The 3rd periodic 340 Club Reunion has been postponed indefinitely

Before there was an Animal House there was a 340 Club; before there was a Dean Wormer there was a Harold "the fuck" Martin; before there was John Blutarsky or a Daniel Simpson Day there was Tim Lutter, Sil Simpson, Dan Joyce, Tim Getzloff, Dick Lichty, Jim Shay, Phil Zangari, Chris Joyce, Dave Petkosh, Mitch Herr, Kenny Giltner, Dean Staherski, Randy Brown, John Emswiler, Sue Krimmell Emswiler and myself; before there were any Delta Tau Chi pledge pins, there were 340 Club cards; before Otis Day & the Knights, the 340 Jukebox; before there were Delta Brothers there were the usual gang of idiots that congregated at 328, 340 (twice) and 338 West King Street in Lancaster, Pennsylvania for a decade beginning in August 1974. This blog is dedicated to those idiots and those times. God bless Kenny, Mitch and Chris; may they rest in peace.

















virtual 340 Club members

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

From the Poet Laureate: April 26th (Director’s Cut)

First, the poem – April 26th - as it appeared on January 2nd in From the Poet Laureate:

Woke up, got out of bed, heard a voice, thought it was Ted,
Am I going beserk, or is the Walrus now dead?

He blew his mind out in a car, he didn't notice it till morning,
Let it come as no surprise was he given sufficient warning?
Cause he was hit hard by a Christian who was simply conforming.


It turns out that the above poem which was accurately copied from a typewriter written transcript done by me, likely in the early 80s, is simply wrong. Here is the same poem taken from the original source document written, in pencil, by the poet himself:

Woke up, got of bed, heard a voice, thought it was Ted
Am I going berserk, or is the walrus now dead?
He blew his arm out in a car; he didn’t notice it till morning.
Let it come as no surprise was he given sufficient warning?
Cause he was hit hard by a Christian
Who was simply conforming
To the decadence of alcohol
And now immaterial mourning


The key differences -

1. I transcribed blew his arm out as blew his mind out ... having listened to two many Beatles rescords
2. Both of us mispelled berserk; which I corrected using spellcheck in the revised (but no longer original with this spelling revision)
3. My version as presented on January 2nd was only 5 or 6 lines depending on how you broke it up; it turned out two additional lines were on the back of the penciled original
4. Lastly, I wanted to connect the dots contained in the poem and today's blogpost. It turned out it provides great perspective of the morning after from Chris' point of view: he wakes up, is hungover, feeling guilty?, he thinks he hears my voice, but was I killed?, turns out it was just an arm injury, minor enuff that I really did not notice till the next day, the rest of the poem is harder to explain other than the born again claim of the other driver, the root cause alcohol … both the conforming and mourning references can be understood by only one mind … that’s why he is the Poet Laureate

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