HAZING: FAMU's Marching 100 is not alone in battling the dangerous rite of passage



Colleges and universities across the country find that the often-brutal bonding is nearly impossible to squelch.


By JAN PUDLOW
Tallahassee Democrat


Belonging is worth the bruises.



For Florida A&M University student Ivery Luckey, being paddled 300 times and lying in a hospital bed for more than a week was the price of admission into "The Clones," the so-called "cool" subgroup of the clarinet section of the Marching 100 band.

But hazing is not unique to FAMU or its famed band.

Rites of passage involving pain and humiliation in order to belong to a group have been around, as one psychologist said, since "the dawn of time."

Wherever group mentality thrives, hazing hovers nearby: in bands, drill teams, schools, fraternities, sororities, the military and sports.

At Eton, England's premier 558-year-old high school attended by Prince William, heir to the British throne, a brutal game called "The Wall" has been played for centuries. Its objective: knocking heads of underclassmen.

At West Point, first-year cadet Douglas MacArthur, who went on to become general in command of U.S. forces in the Far East, was forced to do deep knee bends over broken glass -- until he fell unconscious and went into convulsions.

At St. Louis University in 1945, Phi Beta Pi fraternity pledge Robert Perry went up in flames and died when he was forced to lie naked on a table and receive shocks to his skin coated with flammable chemicals. Look for purpose beneath the abuse, sanity beneath the craziness, and you'll find that hazing rituals aim to test initiates' dedication and create loyalty by forcing individuality to surrender to group identity.

Call it tradition, misguided devotion or a strong desire to belong no matter what -- but hazing won't die.

Hazing persists, despite "zero tolerance" sermons from those in charge.

General Charles Krulak, commander of the 174,000-strong Marine Corps, admonished his troops to find another occupation if they thought beating a fellow Marine made a better warrior. He was outraged by videos showing machismo turned sadism when paratroopers were stabbed with hard-earned golden wings in "blood-pinning" rituals in 1991 and 1993.

And FAMU Marching 100 Director Julian White was dismayed to find a member of his band in the hospital, less than a week after a front-page story in the Tallahassee Democrat quoted his strong message that hazing would not be tolerated.

"Young people tend to think they're invincible," White said. "I do think (Luckey's hospitalization) was a wake-up call. We have serious students in our band. They were concerned."

Hazing ranges from goofy to gruesome

Hazing is illegal in Florida, as well as 38 other states -- yet case after case continues to come to light. Because hazing doesn't carry a criminal penalty in Florida, investigations and punishments are left to university officials.

University judicial panels hold court behind closed doors and most often only temporarily suspend groups or individual students.

Driven underground, hazing often thrives under a cloak of secrecy. As a result, research has shown, hazing has become more violent. White groups tend to abuse alcohol more. And hazing tends to be more violent in black organizations, where some members liken what they've done to pledges to what slave masters once did to slaves. A half century ago, rituals carried out by supervised young men chosen from America's black elite (as black seekers of higher education were known at the time) were strenuous and included being paddled.

Today, those daunting rituals may become deadly "when secretly carried out by black teen-agers brought up in a society that equates black masculinity with violence," said Paul Ruffins, who has a master's degree in psychology from Columbia University and won an award from the National Association of Black Journalists for his 1997 investigation on violent hazing in black fraternities. Underground hazing turned sadistic at the University of Maryland in 1993, when Joseph Snell's monthlong initiation into Omega Psi Phi drove him to call the suicide hot line and landed him in the hospital. He was repeatedly beaten with a hammer, horse-hair whip, broken chair leg, and brush. Frat brothers put a space heater next to his face to darken his skin because he "wasn't black enough." In 1997, a jury awarded Snell $375,000 in damages.

Sure, sometimes hazing is just goofy and benign -- like forcing high school freshmen to wear beanies and carry seniors' books. In the world of pro sports, New Jersey basketball Nets' Rick Mahorn made rookie Rex Walters bring him an Israeli newspaper, cigars and a gallon of grape Kool-Aid -- for no good reason -- during the 1993-94 season.

But bonding can be brutal, even for tough guys.

At the New Orleans Saints' training camp last August, five rookies with pillowcases over their heads were forced to run a gantlet of 25 veterans who hit them with large bags of coins.

Tight end Cam Cleeland was hit in the face so hard he had blurred vision in one eye. Wide receiver Andy McCullough had a bloody nose. And 6-foot-5, 282-pound defensive tackle Jeff Danish required 14 stitches and sued when he was dropped from the team.

"My worst street fight when I was a little kid wasn't this bad," Danish told the New York Times.

At least 65 students have died from hazing.



Hazing can even be deadly.

According to one estimate from U.S. News and World Report, at least 65 students have died since 1978 as a result of beating and stress inflicted during fraternity initiation rites.

