Thirty-six years ago, my wife and I began a five-year stint as house parents for the Chi Omega sorority at the University of Virginia. Kris was a former Chi O and served on the local board, hence the appointment when the sorority began looking for a house parent.
During those years, we supervised the day-to-day operations of the house, worked with the maintenance man on various projects, developed a supper plan for the twenty sisters living on the premises, helped conduct various house meetings, and watched over the safety of the young women in our charge. Everyone didn’t appreciate these efforts, but we tried our best to enforce the house rules and to be fair with our charges.
During those years, we supervised the day-to-day operations of the house, worked with the maintenance man on various projects, developed a supper plan for the twenty sisters living on the premises, helped conduct various house meetings, and watched over the safety of the young women in our charge. Everyone didn’t appreciate these efforts, but we tried our best to enforce the house rules and to be fair with our charges.
Our chief difficulty during this time was with the fraternities. The alleyway just below our bedroom was part of the road between the frat houses and the bars on “The Corner,” where fraternity boys watched university sports events on television, drank themselves silly, and then staggered home looking for trouble. Over the years, I stormed into the alleyway numerous times to prevent altercations and vandalism to the building and to the cars in the adjoining lot. One example: two young men from a frat house two blocks away once cursed and insulted Kris when I wasn’t home. I tracked them down inside their house and demanded an apology. They gave me one, mostly, I think, because they realized I had reached a point of glittering, black madness and was ready to inflict serious bodily harm.
The worst of these fraternity offenders belonged to Phi Gamma Delta, known as “Fijis.” Their house was directly behind Chi Omega. I have many memories of them shouting obscenities at the girls in our house in the middle of the night, pissing out their windows, and trying to smash our windows or break into the house.
Once I heard a tale about the Fijis, and I judge it to be true. Two high school girls from Charlottesville attended one of their parties, became drunk, and were raped. Later in the summer, when most of the “brothers” were gone, one of the girls’ vengeful brothers tried to firebomb the house, failed, and was arrested. Such was my animosity that even now I wish he’d ask me about where to throw the bomb.
Another example: one of Fijis—I still remember the bastard’s name, but won’t divulge it here—tried one late night to climb into my living room window. When I tried to persuade him otherwise, he sucker-punched me and knocked me cold against a radiator across the room. Though I came to a few seconds later and chased him down the alleyway, he escaped into the house.
Here’s what I learned from this entire experience: give barbarians the proverbial inch, and they’ll take a mile. Over those years, I learned never to give an inch. When I heard late night noises in the alleyway, I went outside. (The transgressors always ran away). I met with the president of the Fijis and told him I was coming after his brothers every time they violated the borders between the two houses. Kris and I sat down several times with personnel in the dean’s office. We also encountered an older alum of Phi Gamma Delta, who had belonged to the fraternity in the fifties and was baffled by their behavior. (“We gave them new furniture less than a year ago,” he told us. “I was just over there and they have wrecked every piece with cigarette burns and stains. One sofa looks like someone took an ax to it.”)
Here is my point. Borders are important. Let’s take my example to the international stage. Europe and the United States have lost control of their borders. We’ve become afraid to say no to intruders. We’ve become afraid to tell people whose values don’t match our own or who won’t play by the rules that they are not welcome here. If we are “good people,” we lie to ourselves and tell one another that we have to respect the traditions of others, even when those traditions—sharia law, wife-beating, killing gays, honor killings, rapes—fly in the face of all that we ourselves hold dear.
You who come into this country—my country and your country—should come here because you want to be Americans. Whether you’re white, black, brown, green, purple, or any other color doesn’t matter. If you come here wanting to be Americans and to live by American values, then I and many others will welcome you with open arms. But if you come here wanting citizenship without wanting to be Americans, then to hell with you.
Better yet, stay home.
The worst of these fraternity offenders belonged to Phi Gamma Delta, known as “Fijis.” Their house was directly behind Chi Omega. I have many memories of them shouting obscenities at the girls in our house in the middle of the night, pissing out their windows, and trying to smash our windows or break into the house.
Once I heard a tale about the Fijis, and I judge it to be true. Two high school girls from Charlottesville attended one of their parties, became drunk, and were raped. Later in the summer, when most of the “brothers” were gone, one of the girls’ vengeful brothers tried to firebomb the house, failed, and was arrested. Such was my animosity that even now I wish he’d ask me about where to throw the bomb.
Another example: one of Fijis—I still remember the bastard’s name, but won’t divulge it here—tried one late night to climb into my living room window. When I tried to persuade him otherwise, he sucker-punched me and knocked me cold against a radiator across the room. Though I came to a few seconds later and chased him down the alleyway, he escaped into the house.
Here’s what I learned from this entire experience: give barbarians the proverbial inch, and they’ll take a mile. Over those years, I learned never to give an inch. When I heard late night noises in the alleyway, I went outside. (The transgressors always ran away). I met with the president of the Fijis and told him I was coming after his brothers every time they violated the borders between the two houses. Kris and I sat down several times with personnel in the dean’s office. We also encountered an older alum of Phi Gamma Delta, who had belonged to the fraternity in the fifties and was baffled by their behavior. (“We gave them new furniture less than a year ago,” he told us. “I was just over there and they have wrecked every piece with cigarette burns and stains. One sofa looks like someone took an ax to it.”)
Here is my point. Borders are important. Let’s take my example to the international stage. Europe and the United States have lost control of their borders. We’ve become afraid to say no to intruders. We’ve become afraid to tell people whose values don’t match our own or who won’t play by the rules that they are not welcome here. If we are “good people,” we lie to ourselves and tell one another that we have to respect the traditions of others, even when those traditions—sharia law, wife-beating, killing gays, honor killings, rapes—fly in the face of all that we ourselves hold dear.
You who come into this country—my country and your country—should come here because you want to be Americans. Whether you’re white, black, brown, green, purple, or any other color doesn’t matter. If you come here wanting to be Americans and to live by American values, then I and many others will welcome you with open arms. But if you come here wanting citizenship without wanting to be Americans, then to hell with you.
Better yet, stay home.