This is another in my series of posts that reflect badly on me, in this case very badly, as it’s one that I’ve been putting off.

It was the second term, the Winter term, of my second year at Penn State, the beginning of the year 1969, and I was starting off fresh with a new roommate, having reached the conclusion that I could not stand to live another moment with the guy I roomed with Fall term on the third floor of Mifflin Hall. Incidentally, that Fall term was my worst term academically; I don’t know if there was a correlation.

Anyway, I moved up to the fifth floor of Mifflin Hall into 517 with Jeff, as his roommate Terry Carroll had moved into the sole single room on the floor, 520.

There was something else that was new this term: I had a car!

While I don’t recall the particulars, I believe that my father was tired of making the long drive to pick me up at the end of the term and then taking me me back at the start of the new one. So I had a car. It wasn’t anything to brag about, a used model, quite a few years old; nor did it do me any good on a daily basis, as there was no way to drive to classes. Plus, the parking space that the university assigned me was at least a ten minute walk from the dorm. Still, I had a car.

It did mean that I could drive to Tim and Ed’s Saturday night parties though. Their place was located in the Whitehall Apartments, a couple miles off campus, so I could give Mike Carr (I’ve written about Mike Carr previously) a ride there as well. And although the concept of the designated driver had not yet been invented, by this time I knew enough to drink sensibly.

My new roommate Jeff usually went home on weekends because he had a girlfriend back there that he was pretty serious about, but there came a time when for some reason he stayed in the dorms one weekend. So, of course, I brought him along to Tim and Ed’s.

I don’t recall anything about that party in particular, but when it was time to leave, Ed asked me if I could give Nan a ride back to her dorm.

Nan usually was present at Tim and Ed’s parties; I think they got to know her when they attended classes at the Schuylkill campus for their first two years of college. Nan was a short, lively brunette, always a lot of fun to be around, and I had first met her the previous year. Of course, I was happy to give her a ride.

So Mike and Jeff and Nan piled into my car, Mike calling out shotgun and the others climbing into the rear seat.

It didn’t take long before the trouble began, as Jeff was sloppy drunk, and right away he began to try to make out with Nan. She was able to fight him off, but he didn’t stop. He just kept right on trying.

Now as soon as I noticed what was going on, I should have stopped the car and had Mike and Nan exchange seats.

But I did not do that. To my everlasting shame.

All I can say in my very weak defense is that it was a different time.

Mike noticed what was going on as well (how could he not?!) and he didn’t say anything.

That’s how it went for the entire roughly ten minute drive back to Nan’s dorm.

I don’t recall anything else about that ride, but I’m sure I must have dropped Mike off next and then Jeff, and then I would have gone to park the car by myself. 

A few days later (or maybe it was the next day) I got a call from Ed. Under no circumstances was I to bring Jeff to another of their parties. He didn’t need to tell me that; I had already reached that decision on my own.

But here’s the thing. No one ever chastised me for not taking any action. In all the conversations I had afterward about that incident no one ever asked me why I didn’t do something, why didn’t I stop the car and let Nan get into the front seat. Or even why I didn’t at least yell at Jeff to knock it off. Why didn’t I do something?

As I said, it was a different time.