Mark Crow (left) talks with Dave Neset, administrative assistant for Lambda Chi Alpha Fraternity, at a training seminar in Muncie Ind., in August 1965.
—Photo by Bill Rhew
Remembering Mark Crow
By Roy Ockert Jr.
Iota Theta ΙΘ 203
My college experience changed considerably in 1964, the spring of my freshman year at then-Arkansas State College, when a couple of my fraternity brothers, over hamburgers and soft drinks at the “Slop Shop,” talked me into becoming assistant editor of The Indian yearbook the next year. I was working 30 hours a week as a sports writer at the Jonesboro Evening Sun and certainly didn’t need another job, but I’d get a small stipend. Since my academic scholarship wasn’t renewable, I was looking to earn money any way I could so I agreed.
Wendell Crow, a senior, had just finished his year as editor of The Indian and decided to stay on to earn another degree, while taking another turn as editor, for reasons that weren’t entirely academic. His assistant editor, Jim Pardew, had expected to move up to editor and wasn’t interested in being the No. 2 guy again. Charles Wiles, the other “persuader” at the “Slop Shop” meeting, was also scheming to keep a run of consecutive Lambda Chi editors going, and Pardew was a member of a rival fraternity. This move would wind up pushing the string to 10 years.
I had never been on the yearbook staff in high school, and if I had known what I was getting into, I would have said no. However, I especially respected Wendell, one of three Crows initiated by our chapter and the son of the publisher and editor of the Rector weekly newspaper. What I didn’t know was that he and the chief photographer, Phil Pickle, also a Lambda Chi, treated each yearbook deadline like so many students treat a final exam — do nothing until the last day or two and then cram everything into a 24-hour session or two.
Wendell was amazing in the way he could churn out page after page that way, and Phil figured correctly that it didn’t make sense to print pictures until he knew what Wendell needed. I couldn’t work that way, though. My nature is to organize and plan, then to produce in orderly fashion. I became so frustrated with our haphazard system that late one night I coerced Pickle into the darkroom to do some pictures I needed, then pulled a bench to block the darkroom door and laid down on it until he finished. We got the yearbook done that way, but I pledged to do it differently.
Moving up to editor of the yearbook in my junior year meant that I would have to give up my job at the Sun in the fall. There just wasn’t time for everything. With the opening of the student union bowling center, I had signed on as bowling league coordinator, which gave me some extra money, a less-demanding schedule and a cheap rate for bowling practice games. I also had the key to another office in the Reng Center, this one with a university phone that had access to the WATs (long-distance) line. I’d already been given a key to the back door of the student union, as well as the yearbook office.
[Keep in mind this was long before cell phones, and there were few phones available on campus. My dormitory, for example, had only two pay phones in the hallways, and frequently you made your call while others waited in line behind you, easily overhearing anything you said. Access to a private, free telephone was a luxury.]
For my yearbook staff that year, 1965-66, I appointed Lambda Chi brothers Dan Stracner as assistant editor and Mark Crow, Wendell’s younger brother, as chief photographer. Then we recruited more people to the staff, got them organized, delegated responsibilities and charted every page. I held staff seminars in writing, editing and layout, and Dan and I put together a style guide. We scheduled regular work sessions and made each deadline with relative ease. Mark, Dan and I had moved into a large room off the Danner Hall ballroom that fall — because we worked together and got along well. Across the hall were two other fraternity brothers, H.T. Moore and Marion Meredith, both of whom were also journalism majors and working on the yearbook staff. The Lambda Chi suite was in the basement, one floor down.
A huge challenge would come on Jan. 21, 1966, with Mark’s tragic death in a traffic accident near Stuttgart in January.
Since we had deferred rush in those days, Mark had been initiated as Iota Theta No. 212 in the spring of 1965, and we expected great things from him. He was handsome, intelligent, charismatic and thoughtful — a wonderful friend and brother.
His death shook me to the core. On the weekend after final exams ended, two of my fraternity brothers were to get married — Randy Goacher on Saturday the 22nd in Stuttgart and Butch Buffalo the next day in Carlisle. I was to be a groomsman for the latter. Some of our brothers went to Stuttgart for the rehearsal on Friday, including Mark, who was to photograph Randy’s wedding. Before he left, Mark stopped by the yearbook office to borrow a camera and left a note on my desk: “Roy, I’ve got the Rollei. Don’t worry.” He left his car at Fair Oaks and rode the rest of the way with two other Lambda Chi’s, Bill Pruett and Lon Simmons.
