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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 15, 1976)
i i I 1 ! age 4 THE BATTALION WEDNESDAY. SEPTEMBER 15. 1976 n t ii tiOures of earth O a column by Bill Kostura Tracking comes first for Monk Raccoon chasing old man’s best tal i> r J i Some writers strike a responsive ■hord in you, saying those things you mly wish you would say, laying bare hose truths which others kind of ;dge around, never quite acknow- edging. Harlan Ellison is one writer vho does so, with a tremendous imount of energy and a high dealism which is usually relegated o the ranks of the trite hack writer vho infests the newsstand. Richard Delap, a critic and friend (O.K., so his is not a completly objective col umn) of Ellison’s, has said, “...I can never forget my astonishment in dis covering a brand new writer who de lighted me with his brash cynicism, hopeless sentiment, and an all- embracing humor which could allow him to laugh at you and me and him self at the same time.’’ To throw in the kitchen sink, I might add that Ellison’s stories are truly original creations, sparked by an uninhibited imagination. J!: id i I 1 Consider: A 1984-sort of world, ruled timewise by the Ticktockman, who docks time from a person’s life each time he is late, whenever seconds are wasted; and the Harlequin, a clown figure who is always late, and who gums up the works with, well, jellybeans, millions of them, shunted straight into the sidewalks leading to the Time Motion Study Building, delaying everything sim ply hours... ...The 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese, who clawed her way around a New York City block for thirty-plus minutes, while her knifist-assailant slowly sliced her up, and while 38 witnesses watched in silence: transformed into a fantasy, “The Whimper of Whipped Dogs,” about one of the witnesses... ...Lawrence Talbot (the Wolf Man, if you’ll remember the old Universal movies) who, in “Adrift, Just off the Islets of Langerhans,” embarks on a spectacular search for his soul, and finds (among much else) the real life Martha Nelson, who was incarcerated, for God-knows-what reason, in an Ohio mental asylum in 1875 at age four, and discovered th ere, her life wasted, in 1973 at age 102. Ellison links his fantasy worlds with real life, extrapolating trends from our present day existence and pointing out the way he thinks things might go in the future. His projec tions are invariably downbeat; this is even evident in his book titles: Alone Against Tomorrow, Approaching Oblivion, Paingod, Deathbird Stories. All of which sounds very se rious and intellectual; yet, Ellison speaks from the gut, and doesn’t mind pushing the limits of absurdity to make a point. “It’s not often people will tell you how they really feel about gut-level things. Like God or how they’re af raid they’ll go insane like their grandfather or sex or how obnoxious you are when you pick your nose and wipe it on your pants. They play cozy with you, because nobody likes to be hated, and large doses of truth from any one mouth tend to make the wearer of the mouth persona non grata. Particularly if he’s caught you picking your nose and wiping it on your pants. Even worse if he catches you eating it. Now honest, how many people will cop to that?” — Introduction, Over the Edge By JOHNNY PILMER and CHARLIE BRADBURY “Dey ain’t a soul in Wellborn what gonna forgit de night we run de Met- recal Coon,” said old Monk Wills, storyteller, historian, coon hunter and famed liar. Monk belongs to that small frater nity of men who were born coon hunters — that group of nocturnal hunters who were either born in the woods or at least within earshot of a hound. Like all hound men, Monk has been known to turn down the three other staples of life—cold beer, wa termelon and women—in order to track after The Coon. Monk says he was once offered two free tickets, a free ride and a date to watch Mohammed Ali fight Joe Frazier in Houston. “chop” when they have treed the coon. The coon sweats through his feet and creates a trail for the dogs to follow. A good coon dog can distin guish a coon track and will follow only that scent. During fur season a coon may be taken for his pelt and his meat. Otherwise, he is usually released to run again. Such a practice has pro duced a few coons with unusual skill in evading the hounds. It was just such a coon that of Monk described when I found him holding up the back of Neely’s Store. He was sipping on a Big Red and I could tell by the look in his eye he was in a storytelling mood. I asked him if he’d been on any good coon hunts lajtely and that’s all it took. Monk said the dogs went