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
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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(<
\