I lived in Dillon in the early '70's and Burtchell who was provost in those days lived in dillon and in general made a prick out of himself busting people for just about every offense under the sun. His ego was so big I think he needed two rooms, one for him and one for his ego. What an obnoxious bastard, but I digress.
One night in the fall after I graduated, I snuck back into dillon hall with a friend at about 2:00am. We proceeded to put super glue in every area of the door jam and plugged it in with epoxy ribbon. We then took some other epoxy and plugged his lock and sealed his door knob so it wouldn't turn. We then snuck off into the night...
Early the next morning, sunday, he tried to get out to go say mass. No luck. He called maintainence who couldn't get a crow bar into the door jam to pry it open as it was too full of glue. Finally, they had to call a couple of FB linemen who lived in the hall to break down the door to the accompanyment of local dillonite cheers.
The prank made the scholastic and observer completing Burtchell's humiliation.
Although he never proved it was me (and even if he could what could he do, retroactively pull my diploma?) he knew it was me and still talks about me to this day with a gleam of hatred in his eye. It's good to be remembered by such a fine gentleman.
Postscript: I just located the issue of the scholastic that describes the event. See P33 of the linked document