Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [12]
The university admitted only white male students as undergraduates until 1960, and women weren’t fully admitted to all schools as undergraduates until 1970. At the time of my matriculation, almost 70 percent of students were “in state”—from Virginia. Out-of-states, like me, paid a much higher rate of tuition.
Some say that the University of Virginia, although a public institution, is elitist. Critics point to the special terminology used, which differs from most collegiate vernacular. At Virginia, there is no “campus”; the university has “Grounds.” You are not a freshman or a sophomore; you are “first year,” “second year,” etc. You don’t drink “beer”; you imbibe “the usual.” And, God forbid you should refer to your fraternity as a “frat.” There was a saying “If you call your fraternity a ‘frat,’ what do you call your country?” Crude, yes. But it marked what some would call the tradition of being a Wahoo. “Wahoo,” or “ ’Hoo,” is the name given to any student or alum of the university. (A Wahoo is also a fish that purportedly drinks three times its body weight, although the university denies any link, and the official name of our sporting teams is the Cavaliers.)
The unique character of the university was especially evident at the Cavaliers’ football games. Where other schools have spectators cheering in jeans, sweatshirts, and face paint, we Wahoos would show up looking as though we were on our way to a garden party, which we usually were, after the games. Men wore sport coats and blue-and-orange-striped rep ties. For women, floral Laura Ashley dresses (at least in the mid-1980s) were considered de rigueur. Members of fraternities and sororities would all sit together in a show of Greek spirit and oneness. On game days, pledges would be sent to Scott Stadium to reserve whole sections for their houses.
The Foxfield Races, held in the fall and spring, were even bigger than football games for the university, and the whole city of Charlottesville. It was a non-issue whether or not you would attend. Foxfield, held on grounds in Albemarle County, is a respectable steeplechase meet on the horse circuit. We would break out our fanciest dresses and hats for the occasion, and the fraternity or sorority members with the biggest cars, trucks, or Jeeps would be elected to drive over and host the tailgate parties. Some houses would be decorated with blankets, silver candelabra, stemware, and flatware. You would see buffets of spiral hams, cheeses, fruit platters, biscuits, and serious desserts. People would work for weeks on their Foxfield tailgate presentations, with astoundingly professional results. Foxfield was serious business for horse aficionados, but students would joke about never seeing a horse, since drunken antics and fashion took center stage. One could see male students urinating on cars, girls vomiting in trash cans, and lots of hangovers and sunburn by day’s end. Back then, the cops turned a blind eye to the underage drinking, but one needed only look at the long lines at the portable toilets to see how much students were imbibing.
Social life at the university revolved around Greek life. On any given Saturday or Sunday morning, one could walk down Rugby Road, the epicenter of the Greek revival mansions that housed the fraternities, and smell the stench of stale beer and bourbon, body odor, vomit, and fried food. In 1984 there were thirty-eight fraternities and sixteen sororities on Grounds. Those who were not Greek were known as GDIs, or “goddamn independents.” For many, belonging to a house was the ultimate goal, and rush, the process by which new members were chosen for houses, was as complicated as any political campaign. Fraternity rush was held weeks after arrival on Grounds, and sorority rush was held at the