In the fall of 1971 I was standing in the great room of the Kappa Sigma fraternity in Laramie, Wyoming with my good friend Jim and his fraternity brothers. It was a sunny crisp Saturday morning, a perfect day to go to the Wyoming football game. I was all in for that, but when the entire house decided to go streaking through fraternity and sorority row I must have turned white as a ghost.
My mind flashed back to an incident just months ago. My good friend Jamie was doing some off-roading in his VW bug on a sandy beach at Fremont Lakes in Nebraska. He was probably not supposed to do that, but he was. My girlfriend Pat (now my wife) and I were in the backseat enjoying the ride when we saw him. A guy with long hair about our age was running as fast as he could, wearing only a huge grin. His manhood was flopping up and down in all it’s glory.
To my surprise, Pat who was usually quiet and reserved, stuck her head out the window and yelled at the top of her lungs “If that’s all I had I wouldn’t be streaking!”
And now you can understand why I didn’t want to streak that Saturday in Wyoming.
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