Freshmen crew '71 reunites for a row and culinary surprise

It was a crisp, clear autumn day in 2003 when members of the Princeton freshman crew of 1971 reunited at their beloved boathouse on Lake Carnegie. All had come ready to row out to the dam and back. Most feared what such an athletic feat might do to them. Several had brought their wives and children. Karl Hofammann '71 had several ounces of bootlegged Alabama corn whiskey — he had misleadingly decanted it into a vinegar bottle — and a jar of pickled pigs' lips from Frank's Store in Forkland, Ala. hidden in the dark recesses of his rental car's trunk.

Hofammann and his rowing buddies from the class of '71 had kept up with each other since passing through the gates of Old Nassau and starting careers, but rekindled their bond with renewed enthusiasm after one of their crew passed away shortly before their 30th reunion. In honor of their friend's untimely death, the men held a memorial in the University's chapel and organized a commemorative row.

Since then, they have assembled at Hofammann's stomping grounds in Greene County, a rural place in West Alabama, for a weekend of deer and duck hunting. They are currently plotting their next descent upon the University's boathouse, which, by the by, is much nicer than when they were using it — Hofammann said it looked like it had been "rode hard and put up wet" in the days of the freshman crew of '71. Their most recent convocation, last fall, involved sport on more levels than one.

After recounting tales of their undergraduate days and surmising what might be the fate of a group of middle-aged men with a mission to make it to the end of the course on Lake Carnegie, they settled into their boat with the help of Eric Larson '05, a member of the men's heavyweight crew who had been recruited to supervise the alumni. They did, in fact, make it to the dam and back to the boathouse; their wives and children motored alongside to provide encouragement, occasionally taking the spot of a weary rower.

But this manifestation of sport was not the most triumphant — or memorable — of the day. After their row, the group headed to Conte's on Witherspoon Street for pizza and beer (and some illicit whiskey, of course). Hofammann had clued his buddies and their entourage in on the contents of the vinegar bottle, but he hadn't told them about the aforementioned pork product.

Hofammann slipped into Conte's kitchen and convinced the cooks to dice his pickled pigs' lips and put them on a pizza that was to be delivered to the table of rowers, their families and Larson. The doctored pizza, all of it, was devoured, and this was when Hofammann revealed his culinary doings.

Not surprisingly, horror and fears of gastric distress ensued.

"There was a brief moment after my announcement when I felt that I might need to exit the party early and explore the possibility of a premature night flight back to the Southland regardless of last minute booking fees," Hofammann wrote in an email.

He decided "it would be unwise to conclude the meal with [the] much anticipated experimental twin sibling encore dessert surprise, 'Pig Lips Parfait,' until such time as [he could] perfect a more compelling caramel barbeque sauce."

The bond that these men have was borne of the experience they shared as members of the freshman crew of '71. Half of their boat stopped rowing after freshman year, but they remained connected in a special way. Their friendship has been strong enough to survive geographical dispersion, demanding jobs, wives, children, just time — even Hofammann's pigs' lips pizza.