Kappa Nu in Greek Means: "Pranksters"
From the time they were pledges, Kappa Nus were encouraged
to play pranks on actives, and anyone else who got in their
way.
It should come as no surprise, therefore, that KNs pulled some of
the most outrageous pranks in university history. Raids on Stanford
became a yearly ritual, and the basement contained a cache of "prizes"
collected from such outings. Signs from every corner of
California
graced our walls, including one which read: BERKELEY POLICE
CLASSROOM. One famous KN prank which affected the entire
university community was covered by the "Daily Californian."
Pranks were a daily occurrance at Kappa Nu. What KN
didn't experience
a short-sheeted bed, or vaseline on the earpiece of the phone, or Saran
Wrap stretched over the toilet bowl? Lighting the shoelaces
of the head of
the table was commonplace. Kappy, the house mascot, was
nighlty let into
the room of some sleeping actives, whereupon he would sleep
and fart the
remainder of the night away... and they said Auschwitz was
bad! And, of course, no one ate anything chocolate served from the kitchen
until the pledges ate it first... (EX-LAX!)
And then there was the time the pledges absconded with all of
the house's
sheepskins, followed by the appearance of the following ad
in the Daily CAl:
Yes, many famous and hilarious pranks have been pulled over the
years, but some of them were especially memorable for their cleverness
and/or dementia. Here are the Top Ten pranks in Kappa Nu history,
but we encourage all KNs to send in their own stories and nominations
for the Top Ten List. For the time being, here is the first
list of
KN's greatest pranks (with all due homage to the "theft" of
the Big C as described above):
NUMBER 10:
In an attempt to emulate Orson Wells, Eldon Grupp locked himself in
his room of the Bowditch Street house, set up about a dozen powerful
speakers, and announced to the city of Berkeley that Martians had indeed
invaded Earth. A minor panic ensued in a five block radius around the
house, and the Berkeley Police soon arrived to shut Eldon down.
NUMBER 9:
The Phantom Chicken appeared from time to time, hanging by the neck from a
"lucky KN's" ceiling light. The stench was bad enough to "gag a maggot."
The tradition evidentally started during "Hell Week" in the late 1940's or early 1950's.
The fraternity was then located in Ma Odom's rooming house at 2506 Piedmont Avenue.
The pledge class was sent on a midnight scavenger hunt, and one of the things
they were ordered to bring back was a live chicken. At about 4:00 a.m. the
pledges found themselves at Greenbaum's Grocery store, where they spotted
a plaster chicken on the refrigerator. They attached a sign around the
plaster chicken's neck which read: "LIVE." Of course, the actives didn't
buy it! They insisted on a real live chicken. The following day the pledges
produced a cackling hen for all the doubters. And this is where the legend
begins. Ma Odoms insisted that the chicken be relegated to the basement.
By the following semester, the smell of the KN basement became truly
unbearable. Rumors flooded the campus that KN was truly a "chickenshit outfit."
Then the chicken developed a huge goiter, adding to the horrifying "scene."
When a leak broke out in the basement, the plumber who was called took
one whiff, and refused to enter the place. The situation was desperate.
After much high-level debate, the chicken was ritually slaughtered, cooked,
and presented to the brothers for dinner. When they realized what they
were eating, a revolution ensued. And to remember the brave little "goiter-hen"
in song and story, the "Phantom Chicken" continued to haunt the rooms of
random Kappa Nu's for years to come.
NUMBER 8
Now an urban legend, one of the KNs in med school actually brought a
cadaver's severed hand to the house, wondering what could be done with such a
trophy. The following prank was planned and executed: A quarter was
glued into the thumb and forefinger of the hand, as the bridge toll in
each direction was 25 cents in the 1950's. Driving from the S.F. side, a
carload of KNs approached the toll plaza, stuck out the hand covered by a
coatsleeve, and left the appendage in the hand of a startled toll taker. The
conspirators made it into Berkeley before the police could take up a chase.
NUMBER 7
Gene Herman slept in the top bunk in his room of the Ridge Road house.
He couldn't figure out how drips of water continued to pelt him during
the middle of the night. It seems that Art Twain and assorted pranksters
had figured out how to get into the attic, just above the bunks.
