Confessions of the Switchboard Operator - Part 1

by Jessica Deltac ('91-'92)

1991. That was the year the Pepto-Bismol house was liberated from the sorority house next door and its real reputation got started. I have an incredible slew of memories of not just the original housemates – Raj, Clint, Lydia, Erik, Shyam & myself – but all the regulars who were always hanging around or just crashed at the house (if you cooked for us honorary status was immediately conferred): Pam, Deepu, Raj, Dana, Kendall, Pedigo, Dave, Ian, Jason, and... Oh, my mind isn't sharp enough to remember any more names – I just see the faces of the friends and the faces of the short-lived boy and girl friend/toys we had too.

At times living at the Pink House seemed like having a part time job that was a cross between Cruise Dir. Julie McCoy and a Switchboard Operator, as everyone seemed to call our house looking for where to go that night or the upcoming weekend. Looming over our housephone was a corkboard overflowing with flyers and handwritten addresses to the best shows and parties! I really am amazed that I got great grades while living in that house. But to me, the aforementioned Social aspects of University life far outweighed the value of my GPA-incented learning.

I have been requested to share my version of the first time the 2nd most mentioned person on Pink House Forever ever stepped foot into our community house. (How is it that he has 29 posts about him, anyway?)


Jay Murray in his (formerly Jess's) room. Photo courtesy of Mel Keister (Lanham).

(Editor's note - 'cuz he's so sexy...plus he stuck around for FIVE YEARS! But Jess is right - to date, only N'Gai has gotten more blog love.)

Well it was the night of the BIG party in October. It was our coming out party if you will, the one that started the all-campus craze. But it was also slated to be a Birthday Party for our Lydia, the soft spoken but willful feminist of the house. And it was also to be the Debut Show of Chapel Hill's latest band with our Dramatic (drama addict) housemate, Clint Curtis, debuting as frontman!


The band name itself had arisen from a heady post-dinner chat with housemates. I don't remember any other band members present beyond Clint. Raj and I pushed the name Dada Veda after our impressive discourse on fusing the untouchable Hindu scriptures that existed for over 4,000 years, the Vedas, with Dadaism, the art movement that questioned the validity of art. With just a name, we were questioning one of the world's oldest spiritual arts, while covertly Raj & I were questioning the validity of the band itself.

And only days before the party, I had designed the T-shirts that would have one day made epic cover art – the back for Dada Veda and the front celebrating Lydia's Birthday. I wish I knew what I wrote on them, but I am being blackmailed to pen this account in order to get one of the last remaining shirts that were made for the party! Sadly, Dada Veda were short lived and never gave me the chance to design their album covers, owing to the typical tragedy of differing musical dreams that most bands experience before any real money is dangled by signing labels. Or maybe it was just because of Clint. Who knows?


So back to prepping for the party. We were all on switchboard duty that week, as everyone seemed to be calling the house to confirm the BIG PARTY. With Erik as a housemate, you know the party had been well publicized. We were beginning to believe the Pink House Party had been Over-Advertised. And we weren't just plugged into the UNC campus, we were plugged into the local scene as well, so there seemed to be no parameters for the invite list! The whole house was starting to get nervous. What was the phrase in the early 90s? We were Buggin!

And that wasn't all. The 100 t-shirts Erik had ordered to help recoup for the beer and what ever else we had spent money on weren't done and the almost full keg we were supposed to get from someone had mysteriously disappeared (that's not so mysterious, is it?). This all led to the serious conversation we had about what if we locked the doors and killed the lights in an attempt to pass on having this party.

In the midst of this somber and yet paranoid mood, Erik brought a big cardboard box into the house that shifted the vibe upward. The shirts were completed and looked great.


Everyone was thrilled. I went out and spent parental funds earmarked for food on four dozen OE's from the bowels of Big Bertha's. Olde English - brewed since the 800's! With no legitimate coolers, I filled up my kiddie pool with ice and water and loaded them all in. If we were anything, Pink Housemates were resourceful. I think there was also an amp issue, (isn't that a given with every band?), but by the time the sun started to set, it was getting squared away. Somehow we got the backyard trimmed too. I don’t know if we borrowed a weed-whacker or what, but it was well groomed by the time we put sofas outside and other suitable furniture absconded from the sidewalks of nearby neighborhoods.

And then with a toast to the Gods, other Housemates, and honorary Pink Housers, the First Pink House party began!

To Be Continued...


