My college years were some of the best years of my life. It was a time when I had very little responsibility except to get to my classes on time and make good grades. That was the life.

While in college, we sometimes pulled an all-nighter. It was when we stayed up all night studying for an exam, especially if it was for a major test. In this case, it was a mid-term exam.

A 21-year-old college senior, I had been a pretty mild student who never got into any kind of trouble. But this was one time trouble came calling.

I went through nearly four years of college with a virtually spotless record. Then I got written up and almost had to go before a disciplinary committee.

It was the week of mid-terms during the fall semester. It was also college weekend, when high school kids from across the country visited the campus in hopes of coming there as a student the following year.

It was well after midnight. I was in the study room trying to open my brain to pour in the information from my Constitutional Law textbook. Steve Mitchell, a good friend and fellow senior, was also studying for some sort of test.

It was so quiet you could hear the guy in the next room snoring. I thought I was going to go crazy. I couldn’t concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing. Finally, Steve and I both gave up and began goofing around.

I would have liked to have gone to bed and forgot about the test, but I was too wired from all the candy bars and soda I consumed. I couldn’t go to sleep no matter how hard I tried.

Just about that time, along came Indiana Jones, one of our fellow floor mates from the dormitory. He was a year behind us in school. In fact, I was roommates with him for about a week, but that story is for another time.

His real name was Joel Brosey. We called him Indy, short for Indiana Jones, because there were two guys named Joel on our floor. Since he was from Indiana, the name fit. The other one, Joel Knox, was a freshman from Texas, so naturally we called him Tex.

At any rate, this guy was hilarious. He would do anything you told him even if it was irrational or illogical. It was almost unbelievable.

Knowing Indy was gullible and willing to do just about anything once, I came up with a brilliant idea. Being seniors, it was our right and privilege to antagonize anyone we wanted, especially freshman.

Tex had a friend from back home visiting for college weekend. I instructed Indy to go down the hall to Tex’s room and howl like a wolf through the crack under the door before running back to the study room.

Steve was against the idea from the beginning. I said, “Oh, just be quiet. You’re nothing but an old fuddy duddy.”

If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I would have never believed what happened next. When Indy went to howl under Tex’s door, he didn’t bend over as I had suggested. Instead, he laid sprawled out on the floor.

When he started howling, he kept doing it over and over; and he never moved from where he was lying on the floor. After about three or four howls, Tex opened his door to find Indy lying on the floor at the entrance to his room.

At that point, things got a little hairy. Indy leapt from the floor and began running down the corridor screaming like a freight train. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. I thought I was going to have a coronary.

When he reached the end of the hall, Indy flung open the door and slammed it against the wall next to the resident assistant’s (RA) suite.

Tex quickly closed his door while Indy flew past us on his way to the second floor lobby. Steve and I fought each other to get back into the study room first.

After several long minutes, I stepped back into the hallway and peered through the window of the door which was now closed and saw Keith Corts, the R.A., walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

Steve wanted to tell him what happened. I said, “Have you flipped your lid? Keep quiet and he’ll never know what happened.”

I didn’t want to stick around to see if Keith came into the study room asking questions. So I took off to another friend’s room on the next floor and strongly suggested Steve do the same.

After spending the next two hours in my friend John Lukin’s upstairs room, I slipped back to my room below and got a couple winks of sleep before the sun came up.

I should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The following afternoon, I had a message taped to my door to stop by and see the R.A. He had heard the whole story about what happened from the other two participants, or should I say snitches.

They got off scot-free because they confessed. While I, on the other hand, was written up. If it happened again, I would face the dorm’s disciplinary committee.

My perfect record was forever tarnished.

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By Mark S. Price

Contributing columnist

Mark S. Price is a former city government/county education reporter for The Sampson Independent. He currently resides in Clinton.