A couple of days ago the wife, kids and I drove to Queens, where we met some friends at a playground, then ate Greek food. These are people we truly enjoying seeing. Their son and our son are the same age, excellent parenrs, both journalists, great, great folks, etc … etc.
But that’s not the odd part.
Back in 1993, when I was editor of The Review, my college newspaper, we ran a front page story about an alleged fraternity rape. By mistake, our subheadline was a quotation from the frat president that was supposed to read ‘WE STILL BELIEVE HE IS NOT GUILTY,’ but—by terrible mistake—read, ‘WE STILL BELIEVE HE IS NOT INNOCENT.’ The fraternity members, rightfully, had a shitfit. Said we did it on purpose (not true). Said we hated fraternities (sorta true). Said they were gonna sue (could have, but never did). I especially remember a confrontation I had with one of the fraternity’s office holders. I was in a campus mart with my then-girlfriend (who worked behind the counter), and we ran into the guy. He started screaming, as did I. We were in each other’s faces, about to come to blows. My girlfriend stepped in between us and ordered the guy to leave. Man, did I loathe that guy. Really, really hated him.
Odd twist of the year—he’s the friend we visited in Queens. My ex-girlfriend is his wife.
Love that story!
