Ice Rink

They were not the sharpest tools in the shed, as the saying goes. The three cocky, gregarious boys were not of ill intent, simply naïve and had been left alone for too long without supervision. It was winter in the northeastern United States at a very expensive private university. Beers had been flowing freely and their better judgment had been extinguished for the night. That’s when one of the boys said, “Hey, let’s drag the yard hose in here, turn it on and make an ice rink.” They were drinking and playing poker in the basement of their fraternity at the time and, sadly, the other two offered no resistance. The window was opened, the hose was pulled in to its full length and the faucet opened.

From his earliest days the youth remembered fondly how his father would make an ice rink in their back yard every winter. He would lay out a large plastic tarpaulin on top of two or three lengths of interconnected garden hoses shaping a large oval in the grass. Growing up in Massachusetts provided plenty of winter precipitation as well as the freezing temperatures needed to form the required abundance of ice. The annual ice rink marked a festive time for his siblings and neighbors. It was this memory deep on a Friday night with beers in his belly that sparked the seemingly bright idea to build an indoor ice rink in the basement of the fraternity house.

It was plenty cold outside, freezing in fact, but with only one window open there was very little chance of ice rink formulation. The other two, having identified this shortfall, assisted by opening the remaining windows and the double doors. The basement was large enough to host a winter ball with sufficient room left over for a full bar and two foosball tables. This was a big place. The keg of beer was far from empty, the night was cold with temperatures dropping and the hose continued at maximum flow.

The boys were not dumb, as it pertains to one’s intelligence quotient, just not thinking this through. They knew enough to stay out of the water to avoid accidental electrocution, but other than that, they were pleasantly clueless. Their attention reverted back to the poker game. One of the boys eventually lost the last of his chips, or coins or whatever they were using, he tossed his cards into the water on the floor, cursed belligerently to his chums and slumped upstairs to find his bed. He was quickly asleep without even a thought of brushing his teeth.

The other two filled their cups of beer and went upstairs desiring good natured mischief, if they’d be lucky enough to find it. They could not, so they retired to their beds with cups of beer sitting atop wood desks, condensation slowly dripping down onto their desktops. Like modern day troglodytes they had neglected the basic deployment of coasters. The slumber was restless due to their bellies being fouled with too much hooch. It would be many years before they would make the connection of unsatisfying sleep and large quantities of beer. Regardless, they did bed down to a night as quiet as a mouse on Christmas Eve. To clarify, the fraternity house was by no means quiet, but quiet for these three due to the level of inebriation attained resulting in the closure of key senses.

It was early in the morning when an elder statesmen of the fraternity went to the basement to check on the clothes washer availability. He wasn’t going to do laundry, not an upperclassman, but he wanted to check if the machine was available so that a pledge could be assigned to do it for him. He observed the opened windows and doors and the water icing up on the floor. Not yet skatable, but the desired depth had been attained. He had the inclination to at least turn off the hose and close the nearest window. Remedial action was in desperate need, but he was preoccupied with a bowl of cereal in his hands and laundry to have done. Any fix-it plan implementation would have to wait for another with more gumption. “Pledge! Pledge,” he called out loudly heading back out. From upstairs came the sound of a hustling pair of feet eager to please, a pledge had been rousted.

A number of boys residing at the fraternity house had been gone for the weekend, but by Monday morning it was full of occupants. A proper assessment of the situation was identified and explained by one boy who’d had a physics class. He was aware that ice in the basement was problematic, “Hey guys, this is a major issue because ice expands. This is not safe for the house or its foundation.” But he was an underclassman and his comment was quickly discarded because the alternative, an indoor ice rink, was much more fun than the task of eliminating it. So it was decided. “The ice rink stays, but when it melts in the spring, never again. Besides, this is a brick house, dip shit,” debasing his more intelligent adversary, “It will contain the ice.” Dip shit, of course, was entirely correct and knew with certainty that he was entirely correct. More importantly, he understood the fraternal organization’s hierarchy and his knowledge-based statement was outranked by the organization’s seniority-based structure. He absorbed his verbal abuse and offered no further challenge. With the weather getting colder and no warm temperatures stretching weeks into the future, the water in the basement continued to freeze. 

The first foundation cracks appeared the subsequent weekend. The occupants didn’t notice, though, because they were busy with their newly founded indoor three-on-three hockey league. It wasn’t long before the basement doors wouldn’t close properly due to the structure’s shifting. From there a number of windows would not close flush leaving very cold gaps and some whistling breezes on windy days. Many of the boys knew something had gone wrong and suspected the ice rink was the cause when large cracks became visible in the brick exterior along the basement. They held no power positions and held their tongues. Others, still, were blithely convinced they had simply partied harder and louder than prior years and wore the worsening condition as a badge of honor.

The landlord was finally alerted when the gas bill more than tripled in one month. A licensed contractor was called to assess and repair the assumed gas leak. What he found, however, would not be fixed by the replacing of a pipe, valve or conduit. He saw the ice rink. He was a professional and was decades removed from being amused by the sophomoric antics of these derelicts. The cracks were, by this time, considerable throughout the foundation and basement. The house was condemned by local authorities and an insurance claim was filed by the landlord. The insurance company quickly subrogated against the fraternity and they were quickly held responsible for the damages.

After the initial shame and scolding wore off, the incident was eventually filed away in the annals of fraternal lore. The three boys from the opening sequence would eventually all be voted into the United States Congress. Much like their ice rink idea, most of their well-intended congressional actions ended in waste and destruction adversely affecting others, but they would remain unscathed and blameless.

[Inspired by an anecdote told to me by a work associate in the mid ‘90s.]