Hunt Club Memories

After a short journey through the rolling fields of Angola ("I promise guys, this way is faster than going through Coldwater!"), we arrived at downtown Hillsdale, ready to tuck in and enjoy a nice meal with other alums at the Hunt Club, a lcoal bar and grill. Actually, I've probably seen at least six or seven other Hunt Clubs since my time at Hillsdale (no affiliation with the Hillsdale one, by the way), and every time, I want to go into it and see if they have a giant stuffed fox over the bar and a sandwich called "The Dagwood."

Our little soiree turned out to be quite an affair. Lucas had managed to secure the entire upstairs of the little bar and grill for Hillsdale alumni, setting up two long tables facing the windows which looked out over the city square. Presiding at one of the tables was none other than the Reverend Dr. Reist, a character if I've ever met one and someone whom I wish had a blog of his own, even if it would primarily consist of weird quacks, photos of the various weddings he's attended/presided at, and serious discussion on the merits of Catholic theology and the evils of Catholic priestly celibacy. But I digress . . .

Fantastic as it was to see the good Doctor, because of our late arrival, Jacob, Tony and I were placed at the foot of the table in our own little corner. Various other Hillsdale alumni were there--if you want names and faces, you'll have to visit my good friend Lucas' blog. After ordering a pitcher of beer or two, our little group turned quite merry, eventually ending up with Tony, J, Jacob, and I playing pool while Lucas tried hard to stay awake and keep his supper down. The man did not look well, and he blamed it all on no sleep and a spotty cappucino. (Sorry for the bad spelling, but hey, I've only got five minutes to do this thing).

Next time: Rolled Cigarettes and a Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire