Back in January, BYU Magazine (or whatever its called) solicited tales of dorm life. I submitted the stories below, and they apparently chose one of them (based on my daughter-in-law’s comments on Facebook). Here are my original stories. These are all from 1971-72, my freshman year at  BYU. I was living on the 3rd floor in Penrose (“T”) Hall in Deseret Towers.
Glow-ball Warfare and Other Dorm Games
When you put 40+ young men, mostly freshman, all on the same dorm floor  — in this case, the 3rd floor of Penrose (T) Hall in Deseret Towers  (1971-72) — interesting activities develop. One of our periodic games  was called “Glow-ball Warfare”, and we played it in the commons room  (with all the furniture in place). The main playing instrument was a  plastic, glow-in-the-dark ball. All the players would gather into the  commons room, with a few towels to block out light coming from beneath  the doors. One person would start out with the ball, holding it up to  one of the ceiling lights. After a minute or so, he’d nod, and all the  lights would be turned out. He would now do his best to hit someone else  with the now-glowing ball, the only thing visible in the room. Everyone  else would do their best to get away from him in the darkness, usually  running into each other and the furniture (the worst I ever got hurt in  the game was crawling head-first into the heavy metal pole holding up  one of the tables). Once the ball was thrown, there was a scramble to  grab the ball; whoever got it now did his best to hit someone else. When  the ball got too dim, we’d call a halt, turn on the lights to recharge  it, and then continue. There were no teams; it was strictly a free-for-all.
In high school, I had played football for four years. There was another  guy on my dorm floor, Layne Jensen (’74, ’76, ’78), who had been in  wrestling in high school for four years. Every now and then, Layne and I  would have contests where we would take turns hitting each other in the  stomach as hard as we could to see if the other guy could take it. For  the life of me, I can’t remember how this got started or why we thought  it was a good idea, but I know we always walked away feeling that both  of us had done well.
Greg Zippi (’77, ’83), another floor-mate, came up with a less violent  and painful game: Hallway Frisbee. The two players would start a modest  distance apart in one of the long dorm hallways. One player would toss a  frisbee to the other player. If the frisbee didn’t touch the wall,  ceilings or (of course) floor, then both players would take a stride  back, and the second player would throw to the first player. If the  frisbee did touch the floor/walls/ceiling, then we stayed the same  distance apart. The goal was to throw the frisbee the full length of the  hallway without it touching anything. Given how long and narrow the  Deseret Towers hallways were, that was a rare accomplishment, but always  much celebrated and bragged about when accomplished.
I will pass over in silence the Hallway Whiffleball games, which were a  bit, ah, rougher on the ceiling light fixtures than Hallway Frisbee.
Finally, at the end of our freshman year, at the end of finals, we  challenged another floor in our hall to a few outdoor competitions, one  of which was a tug-of-war across one of the the irrigation canals that  ran near Heritage Halls. Because the heights of the two banks of the  canal weren’t quite the same, we decided to switch sides after the first  event and repeat the tug-of-war. Many of us, not wanting to walk the 30  yards or so to one side to walk across the canal, simply ran and jumped  over it. Since the canal had 2-3″ of water in it, and since the canal  had sloping banks, I kept a careful eye on the ground as I ran up to the  canal and leapt. I then looked up just in time to see that someone from  the opposing team had done exactly the same thing at exactly the same  time in exactly the same (but opposite) place along the canal. One of my  floormates (it may well have been Greg) later told me — once he could  stop laughing — that it was like watching a live-action cartoon. This  other young man and I hit one another full on right over the middle of  the canal, exactly canceled out each other’s momentum, hung for a  split-second in mid-air, and then dropped into the canal’s cold, cold  water together. For my own part, I put out my right hand to break my  fall and slammed it onto one of the large, water-smoothed rocks at the  bottom of the canal. I was unable to shake hands for a month.
It was a great year.
Bruce F. Webster (BS, ’78)
Parker, Colo.