Pink House O.G.'s. Photo courtesy of Jess Deltac.

North Street is burning!

More from the guy next door. There was a FIRE on their lawn one recent spring afternoon, and if not for the intervention of one of Chapel Hill's trusty Carolina blue fire trucks, the Pink House could have burned down. So nearly seventeen years later, Raj's bad fire feeling came to pass. And on the star-crossed date of Friday the 13th, no less.

"Flames!? On the front bank, 50 feet away and moving towards our house?! Ah!!! I shoved an empty bucket underneath the bathtub spigot. As it filled I could hear the fire truck approaching. I ran outside and dumped the water on flames closest to the house..."

- Further Musings, "Fire!"

Here's a whole bunch of his posts about life on North Street.

R.I.P. Ericka Kurz (1968-1993)

I think I'm past my initial shock at the news of Ericka's death and my profound grief that followed. I was definitely grieving for a while there this week, walking around campus all out of focus and lost in worlds of thought about her, and all the times I could remember spending with her. I kept turning the details of how she died over in my head, and lost a lot of sleep the first couple of nights after you called me, just feeling miserable and agitated, all fucked up in general.

Ericka and Raj at Pink House, Spring '92.

Now I'm at a stage where everything's receding a little bit, which is both good and bad. Until my exams finish, I absolutely have to focus on studying. But at the same time, I feel like my mind unleashed this torrent of memories about Ericka this week that now, already somehow, I don't remember as well any more. It's funny how memory works like that. I want to think about Ericka, and write everything down about her that I can recall, but again, I feel like I can't sit down, start, and not finish. It's got to be the whole nine or else I'm going to further mess with my memory circuits and not be able to conjure up intense mental images of her again for a long time.

- Letter to Dana, 5/2/93

(Note from 10/28/10 - Impossibly hard to believe it's been 17 1/2 years since Ericka was murdered. That seems like such an eternity, and yet I still think about her and miss her like crazy. From the time I met Ericka at the first SEAC organizing meeting of the fall '89 semester in Hamilton Hall, I had a mad crush on her. (In Caroline Philson's words, me and probably every other guy - and girl - in SEAC). Only I was a freshman, and she was a junior, so there was little chance that was going to happen. But we became friends.

Pink House, Spring '92. Photo courtesy of Raj Krishnasami.

I wish I had written down my memories of Ericka like I'd planned to back then, because I'd love to remember every detail of all the times I spent hanging out with her late nights around her kitchen table on Short Street, passing through the familiar beaded curtains to find her (and often her housemate Banu, or other pals) eating ice cream or occasionally cooking up something more nutritious. Dropping by the SEAC HQ's, both office #1 on Franklin Street, then #2 on Rosemary, and watching her work day and night to make sure SEAC would continue taking things to the next level. Plotting with her on an ultimately unsuccessful plan to secure an off-campus house on Mallette Street that would double as an office space and crash pad for national staffers. Driving her to Raleigh one afternoon at breakneck speed through rush hour traffic because she had to file some important paperwork by 5 pm for SEAC's national incorporation. Going out to her Mom (Jennie Knoop)'s Granville County farm for a retreat and sitting under the stars together with all our fellow SEAC'ers in front of bonfires late into the night, feeling young and idealistic and full of life.


"UNC-CH students protest Exxon recruiting & policies," N&O, 10/20/90. From right: Lisa Abbott, Ericka Kurz, Jimmy Langman, Alec Guettal, David Biggs, Erik Ose. Dan Coleman and Greg Gangi are near the far left.

Last year I re-connected with former SEAC National Office staffer and Threshold editor Eric Odell. He wrote an eloquent tribute to Ericka that was read at her memorial service (also at her Mom's farm), and promised me he'd look for a copy to re-post here at some point. As time continues to pass, it bothers me more and more that Ericka's story remains largely untold. Although I did recently stumble across a long blog post that her Mom wrote in 2006, which is the most detailed account of her life and death available online. Ericka helped change the world in her not-quite-25 years (Dec. 5, 1968 - April 25, 1993), and had the potential to do so much more if she had lived longer. Her death was a heartbreaking tragedy and outrage.)

For more info about Ericka's organizing work with SEAC, visit The Ericka Kurz Archive.

Dana's graduation party at the Pink House

Raj was getting a bad fire feeling

Did 1,900 people show up for a Pink House party?

