RAT WEEK, 1960

Wesleyan College

Rosalind and I were still asleep that fateful morning when we were suddenly awakened by the sound of a drum beating.  A drum?  It was still dark outside.  What in the world......Our door was thrown open and we were shouted at by girls we didn't even know--sophomores!  GET OUT OF BED!  NOW, LOWLY RATS!  What fresh hell was this?  All was confusion as we tumbled out of bed and dressed hurriedly as the original Mean Girls continued to shout insults and commands.  We were ordered to purposely mess up our rooms and throw our clothes on the floor.  (This did not please Rosalind who nevertheless obeyed.)  We were ordered into the hall where many other hapless freshman were rubbing their eyes and looking scared.  RAT WEEK had begun!

Commanded to look as horrible as possible, we drew hair on our legs with eyebrow pencil and rubbed greasy stuff into our hair.  We wore dresses made out of brown paper that we decorated according to the wishes of our sophomore tormentors.  If pictures were taken of our disgusting appearance, it is hoped that none still exist.  The day passed in a verbal torrent of abuse from the oppressors whose every embarrassing command we were forced to obey.  But they were just getting started.

That night we freshmen huddled together in the dining room, still wearing those charming outfits. Several tables were completely empty save for glasses of tomato juice -- our blood.That accursed drum announced the coming of the sophomores, dressed completely in black.  They silently marched in and stood at their tables, then drank our "blood" in one long swallow.  We were bug-eyed.  Rat Week did not lack drama.


After dinner (for which we had no appetite) we were herded into the freshman study hall on the first floor of our dorm and ordered to wait.  We were left alone to complain and laugh nervously about our treatment.

"Oh, my God!" someone shouted and as one we all turned toward the wall of windows.  The sight that met our eyes was so terrifying that to this day my heart beats faster when I think about it.  All we could see were dark figures coming across the golf course, carrying aloft huge burning torches. As an oversensitive drama major the sheer visual horror of the scene was not lost on me.  We were marched into the dark woods behind the campus
to a clearing lit only by torchlight.  I have absolutely no memory of what was said and done that night.  The torches had done their work only too well.  When at last we were returned to our rooms, we found that our Big Sister class, the juniors, had quietly cleaned and tidied our rooms, leaving candy on the neatly made beds.  I burst into tears.

I recall very little about the next day except that it ended in the darkened gym with five cruel judges sitting far above us, wearing horrific makeup and passing sentence on us.  Then suddenly the lights came on and the dreaded sophomores started singing our class song and hugging the lowly rats.  We were taken back to the sophomore dorm and given soda and ice cream as we all laughed the relieved laughter of released prisoners.  The true purpose of the weekend had been to bring our class together as a group and God knows, it had.  And yet......

I was chosen as one of the cruel judges for Rat Week the following year.  
I was mean, sarcastic and insulting just as I was supposed to be and now, fifty four years later, I still regret it.