‘Don’t Let Us Die’: Middlebury College frat life at its zenith

When students received an email last Thursday about Middlebury’s plans to restructure residential life and end the commons system, no major student response erupted. Students reacted with confusion — a bit of frustration at most– to the dismantling of the arbitrary group framework imposed from freshmen year.

By contrast, in 1980, as the administration was chipping away at its fraternity system, students held a mock-funeral in protest. Members constructed plywood coffins topped with floral decorations and banners that read “Don’t let us die,” and paraded through campus. When the school president compared fraternity members to primates, students handed out banana bumper stickers that read “I’m ape for frats.”

Since Middlebury banned its fraternities in 1991, substitutions like the commons system have sought to fill their shoes. The juxtaposition of student reaction to these two events shows that the effort has thus far fallen short.

The legacy of the Middlebury fraternity system on campus largely zeroes in on the events that led it its ban, and the building problematic behaviors that preceded it. These critiques of the system are valid, but partial, characterizations of Middlebury Greek life. For decades, houses were collectively the architects of social life, hosting frequent open parties, providing common rooms, and connecting students across archetypes. Today, as commons spaces are swallowed by bedrooms for ballooning class sizes and 56% of students report dissatisfaction with Middlebury social life, those looking to foster unity, belonging, and inclusion on campus may find unexpected teachings in the fraternity system of yesteryear.

“Fraternities were a pretty integral part of the social structure,” says Christine Goodman Smith ’81, social member of Alpha Sigma Phi, affectionately called ‘Slug House.’ She describes the lack of on-campus open spaces, not having multiple dining halls, well maintained common spaces, or a student center of any capacity: “We had Proctor and the Crest Room, a little café, and that was it.” Though most lived in campus dorms, fraternities functioned as the habitat for communal social congregation.

As parents often do, Smith compares her social quality of life to her son’s, who attended Middlebury in the early 2010’s, and has noticed some absences. She acknowledges the frats’ complex history, but says that the College has insufficiently replaced them.“I think Middlebury had a really good grasp of the whole fraternity situation,” she says. “I was sorry to see the houses shut their doors.”

John Weeks ’84, a fellow “Slug”-er, defends the inclusionary character of Middlebury Greek life as unique. His son attended Clemson his freshman year, and experienced high stakes pledging and exclusivity, with hard access barriers placed on membership. “Our parties, they weren’t like that,” Weeks asserts.

“One of the reasons fraternities have been so maligned is that they’re ‘exclusionary,’” Weeks says. “But it seems almost now like things have become more niche, that there are less opportunities to get outside of your group.”

Open responses from a student survey supported this concern. “Social interactions tend to be stratified by race, ethnicity, class, and athlete status,” described Maja Cannavo, ’21. Another junior echoed this depiction, adding, “This isn’t all bad, but there seems to be such little cross-over that you really have to try to branch out.”

While he says a plethora of options to students is important in a diverse student body, Weeks wonders, in the years since 1991, “What has [Middlebury] done to bring everyone together? Eliminating frats was getting rid of one big crossover opportunity.”

With no Middlebury College Activities Board, commons councils, or social houses, frats served both the members and the many. They were a web of nodular organizers, not just planning their own events but bolstering participation across the social atmosphere. Jed Dove ’81, a Zeta Psi member, affirms that “Most of the time when you’d go to non-fraternity sponsored events, you’d be going with fraternity brothers or friends.” Frats were a funnel for campus animation en masse beyond the house walls. Many frats hosted tailgates for football games or ski races at the Snowbowl. Jed and his brother Jeff housed the Zeta Psi keg in the back of their van.

Many frats had stereotyped constituencies: Sig Ep were skiers, KDR were lacrosse players, Chi Si were soccer players, Delta Upsilon (DU) were largely football and hockey players. Other groups were a melange. Dove characterizes Zete as an assortment of pre-meds, stoners, unaffiliated jocks and others. There were exceptions and diversity within each house– Weeks was a football player, but a Slug member. From a chapter standpoint, membership was male. Some frats clung to this. In others, such as Slug, Sig Ep, and Zete, female “social members” were not subjugated.

