Alumni recall the fraternity cooks of their Wabash days.
In the old wooden structure of the Sig House, our kitchen and dining room were in the basement. Early morning we’d tread down the creaky stairs, and our cook could hear us coming.
“How many?” Mrs. Kennedy would yell.
That meant how many eggs…scrambled or otherwise.
Delightful, friendly lady. I don’t remember her ever missing a day of work!
—Lin Warfel ’63
MRS. KENNEDY
Our Sigma Chi Class of 1959 brothers had the good fortune to be fed and shepherded for all four years with outstanding victuals and loving care. Our cook, Mrs. Kennedy, worked six and one-half days each week on our behalf. Her “day off” was Sunday afternoon and evening, but she prepared for that time by leaving behind a wonderful buffet to fill the gap.
Mrs. Kennedy’s food represented nourishment for the body and, more important, for the soul. She lived on Milligan Street in the home built by her father, who had been a member of the College’s maintenance crew.
She cared for an invalid daughter who passed away while we were students.
Most of our Sigma Chi chapter attended the funeral, and those of us in the Glee Club sang “At the Cross” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” at Mrs. Kennedy’s request. She did so, because many of us waited tables in the House and sang while washing dishes or setting up tables. Mrs. Kennedy, who was dubbed “Colonel Kennedy” by the brothers, loved the music and the fun, and she affectionately called us “my boys.”
We loved her in return, and I daresay those of us still around love her to this day.
—Robert E. Russell Jr. ’59
Brother Brown
The cook at the Phi Gam house in the 1950s was “Brother” George Brown, a black man of indeterminable age, who always addressed each of us in mock formality as “Brother Kite,” “Brother Smith,” etc. Over the course of my four years under Brother Brown’s gastronomical tutelage, I learned not only to eat, but also to enjoy a variety of foods that have forever expanded my Midwestern “meat and potatoes” tastes (who knew about collard greens, or squash…?).
—Dick Kite ’60
Hamburgers, 25 cents apiece
When I was growing up in “Da Region” we had two food groups... grease and sugar. Three if you counted Nehi orange soda.
At the Phi Delt house we were supplied with our MDR (Maximum Daily Requirement) of grease by Fanny, our cook. At breakfast her fried eggs would slide right off the plate. At dinner she would incorporate it into a brown gravy, which went well over a couple of slices of Wonder Bread.
And if that wasn’t enough, Stan Huntsman, Vic Lodovisi and I would go to the kitchen during study break at 10:00 PM and fry up a bunch of hamburgers. We would then sell them to the rest of campus for 25 cents apiece. We wanted everyone to be well nourished!
—Dr. Ron Cudek ’57
“Watch Your Nylons, Honey”
At the Lambda Chi house in the ’60s we ate avidly and abundantly, while enjoying quality that might be termed “uneven.” I remember two of our cooks—Dave and “The Admiral” (an ex-Navy man who always cooked with a lit cigar going, which lent a certain cachet to the sustenance). The Admiral’s phrase for “pardon me” was “Watch your nylons, honey, comin’ through.”
Our dining quality rose mightily when Tom Popejoy pledged our house. The Pope’s father was the best butcher in or around Delphi, IN, and after his arrival we enjoyed top quality meats— and our faculty advisors were much more frequent guests at dinner.
—John Lennes ’66
Leroy
In the early 1980s there was an annual Homecoming cake- decorating contest between the fraternity cooks. All the fraternity cooks then were women, except at the Phi Psi house. We had Leroy, a chain-smoking, heavyset, balding, middle-aged Navy veteran with both arms covered in tattoos.
My father, who was in the Navy in World War II, told me that the Navy traditionally had two grades of kitchen personnel: cooks and bakers. Leroy was the latter—and he was excellent.
I was walking into the Phi Psi kitchen one afternoon just before Homecoming and saw Leroy, sweat pouring off his brow, lit cigarette with a two-inch ash dangling out of the corner of his mouth, using a decorating bag. He was meticulously adding a long row of dainty icing rosettes along the edge of the house’s Homecoming sheet cake entry.
It was like stumbling upon Clint Eastwood doing needlepoint.
—John Van Nuys ’83
The Great Shepherd’s Pie Walkout
In the Sigma Chi House our house mother, Elsie, made shepherd’s pie once a month. You know the gig—ground beef and peas or
carrots stuffed below mashed potatoes with a layer of gravy on top.
During my sophomore year our brothers came down for dinner and found that Elsie had made her rendition of shepherd’s pie. Twenty-five of us headed for the local Rax Roast Beef restaurant. We were all having a great time until Elsie walked in with the Delt house mom. She was a good sport about the situation, although the look on her face was priceless.
Shepherd’s pie wasn’t served again at our house during my tenure there.
—Kevin Noll ’87
Dee’s Biscuits and Gravy
Growing up in northwest Indiana, I was never exposed to country/ southern cooking until my freshman year at the Kappa Sigma house. The fraternity hired a new cook that year named Dee. She had a great Southern accent and was an amazing talent in the kitchen.
The first time she made us biscuits and gravy for breakfast, the smell of the sausage, the wonderful pepper flavor, and the soft biscuits changed my eating habits forever.
I now try the biscuits and gravy at every breakfast place I visit, hoping that one—just one—is up to the challenge of matching
the flavor, the aroma, the peppery goodness of Dee’s Kappa Sigma biscuits and gravy.
—Mike Sanchez ’90