I met Don my first day of college. I knew a couple of classmates from Royal Oak were attending Western and found comfort that “At least I’ll know someone.” Don became my first “new” friend.
Don proved to be quite a character. He grew up on a Wisconsin farm. He was a big, strong, Polish farm boy who came to Western to earn a degree in Paper Technology. Before the first semester had passed, he changed his mind. In fact, he changed his mind several times.
Don and I hung out together. We went to “mixers” and paid fifty cents to have the opportunity to meet and dance with girls. We met several. The younger classmen, those who really didn’t know their way around the college dating scene, used mixers as an opportunity to meet new people. (We both had girlfriends at home but felt that “one little dance can’t hurt”. )
I brought him home to get to know my family, and we talked about me traveling to Wisconsin to meet his. That never happened. Once when we were talking about where we came from, we shared how we had come to select Western Michigan as our school of choice. He came because of the excellent paper technology program. I came because it had a cool mascot.
I asked about the procedures that high schools in Wisconsin followed to help students get ready for college. I told him that I had one of two paths that I could follow. I could seek a “college prep” or a “general education” diploma. That’s when he told me that he never got a high school diploma.
“Why not? How did you get into college without one?”
He went on to explain that he had applied to Western and been accepted before he actually graduated. “They sent my transcript that said I was going to graduate.”
“So why didn’t you get a diploma?”
“The final week of school I got in trouble in one of my classes. The teacher sent me out into the hall. He came out to talk to me, I got mad, and I hit him. I knocked him out. He dropped like a rock. I got suspended for ten days. Graduation took place during that time, so I never received my diploma.”
Don and I became friends with the guys next door. Tim and Gary were from Dearborn. They went to high school together and ended up enrolling at Western. Tim and Don shared a love of the outdoors and became “hunting buddies”. Gary was an outstanding high school athlete. (You’ll learn more about him in another story. He deserves his own tale.) He and I developed a friendship similar to Don and Tim’s only we were on the look-out for female companionship.
As big and strong as Don was, he had never shaved his upper lip. He had a small patch of “baby hair” growing under his nose. I started to call him “Fuzzy”. It was a nickname that I believed suited him well.
Fuzzy had a habit of sleeping during the day and studying at night. He covered the windows of our dorm room with newspapers to block out the sunlight. It worked for him, and most of the time I didn’t mind.
One afternoon a group of guys was talking about Fuzzy and the fact that he had never shaved his upper lip. We decided to take matters into our own hands. He was a very sound sleeper, so surprising him was easy. I don’t recall all the guys that took part, but I expect that there must have been at least five of us. Four of us held him down and one did the shaving. We struck quickly and effectively. He fought valiantly, but the fact that we outnumbered him and were stealth in our attack, led to our success. We were a bunch of nineteen-year-olds doing what we thought was the “right thing”.
In spite of the fact that he was now “hairless”, Fuzzy kept his name for the rest of his life. He was a unique guy, unlike anyone that I had met before. Here’s a tale to exemplify my point.
A Duck Tale
During our junior year Fuzzy and Tim lived together in a cottage on Gull Lake. Gary and I and two other guys, Jim and Dan, rented the upper level of a house on Oak Street.
One Friday afternoon I came home from class and found a note on the kitchen table that had been left by Fuzzy and Tim. It read, “Don’t worry about the duck. He’ll be fine in the box. We left him food. We’ll be back to pick him up on Sunday.”
I wondered “what duck” and “what box”? Later that afternoon Gary came home and we discussed the note. We investigated and found a mallard duck in a cardboard box in the attic. We left it alone as instructed.
True to their word, Fuzzy and Tim came to retrieve the duck on Sunday. The rest of the story goes as follows.
Fuzzy and Tim were enrolled in a biology class together and not doing very well. The professor had offered up “extra credit” to anyone who could locate live specimens. Fuzzy and Tim took the professor up on his offer and captured a duck.
They took advantage of living on Gull Lake. There was a dock out front of their cottage. They developed a plan to lure ducks near the dock by tossing bread into the water. As the ducks neared the dock, Tim kept feeding them, and Fuzzy jumped into the water on top of one. He held tight while Tim retrieved the cardboard box.
The boys had plans to be out of town for a couple of days so they decided to stash the duck in our attic. We weren’t around to object, so they left us a note and were on their way.
I’m not sure how much credit they received, but I don’t recall the duck being much of a bother.
More tales to follow.