After gouging out a pin-sized hole in the ceiling, they dripped a
small amount of water on the unsuspecting active. This "drip torture"
continued for many weeks, until the "slow" actives found the hole.
NUMBER 6
Donald Adams-Kerson's little MGA sports car was his pride and joy. Upon
returning from class one Spring afternoon, he "freaked" when he found his
prized possession missing from its parking place in front of the house.
He ran to his second floor room in a panic, only to find the car waiting
for his arrival, safe and sound... right where his desk and bed use to be.
NUMBER 5
Whenever Cal played football against a university with a Kappa Nu chapter,
the brothers at both schools traditionally bet a sheepskin on the game... that
is... the losers sent the winners a sheepskin with the score of the game
emblazened on it. Though the details are sketchy, after winning such a bet,
Tau Chapter did receive a sheepskin, with a living sheep still attached.
The animal lived with the brothers until the smell became intolerable. If
you know the details of this adventure (early 1950's), please send them in.
NUMBER 4
Every pledge class pulled off a pledge sneak, but the nomination for the
best-ever sneak was pulled off by the Fall '58 class. It went like this: The
All-U weekend, with UCLA coming to town, was to include a Friday night rally
at the Greek Theater, after which the pledges were to clean the house for the
remaining weekend activities: A lunch for grads and Alpha Delts visiting from
L.A., the game itself on Saturday afternoon, and a monster dance and rushing
party on Saturday night. The pledges saw this as a perfect time to "RF" the
actives, and take their sneak. But there was more to the plan... While
the actives were at the rally, the pledges tossed 20,000 bumblebees into
the empty house, making it virtually uninhabitable until the next day. Then
they "snatched" the pledge master, Dave Dansky, dressed him in army fatigues
with a white arm band (signifying a POW), and dropped him off in the middle of
Fort Ord on their way to a Monterey/Carmel adventure. The actives and L.A.
guests had to sleep out on the Piedmont Avenue meridian strip that night, and
a bee handler didn't gather up all the bees until the next afternoon. While
the actives furiously cleaned up for the dance, the pledges languished on the
beach at Carmel. Oh, yeah... "Fast-Talking Dansky" made it home!
NUMBER 3
In 1954 KN was located on the corner of Durant and Bowditch. The actives
used to meet in a small "Chapter Room" just off of the living room, but they
were unaware that the pledges, with ears to the floor, were in the room just
above, listening to everything. When Len Cohn opined that the pledges were
just too "smart-ass" for their own good, and should all be paddled until they
were unable to sit down, he set in motion a plan which he soon regretted.
When he returned to the house from campus the next day, he found his
entire room neatly assembled on the roof... bed made and all!
NUMBER 2
Miklos Nagy was not only a Summa Kum Laude scholar at Cal, but also a T.A.
for History Professor Towster. His routine was regular and precise: up at
7:00 a.m., bathroom for 15 minutes, breakfast and the daily newspaper until
7:45, and then off to campus for towster's 8:00 a.m. lecture. The prank went
like this... after he went to sleep, the conspirators took his pants, which
were carefully laid out on a chair, sewed up one leg, and deposited a turd
(there is no polite way to say this) into the bottom of the sewn up pant-leg.
Then his alarm was reset for 7:45. Upon waking and realizing he was going to
be late for his T.A. job, he quickly scurried around to get ready. But upon
sliding his foot into the aforementioned pant-leg, and receiving the "brown
foot award," he became very quiet... a very bad sign for everyone concerned.
When the guilty parties returned from campus that day, each received the "Hungarian
Revenge"... to wit: a giant load of feces on their pillows, with a single red rose
growing out of it. A nice touch! Nothing further was ever said about the incident!
NUMBER 1
And the number one "prank"... Ben Dubiner was the spitting image of Jesus Christ,
haircut, beard and all. He was also a hasher at the house. One evening, near the
holiday of Easter, as the brothers were finishing their dinners, the lights went
out, the doors to the kitchen slowly opened, and a candle-lit Jesus Christ in
biblical garb entered the dining hall to the astonishment and delight of all. The cook,
a religious woman named Cherry, quit on the spot and was never seen again.
Return to Index of the Good Old Days 