Campus Carnival

Basketball games weren't the only events the Robertson Memorial Field House hosted. Rock groups like REO Speedwagon, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and other acts played there in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. Sometimes during concerts, the naughty, sweet smell of marijuana would waft through the air, tingeing the night with the forbidden.

For many years, the Field House has been home to another event that I looked forward to almost as much as Christmas: the Campus Carnival. This extravaganza was put on by the fraternities and sororities to raise money for charity.

The Field House was transformed into the childhood equivalent of Las Vegas with garishly decorated booths where we tried to win the much-coveted beer holders, beer mugs, beer signs, and—if we really got lucky—beer lights. Talk about marketing to children. Really, the companies probably donated the stuff in deep gratitude for all the business the college students gave them. And, anyway, this was before the days of car seats, bicycle helmets, and no drinking while pregnant. In some ways, children are physically safer now, but emotionally and psychologically, childhood seems under assualt. Beer paraphernalia seems practically innocuous compared to MySpace, gangsta rap, and R-rated primetime programming.

I remember one year during the Carnival after I had spent the amount of money I or my parents—I can’t recall which—had allotted to the festivities. I would race back and forth between our house, which was kaddy corner from the Field House, raiding the stash of 50 cent pieces, kept in a cigar box, that my grandfather gave me, like an addict on the Par-a-dice hitting the ATM machine. For all the anticipation and fun of the carnival, I had a bad feeling walking home empty handed or with stuff that somewhere deep inside I recognized as cheap, having depleted my Eisenhowers and Kennedys. In fact, I would like to apologize now to my grandpa in heaven for squandering these precious coins.

A couple of years, my dad was a participant in Campus Carnival. He volunteered to be a target for a dunk tank and another water game. I had strange and mixed feelings watching kids I knew, as well as some college students, do their best to send my dad plunging into the tank or soak him with water, which, if the above picture is any indication, he seemed to enjoy.