I decided to to wait until Saturday because I had a date Friday night, and afterward I went to the fraternity suite. Soon the phone rang, and Jim Fowler told me Mark had been killed in an auto accident in Stuttgart. I called Dan, who was also on a date. Brothers began gathering in the suite as the word spread, and I spent the night at Jim Goad’s house.
That night after the rehearsal dinner, Mark and Lon had been riding with Bill on an icy road outside town when the car skidded off the road and hit a post. All three were knocked unconscious, Mark hitting its head on the windshield, and they were thrown out the passenger door. What happened after that was never clear, but it was at least 30 minutes before an ambulance reached the scene. Mark, at age 19, died at the hospital that night of shock and exposure. His most serious injuries otherwise: three fractured ribs. Lon and Bill were injured but not seriously.
On Saturday Jim, Bob Clark and I made the trip to Stuttgart, getting there just in time for Randy’s wedding. Afterward, we went to the hospital to visit Bill and Lon, then on to Carlisle for the Buffalo rehearsal. We spent the night at Paul Madden’s house in Stuttgart, then took part in Sunday’s wedding. I can only imagine how heavily the tragedy weighed on the newlyweds, whose happiest time had been turned somber. When we got back to Jonesboro that evening, Dan and I moved to a room on the third floor.
Mark’s funeral was scheduled for 2 p.m. Tuesday, and I was chosen as a pallbearer. Monday morning Dan, Victor Dickson and I went with one of our most prominent founding alumni, Jim Lundberg (Iota Theta No. 28), to Rector and visited the Crow family at the house, where Mark’s body was lying in repose for visitation. The top Lambda Chi national officer, George Spasyk, arrived while we were there. George always considered our chapter one of his favorites and had developed a strong relationship with Mark. Snow was falling when we drove home. Quite a few brothers gathered in the suite that night, and we held an informal meeting. Mark had recently completed an essay about brotherhood and asked me to edit it. [A copy can be found below this article.] I read it at the meeting that night, and there were few dry eyes in that roomful of young men.
A close friend, Karen Salley, called me after hearing the news. She said she and another friend had arranged an airplane ride to Jonesboro the next morning and wanted me to pick her up. She knew I needed someone, and she wanted to go to the funeral with me. We made it to Rector before lunch, and everyone gathered at the church. The services went as planned, but there was already some tension developing between the Crow family and Bill Pruett, who was also from Rector and a cousin to Mark. In the years that followed, Mark’s dad, Wendell H., became more and more convinced that some things were being kept from the authorities. I never believed that, but it was such a senseless death and a terrible loss for our fraternity and the yearbook staff. Mark was a rising star who was already developing into a campus leader in just his second year.
The next day Mark’s brothers, Wendell C. and Charlie, came to Danner, and we packed up his belongings. A little later we had a traumatic yearbook staff meeting. Then I said good-bye to Jim Lundberg and George Spasyk. Not long afterward I collapsed in bed and slept for the first time in days. Registration started the next day, class the following Monday. It was time to get back to life.
The loss of Mark, though, would hang over us for the rest of the year. He was so much a part of what we did, who we were. I had experienced the death of people close to me previously, but it had always been someone older. A 19-year-old guy wasn’t supposed to die.
We did what we could to cope. Marion, a freshman and my little brother, became chief photographer, and the added responsibilities took a toll on his grades, which weren’t good anyway. He didn’t do well enough to be initiated and had to go through again the next fall.
Charlie Crow and I put together a scholarship in Mark’s name and started raising funds. Dan and I prepared the chapter’s newsletter for mailing in early February. We made our remaining yearbook deadlines and dedicated the book to Mark. I bowled more than ever and stayed up too late too often. Our brotherhood became stronger as we leaned on each other. I served as something of a liaison between the chapter and the Crow family, especially as to Mr. Crow, and his increasing suspicions made things more difficult, but I tried to remain objective.
Despite Mark’s loss, I’d say the yearbook was better, if only because it became much more of a team effort.
Several of the people who played a part in this story — Jim Pardew, Paul Madden, Butch Buffalo, Bob Clark, Marion Meredith, Wendell H. Crow, Charlie Crow, Jim Lundberg and George Spasyk — are gone now but lived long and fruitful lives. I can only wonder what great things Mark could have accomplished.
The author is retired and living in Jonesboro after more than 50 years as an Arkansas journalist, including a total of 30 years as the editor of the Batesville Guard, Russellville Courier and Jonesboro Sun. He has been treasurer of the Iota Theta house corporation since 2004. He was initiated with the Spring Pledge Class of 1964, when we had deferred rush for freshmen and pledges.
