Ah, the holidays…for nearly a decade, that meant spending hours upon hours at various Buffalo area watering holes — He & She’s in North Tonawanda, Merlin’s, the Elmwood Village, the Spectrum, the Candelight Lounge in Black Rock, the Belle Starr in Glenwood, NY (my personal favorite until it burned). Sometimes Kissing Bridge’s lodge…Amazing that I can even remember some of those moments. So glad there wasn’t You Tube and cell phone cameras in those days.
With whom did I spend these hours and shots? In short, my pals — affectionately known as Medaille’s Media Derelicts. Eventually, the moniker was shortened to simply “the Derelicts.” Not everyone could be a Derelict; there were criteria attached. Our first department chair in college, A.W. “Bill” (aka Average White) Colegrove and his Colegrove red socks, instituted the standards after watching several of us have far too much fun at a campus mixer.
Bill’s rules: Must have a 3.5 GPA or better; must have an incredible capacity for alcohol or other mind-altering consumables; must have a distinctive personality. Must have the potential for great success in the future. Bill gave us each a nickname. How or why Bill thought any of us would be successful is a mystery.
In turn, we created yellow T-shirts with Colegrove red letter imprints — Media Derelict on the front with our nickname on the back. A more coveted T-shirt did not exist at Medaille. The Red Badge of Courage, in some ways…it meant you could, in Hunter S Thompson terms: party with the professionals. Many tried, but few met the calling.
Eventually Bill left Medaille under a cloud of suspicion, and John Koller took his place. “Uncle” John kept the Derelict tradition during his tenure, too. And from what I hear, current Medaille students and alums know about the Derelicts. They ask returnees at campus events if the stories were true (and they are all true, kids, you should have been there!).
Yeah, we were that good and that notorious!
Scarier, though, is that Bill was right: All of us became successful in what we chose to do.
These last few days I’ve exchanged all sorts of e-cards and e-mails with most of the Derelicts. We’re still around, scattered across the US. A few are still in Buffalo, too. We’re older now. Certainly less mature when we’re around each other. Debatable whether we’re wiser. I suppose that depends on how one defines “wise.”
If this were the late 1970s, the Derelicts would be rushing about, preparing for their annual ski trip to Vermont (or, in Derelict-speak “Ver-min”). Like Santa’s squirrels, we’d be shuttling about, gathering provisions like Ramen noodles and readying our skis. Enduring numerous trips to Premier Liquors to fulfill requests. Renting vans or cajoling Nick the Crook to take the college vans to save some cash. Having Mrs. Rollo make us a week’s worth of sauce. Buying new Laredo cigarette machines so The Max could break them.
These days, Ver-min is a memory (perhaps for some a really hazy memory, but one nonetheless). But the memory lives in our e-mails and e-cards. While I may not always remember what a “key light” does, thanks to the Derelicts I will always know what a “key-yock” does. And yes, Carl and Rip, I will never forget that girls like boys with their “Hardys” on. (Hardys shoes, people! Are your minds in the gutter like Larry Sherlock’s?)
For that reason alone, no matter where I am, I will always be home for the holidays with the Derelicts.
Merry Hanna-Kwanzaa-Mas, guys!
