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, May 28, 2008

Poet Laureate

This poem purports to have been written around Phil’s birthday (“it was Kookie’s birthday”) and given that Chris’ principal time at 340 was 1977; I place the evening described as July 7, 1977. I believe Sil was the sober Mexican peasant. Mitch was Mitch. I am the Walrus and apparently I musta wormed. I believe this was the evening that I wore a Dashiki and, for some reason, destroyed it on the dance floor. In any case, I present the following poem from the Poet Laureate of the 340 Club:

 

B.P. – “the cheapest way to get your motor running”

By Christopher E. Joyce

 

Last week there came to town an event,

Called the Bonnie Parker Band,

They came and put upon all Lancaster,

The spell of Rock’s command.

 

Sweet Bonnie is all rocks queen glitter

She’d scream and jump and shout.

And make you listen to her songs

And get your ya ya’s out.

 

The music was that of precision so

Crisp and loud and clear.

And I felt no alcohol confusion

Drinking water instead of beer

 

Mitch was drunk and it was Kookie’s

Birthday the atmosphere was pleasant

And in the midst of all this mania

Danced a sober Mexican peasant

 

When Bonnie’s old and out of rock

When her instruments all rust,

She’ll remember of all things that night,

She danced with the walrus

 

Everyone who was there would gladly

go back for more.

Rumor has it in Ocean City,

That there’s a lady ashore.


 

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