- Image via University of New Hampshire Library
Dearest Reginald F. Beauregard,
You were the damn finest frat goat and mascot that any brother could possibly ask for. I’m pretty sure you were probably the #1 frat goat in the country, too. Hell, lore has it you earned your middle name after the brothers called you “frat” for a whole semester after seeing how you had your way with Fall ’05, when you were just a calf.
Shitting all over the pledges’ formal tuxes when you insisted you wanted to accompany them in the car ride to pick them up? God, you’re one crazy sonofabitch.
We’re all going to miss the way you would police the dance floor night in and night out, striking fear into pledges’ hearts. Searching out those disobedient assholes and snatching beers right out of their hands, followed by a solid ram to the hip to relay the message that they were, in fact, fucked. Then showing them how real men chug a beer by devouring the entire can right before their eyes, faster than even the hardest drinking brothers can clear a shotgun.
Only you, pal. It’s going to be a whole different ball game around here with you gone.
Brother to brother, your generosity and contributions to this chapter are undisputedly unparalleled. Who else walks room to room during a pregame with satchels of beer draped over each shoulder, selflessly offering them to any brother that needs a refill? Who else will wingman another brother at 3:14am when he’s too loaded to realize that his prospective slam is probably more interested in you anyway? Then to top that, taking one for the team and telling him to go in for the kill, because you know he’s been in a draught lately, and you can always go find a pledge to feed you anyway?
Sacrifices like that are the defining epitome of brotherhood, Redge.
I’m pretty sure your attendance record of 153 straight intramural football games will never come close to eclipsed. I mean, that would require someone to be enrolled in this university for close to twelve years or something. Shit, we’re going to miss those intimidating hooves stomping up and down the sidelines on Tuesday and Thursday nights. At least we’ll always have those team pictures from the five consecutive championship run hanging in the game room, and there’s no way anyone could forget that championship-saving tackle you made at the end of the game when we clinched the fourth. Tripping the shit out of that Pike tight-roping the sideline when he sprung loose on that kick return was fucking classic, man! And then to have that Jets assistant coach try to emulate you a few weeks later?!
Stuff of legend, brotha.
It almost brings a tear to my eye thinking about how loyal and supportive you’ve been to the house in your years spent here.
The way you’ve been sporting that same flannel bearing our fraternity colors everyday since birth is an absolute feat in itself. And man, when you hop up on stage with the band and start throwing that trademarked stare across the crowd and an occasional “BAAAH!” into the mic, the party never fails to explode. I’ll tell you, the number of beer showers you’ve induced has to be a Guinness World Record.
There’s not a fraternity man on campus that can get away with half the stuff you’ve pulled. How about the amount of times you got blitzed enough to stage dive and started crowd-surfing, only to end up taking down a hoard of unsuspecting sorority girls, who usually ended up sending over baked goods to apologize after thinking you were hurt?
Such a clever move, you rascal.
And speaking of stage-dives, I swear I’ll never forget that time you peer pressured that pussy Stevenson into diving off the roof. Man, that dweeb went from a nobody to legend status with one ludicrous leap of faith. Pretty sure that night finally saw the kid lose his virginity, too. Don’t think there’s ever been another Anthropology major to reach the pinnacle of social hierarchy, albeit for only a week, like that guy did in the days following that test of fate. Who knows how irreverently different that guys’ life would have turned out without you?
Thank God we had a Photograpledge that semester to document our blacked-out antics, because that night was hands down one of the most epic, insanity filled, and memorable this house has ever seen.
Anytime I’m having a bad day, I just swing through the alumni suite and look at that gem. Brings a smile to my face every time, Beauregard.
In closing, on behalf of every brother that has been fortunate enough to rule this palace before us, and everyone in the house currently, I feel honored to call you my brother, Redge. We know you’re headed to greener pastures, just as every fraternity man has to do at some point in their life, but just know that the door will always be open for you here.
It goes without saying, sir, that everyone in this house will eternally carry the lessons and memories you’ve shared with us for days long after you’re gone.
Maybe we’ll run into each other at Homecoming or something.
Godspeed Frat Goat,
P.S. Stevenson seriously owes everything good in his life to you.
P.P.S. I’d like to send out condolences on behalf of TFM to the Sigma Chi chapter at Cornell, recently forced to tragically part ways with their frat goat, Bella. Keep your heads up, guys.