Hazing is not only tragic, it is very expensive, as the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity learned when it settled a $2.25 million wrongful-death lawsuit in 1997 stemming from pledging gone haywire in 1994 at Southeast Missouri State University.

Michael Davis and two other pledges were repeatedly slapped, hit and body-slammed. Davis lost consciousness, and fraternity members finally called 911, but lied that he had been injured playing football.

The truth was revealed when the coroner who performed the autopsy found a small red spiral notebook tucked in Davis' underwear with this entry: "Hazing is the physical conditioning of the mind." The autopsy revealed Davis had broken ribs, a lacerated kidney and liver, and bruises all over his body. He died from internal bleeding in his brain.

Seven frat brothers -- including Vincent King of Tallahassee -- either pleaded guilty or were convicted of involuntary manslaughter. Most of the seven served short stints in jail.

Closer to home, Sigma Alpha Epsilon of Valdosta State University made the news last month when 23 young men -- 20 of them Valdosta State students -- were arrested for disorderly conduct and criminal trespassing in a hazing ritual in rural Georgia. In exchange for dropping the criminal trespassing charge, they have been allowed to enter a plea to disorderly conduct, and many of them have done so. "Nine of those young men were attired in some sort of goo," said Richard Lee, assistant to the dean of students for judicial affairs. Lanier County sheriff's officials described the "goo" as a combination of barbecue sauce, raccoon urine and buck lure (doe urine used by hunters to emulate a doe in heat).

Lee said the fraternity has been temporarily suspended pending the outcome of the college's hazing investigation and campus disciplinary actions.

Greek organizations at Florida State University also have been investigated and punished for hazing. One example is Sigma Phi Epsilon's suspension in 1995 for stripping and binding a drunken fraternity member and dumping him on the doorstep of a sorority. Currently, there are no investigations or suspensions, said Doug Pearson, associate dean of students.

"We look for hazing constantly," Pearson said. "We take it seriously."

Marching Chiefs' hazing sent her to emergency room.



In 1994, hazing in the FSU Marching Chiefs came to light when Interfraternity Council President Stephen Voigt wrote a letter to the dean of students complaining that the university was tougher on fraternities than other student groups.

As proof of hazing in the Marching Chiefs, he provided a videotape of blindfolded French horn players ordered by upperclassmen to do marching drills outside the music building, while holding an egg in one hand and their mouthpiece in the other.

The egg was intended to be cracked over heads, before flinging "gunkies" into a swimming pool. The mouthpieces were supposed to be used to slurp Jello.

But the fun ended when 18-year-old Jeannette McKinney was singled out for not marching fast enough and quick-stepped blindfolded into a brick wall, resulting in a chipped tooth and a bloody face.

She was taken to the emergency room and released. And John Cushman, the veteran French horn player barking orders, was charged with culpable negligence.

But the charges were dropped when McKinney told FSU police she did not want to press charges.

Instead, a faculty review board found that the incident violated the student code of conduct governing hazing and put the Marching Chiefs on probation for three years.

"A reluctant victim causes us a real dilemma," said FSU Police Maj. Jack Handley. "When you have a victim who does not consider themselves a victim, it is very difficult to move forward with a prosecution."

Similarly, Tallahassee police dropped battery charges against Luckey's paddlers because the beating was not against his will -- and he even returned for more blows.

The worst hazing goes on behind closed doors, off campus. And those hazed often don't feel like victims.

As 19-year-old Luckey told the Ocala Star Banner the day after his release from the hospital: "It goes on at every university. This was pretty much by choice. If you want to be in a fraternity or the cool part of the band, that's kind of what you do."

Luckey remains a Marching 100 member in good standing.

Another Marching 100 member, who did not want to be named, defends hazing as a motivator to excel or as a part of an initiation ritual -- as long as no one gets seriously injured.

The band member described his rite of passage: "All through the season, I was cursed, hit, slapped, embarrassed, paddled, and the list goes on. I stayed because I wanted to ...

"What I went through my freshmen year in the band only served to make me a better person. I'm better at completing tasks under pressure, I can work with minimal amounts of sleep. I work well with others. And I don't mind working hard and pushing myself to the limit to get to where I need to be or to achieve a desired goal."

Replace violent hazing with benign rites



To that, Doug Richmond, a St. Louis lawyer who defends fraternities in hazing litigation, responded: "Immaturity knows no bounds. "The idea that hazing instills or breeds discipline is absolute garbage. Discipline is doing what is asked of you, when it is asked of you, and performing at a level that meets the standards. Discipline has absolutely nothing to do with torture or physical abuse."

