Parson Roast
Lawrence , KS
October 20, 2007
Remarks by Rodger A.
Payne
When I describe my time at KU, I have occasionally told
outsiders that "I am a made man in the Kansas debate mafia." Most of you are
too, or you wouldn't be in this room tonight.
Don't worry, I'm not really going to compare Dr. Parson to that
Joe Pesci character in "Goodfellas." No, he has behaved more like the
Godfather. And I mean that in a good way, though it might not always sound like
it.
Everyone here knows what they call the head of a mafia
family, right?
Donn.
Consider the parallels between debate and the mafia before I
get to my punch line:
There was almost no separation between
our private life and our debate life.
We were together during late
afternoon or evenings when other students were relaxing.
We traveled together on weekends.
We spent our holidays together on
trips politely called the "east coast swing" or the "west coast
swing." Obviously, we had a full time job. After finally leaving KU, I
calculated that I spent maybe 50 or 60 hours per week working on debate.
We even spent summers working for the
family – roughly at a nickel an hour, as Zac Grant once calculated.
Why did we do it?
It certainly wasn't for money or sex. We were mostly poor
and the team was predominantly male. Across America , I represented KU in nearly
500 debates.
Only about a dozen involved a woman colleague. "Fifi" is not
here tonight…
Again, why did we do it? Did they make us do it?
Though this family wasn't especially violent, keep in mind
that the mafia generally succeeds by using intimidation. I still remember
little Kevin Wilson explaining the thrill it gave him to write "Kansas " on the
chalkboard before a round.
After a few years, we used to call this "rep." Who
built that fear? Donn Parson.
I remember that Gidley used to quote from that Bill Murray
movie "Stripes" when teaching high school kids in the camps:
WINGER: Fair??!! Who cares about
fair??!! The world isn't fair! ... Is it fair that you were born like this?! No!
They're not expecting somebody like you in there. ... You're different! You're
weird! You're a mutant! You're a killer! You're a trained killer!
I never killed anybody, at least not physically, but I was
forced to break Mark's ribs during our senior year. He might deny it, but
Rhaesa can confirm it.
Anyway, back to my point -- the organization was obviously a
hierarchical pyramid and we know who was on top:
Debaters were the regular foot
soldiers of the organization. We ate bologna. Most of us didn't survive. My
freshman year, there were nearly 25 first-year/novices on the team. At the
time, I kind of wondered why there were so few seniors on the team. By the end of my days, only a
handful of us were still around.
The grad students were captains. On
tournaments, they called the shots – and controlled the cash (which they called
"the budget"). They even decided where we slept and when we got up in
the morning.
During my first three years in Lawrence , it was pretty
clear Rowland considered himself the consigliore. Personally, I think it was
Keeshan. Explain this: after spending practically his entire life living in
Lawrence, Rowland was suddenly sent off to Texas before my senior year.I
figured it went down this way for Parson: Why share the glory?
Or maybe Parson thought Rowland was
too flashy, kind of like Christopher on the Sopranos. He's "family,"
but could not be trusted with the future of the organization.
The man at the top of this pyramid is the man we're honoring
tonight:
The Donn's office was the
mysterious (and somewhat frightening) epicenter of – well, let's just call it
"the family." Who didn't quake when called to a meeting in that
office? Who didn't live in fear of appearing on the shit list he used to post
on his door?
Like Tony Soprano, Parson had all
the perks of the American dream – a nice house, cars, kids, a wonderful wife. Did
the foot soldiers or captains have these things? Of course not.
I don't want to make it sound like the life we led was all
bad. We were often distracted by booze, and even more frequently comforted by lots
of easy victories over other teams – especially others from the neighborhood
(which we used to call district 3 for some reason).
In my case, the rewards were even bigger.
So, I raise my glass and offer a toast to Donn Parson, for I
am truly grateful to be a lifelong "made man in the KU debate mafia."
Coach, may you live a long, healthy and prosperous life and experience all its
pleasures – family, friends, community and peace.
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