I don't know how much Caroline told you about our house, but it's assuredly one of the dopest cribs in all of Chapel Hill. Walk two blocks up the street, and you're standing in front of the Chapel Hill post office. Our neighborhood is so peaceful - all these cool, older town residents who give us tomatoes out of their backyard gardens and loan us their power tools. We have not one but two separate, huge backyards. I kid you not. They are the ultimate places to sunbathe or to allow hundreds of excess partygoers to congregate.

Lydia & Raj enjoy the backyard, May '92

Speaking of which, both you and Caroline missed the biggest Pink House party that we've thrown so far this year, in January, right after we got back from winter break. There were 1900 people here!

"A good party would actually take a while to even navigate. I can remember being right around here (outside the back door)...for the entire party. I think I came to two or three Pink House parties before I ever went inside. You could just sit there and occupy yourself with lots of interesting conversations, meet a lot of people, talk about a lot of things. That’s what I remember most about parties here – the great conversations."

- Mike Thomas, sitting on the back stoop, 2009

We had two bands play, three kegs, a swimming pool full of more beer, christmas lights and disco decorations, not to mention hours upon hours of throbbing, mind-dilating techno acid hip hop house music.


Pink House Party Mix, Jan '92

Kyle, think about how much fun you'll have next year as one of the premier entertainment moguls of Chapel Hill!

Kyle at Chez Pink, Winter '93

O.k., here are some more deets. We'll be living with Clint, plus two other people, both of them cool as fuck. One guy, one girl. The girl is Lydia Craft, who lives with us now. She's an art history major and all around artistic type. Totally charming. Oh, and she's half-Australian. The guy is Jay Murray, this Lenny Kravitz-lookalike (sort of, only taller) and brilliant first-year sociology grad student from New York City. He did his undergrad at Boston College, then came here. You'll probably think he's fairly hot.

Jay and Lydia waking up in D.C., Fall '92 roadtrip

- Letter to Kyle in Paris

Caitlin, Caitlin, Caitlin...

I don't remember a lot about the Pink House parties, just the anticipation and the feeling that I'd see everyone I liked. I do remember lying on the floor one time and watching the room spin after getting drunk and high and Erik standing over me saying, "Caitlin, Caitlin, Caitlin..." with youth-corrupting glee.


Pink House O.G.'s – our first party, October 1991. Photo courtesy of Jess Deltac.

I also remember you guys hawking t-shirts for a Pink House party.


Shirt designed by Jess Deltac.

I can't remember which one of course, but I was very impressed, at the time, about the fact that there could be a party big enough to have its own t-shirts.

I mean other than those horrid frat ones with the Old Well and Tar Heel footprints on the back. I think Finis had a vintage Tony Deifell Furious Party shirt that I coveted, though it was before my time, along with his limited edition Threshold t-shirt, the green one where the guy had earth eyes.


Photo courtesy of Mark Chilton.

- Caitlin Reed, 2009

(Note from 2014 - I've always wondered why I didn't go see Nirvana play at the Cradle in the fall of '91, seeing as how Nevermind was one of the CD's we wore out playing that semester on the Pink House boombox. Well, as it turns out, that now-legendary gig took place on Friday, October 4th, the night before we hosted our very first Pink House party, which was a joint celebration of Lydia's birthday and Dada Veda's first public performance. So obviously, we were all a little preoccupied that weekend.)

Do the Right Thing (i.e., the dishes!)

(Click for larger image)

It will be the shit!

How goes it, homey. Did you and yer Dad kick back and go out hunting for Boston babes on Thursday, or what? You would have enjoyed Babyhead, but this week's dance party promises to be three times as hype. Zoiks! Listen, enclosed is your copy of the lease. Give me a call when you get this, o.k.? Hopefully I'll talk wid you in the next couple of days, but you never know. This is Monday morning - I'm going to New Hampshire tonight and coming back tomorrow night. Then I'm planning to come up to Boston on Thursday morning – or maybe Wednesday night, to hang out with Erica. If you want to come to R.I. with me on Thursday then we'll hook up.

And what about the D-man? Is he back home yet, or what? Well, bitch, having just talked to you on the phone I guess I know the answers to all the above questions, but what the hell.

Man, this housing thing is gonna be so fly. Far fucking-out fly, that's how fly, plus def, dope and braggadocious. It will be the shit! Been talking with all the hippies I know up here who live in communal houses with friends at schools like Brown, Yale, Middlebury, etc., and asking them how they handle the food arrangements. How would you feel about everybody cooking a big vegetarian meal of their choice one day a week, with everybody taking turns going shopping once a week (on the day that no one cooks, maybe Sunday?) for the whole batch of ingredients each person would need to make their stuff? Just one possible way of doing it. Brothers gonna work it out!