Richmond, who formerly worked in student affairs at three colleges, offered explanations of why hazing occurs:

Misguided tradition: "Somebody has been hazed when they were a pledge or a freshman member of the band or a junior varsity wrestler. They persevered. 'Well, if I put up with it, you can put up with it.'" Alcohol abuse: "Alcohol makes reasonable people look the other way." Power trips: "In every group -- whether it's in education or corporate America -- there are people who like to lord authority over people. And that personality is encased in the bodies of 18- and 22-year-olds."

Patricia Yancey Martin, a sociology professor at FSU, has found that incidents of hazing rise in proportion to the group's prestige.

"These are things that bring you together. You don't see it as a singular victory; you see it as a group victory. The weak person draws strength from the stronger person. It's a very complicated process. Not only is it necessary -- no matter how we outlaw it, we'll find ways to reinvent it." -- John A. Williams, director of the Center for the Study of Pan-Hellenic Issues and a professor of honors studies at Tennessee State University in Nashville.

"It's the high-status groups where the misbehavior comes, because of the strong bonds and prestige," Martin said. "It's an inner-circle kind of thing. Young people are searching for an identity. It's very appealing."

So the nagging question remains: Can hazing be stopped?

Only by replacing violent hazing with acceptable rituals, offered John A. Williams, director of the Center for the Study of Pan-Hellenic Issues and a professor of honors studies at Tennessee State University in Nashville.

He continues to say what he predicted in his 1992 doctoral dissertation: Hazing will never be stopped because students want the rites of passage.

"These are things that bring you together. You don't see it as a singular victory; you see it as a group victory. The weak person draws strength from the stronger person. It's a very complicated process. Not only is it necessary -- no matter how we outlaw it, we'll find ways to reinvent it."

Williams understands a college student's need to belong, no matter what. While pledging Alpha Phi Alpha in 1976, Williams injured his back and had to withdraw from school.

"When it happened, I still wanted to be a member of the organization," he recalled.

His fraternity, he said, has produced stellar leaders. "It helps to reaffirm your image of yourself. If you associate with a strong, positive group of men and women committed to uplifting our race, it is part of your education and leadership development." In order to stop violent hazing, Williams said, officials must be more open about it.

"There are a lot of heads in the sand, that it doesn't happen on my campus. Then why are people treated in hospitals? Why are people going to psychologists? We have to admit this is something that is expected to happen," Williams said.

"We have to prepare people for the experience and try to find -- and this is where I go out on a limb -- a way to incorporate this into our social patterns."

He suggests community-service projects to "do something in concert with brethren" -- rather than senseless whacks with a paddle.

Lessons from West Point offered to Marching 100



Here in Tallahassee, Steven Hammond knows a lot about hazing, as a retired colonel and director of the office of leader development at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.

In 1990, it was Hammond's job to help abolish West Point's legendary harsh "fourth-class system" that ritually hazed the "plebes" with mean-spirited traditions.

Hammond's new plan laid out leadership responsibilities that grew greater with each succeeding class.

"It was quite a struggle to eliminate hazing, as we had to overcome much resistance from students and alumni, but the results were and continue to be quite impressive," said Hammond, now senior director of the General Tax Administration at the Department of Revenue. Capt. John Cornelio, chief spokesman at West Point, gave this current status report: "Does hazing go on here? I would be naive if I said that it didn't."

But, he said, West Point cadets have gone through these phases: "Once it was condoned and practiced. Then there was a time when what the leadership was saying and what was taking place were two different things. Now, there is an environment that we don't condone it at all. There's nothing funny about hazing. And the Academy deals swiftly with those young men and women who do not understand how to be an effective leader."

Hammond has offered his expertise to White, in hopes it will help the band director stop hazing in the Marching 100. The two plan to meet soon.

"I'm always here to learn," White said of accepting Hammond's offer. Hammond sees a parallel with West Point and the Marching 100, whose dazzling dance steps have reaped wows worldwide.

"Often, the biggest hurdle to overcome is the organization's great success," Hammond said.

"Some in the band think their reputation of hazing is related to their success. The obvious question: Is their success because of hazing or in spite of hazing?"

And this from Richmond, the lawyer who defends fraternities in hazing lawsuits: "Here is what an institution must be willing to do: Inject themselves into student organizations with staff people who have the personal credibility with students and the integrity and compassion and sense of right that allows them to wade into behind-the-scenes clandestine activities."

The problem, Richmond said, is that "universities have been conditioned not to do this" because it's good risk management. In legal-speak, there exists this double-edged sword: The more university officials do to try to protect students from hazing -- especially in off-campus settings -- the more vulnerable they become to litigation if they fail.

"If we go out and try to deal with this, we assume a duty to protect students, and we may face liability if we don't," Richmond said. "That's great legal advice, but it will do absolutely nothing to stop hazing. At some point, someone has to put themselves between that freshman's backside and that upperclassman's paddle and say, 'No.'"