the term “Halloween party,” you think “a relatively small gathering—maybe 20 to 40 people, some of whom are in costume, consuming alcohol and relaxing while music plays.” A reasonable supposition, but let me shatter it with a fact that T.C. dropped on me during that phone call: O.U.’s Halloween party is the 3^rd largest public celebration in the country, behind Times Square on New Years Eve and Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I went into involuntary spasms at the realization of what we were about to get ourselves into.

At the time, T.C. was president of his frat, which has a chapter at O.U. His idea was to call the president of O.U.’s chapter, tell him that he was coming through with some guys for the party, and graciously accept the unmitigated hospitality that would be offered by the O.U. frat brothers: beds, booze, hookers, liver transplants the following day—whatever we wanted. We’re W&J guys, after all: we would be received as liberators. I now have a sneaking suspicion that T.C. was working with the Bush Administration’s Iraq War advisors.

Tony was the only other friend of ours who we could convince to ride out with us. Some had other commitments that day. Some lacked what my high school defensive line coach called “intestinal fortitude.” Even Tony took some convincing. He didn’t commit until a friend of his, who had heard elsewhere about the famed party, said he’d be crazy not to go.

On the Saturday of the party, Tony, T.C., and I made the 3 hour drive out to Athens, Ohio. If you have ever made a trip across any stretch of Ohio, then you know just what kind of torture it is. It’s similar to the scene in Starship Troopers, where the bug drains the guy’s brains to read his mind. Ohio wanted to know what our plans were, and after 2½ hours our skulls were bone dry.

Athens is a typical college town, in that there’s more college than town. At night, the O.U. campus sits on a plateau like a glowing oasis amid the pitch black nothingness of, well...Ohio. And as we drove into the light, our jaws dropped. Block upon block of off-campus apartments and houses, teeming with people. And, especially, with girls scantily-clad in “costumes.” Girls on the porches. On the sidewalks. Sticking out of windows. Drinking on rooftops. On campus it was more of the same, every single block crawling with people. Drunk people. In costumes. God bless America.

The three of us had decided not to get dressed up, and as we walked from the parking lot to the frat house, we realized that we stuck out like sore thumbs. When I say everyone was in costume, I don’t mean “everyone” in a generic sense. I’m speaking literally here. EVERYONE. Except for the three W&J guys.

T.C. called the president to notify him of our arrival, and we stood outside of the frat house while we waited for him to come meet us. A foursome of attractive girls dressed as naughty girl scouts strode up the walkway (I still say in movie-like slow motion). One stopped to offer us some of the goodies in her “cookie box,” a shoe box which had been modified to match her outfit. She opened the top and revealed a large assortment of condoms. Tony and I each took one, and she smiled at us as she departed, catching up with her friends as they walked into the house and up the stairs. The look on Tony’s face was that of a man who had found heaven.

This was my first exposure to team costuming, but certainly not my last. After Frat Prez came down to get us, he took us upstairs to a hall party where groups of cops, cheerleaders, and hookers walked to and fro. He introduced us to his girlfriend, who herself was part of a group of…well, it was never made quite clear what their costumes were. Fedoras, pinstriped dress shirts, miniskirts, thigh-high stockings with garters, and high heels; kind of a cross between hookers and ‘30s gangsters. Whatever it was that they were going for, they achieved it beautifully.

They took us to an off-campus house party, but the fact that we knew no one aside from Frat Prez was readily apparent. And he was distracted by his friends, which left us as the un-costumed unknowns crashing the party. Not an easy conversation starter. Plus we were all sober. We had been handed beers at the house party, but they were the first drops of alcohol we had touched all night. We decided to journey directly to the epicenter of the craziness: Court Street.

(to be continued...)