For yer info: In Chapel Hill, I have a CD player, bookshelves, single loft, VCR, color TV, ugly striped couch, small table, computer with printer, and a comfortable desk chair. I will be bringing a desk and bureau with me from Rhode Island. The small table, couch, VCR and TV all will probably find homes elsewhere in the house - everything else I'm planning to put in the room.

Lollapalooza this Friday in Massachusetts and I'm most anticipatory. Do not feed the alligators, for they will bite you. Peace!

- letter to Clint

(Note from 2009 - Following our infamous cross-country road trip with Dana and Preston, Clint was teaching tennis that summer at Curry College, just outside of Boston. We got to hang out a little, since I was up in Rhode Island all summer, spending many of my weekends chasing a girl who lived in a run-down apartment building near Kenmore Square that had rooftop access and an amazing view of the city.

Thinking my frantic spring quest to find off-campus housing for the fall had come up short, I was ecstatic when Sylvia Chi called me in mid-July to let me know the Pink House was ours if I could wrangle up enough roommates to fill it. She had previously told me that at least two other groups of prospective tenants were ahead of us on the waiting list, and either they both flaked out or she decided we were the most responsible crew of the bunch. Little did Sylvia know.

Clint, myself, and Raj had already agreed to live together, and commitments from Lydia, Jess and Shyam materialized after a marathon round of interstate phone calls to every head I could think of who didn't already have their housing plans nailed down. All the pieces fell into place, and Raj and Lydia were the first ones to move in on August 1st.)

Threshold launches SEAC as a national movement

Twenty years after we both spent countless hours helping to organize Threshold in our first semester at UNC, C-line and I sat down to reminisce and remember about SEAC's early days. We thought about touching down at the Forest Theatre, where Threshold concluded in an emotional ceremony on Sunday, October 29, 1989. But it was otherwise occupied by the Paperhand Puppet Intervention, performing one of their annual late summer shows. So we traveled a few hundred yards down the road, and ended up at the curved stone bench behind Gimghoul Castle that overlooks the far edge of Battle Park.



At the first SEAC organizing meeting of the fall semester '89 (in Hamilton 100), Jimmy Langman convinced us all that Threshold was going to spark a national movement, and Ericka Kurz gave a fiery, impassioned speech wearing a cool black leather jacket. Besides Jimmy and Ericka, SEAC O.G.'s who were running the show included Alec Guettal, Blan Holman, and Don Whittier. They were all juniors, seniors, even recent grads, but nobody past their early twenties. Still, as C-line put it, "They seemed so old. And we said, tell us what you need us to do!"



The nuts and bolts work of actually organizing a nationwide conference in the pre-internet era was a little less romantic. Working alongside dedicated souls like Lisa Abbott, Chris van Daalen, Celeste Joye, Yu-Yee Wu, Raj Krishnasami, Mark Chilton, Quaker Kappel, Ruby Sinreich, Dave Ball, and a bunch of other SEAC'ers, we prepared mass mailings, entered hundreds of pre-registered attendees' names into ancient Mac computers, lined up crash pad arrangements with hundreds of UNC students, and using a primitive device known as the landline telephone, called up folks who wanted more info to convince them to make the trek to Chapel Hill. And my favorite part, sitting around in endless meeting circles on the second floor of the Campus Y, arguing over one minor detail or another until the WHOLE GROUP reached a consensus.


Threshold ad from Oct. '89 issue of Music Monitor.

The conference succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Over 1,700 folks showed up from around the country, representing 43 states and 225 schools. It was the largest gathering of student activists since the heyday of SDS in the late 60s. And it launched SEAC as a national student and youth-led environmental movement.

On a personal level, my involvement with SEAC convinced me I wanted to be an organizer, and laid the foundation for all my political work that's followed. I became good friends with C-line, and our adventures have continued ever since. I worked on my first winning political campaign thanks to SEAC, when we helped elect Mark Chilton to the Chapel Hill Town Council two years later. And if I hadn't bonded with fellow SEAC'er Raj K., we wouldn't have agreed to live together (along with Clint Curtis) in the spring of '91, which started our search for off-campus housing that eventually led to the Pink House.