Celebrating the Founding of Tau Epsilon Phi
Today, October 10, marks the founding of Tau Epsilon Phi—a fraternity built on fellowship, growth, and a commitment to making a positive difference.
Since pledging in the fall of 1990, I’ve had some amazing experiences and made memories I’ll always value. Tau Epsilon Phi has given me countless opportunities, taught me so much about navigating the world as a man, and encouraged me to make a positive impact on the people and communities around me.
I’m proud to be a member and grateful for the brotherhood and lessons that have shaped my journey. Happy Founders’ Day to my TEP brothers!
Roasting Each Other, Showing Up for Each Other
I saw this video about friends who roast each other, and it reminded me of my fraternity brothers in Tau Epsilon Phi, Phi Chi Chapter, formerly Epsilon Lambda, at City College of New York. I pledged in Fall 1990. That means I’ve known some of these guys for more than 35 years.
We still get together on Zoom when we can, usually Tuesdays and Fridays. The calls often run about two hours, and they’re so much fun that even a 14-year-old wants to join the insanity.
And there is plenty of insanity. We roast each other about my eyebrows, our dating and marriage decisions, the questionable things we did at the fraternity house in historic Harlem, pranks, a WWE DDT episode, hairlines that have seen better days, and how fat we’ve gotten. If you can imagine it, we’ve probably said it.
But the jokes are only part of the story. When life gets tough, and someone needs help, the same guys who can roast you without mercy will make time to show up for you. That kind of friendship is built over decades—and proven when it matters.
Our creed says it best: “To Live in the Light of Friendship, to Walk in the Path of Chivalry, to Serve for the Love of Service.”
Some of us may be more dependable than others, but the brothers who stay in touch—and stay in touch with me—are the ones I know I can count on. Even if the emergency involves a goat, a bottle of baby oil, and a cord of wood.
From Tau Epsilon Phi to Ska: My Fraternity Brother Goon Is Still Making Noise
I’ve forgotten some things from college.
Classes. Professors. What I was supposed to be studying. And probably more than a few nights that are better left in the 1980s.
But I haven’t forgotten my fraternity brothers.
Back at The City College of New York, I was a member of Tau Epsilon Phi, Phi Chi Chapter. Like any respectable fraternity, we had pledge names—and some were considerably more memorable than others.
One of my fraternity brothers received the distinguished, dignified, and undoubtedly well-deserved pledge name:
Alice the Goon.
I’ve always just called him Goon.
All these years later, Goon is still making noise—except now people actually want to hear it.
He’s part of The Phensic, a ska band.
And somehow, that seems completely appropriate.
If you had asked me back during my CCNY days what someone named Alice the Goon would be doing decades later, playing in a ska band probably would have made my Top 10.
Maybe even the Top 5.
If you’re into ska, check out The Phensic. And if you’re not familiar with ska, this might be a good excuse to discover something different.
You can listen to their music here:
One thing I appreciate more as I get older is looking back at the people I knew during those college years and seeing where life took us all.
We’re older.
Hopefully, we’re wiser.
The hair situation has definitely changed for some of us. In my case, I decided hair was apparently an unnecessary luxury.
But those fraternity memories and connections are still there.
So, from one Tau Epsilon Phi, Chi Chapter brother to another:
Keep making noise, Goon.
And if you like ska—or want to hear what one of my fraternity brothers has been up to—check out The Phensic!
Devastating Diva in the McDonald’s Drive-Thru
The other day, I was at McDonald’s in Mount Pleasant doing what any responsible adult does when presented with a deal: getting a $1.50 McChicken, fries, and a large Coke Zero.
Fine dining? No.
Efficient dining? Absolutely.
I pulled into the drive-thru, placed my order, and began the traditional McDonald’s ritual of slowly moving forward six feet at a time while wondering whether I really needed the fries.
Of course I needed the fries.
Then I noticed the car in front of me.
Nothing particularly unusual about the car. It was a Honda with a South Carolina license plate. But then I looked at the license plate frame.
It read:
“DEVASTATING DIVA.”
Well.