By Roy Ockert Jr.
Iota Theta ΙΘ 203
My college experience changed considerably in 1964, the spring of my freshman year at then-Arkansas State College, when a couple of my fraternity brothers, over hamburgers and soft drinks at the “Slop Shop,” talked me into becoming assistant editor of The Indian yearbook the next year. I was working 30 hours a week as a sports writer at the Jonesboro Evening Sun and certainly didn’t need another job, but I’d get a small stipend. Since my academic scholarship wasn’t renewable, I was looking to earn money any way I could so I agreed.
Wendell Crow, a senior, had just finished his year as editor of The Indian and decided to stay on to earn another degree, while taking another turn as editor, for reasons that weren’t entirely academic. His assistant editor, Jim Pardew, had expected to move up to editor and wasn’t interested in being the No. 2 guy again. Charles Wiles, the other “persuader” at the “Slop Shop” meeting, was also scheming to keep a run of consecutive Lambda Chi editors going, and Pardew was a member of a rival fraternity. This move would wind up pushing the string to 10 years.
I had never been on the yearbook staff in high school, and if I had known what I was getting into, I would have said no. However, I especially respected Wendell, one of three Crows initiated by our chapter and the son of the publisher and editor of the Rector weekly newspaper. What I didn’t know was that he and the chief photographer, Phil Pickle, also a Lambda Chi, treated each yearbook deadline like so many students treat a final exam — do nothing until the last day or two and then cram everything into a 24-hour session or two.
Wendell was amazing in the way he could churn out page after page that way, and Phil figured correctly that it didn’t make sense to print pictures until he knew what Wendell needed. I couldn’t work that way, though. My nature is to organize and plan, then to produce in orderly fashion. I became so frustrated with our haphazard system that late one night I coerced Pickle into the darkroom to do some pictures I needed, then pulled a bench to block the darkroom door and laid down on it until he finished. We got the yearbook done that way, but I pledged to do it differently.
Moving up to editor of the yearbook in my junior year meant that I would have to give up my job at the Sun in the fall. There just wasn’t time for everything. With the opening of the student union bowling center, I had signed on as bowling league coordinator, which gave me some extra money, a less-demanding schedule and a cheap rate for bowling practice games. I also had the key to another office in the Reng Center, this one with a university phone that had access to the WATs (long-distance) line. I’d already been given a key to the back door of the student union, as well as the yearbook office.
[Keep in mind this was long before cell phones, and there were few phones available on campus. My dormitory, for example, had only two pay phones in the hallways, and frequently you made your call while others waited in line behind you, easily overhearing anything you said. Access to a private, free telephone was a luxury.]
For my yearbook staff that year, 1965-66, I appointed Lambda Chi brothers Dan Stracner as assistant editor and Mark Crow, Wendell’s younger brother, as chief photographer. Then we recruited more people to the staff, got them organized, delegated responsibilities and charted every page. I held staff seminars in writing, editing and layout, and Dan and I put together a style guide. We scheduled regular work sessions and made each deadline with relative ease. Mark, Dan and I had moved into a large room off the Danner Hall ballroom that fall — because we worked together and got along well. Across the hall were two other fraternity brothers, H.T. Moore and Marion Meredith, both of whom were also journalism majors and working on the yearbook staff. The Lambda Chi suite was in the basement, one floor down.
A huge challenge would come on Jan. 21, 1966, with Mark’s tragic death in a traffic accident near Stuttgart in January.
Since we had deferred rush in those days, Mark had been initiated as Iota Theta No. 212 in the spring of 1965, and we expected great things from him. He was handsome, intelligent, charismatic and thoughtful — a wonderful friend and brother.
His death shook me to the core. On the weekend after final exams ended, two of my fraternity brothers were to get married — Randy Goacher on Saturday the 22nd in Stuttgart and Butch Buffalo the next day in Carlisle. I was to be a groomsman for the latter. Some of our brothers went to Stuttgart for the rehearsal on Friday, including Mark, who was to photograph Randy’s wedding. Before he left, Mark stopped by the yearbook office to borrow a camera and left a note on my desk: “Roy, I’ve got the Rollei. Don’t worry.” He left his car at Fair Oaks and rode the rest of the way with two other Lambda Chi’s, Bill Pruett and Lon Simmons.
I decided to to wait until Saturday because I had a date Friday night, and afterward I went to the fraternity suite. Soon the phone rang, and Jim Fowler told me Mark had been killed in an auto accident in Stuttgart. I called Dan, who was also on a date. Brothers began gathering in the suite as the word spread, and I spent the night at Jim Goad’s house.
