Phi Kappa and Life, Through the Eyes of a Marine By Brian R. Bland, Phi Kappa`63. From the July 2016 Edition of the Phi Kappa News As an AXP Postulant in 1946, following orders and obeying the rules wasn’t too tough for Chuck Schunk. He already had survived some of World War II’s fiercest battles in the Pacific. Joining the Phi Kappa Chapter at age 24, Schunk found many veterans among the forty-five Crows, but he was the only ex-Marine in his twenty-member pledge class. “More than half the house might have been vets,” recalled Schunk, now 94. “Many of us were 24 to 28 years old.” Although the Chicago-area native initially had no plans to join a fraternity, his brother Frank – fifteen years his elder -- had been a Crow at Illinois, graduating in 1928. “The GI Bill got me into Illinois,” Schunk explained. “I enjoyed meeting the guys (at AXP) and I realized the costs would be about the same as living in the dorms.” Once aboard, Schunk worked without stopping. He took classes all year ‘round, became Chapter President, played varsity tennis, won the All-University Table Tennis championship, played on intramural teams, majored in Commerce and graduated in 1948 – all in just over two years! Like many Phi Kappa alums, Schunk clearly remembers bunking in the frigid third-floor dorm. His uniform was “long johns, a couple of sweatshirts, a ski cap and all the blankets you could find.” At that time, and for decades afterward, city fire regulations required the third-floor windows to be open. Did the hardened military veterans laugh at the Fraternity’s rules for dining, studying or general conduct? Just the opposite. “If you didn’t measure up you got ‘further instruction’ from a former Infantry captain -- a tough guy,” Schunk said. Study hours were strictly enforced. “From 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. you could’ve heard a pin drop,” he recalled. “There was no alcohol in the house, even when we had parties,” Schunk stated, adding: “I fined one man fifty dollars for breaking the rule.” (That’s $500.00 in today’s money). “We wore suits and ties for evening meals, Monday through Thursday and on Sunday,” he said. He rated the food, from the female cook, as “fair.” Despite the formality, however, no fines were levied for bad language during meals. Why? “Our second language was ‘Marine Corps,’” Schunk joked. “Not bad, exactly, but sometimes people could really cut loose.” In addition, “Friday was a casual night when you could really open up, and sing dirty songs,” (a tradition that went on for decades). “We had a bit of hazing,” Schunk acknowledged, “but I eliminated some of it when I was president.” Of course, the pledges sometimes got revenge. We’d dig a hole, fill it with water and throw seniors in,” Schunk explained. “It had to be planned well – almost a military operation.” One victim was the former Infantry captain mentioned earlier, “but he nearly fought off four of us before we could get him tied up and into the mud bath.” One effect of having a campus full of returning veterans, Schunk said, is that the male to female ratio among students was about seven-to-one. His academic and athletic schedule, along with a tight budget, kept his socializing to a minimum, but he does remember the Crows serenading sororities. One of Schunk’s fondest memories from his forty-year management career is building The Racket Club in Crystal Lake, IL, which he ran for a decade, blending his love of business and tennis. The club is still open. After spending six decades in the Chicago area and three more in San Diego, Schunk moved to Georgia four years ago to be near his three grandchildren. At 94, he still drives – and still teaches tennis, as he has for 44 years. But sometimes, as part of his legacy for his family, he lets his mind travel back to his pre-college days, and he writes about those lush and violent Pacific islands – Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Okinawa.