It was my second year on campus in 1972 and I had just gotten married (don’t ask) and we were living in the old University Terrace apartments on the hill beside the women’s South Tower. There were driveway alleys that divided each row of apartments so the balconies faced each other. I was on my second floor balcony preparing my first charcoal grill out ever while about 3 couples were opposite me across the alley on their balcony just chatting away and having a good time. I didn’t know how much Gulf Lite fluid to throw on the pile of coals so I just kept squeezing and shaking that can until over half of it had soaked the coals. This was in the day when there was no slow burning charcoal fluid. The first hint that something was amiss was why the chatter from the 3 couples slowed down the more I poured that lighter fluid on those coals. As I went to strike the match and throw it on the pile of coals it was dead silence from across the alley. As I struck the match from probably 4 feet away, the fumes reached out and grabbed the flame in my hand and everything flashed. The 3 couples then exploded in laughter that went on for it seemed liked minutes. My hair, eyebrows, lashes and mustache were all singed and smelling like a dead rat. I thought my face was black but when I looked in the mirror, I just looked like a deformed Groucho Marx. Anyway to make a long story short, I retreated into the apartment until the couples went inside and never grilled there again. Today, I consider myself an accomplished BBQ dude but learned only from the school of hard knocks.