That is certainly a statement.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a license plate frame myself. Mine is a Tau Epsilon Phi fraternity frame. It basically tells the world, “Yes, I joined a fraternity, and apparently I’m still talking about it decades later.”
But “Devastating Diva”?
That raises questions.
If I were a woman, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to advertise that to every person sitting behind me at a red light.
Because there's confidence, and then there's issuing a public challenge.
You aren't merely a diva.
You're not even an exceptional diva.
You are DEVASTATING.
That is a lot to live up to when somebody finally pulls alongside you.
I hope she’s married or has a partner, because otherwise that license plate frame is doing some serious pre-screening on the dating pool.
Imagine meeting someone:
“So, tell me a little about yourself.”
“Well, I enjoy traveling, trying new restaurants, spending time with friends…”
“And?”
“I’m devastating.”
“Excuse me?”
“Check the Honda.”
At least she's giving everyone fair warning.
Meanwhile, my license plate frame basically identifies my fraternity affiliation. Hers sounds like it should come with terms and conditions, a liability waiver, and possibly a hurricane warning.
And really, I respect the commitment.
If you're going to declare yourself a Devastating Diva, don't hide it in an Instagram bio where only your friends will see it.
Put it on the back of the Honda.
Take it through McDonald's.
Make the guy behind you eating a $1.50 McChicken contemplate your entire life story.
Mission accomplished, Diva.
Mission accomplished.
One Billion Dollars, Bologna Pools, and the Evolution of the Fraternity Lottery Pool
Well...
We've done it.
Not won the Powerball.
We've evolved into a full-fledged financial institution.
The Powerball jackpot has officially reached $1 BILLION, with a one-time cash option of approximately $433.1 million before taxes.
Naturally, I already built another spreadsheet.
At this point, I should probably put "Lottery Pool CFO" on my LinkedIn profile.
It Started Innocently...
If memory serves, this whole adventure started about a month ago.
I suggested we throw a few bucks together.
Fast forward several drawings later, and we've played Powerball, Mega Millions, more Powerball, and then some more because apparently none of us learned anything.
I'd estimate our fraternity has now spent around $1,200–$1,500 chasing the dream.
That's enough money to buy a decent used car.
Instead, we own a growing collection of paper with numbers on them.
We've Become Spreadsheet People
This isn't just "buy some tickets."
No.
We've gone full corporate.
I've created spreadsheets showing:
Jackpot odds.
Prize probabilities.
Estimated after-tax winnings.
Per-person payouts.
Cash option calculations.
Different scenarios based on how many brothers are playing.
I don't think anyone has ever over-engineered losing the lottery quite like we have.
The Investment Committee Speaks
One thing I actually love is how the group operates.
We've had a few smaller wins.
Instead of everyone demanding their $4.37 immediately, the majority decided to let some of the winnings ride and buy more tickets.
Ladies and gentlemen...
We've accidentally invented a hedge fund.
A terrible hedge fund.
But a hedge fund nonetheless.
The $1 Billion Spreadsheet
Yes...
There's already a spreadsheet.
Of course there is.
It breaks down exactly what every fraternity brother would receive if we hit the jackpot based on the current pool.
The numbers are ridiculous.
The conversations are even better.
Responsible Financial Planning
People always ask what they'd do if they suddenly became rich.
Our discussions have not exactly been...
...traditional.
Ideas include:
Building an in-ground swimming pool...
...and filling it entirely with bologna.
Hiring someone whose only job is to tell us when Powerball reaches another billion.
Buying matching golf carts just to drive to the mailbox.
Renting a movie theater every Friday because deciding what to stream is exhausting.
Purchasing a private island where absolutely no one is allowed to ask, "Can I borrow a little money?"
Starting a charitable foundation dedicated to replacing every broken fraternity couch in America.
Buying Harris Teeter stock just to thank the cashier who's watched me buy hundreds of dollars in lottery tickets without asking too many questions.
Will We Win?
Statistically?
Probably not.
But for the price of a few tickets, we've bought weeks of laughs, spreadsheets nobody asked for, Discord debates, ridiculous financial planning sessions, and enough jokes to last until the next drawing.
That's not a bad return on investment.
Although...
A billion dollars would still be nice.