Despite house stereotypes, the frats functioned more as a system than as distinct units. “We went to their parties, they came to ours,” says Dove, “There was a lot of cross-pollination going on.” Though the friendships forged within frats were tight, the organizations connected people from different swaths of campus.

Each house also had its hallmark event. Zeta Psi hosted Casino Night. Sigma Epsilon threw a massive Halloween party and “Peter Pan Days,” a mud-pit-party thrown in a freshly dug yard trench. KDR threw a glitter party. Slug was famous for its barn — a two story rustic venue that was torn down for structural hazards. Even the Otter Creek raft races, school sponsored and run, became a staple of frat culture, with each house building and entering their own raft design.

The “Animal House” style wildness associated with fraternities likely played out at these parties: alums have a nostalgic-but-somewhat-uncomfortable-about-it air when mulling over their storytelling. Events may have flirted with recklessness, but they were all open invitation. Weeks attended his first glitter party as a prospective football recruit. If anyone got turned away at the door, it was because Pub Safe, present at all registered frat parties in the early ’80s, had dictated that the building had reached capacity. “I’m sure there were people not in fraternities who saw them as exclusive,” Dove says, “but we always felt we were- and tried to be- very welcoming, especially with our big social events.”

Furthermore, for members across campus their “social club” (the name favored by some female members) was that and more. Members partied, dined, and often lived together. Houses, technically off-campus, were responsible for their own meal plans, bills, and upkeep. For the most involved, frats became a central part of their homebuilding and identity. “I know dorms have social areas,” Weeks says, contrasting living in dorms and frats, “but [slug] was ours, it was like our house.” Michael Cohen ’94 told the LA Times that “Most of my great times at Middlebury have been with Delta Kappa Epsilon and not Middlebury.”

Middlebury’s greek system, founded in 1905 with Kappa Delta Rho, at its peak sported 11 organizations and broad enrollment. Karl Lindholm, ’67, Dean of Students during the frat ban, told The Campus in 2009 that “By responsible estimates I would say 90–95% of my graduating class was in a fraternity.” Frat membership was a natural aspect of student life. When Lindholm’s father asked why he pledged he said, “I could not answer that question ­- it was just the culture.”

In the 1980s, greek enrollment dropped and houses became increasingly niche, changing their social function. Critics charged the system with sexism, delinquency, destructive party culture, and exclusivity. The administration tried to mandate universal female membership, which meant forfeiting national chaptership and its benefits.

The Board of Trustees went through with the ban in 1990, after a streak of disciplinary incidents, including a 1989 morning when, after a party, a mannequin was found hanging from the DU balcony painted with the words “Random hole.” Other, less notorious clashes, like room destruction and lewd winter carnival snow sculptures, also contributed. The frat ban birthed plans for the social house system in 1991 and the commons system in 1992.

For Smith, Dove, and Weeks, the Middlebury fraternity system held value that they fear has been overlooked or discounted by recent history. One major lesson was responsibility. Because each house was technically off campus, students “had to pay utilities, upkeep, maintain the dining program and pay the cook,” according to Dove. Weeks said that members had to learn how to “run [the house] like a business.” He questions the extent to which dorm life can provide this financial literacy. For such lessons coupled with their sense of belonging and cross-campus friendships, Smith, Weeks, and Dove all expressed gratitude towards their fraternity.

Group memory is passed down through the continuity of institutions, and the refounding of student social life in 1991 bisected our social collective memory. Middlebury’s student body today, more diverse on myriad planes, places different expectations on its social institutions than during the vintage of fraternities at their peak. These both contribute to how the less scandalous functions of fraternities are difficult to picture. But as the commons system joins the graveyard of Middlebury social institutions, it might be useful to remember its ancestors as we rebuild.

Photo Above courtesy of Ruth McLaughlin: A 1980 Zeta Psi composite featuring its executive board, cook Mrs. Clark, and house pooch, “Pabst.”