crazy when they hit that pond. They began to run in circles around it. “Luke was a-running so hard and fast that at times he could see his own tail,” Monk exclaimed. The dogs remained confused for about 15 minutes. Luke finally found the track and the race was on again. “Dem dogs headed fo’ de woods and I knew dat coon was fixin’ f tree up. Sure nuff, dem dogs was a-barkin treed on a big oak tree I had treed in befo’.” Monk said he knew there was a hollow at the top of the tree, so he started to climb. Harlan Ellison’s stories and arti cles are simply not to be found in Atlantic Monthly or the literary magazines, nor grouped alongside such established important authors as Nabokov, Vonnegut, Barth, or Mailer (one can hear all the very re spectable academic types and loyal zombie followers of the New York Literary Establishment, none of whom exist in the real world or read a word outside their coistered field, harrumphing at such impertinence) perhaps because he probes just a bit too deeply into the filth and grime and pain in the world, and then looks at ourselves (no, not that person sit ting next to you; yes, that’s right, I mean you) and asks Why. Anyway, we may be “academic,” being in school n’ all, but we cer tainly aren’t establishment, not yet, anyway. So give him a chance, look him up; you may already have ‘“Re pent, Harlequin,’ Said the Ticktockman,” which is included in the English 203 anthology text. “I was jest fixin to leave out when of John Milner drove up in his coupe and he was a-carrying of Luke, a six-year-old grand night champion fresh outa Mississippi. I been hunt ing coons all of my life and I ain’t never had a dog what come close to being a grand night champion. If Mohammed had been here hisself, he’d still had to wait,” Monk said. A grand night champion is a dog which has amassed a certain number of points in competition with other hounds at a United Kennel Club “wild coon hunt.” There are only 600 of these dogs across the United States. They compete against each other annually at the world hunt to determine the king or queen of all grand night champions. Once a dog has reached champion status, he is sought after by coonhun- ters everywhere as a sire for their hounds. “It was dat same night dat John Milner brought Old Luke outa Mis sissippi. I knew deese Wellborn coons wouldn’t be no match fo’ a grand night champion less we was to run the Metrecal Coon,” he said. He explained that a coon had been stealing some outdated cans of Met recal, a diet drink full of proteins, vitamins and energy from a hog barn on the Johnson Ranch. “When I was about halfway up, I stopped fo’ to catch my breath. I shined de light towards the ground, and I was so high dat light never did reach de ground. It was jest like I’d shined it in de sky.” Monk continued to climb the tree. When he got to the hollow, he shined his light in it especting to find the coon at the bottom. Instead, he saw two empty cans of cherry fla vored Metrecal still dripping as though hastily consumed. ground, he slapped each dog twice, bit John on de leg and took off befo’ John even seen him.” The coon made a big circle and then headed straight for Wellborn. He ran past every house on the highway, causing an unprecedented commotion among the local dogs. “I cain’t figure why dat coon run straight fo’ town less it was so as dem other dogs would go to howlin’ and confuse Luke, Lope and Mule. As smart as dis old coon was, I wouldn’t doubt dat he stopped at de dump to find an old can of dat Right Guard to spray on his feet.” The disturbance in town gave the Metrecal Coon enough time to travel about three miles north on the highway. Here the animal happened upon a southbound freight train on a siding. Not being one to ignor oppor tunities, he boarded the train. Meanwhile, Monk and John were slowly walking towards town. John was nursing his coon-bitten leg, and both men worried about their dogs so close to the highway. By this time, Neely’s Store rocked with laughter as many people had gathered to hear the tale. Monk howled and chopped, imitating the dogs. start runnin’, when we sees Ik headlights up ahead and up Jake McClure with our dog! truck.” Monk said they thanked o and began walking the dogs their truck. When they were mile from town, the southbou freight rolled slowly by. “As de train passed us, Mulesli his nose in de air and I knewlk was a coon around. Hegiveoulo slow bawl and took out after train with both dogs behind Ie The race was on again.” Just then Monk stopped, smilri tobacco-stained smile, lookedal with a grin and said: “Muleknetj train had to stop in Navasota. Monk claims that old Mulel* shortcut through the woodsanii three