14. We, The Chefs

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“No way are we going to meet with that mother fucker” Marcus began, after hearing about Butler’s demands.

“Yeah, I’m not going to meet with him either”, Les added.

“Screw him” Mick said.  “Do you think that he’s going to let us get off that easily?  He’s going to try and fuck up our college careers.”

“We’ve got to stick together” was my advice.  “We’re all up shit’s creek if he wants to come down on us, man, but we’re not going to let him.”

“What do you mean?”  Les asked.

“Well, we’ve got Butler's affair with his TA, Carrie, as the ace up our sleeve”, I reminded them.

“That’s at least something”, Mick hoped.

“Let’s at least write the letter to the State News”, I offered.  “But not exactly as Butler wants it to sound.”

Mick jumped on the idea.  “Excellent, man, but who do we address it to?”

I sat back with, a pencil, a pad and a beer.

“To the entire faculty and staff of Michigan State University.”  I paused looking for the perfect beginning, like in the U.S. Constitution.  “We, the Chefs…” I began.

“…an anarchist splinter group here on campus”, Mick threw in. 

"...embarked upon our mission in the spring of 1979” I added.  Mick and I wrote well together.  Now we had gotten on a roll and bounced the ideas off of one another, each adding to the other's previous line.  The letter finally read;

"To the entire faculty and staff of Michigan State University.  We the Chefs, an anarchist splinter group here on campus, embarked upon our mission in the spring of 1979.  Our mission, not unlike that of our goldfish swallowing forefathers, was one of fun and frivolity, but alas, as the eminent professor Sir Isaac Newton once stated "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction".  Such is our misfortune.  Let it be known that we are merely artists, the pies are our brushes, the professor's faces - our canvas.  Although our menu has been limited to whipped cream we plan to offer cherry, apple, blueberry and the ever-popular lemon meringue.  As long as there are oppressed students at M.S.U. there will be Chefs. - Viva Les Chefs!"

 

“I don’t know, you guys are playing with fire.  What if Butler doesn’t like it?”  Les pointed out.

“Then we’ll pie him again!” I cheered.  “Hey, toss me another beer, man”, I yelled over my shoulder to whoever just opened the refrigerator door. “I’m working.”

We then signed our pseudonyms – Thiamin, Niacin, Riboflavin, and Carbohydrate.  As I sealed the envelope Les reminded me about Butler.

“Hey, when did Butler want to meet with us?

“Oh, yeah.”  I said, looking at my watch.  “Right about now.”

Everyone laughed and toasted to crazy days.  Meanwhile, Butler sat in a booth at America’s cup, alone.  He looked at his watch again as his temper rose.  He was determined to not let the Chefs get away with making a fool out of him.

Two days later the letter was published in the State News.   This upset Butler even more.  Now he was really mad and ready to unleash his anger at us.  He contacted me and scheduled another meeting.   This time it was in another restaurant.  I came in.  Butler wasn’t alone this time.  The idiot had brought his wife.  She actually had pestered him to bring her.  She wanted to see her macho-man discipline the merry pranksters of Michigan State.

“Where are the other Chefs?”  Butler angrily asked.

“They’re not coming”, I replied as I sat down at the booth.

“You can’t do that!”

“Well, I guess I did”, I explained, waiving off the waitress.  I was looking for the right time to say what I had to before making a quick exit.  “We’re not going to pay for your dry cleaning either.”

“It’s not going to end with this”, Butler threatened.

“Yeah, right.  We’re going home tomorrow for the summer.  We’ll be back in the fall.  See you then.” 

I got up to leave, but I had to twist the screws on him a little more now that his wife was with him. "Don't forget to say hi to Carrie for me".

"Who's Carrie?" his wife suddenly asked as she turned toward Butler behind a look of concern.  There was something going on between the two of them that I could only guess was suspicion on the wife's part by the tone of her voice.  Butler just sat there next to her. She wasn’t that bad looking.  I made a mental note of that as I eyed her up and down.  I wondered what Butler’s problem was, having an affair with his TA when he had an attractive wife at home. 

“Oh well, who cares”, I thought.  The Chefs were gaining popularity, and the Chefs, friends, faculty and the press saw Butler as being a stooge.  Now his affair on his wife was in danger of being exposed.  There wasn’t a thing that he could do about it now.  Our safety was assured for the time being.

That was the eighth and final pieing of the Chefs first term in action.  I had started it all and threw a total of five.  Those were signified by exclamation points drawn on the sleeve of my Chef jacket, like the stripes on a football sweater.  The summer of '79 was about to begin and we all moved back to our parent's houses for what would be our last summer vacations at home.  We were all turning twenty-one that year and although we were now officially to be considered adults, our guises as the Chefs let us unofficially retain whatever was left of our irresponsible years.

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