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NewsFebruary 15, 2004

Standing inside a seven-man circle on Valentine's Day night at the track and field complex, Michael Davis knew what was coming. More pain. More humiliation. More "brotherly love." For days, he had been punched, slapped, slammed, and even caned across his bare feet by other young men as a means of conditioning his mind for membership in Kappa Alpha Psi, a black fraternity at Southeast Missouri State University. Or so they later testified...

Standing inside a seven-man circle on Valentine's Day night at the track and field complex, Michael Davis knew what was coming. More pain. More humiliation. More "brotherly love."

For days, he had been punched, slapped, slammed, and even caned across his bare feet by other young men as a means of conditioning his mind for membership in Kappa Alpha Psi, a black fraternity at Southeast Missouri State University. Or so they later testified.

The abuse wasn't over. His would-be fraternity brothers picked him up and dropped him to the ground repeatedly. Two members were football players. The short, slender Davis weighed just 135 pounds.

After a while, the 25-year-old mass communications student showed signs of fatigue. His speech grew slurred. He moaned. But Davis kept taking it. He wouldn't give up. He would prove he was man enough.

Ten years have passed since Davis' death in a hazing incident at Southeast, but an ocean of time couldn't wash away the painful memory of losing him for his family and his friends.

In 1996, Kappa Alpha Psi was forced to pay Davis' parents $2.25 million at the close of a civil lawsuit. But something vital is still missing for the victim's mother -- an apology.

"We've had no formal apology ever," said Edith Davis of Overland, Mo. "They were not even 'man enough' for that."

The fraternity's officers still won't offer a formal condolence. The reasons are complex and private, said Elmer Crumbley, polemarch, or director, for Kappa Alpha Psi's Midwest district.

"I know the reason, but I cannot give the reason for that," he said. "There's so much that needs to be said, but I can't say anything more."

Crumbley said Davis' death hasn't been forgotten by his organization.

"Mr. Davis' death had a huge impact on Kappa Alpha Psi because no one should have to go through what he did," Crumbley said. "In my opinion, those were not members of Kappa Alpha Psi. They were street thugs."

The fraternity has since begun training chapter advisers to spot activities and behavior that lead to hazing and now requires an alumni member be at all undergraduate gatherings, he said.

Hazing is an important issue, not only for Kappa Alpha Psi, but for all Greek letter organizations, Crumbley said.

"We need to get our young students out of the mindset that they need to inflict pain on someone in order for that person to join a system," Crumbley said. "It's a national phenomenon that we have to eradicate."

Legacy of pain goes on

His organization, however, has continued to struggle with hazing even after Davis' death. In the spring of 1998, four members of Kappa Alpha Psi at the University of Maryland were arrested for allegedly spanking five pledges with wooden paddles and canes so badly they required hospitalization. Weeks later, a 23-year-old man suffered kidney damage when he was beaten with fists, paddles and canes while attempting to join an alumni chapter of Kappa Alpha Psi at Kansas State University.

Davis' death brought national attention to Cape Girardeau and the university. Reporters from major television networks and metropolitan newspapers flocked here. The incident later became the subject of a Dateline NBC segment called "Blood Brothers" and an Oprah Winfrey broadcast called "Dangerous Initiation Rituals," among others.

The media frenzy it created was a "bizarre and sensational circumstance," said Chuck Miller of Jefferson City, who worked with Davis on the student newspaper, The Capaha Arrow.

"His friends were not only left dealing with the loss of a friend, but the sensationalism," he said.

Losing Davis was a "life-altering" event, he said.

"When Michael died, that pretty much changed my perspective," Miller said. "I realized that people do die sometimes before they reach their potential. I think about it all the time."

Michael West, another friend and Davis classmate, was among the first to learn of his death.

"That night when he was found, he was supposed to meet me at Kent Library," West said. "I waited for awhile, did some studying and then left. I walked past his place, and that's when I found out -- by seeing the police cars and the ambulance."

West thinks Davis put up with the abuse to prove something.

"He may have wanted to show he would not give up, not be broken by the process," he said. "You still hear today of incidents occurring. You'll never stop it, but the more people talk about it ... the better chance we have of stopping it from happening again."

Davis' friendly nature, writing skills and sterling reputation make his death all the more tragic, Miller said.

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"It added to the tragedy," he said, "because of who he was and how much he meant to so many people."

Southeast's suffering

Southeast also suffered from the loss, said Dr. Irene Ferguson, the university's dean of students.

"It was a painful event," she said. "It pretty much rocked the campus to have a student die like that, so needlessly."

Today, the university doesn't wait until they've already joined an organization to educate students about hazing, Ferguson said. "We do it before they ever start."

That education comes in the form of handouts and a CD-ROM that explain Greek life and the reasons against hazing to prospective students. In addition, potential Greek initiates must complete an orientation that includes more information about hazing before they can join a chapter's "member intake" program.

Phrases like "rush week" and "pledge" have been dropped because of their negative histories, she said.

"Certain things were acceptable before," Ferguson said. "Today, they're not."

The culture of joining a fraternal organization has to change, she said.

"It shouldn't be about how much you can take to join one, but about what you can bring to the organization," Ferguson said. "Our goal is to change that culture and tradition. We view it as our responsibility to ensure this is a safe environment. ... It was just a horrible way to learn."

Lori Lynn, director of campus life, says it's important to remember all the good things Greek organizations do on campus. During the previous academic year, Southeast's Greek students donated 24,000 hours of community service and raised more than $40,000 for charities.

Since Davis' death, one other fraternity and a sorority have been sanctioned for hazing complaints at Southeast, though the incidents were not nearly as horrendous. Ferguson said those offenders may have been unaware that what they were doing was, in fact, hazing.

Mother's journey

Over the years, Edith Davis learned all she could about hazing and has spoken with women across the country whose sons suffered brutal injuries. They are in a rare sisterhood, she said.

"I've talked to these mothers and they were real pitiful," she said.

"It took me a long time to get myself where I am today," she said wearily. "In fact, I didn't think I'd be here today. It took its toll on me."

Her husband, Boyd Davis Sr., suffered a mild heart attack early in 2002.

"I think he's worse than any of us," she said. "He couldn't handle it at all."

Their marriage suffered because they couldn't talk openly about their feelings, she said. "We manage to get along fairly well now. But at first it was really a struggle."

Their oldest son, also named Boyd Davis, won't discuss Michael's death or visit the cemetery where his brother is buried. Daughters Marisa Hilliard and Candace Hayes have dealt with it more openly.

"So far, we've come a long ways," Edith Davis said. "It was a hard, hard, hard thing for us. You know you'll lose a mother or a father, but you never expect or think that you're going to lose a child."

She appeared with Cape Girardeau County Prosecuting Attorney Morley Swingle on the Oprah Winfrey show, where she came face to face with Carlos Turner, one of the fraternity members responsible for her son's death.

"Sitting next to this man, I think I needed that," she said. "It's a horrible thing not to be able to forgive someone, but I just couldn't forgive that kid at that time. ..." She still can't forgive him or any of them.

"They call it hazing, but it's murder to me," she said.

mwells@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 160

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