dogs were waiting at thedff when the train pulled in. A terrible battle ensued “Yassuh, dat Metrecal is full of dem vitamins and things. Long as dat coon been drinkin’ dat stuff he bound to be in hard runnin shape. “Jest then dat coon baled outa de highest branches of dat tree. I figure he musta stored dat Metrecal for extra energy, cuz when he hit de “Jest as we got to town, I heard dem dogs quit barking and I knowed dey musta got run over cuz de trail was too hot to quit. We was about to “When I drove into de could see blood on de walls alls 12 foot high. Coon and doghaiii bangin’ from de lights. Demi finally whipped dat Metrecal G* but none hunted again for 4r months.” I asked Monk if he ever hai any more Metrecal Coons. “No fust thing I did when I gotbadi to pour out dat Metrecal. Coonk tin’s hard nuff without Melrs It’s impossible to describe why a man like Monk hunts night after night, but it is possible to describe a little of what goes on. Coons are noc turnal animals and they must be hunted at night. Coon hunters usu ally carry their dogs to a place of suspected coon activity and turn them loose. The dogs have different voices for different situations. They will usu ally “bawl” when tracking and “I took my two best dogs, Lope and Mule, and turned ’em out with Luke at dat hog barn. Of Lope struck dat track first and all de dogs was right behind him. We could tell by de way dem dogs was movin’ and a-barkin’ dat de track was fresh and hot. Broken love fills album By PAUL MUELLER mony/If you do the best that you “De coon was movin’ with incred ible speed, but old Luke was right behind him and closin’ fast. Den Mister Coon reach into his bag of tricks,” Monk said. The first thing the varmit did was make a straight line for a pond about a mile away. He ran around the edge of the pond about three times, mak ing the scent even stronger. Then he headed deep into the woods. Roach checks out bookstores By LISA JUNOD Okie fine muggy day last semester I sat dejectedly in my dorm room, mourning the loss of my beloved textbooks. My fingers curled tightly around a $5 bill, a bill for which I had just exchanged what I had thought to be $85 worth of books. I had haggled, hassled, wheeled and dealed with the benevolent bookstore manager, and finally had escaped from his volume-lined walls, considering myself lucky to have earned the $5. I was, however, beginning to feel guilty about releas ing my wordy friends to the scrap paper dealer... “Don’t sweat it, kid,” a shrill voice piped from somewhere underneath my pillow. “They don’t really toss those books in the scrap pilelNow if you’ll lift this lead weight off my back I’ll tell you what they do with them!” Cautiously, I reached out and slid the pillow off the bed, revealine. in his full glory, Leroy, my old pet cockroach. “Leroy!” I squealed delightedly. “I thought they had exterminated you during the spring break.” “Nonsense,” he said, chuckling. “It takes more than a few squirts of Raid to get rid of a cockroach, kid. Now if you’ll shut up and listen I’ll tell you what I learned the other day when I walked past the bookstore. “Late one afternoon I decided to trot across the street to visit some friends who lived in a trash bin be hind one of the bookstores. As crawled through the door to take a shortcut through the joint, I over heard the owner talking on the phone. “That’s right,” he chuckled. “We re sending the first shipment of those texts tomorrow. Since they’ve been discontinued from use here, we ll grab ‘em up cheap and sell them to you for a price. Then you can milk your kids for $9 or $10 bucks and we ll all make a tidv profit! “We made up some wild story for the kids here so we could get hold of those books cheaply. I think my workers are telling the students we re selling their texts to the ‘paper dealer.’ Can you imagine college kids believing that? Reminds me of the Tooth Fairy stories,” he said, chortling merrily. Not being the kind of roach to jump to conclusions, Leroy decided to check out the other area bookstores before forming his opin- “Some student probably stamped that in there. “Well, man, like, maybe I could dig that but what about that ‘Univer sity of Illinois’ stamped on the back cover?” “Could you did that again?” the man asked, irritably, “because if you couldn’t, you can just trot right up to the desk and get a refund. Someone else will buy the book.” “Yeah, man, but this is the only joint in town that carries it, and if I don’t buy this one I won’t have a textbook,” the student wailed. earshot and I heard another guy talk ing to his secretary . . . “Tell that college in the Panhandle that we’re flying up that shipment of books