U-M fraternity brothers shaving for a cure

Rick Stepanovic wouldn't be president of the fraternity if he weren't a bit of a diplomat, so he knows just what to say when one of his brothers worries about looking goofy with a shaved head.

First, he points out, "It's for the kids." And second, "You look goofy anyway."

It's hard to argue with that sort of logic, and it's especially hard to argue with pediatric cancer patients. Ergo, if you drop by the Diag at the University of Michigan from noon-3 p.m. Wednesday, you'll see dozens of members of Sigma Phi Epsilon getting their coconuts buzzed.

They're hardly the first people to give up their hair for the St. Baldrick's Foundation, or even the first collegians. But it's an impressive show of numbers, a daring bit of timing, and a vivid reminder that for a lot of people still too young to take the SAT, baldness isn't voluntary.

One day before the Sig Eps' senior dinner and two days before a bunch of sororities hold their formals, at least 35 of the fraternity's 109 members are expected to gets their mops lopped. That number might yet rise, because if you think having a shaved head feels conspicuous, try going to a weekly fraternity meeting and being one of the guys whose hand isn't in the air when the volunteer coordinator asks who's signed up.

Particularly outside the frat, "Some people look at you and say, 'Why would you do that?' " conceded Josh Palka, 20, the psychology major from Walled Lake who's in charge of what the Sig Eps are calling Shaving for a Cure. Among them, initially, was Stepanovic's mother back in New Baltimore.

Once explained, however, St. Baldrick's tends to sell itself.

A registered nonprofit

St. Baldrick's began on St. Patrick's Day 1999 when three reinsurance executives decided to hustle donations for childhood cancer research by shaving their heads at an industry party.

The foundation is now a registered nonprofit, and through last year, it had raised more than $69 million from sanctioned scalpings in all 50 states, the District of Columbia and 24 foreign countries. The total is even more impressive when you consider the work and logistics involved, thousands of times over.

Palka reserved the Sig Eps' spot on the Diag in January, right after Christmas break.

"You're shaving your heads," said the woman at the activities office.

"Yeah," he said.

"There's going to be hair," she said.

"That's the point," he said.

"You've got to clean it up," she said.

"Oh, yeah," he said, and that was the first entry on an increasingly lengthy list of details, from lining up the barbers to assigning fraternity brothers to work the crowd for donations to finding buckets for the donations to clatter into.

At least there'll be an enclosure to keep the hair from wafting off to East Lansing. Sig Ep Miguel Naguit has been working on some sort of contraption with his uncle, a contractor, "and Miguel told me it's going to work," Palka says. "That's all I need to know."

Fire up the clippers

Gathered at Palka's standard-issue, Bud-Light-banner-on-the-wall apartment Monday, a small cluster of future bald guys said they were eager to get the shearing started.

Joey Johnson, 19, a pre-pharmacy student from Shelby Township, hasn't cut his hair since Thanksgiving, and he's about ready to tear it out. He used to just step out of the shower and start his day, but in the interests of providing a better show, he's let it grow long enough that it needs to be dealt with.

"That's 10 minutes' more sleep I could have had," he pointed out.

At this point, his only concern is a question he hadn't considered until a surprising number of pessimists brought it up: What if he turns out to have a weird-shaped head?"

Stepanovic, the born conciliator, had an answer for that, too.

Ultimately, he said, "we're probably going to lose our hair anyway." So they might as well get a sneak peek now.

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