Early in his academic life at BGSU, Jerry Helwig '54 was like many Falcon students: full of excitement and anticipation about the future, eager to be involved with campus organizations, and always ready to cheer on BGSU against their latest opponent, no matter the sport. So when he was asked to report to the office of then-president Frank J. Prout at the start of his sophomore year, he responded accordingly. Little did he know, however, that he was taking the first step in a nearly three-year journey that would end with an ominous pronouncement: GRYNCH 1734.

Helwig was handed a letter that instructed him to go to Oak Grove Cemetery on campus late one night, and not to let anyone know where he was going or why - otherwise, there would be serious consequences. So, he labored to cook up an excuse to fool his roommate, Bill Bittner (who luckily was also busy), and went in the cover of night to the cemetery. After meeting with a man he did not recognize, he was taken to the home of President Prout and led into the basement.

The plot thickens
In the depths of the president's house awaited members of SICSIC—the anonymous, secretive BGSU student group charged with promoting spirit in BGSU—but also none other than the president and Helwig's roommate, Bill. Both had apparently been selected as the next presumptive members of SICSIC. Needless to say, the entire situation was a bit of a shock.

"When Bill and I saw each other in the president's basement, along with the members of SICSIC, we just couldn't get over it," explains Helwig. "I was so busy making my own excuses that night, I never thought about what he was doing."

And so it began: Helwig and Bittner had been chosen, based on a number of factors, to spend the next three years putting up signs and otherwise finding ways to "pump up" the student body in the dead of night before football, basketball and other games. "You had to do things to stand out your freshman year to be selected, and you had to have good grades," says Helwig. "SICSIC was a tremendous diversion...you're literally up most of the night before games, and still had to be in class the next morning."

Making it all happen
Somehow, Helwig and his fellow SICSIC sleuths got through the next three school years without being unmasked, despite a number of challenges. To thwart attempts by students to reveal the identities of SICSIC, for example, the president requested campus police escorts during their nighttime rounds. Helwig and Bittner however, faced an additional threat: their fraternity house moved during junior year, which dealt them a third roommate who had to be sworn to secrecy.

"He helped us through all kinds of situations," says Helwig. "He had almost as much fun with SICSIC as we did, and he got more sleep."

By the time Helwig and Bittner's senior year arrived in fall of 1953, they were eager for change in the SICSIC language. "We had used about about every phrase you could think of for 'conquer an opponent'," explains Helwig.

The group was creating a sign for an upcoming football game when Helwig suggested they come up with a new, secret phrase - he was met by blank stares. Eventually, the group settled on the word "grynch," which evoked a character with a secretive nature and different sides to his personality. Helwig also put the number "1734" to the group, who then asked what it meant.

"Nothing," replied Helwig. "It doesn't mean anything."

As it turns out, Helwig's guess was right: the group looked up the year 1734, which was relatively uneventful, and the number seemed otherwise insignificant.

So there it was the following day: the sign was posted in the Education building with "GRYNCH 1734" appearing among the usual language about winning the football game. The mystique around the phrase began to build.

"We started to hear the buzz right away," says Helwig. "Our group was plugged in to the campus pretty well—we had leaders in SICSIC, from student government president to the head of the interfraternity council."

For the rest of the year, students around campus debated the curious words, the BG News held a contest for guessing its meaning and rumors were everywhere. Meanwhile, SICSIC fanned the flames by keeping "GRYNCH 1734" on their signs.

A proposition
Later that year, the president's office delivered a request from The Key, which traditionally revealed the graduating members of SICSIC, to also unveil the meaning of "GRYNCH 1734." If the group provided the meaning by a certain date, the yearbook would guarantee its secrecy.

"We spent a good deal of time one night debating whether to put it in the yearbook or just let it disappear as a mystery," says Helwig. Eventually, the group decided that it would be best to come up with some sort of meaning for the phrase that aligned with the mission of SICSIC, and provide it to the yearbook. It was not an easy task.

"For starters, there are no vowels—the word is all consonants," explains Helwig. After a few meetings, the group decided to split up and regroup after a few nights. "I liked to work with words...I can remember sitting at my little desk working with all sorts of combinations. We hated having a 'Y' in there - why couldn't it have been an 'A" or 'E'?"

In what seemed like a miracle, Helwig came up with words that evoked spirit in BGSU, one for each letter in "GRYNCH." Bittner, meanwhile, suggested a possible meaning for "7," triggering ideas for what could be assigned to "1" and finally "34."

The group sent the official meaning to the editor of The Key before their deadline, and it was published in the 1954 edition of the yearbook, along with the identities of Helwig and Bittner. The response on campus was overwhelmingly positive: the BG News congratulated the group on a great campaign, and students beseiged the newly public leaders of SICSIC with questions.

"I'll always remember that first sign," says Helwig. "It had attracted so much interest, and the revelation in The Key did seem to make a lot of sense."

"That was a neat one."

What is the meaning of this mysterious phrase?

Jerry Helwig '54 graduated with a degree in political science from BGSU and is now retired from General Electric Company. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky with his wife Pauline.