tonight on Raven Airlines. And tell ‘em to charge the pants off their students — they practically gave that last bunch away and we had to raise our prices to absorb the loss. Some of the kids here are com plaining ...” Just then the man turned and saw Leroy balancing himself on a light switch. Well, Ags, another summer is gone, and another semester is upon us. I’m looking forward to a good year, musically and otherwise. If the past three months are any indica tion, it should be a good year for music: the summer saw releases from Jeff Beck, George Benson, Jef ferson Starship, and a lot of other artists. One of those others is Linda Ronstadt, and her new album is called Hasten Down The Wind. The image that Linda Ronstadt has most often projected during her solo career has been that of the loser in love. In her songs, she has loved and lost more often than anyone else around, but she always leaves the impression of being ready to play the game just one more time, in hopes of finally winning. Most of the songs on Hasten Down The Wind are based on these themes: the painful end of love, followed by cautious optimism for the future. “If He’s Ever Near is more about confusion than about pain or despair. This song expresses well the fact that true love (if it exists) is often hard to recognize. Buddy Holly wrote and recorded “That’ll Be The Day” in the late ’50’s, but Ronstadt and band managed to come up with a pretty good version for this album. It has more of a coun try flavor than the original, and a more energetic pace than most of the songs on the album. Another con trast it is about a good kind of love and not the usual pain and heartbreak. “Lo Siento Mi Vida” is interesting in that all but one verse is sung in Spanish. It is a love song, of course, P bro Ira to : the Sac try’ low ope am he dee A Sch Music Review The man smiled broadly. “That’s right!” he said, beaming. Still not sure his research was thorough enough, Leroy decided to drop by still another bookstore. “Once I’d crawled inside the door,” Leroy said, “this salesman ac costed me and began trailing me around the stacks. “First, I scuttled down the street to another book store, and listened to the guy in charge talking on his telephone. I heard pretty much the same thing all over again, except this time some kid came tearing into the guy’s office...” “Hey, man,” he drawled. “I wanna know how come I paid $12.50 for this used book when it has $7.50 stamped right inside the cover...” “That’s easy,” the man told him. “May I help you, sonny?” he queried anxiously. I protested that I was only a roach and had very little buying power, so he quickly dismis sed me and began following some unfortunate student around the store. “Did you get your multilead pencil?” he asked. “Could you have forgotten your brassplated back scratcher? Your miniature Russian-English dictionary with a folding wooden stand and appen dices in 29 languages?” “Finally the salesman got out of “Well!” he shouted. “We can’t af ford to go out of business either. Just think, if we weren’t here to supply these kids with texts, what would they do? They’d have to pay atten tion during lectures, and their pro fessors would actually have to dig up fresh material and wouldn’t have the texts to fall back on!It would revo lutionize education!Do you want that, you grimy roach???” “No, I wouldn’t want that,” the grimy roach admitted to me later as we sat in my dorm room munching potato chips. Side One starts off with “Lose Again,” which is, as the title suggests, is about losing. More spe cifically, it is about the futility of one-sided love, and brings up an im portant point about love in general: that it doesn’t always respond to rea son, and tends to persist even when it brings more sorrow than happi ness. The almost desperate hope for the future is illustrated by the end of the second verse: “. . . if I hold on for one more day . . . maybe he’ll be true.” “The Tattler” is one of the weaker cuts on the album. Basically, it con cerns the trouble that comes from being married to a partner who likes to run around. Contrasted with these gloomy thoughts is the idealism expressed in the chorus: “True love can be such a sweet har- and makes use of some nice har monies by Kenny Edwards and An drew Gold, but since I can’t read Spanish, that’s about all I can say. The first side ends with the title cut, another song about a good rela tionship gone bad. Quietly sung, it warns of the troubles that result from the conflict between freedom and commitment, and froip the games that people play with each other. Like “Lose Again,” it is about losing — but this time it is the man who loses. Side Two begins with “Rivers of Babylon,” a short hymn that lasts less than a minute. It is sung without any instrumental accompaniment, but Edwards and God contribute harmonizing vocals. Linda returns to a more familiar style with “Try Me Again,” the song of a rejected lover who wants another chance and will almost beg to get it. It brings to mind the title of an earlier Ronstadt song, “Lovei No Pride.” “Crazy” is one of those son[ sound as if they were written jusli Ronstadt. In fact it was wriftei Texas' own Willie Nelson (anJ corded on his latest album), Linda sings it beautifully, witha feet mixture of grace and soulful Like “Lose Again,” it deals wilt 1 theme of futile love, but it is quite as doleful as that song, “Down So Low” is another!! about losing love, this timed by Tracy Nelson. The senseoflos obvious here, along with a soil sour-grapes attitude: “...it’s losing you/That’s got me don low/I just can’t find another man take your place.” The album ends, appropriate with a song called “SomeoneTol Down Beside Me.” It isappropm because, in the lyrics, Linda li realizes that the true lovei searches for may not really be after all. In the end, all that can found to ease her lonelinessisali porary and unsatisfactory soluli But, as she sings, “. .. eventk it’s not real. . . you just can’tasl more.” Ronstandt and her bandi broadened their musical horii with this album by adding more struments and more elaborate rangements to the basic cow style used in the past. Severaloft songs make use of a string serf and even list a “Concert Mastei the lineup of musicians. Anil Gold contributes greatly as ter, guitarist, vocalist, andkeyfe man. Russell Kunkel provides.d backing on drums throughout m of the album, and guest artist! elude Kenny Edwards, Wen Waldman, and the Eagles’DonHf ley. “Those merchants are right. They’re exchanging a legitimate service for our ready cash, and if we re dumb enough to pay their prices why shouldn’t they take ad vantage of us? “This is America, and that’s free enterprise, baby; even a grimy coc kroach can understand that.” ‘Zorro’ insults movie goers By SHEP GRINNAN The Italian movie industry has launched a frontal attack on inno cent, American movie goers. This at tack is in the form of the movie “Zorro”. I happen to have a friend in high Italian movie circles named Luigi Fellini who attended a meeting about a yeaf ago in which the pro ducers of “Zorro” outlined their plan. It went something like this: “Hey Salvadore, itsa time we struck back at those dirty Americans Paul Lombardino, commanding officer of Company F-l, struggles as the water begins to flow out of the trash can from the second story window. Juniors and seniors are sent to the quad by members of their own class. Quadding begins for cadets Quadding rules stipulate that the water which Lombar dino is splashed with, must be clean and free of any other substance, but may be warm or cold. The activity musl take place between the hours of 4 and 6 p.m. Battalion photos by Carl Key Freshmen, who are usually the only class to do the holding during the quad, are directed to the persons to be quadded by upperclassmen. The five freshmen above watch as the water flows off of Lombardino. for stealing our pizza and macs* Howa do you think we can revenge? “Well Giovanni, I thinkwesl* attack them where it hurts, yah Like at Walta Disney orsometin that, ya know?” “Yeah Salvadore, I think I what ya mean. What about arem^ of “Zorro”. Yeah ... we could Zorro smile sorta stupid-likes) make hisa girlfriend cross-aW “Hey, not a bad ideaforaCrd Giovanni and we could dubiid glish so it wouldn’t sound rf[ could also have a dog in it, lei Tin Tin. ” “Bueno idea, Salvadore, and could dub in the dog’s voice he would be smarter than Zorre “Wait a minute Giovanni. Do think that Americans will pi dog is smarter than Zorro?” “Are youa kiddin ! Look at Lass^j Salvadore and Giovanni put insidious plan into action. Then is “Zorro”, a masterpiece ofll revenge. I almost wish we won WW II. “Zorro” begins with themunh the newly appointed govern« Nueva Aragon by the evil co!l> l, military head of state. Unfortuia 11 this is the high spot of the mo'* On the verge of death, thegrf nor, who is cousin and frienl' Zorro, makes the hero swear to 1 * no revenge for his death. Zorro however decides total*! place of his poor, deceased He arrives at Nueva Aragonal? dified governor by day andZofl* 1 night. He is assisted by his supf 1 ' “Assassin” a black great dan*.! cross-eyed girl friend, his mutd vant and his ridiculous smile A 1 many struggles with the CoW* which you hope will end the 4 the show thankfully ends and tl dience is allowed to escape fro® sibly the worst movie of the y(< \