That night after the rehearsal dinner, Mark and Lon had been riding with Bill on an icy road outside town when the car skidded off the road and hit a post. All three were knocked unconscious, Mark hitting its head on the windshield, and they were thrown out the passenger door. What happened after that was never clear, but it was at least 30 minutes before an ambulance reached the scene. Mark, at age 19, died at the hospital that night of shock and exposure. His most serious injuries otherwise: three fractured ribs. Lon and Bill were injured but not seriously.
On Saturday Jim, Bob Clark and I made the trip to Stuttgart, getting there just in time for Randy’s wedding. Afterward, we went to the hospital to visit Bill and Lon, then on to Carlisle for the Buffalo rehearsal. We spent the night at Paul Madden’s house in Stuttgart, then took part in Sunday’s wedding. I can only imagine how heavily the tragedy weighed on the newlyweds, whose happiest time had been turned somber. When we got back to Jonesboro that evening, Dan and I moved to a room on the third floor.
Mark’s funeral was scheduled for 2 p.m. Tuesday, and I was chosen as a pallbearer. Monday morning Dan, Victor Dickson and I went with one of our most prominent founding alumni, Jim Lundberg (Iota Theta No. 28), to Rector and visited the Crow family at the house, where Mark’s body was lying in repose for visitation. The top Lambda Chi national officer, George Spasyk, arrived while we were there. George always considered our chapter one of his favorites and had developed a strong relationship with Mark. Snow was falling when we drove home. Quite a few brothers gathered in the suite that night, and we held an informal meeting. Mark had recently completed an essay about brotherhood and asked me to edit it. [A copy can be found below this article.] I read it at the meeting that night, and there were few dry eyes in that roomful of young men.
A close friend, Karen Salley, called me after hearing the news. She said she and another friend had arranged an airplane ride to Jonesboro the next morning and wanted me to pick her up. She knew I needed someone, and she wanted to go to the funeral with me. We made it to Rector before lunch, and everyone gathered at the church. The services went as planned, but there was already some tension developing between the Crow family and Bill Pruett, who was also from Rector and a cousin to Mark. In the years that followed, Mark’s dad, Wendell H., became more and more convinced that some things were being kept from the authorities. I never believed that, but it was such a senseless death and a terrible loss for our fraternity and the yearbook staff. Mark was a rising star who was already developing into a campus leader in just his second year.
The next day Mark’s brothers, Wendell C. and Charlie, came to Danner, and we packed up his belongings. A little later we had a traumatic yearbook staff meeting. Then I said good-bye to Jim Lundberg and George Spasyk. Not long afterward I collapsed in bed and slept for the first time in days. Registration started the next day, class the following Monday. It was time to get back to life.
The loss of Mark, though, would hang over us for the rest of the year. He was so much a part of what we did, who we were. I had experienced the death of people close to me previously, but it had always been someone older. A 19-year-old guy wasn’t supposed to die.
We did what we could to cope. Marion, a freshman and my little brother, became chief photographer, and the added responsibilities took a toll on his grades, which weren’t good anyway. He didn’t do well enough to be initiated and had to go through again the next fall.
Charlie Crow and I put together a scholarship in Mark’s name and started raising funds. Dan and I prepared the chapter’s newsletter for mailing in early February. We made our remaining yearbook deadlines and dedicated the book to Mark. I bowled more than ever and stayed up too late too often. Our brotherhood became stronger as we leaned on each other. I served as something of a liaison between the chapter and the Crow family, especially as to Mr. Crow, and his increasing suspicions made things more difficult, but I tried to remain objective.
Despite Mark’s loss, I’d say the yearbook was better, if only because it became much more of a team effort.
Several of the people who played a part in this story — Jim Pardew, Paul Madden, Butch Buffalo, Bob Clark, Marion Meredith, Wendell H. Crow, Charlie Crow, Jim Lundberg and George Spasyk — are gone now but lived long and fruitful lives. I can only wonder what great things Mark could have accomplished.
The author is retired and living in Jonesboro after more than 50 years as an Arkansas journalist, including a total of 30 years as the editor of the Batesville Guard, Russellville Courier and Jonesboro Sun. He has been treasurer of the Iota Theta house corporation since 2004. He was initiated with the Spring Pledge Class of 1964, when we had deferred rush for freshmen and pledges.
An Essay on Lambda Chi Alpha
By Brother Mark Crow, ΙΘ 212
What are some of the beliefs I hold and some of the many things fraternity means to me as a member of Lambda Chi Alpha?
