College fundraising is big business. So when Burr rolled out the red carpet for the D.C. alumni glitterati, they asked that everyone from the program attend.
We had no illusions about why we were invited; it was to remind the big enchiladas of their college days of wine and roses. Smartly, Burr had an open bar.
No better way to remind alumni of being twenty than watching drunken twenty-year-olds.
For the D.C. alumni event, Burr rented out the Cosmos Club, a traditional Gentleman’s club on Embassy Row which allowed women through the front door only ten years earlier in 1988.
For a large club, the place was packed. Evidentally, there is some sort of pipeline from Burr College to D.C. after graduation.
Our esteemed leader, Mr. College President, was there to shake a few hands and premiere a new propaganda video about the college. All the elements were there: the autumn leaves, Ionic columns, Frisbee in the quad, someone smiling above a microscope, nighttime exterior shot of the library’s lit interior, lacrosse, the top of a chapel. If every student in the video wasn’t wearing Burr collegiate gear, the school could sell it as a template college/university montage. All attendees received a VHS copy.
Putty was there. He’d been a little cool after our romp, and I was pleased as punch to casually mention Reporter and ignore him the rest of the night. I hoped as I walked away Putty wished he could have some fries with my little shake.
Before the premiere of Burr’s Mein Kampf, Peter and I introduced ourselves to Mr. College President.
It was the first, but sadly not last, time a Burr President looked over my head at an alumni event to see who was more important to talk to.
The second time was by his successor when I had a real job and real money.
