"From the Archives"

"Dear Frat Bro"
I grew up during the turbulent 60's. I began my education at my alma mater, the fall of '69. The U.S. was embroiled in the Vietnam War; dames, er, young women were burning their bras and girdles and were questioning their submissive roles to men; the Civil Rights movement had been raging for years. Words like "far out," "heavy," "dude," and "groovy" were becoming mainstream in the "hippie culture;" young people disillusioned with all the conventional ideas of their parents.

And a new music arrived on the scene. Psychedelic, heavy metal and folk were emerging. And yers truly was caught-up smack dab in the middle of it. And because I had a yearning to drop in and drop out and to further the cause, I wrote a column for Truck U.'s newspaper. My byline was Frat Bro.

Btw, the greek sororities and fraternities were taking a hit in new membership, as the "counter culture" was dismissing the old established ways.

Here's my column from back in the day. An advice column, if you will, allah Ann Landers, which was designed to help my ggggeneration cope with the new revolution:

Dear Frat Bro: I'm scared @#$%less, dude. LBJ has decided to intensify our presence in Vietnam. I'm an English major, who is in danger of flunking out of school. My lottery number is 69. I'm afraid that I will be classified 1-A soon. Any suggestions. Signed: Not a Fortunate Son.

Dear Fortunate Son: Get to the bookstore quick and buy every cliff notes ever made. How do you think I've stayed at Truck U. all these years. Dude, the Canterbury Tales is a wild ride if you get the unabridged version. But Homer, Socrates, and Aristotle are greek to me. BTW, I ain't no senator's son. And when the tax man showed up at my dad's place, the house looked like a rummage sale, yawl. Thanks for the query and good luck!

Dear Frat Bro: Your column is heavy and far out. And groovy, dude. My friends tell me there's an outdoor rock concert/festival in upstate New York in August. Lots of beautiful people going. Trying to find themselves. It's gonna be a weekend of partying, dude. I heard that Jimi, Janis, CSN, Santana, Jefferson Airplane and maybe Bob Dylan will be there. Are you makin' the scene? Signed: Blonde on Blonde/Volunteers For America

Dear Blonde Volunteers: It's gonna be da heaviest collection of misfits ever assembled in one setting. Unfortunately, Bob has become somewhat of a recluse since his motorcycle accident. But Country Joe and the Fish will be there. Canned Heat and Ten Years After. I heard that Country Joe may change his name to Southern Fried Joe. But it's still the same fish to me. Thanks for the interrogatory!

Dear Frat Bro: When you leave Truck U. in a few years, what are you going to be when you grow up? In other words, what are your career goals? Are you going to get into print journalism and travel the world? Become a d.j. and spin the platters? Enter the exciting world of television. Maybe join Ted Turner's
fledgling new hybrid UHF station? What are you gonna do, dude? Signed: Inquisitive at Truck U's Inquisitional Facility.

Dear Inquisitive: None of the above, dude. I have my mind set on entering the wonderful world of restaurant hospitality. I have applied at Piccadilly Cafeteria. They make all their food from scratch. Pies, salads, meats, and veggies. I can't wait. They say the hours are great and you are well compensated. They have a crackerjack crew of maintenance men with well-honed skills. That repair all your service needs. Check back with me in 30 years and I'll tell you how it's going. "TFTQ!"

Dear Frat Bro, I dig your column. It really helps my psyche. Can you help me with a serious problem? You're my last resort. I will turn 30 next month, and-as you know-the younger generation doesn't trust anyone over that age. I want to stay in the revolution, but I'm afraid I'll be persona non grata once the birthday fairy comes and leaves a quarter under my pillow. Can you dig my dilemma? What to do, dude? Signed: Far(m) out?

Dear Farm Out: I'm afraid it's over for you, dude. Once you turn 30, you'll want to move to the suburbs, have 2.5 kids, and start investing in a 401K. Enjoy it while you can! It will soon be Andy Williams, Frank Sinatra, the Carpenters, and Tiny Tim time. Forget Hendrix, Morrison, and the Airplane. Sorry, not negotiable in today's revolution.

P.S. Submitted for your approval, v.c.