Lambda Chi Alpha means belonging. I know that when I need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to talk to, I can always find a brother who has a genuine interest in me and who really cares what happens to me — a brother who understands
that I am only human, and that I have soft spots in my personality to which I am particularly sensitive. He is a brother who offers to help before I have a chance to ask him. He is one with whom I usually disagree politically and possibly morally, but with whom I have a common goal and objective and one whom I can accept for what he is as a brother.
Lambda Chi Alpha means disappointment in myself and my brothers when I Iearn we have failed in public relations, or scholarship, or rush, or any one of the major goals set forth by the brotherhood of ΛΧΑ. I am disgusted with myself
when I realize I have done nothing to better my fraternity or the campus or the Greek system, as I am about to pull the covers over my head after a day of lounging in the coffee shop. I have to ask myself, “Did I go 100 percent today? Why am I in college, if not to become a man with mature ideas and goals in life?”
Lambda Chi Alpha means feeling proud. I am proud to say to my friends, “I am a member of ΛΧΑ.” This doesn’t mean that I imply with arrogance that I am better than he because I am a ΛΧΑ. It means that I am proud of the ideals set
forth by ΛΧΑ and feel fortunate that I was lucky enough to have been chosen as one of the 18 men in my pledge class.
I am not ashamed to say, “I love ΛΧΑ.” I feel that if I ever reach the point when I cannot say that I love my fraternity, I don’t belong. It is my duty to make a place in the Fraternity that will require four men to replace me when I leave. It is then my duty to find a man to replace me.
When a job cannot be tackled with enthusiasm, it is a sign of a dying love for the brotherhood. Should there ever be a reason or excuse for griping? Pledgeship should have taught that there are many jobs in the Fraternity and that someone
has to do them. Why not with enthusiasm?
Brotherhood is developed and learned — by working on a homecoming display all night, or spending long hours at song practice, or learning new football plays. The true brotherhood is one created through and by the sacrifices of the total
membership working together through and by the sacrifices of the total membership working together toward common goals. The brotherhood then created is a sweeter one and more rewarding. If each man does his part, he won’t have to ask, “Why can’t we have brotherhood any more?” If he does his part, he will be experiencing and be a part of a true brotherhood.
By Brother Mark Crow, ΙΘ 212
What are some of the beliefs I hold and some of the many things fraternity means to me as a member of Lambda Chi Alpha?
Lambda Chi Alpha means belonging. I know that when I need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to talk to, I can always find a brother who has a genuine interest in me and who really cares what happens to me — a brother who understands
that I am only human, and that I have soft spots in my personality to which I am particularly sensitive. He is a brother who offers to help before I have a chance to ask him. He is one with whom I usually disagree politically and possibly morally, but with whom I have a common goal and objective and one whom I can accept for what he is as a brother.
Lambda Chi Alpha means disappointment in myself and my brothers when I Iearn we have failed in public relations, or scholarship, or rush, or any one of the major goals set forth by the brotherhood of ΛΧΑ. I am disgusted with myself
when I realize I have done nothing to better my fraternity or the campus or the Greek system, as I am about to pull the covers over my head after a day of lounging in the coffee shop. I have to ask myself, “Did I go 100 percent today? Why am I in college, if not to become a man with mature ideas and goals in life?”
Lambda Chi Alpha means feeling proud. I am proud to say to my friends, “I am a member of ΛΧΑ.” This doesn’t mean that I imply with arrogance that I am better than he because I am a ΛΧΑ. It means that I am proud of the ideals set
forth by ΛΧΑ and feel fortunate that I was lucky enough to have been chosen as one of the 18 men in my pledge class.
I am not ashamed to say, “I love ΛΧΑ.” I feel that if I ever reach the point when I cannot say that I love my fraternity, I don’t belong. It is my duty to make a place in the Fraternity that will require four men to replace me when I leave. It is then my duty to find a man to replace me.
When a job cannot be tackled with enthusiasm, it is a sign of a dying love for the brotherhood. Should there ever be a reason or excuse for griping? Pledgeship should have taught that there are many jobs in the Fraternity and that someone
has to do them. Why not with enthusiasm?
Brotherhood is developed and learned — by working on a homecoming display all night, or spending long hours at song practice, or learning new football plays. The true brotherhood is one created through and by the sacrifices of the total
membership working together through and by the sacrifices of the total membership working together toward common goals. The brotherhood then created is a sweeter one and more rewarding. If each man does his part, he won’t have to ask, “Why can’t we have brotherhood any more?” If he does his part, he will be experiencing and be a part of a true brotherhood.