If I was asked to sum up all of my beliefs in just one word, it would be quite easy: traditional values. Okay, that’s two; disregarding my inability to count, I would still say traditional-values (only this time with a hyphen in the middle to make it one word). My column is aimed at preserving the traditions and values that made this country great. My writing has helped me to expound these values to the student body; embracing traditional principles of limited government, absolute moral foundation and support for our troops and their mission overseas. But there is another long-standing tradition that has made this country great: Thumpty’s annual Halloween rager.

Each year, we pay homage to my (pagan) Irish ancestors by opening our doors to the masses on All Hallow’s Eve. And this Saturday, we will continue that time honored tradition. There are, however, questions asked of me by concerned Ivy Leaguers looking for a good time. So I thought I would put their worried minds to rest.

“But Billy, All Hallow’s Eve isn’t on Saturday.” Of course it isn’t — it is, after all, the Zodiac year of the Dog, silly. But it’s the thought that counts, right?

“But Billy, is it really necessary to have alcohol at a party that is supposed to honor a different culture?” I did say it was an Irish holiday, didn’t I?

“Billy, this just seems like another idiotic frat boy attempt to exploit a foreign people’s culture with the intent of getting a horde of underage people pumped full of Keystone light; while at the same time fulfilling your chauvinistic desire to objectify women furthering the stereotype that they are second class citizens, whose sole purpose is to please men.” No comment and you’re not invited.

While that last example represents a brand of radical extremism that I do not even want to get into, my friend Roy posed this all-too-common question to me: “Billy, times have changed. Do you really think that Cornell’s fraternity houses can get away with throwing the same party every year and still expect people to come?”

Oh Roy, people will come. They’ll come to the frat houses of Cornell in Ithaca, New York for reasons they can’t even fathom. Girls will brave the cold that holds the rest of Ithaca captive for eight solid months to show the world that school librarians, nurses, pirates and police officers can be beautiful too. Guys will test the boundaries of self respect/esteem by donning ridiculous outfits and calling themselves “God’s gift to women.”

They will line our driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at the side door of the house as innocent as the Catholic (elementary) school girls, whose outfits they actually borrowed, longing for the feeling of door to door trick or treating from so long ago.

“Of course we won’t mind if you come inside, the beer (as well as non-alcoholic beverages and food we offer in compliance with Cornell, Ithaca and IFC regulations) is just this way,” we’ll say. It’s only three dollars per (male) person after 11 o’clock when the average frat house will generally start charging. The guys dressed as Mario and Luigi will pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and a party they lack.

And they’ll walk out to the dance floor as some of New York City’s finest MC’s (hypothetically) take to the stage. The freshmen will connect with the performers on stage, feeling even more secure because their “thugged out” white guy outfits closely resemble those of the rappers performing on that perfect Saturday night. They’ll find they have reserved spots somewhere along the bar or the dance floor, in costumes they donned as children oh so long ago. It will be a throwback to mid-90’s Nickelodeon game shows of epic proportions. You’ll find yourself surrounded by Silver Snakes, Purple Parrots and Orange Iguanas: teams that they dreamed of representing so many years ago.

And they’ll watch in amazement as certain rap artists, who shall for now remain nameless, drop lyrical bombs on stage. The combination of the music and free beer will have them convinced that they had somehow learned how to dance in the 20 minutes they had spent at the bar; feeling as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories of the dance floor will be so hazy, they’ll have to convince themselves that no one else will remember that they tried to Macarena the night before.

People will come, Roy. The one constant through all the years at Cornell, Roy, has been Theta Delta Chi’s Halloween rager. The Cornell frat party scene has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. Frat house reputations and the parties that accompany them have been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But Thumpty’s Halloween rager has stood the test of time, surviving the changing face of Thumpty itself. This party, this rager: it’s a part of our past, Roy. It reminds all of us in the Cornell community of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh ... people will come, Roy. People will most definitely come.

Even at Cornell, a haven for the Ivy League’s “progressive” thought, the traditions and parties of yesteryear can still draw a crowd. And that is as conservative as it gets.

Billy McMorris is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at wjm27@cornell.edu. John Manetta Once Told Me appears Tuesdays.