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Opinion
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Page 2/The Battalion/Tuesday, February 28, 1984
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Students active
at other schools
Amherst College fraternity mem
bers will lose their organizations soon,
a decision made by that school’s trust
ees. School officials say the fraternities
and their houses have made on-cam-
pus living “inadequate.”
Members of Amherst’s eight coed
fraternities are out of luck, but they’re
not taking it sitting down. Several fra
ternity members went on a hunger
strike to protest the move, saying
school officials didn’t have enough stu
dent input when they made their deci
sion. Students at the University of
Texas voiced similiar concerns when
UT administrators moved commence
ment exercises to the Frank C. Erwin
Special Events Center.
reacted with little more than
mors,
yawns.
The Student Senate filed a formal
protest. Other students signed a peti
tion. But by and large, students sat
back and let the Faculty Senate take the
initiative in making a decision that di
rectly affected them.
Considering the apathy that’s so
prevalent here, it’s refreshing to see
students at other universities taking
stands on issues that affect them.
Although The Battalion Editorial
Board doesn’t wish for a return to the
turbulent’60s — when student unrest
resulted in violence and bloodshed —
it is our hope that students at Texas
In contrast, students at Texas A&M,
faced with the possibility of being re-
quired to take finals as graduating se-
A&M will take part in the resurgence
of student activity, and work on mak
ing our campus a more open-minded
place to study.
— The Battalion Editorial Board
Iowa out of spotlight
when caucuses end
By ART BUCHWALD
Columnist for The Los Angeles Times Syndicate
Andy Warhol once said everyone has
a right to be famous for at least 15 min
utes. It’s never been truer than it was for
Iowa the past month. The entire nation
was sitting on the edge of its seat waiting
to see who would take the Democratic
Cold, Silver, and Bronze Medals in the
Iowa caucuses. The networks sent in
their heavy artillery — Rather, Brokow
and Jennings — and thousands of re
porters flooded the state to talk to every
farmer, shopkeeper and coffee house
waitress in the state.
Then came Tuesday, the day after
the results were in. Three reporters
straggled into a coffee shop in Dubuque.
Four farmers sitting on stools perked
up, prepared to be interviewed.
The reporters, bleary-eyed from writ
ing their stories, ordered black coffee,
eggs and hash browns.
When the reporters didn’t say any
thing, one of the farmers said, “I sup
pose you fellows would like to know how
I feel about the nuclear freeze.”
“Hey, Dad,” one of the reporters said.
“Would you keep it down? I’m trying to
eat my breakfast.”
The second farmer said, “Now I’ve al
ways voted for Republicans, but if you
ask me what I think — I was never for
big deficits before and I’m not for big
deficits now. I say they make us farmers
live within our means, so why should the
Reagan government go into debt by 190
billion dollars....Am I going too fast for
you? You fellows don’t seem to be tak
ing any notes.”
The reporters stared into their coffee
cups.
The fourth farmer said, “You want to
know why I’m going to vote for Monda
le?”
One of the reporters said, “Sorry, fel
low, we don’t care what lowans think
anymore.”
A farmer got indignant, “What do
you mean you don’t care what we think
anymore? We’re still American citizens.
Whose opinions are you interested in?”
“The great people of New Hamp
shire. They could easily decide who the
next Democratic presidential candidate
could be.”
“That isn’t what you fellows told us
last week! You said the whole thing was
going to be decided by Iowa.”
“How can it be decided by Iowa? You
people only held caucuses. New Hamp
shire is going to hold a primary. We
have to catch a plane.”
“You bled us dry, and now you don’t
care what we have to say any more?” a
farmer asked.
“That's politics, Dad,”
A television crew came in carrying
their equipment.
The farmers sat up. “You fellows
want to set up your lights around that
potbellied stove? We’ll sit around it and
then talk about how we feel about corn
for Russia.”
One of the TV crew said, “We’re not
going to do any shooting. We were just
wondering if any of you wanted to rent
us a truck to get our equipment to the
airport.”
“But you’re going to need some color
ful footage of Iowa citizens for the eve
ning news.”
“New York told us to forget Iowa for
the evening news.”
“Does that mean Dan Rather, Tom
Brokaw, and Peter Jennings ain’t going
to hang around Iowa until the Novem
ber elections?”
“The three of them flew out on pri
vate planes last night.”
“There goes Lou Harris, the polls
ter,” one of the farmers said rushing to
the door. “Hey, Mr. Harris, you remem
ber me? I was one of the undecided.
Well, I finally made up my mind.”
Harris got into his van. “I’ll get back
to you in four years.”
Slouch
by Jim Earle
“Remember that game we used to play where we’d casually
step into the pedestrian crosswalk in front of cars to see how
far they’d slide their tires trying to stop?”
Ban on EDB unnecessary
iresider
A m;
I take exception to the editorial of Feb.
17 which states, in bold letters, “pro
ducts with EDB should be banned.”
The procedures currently being
used, which form the basis for deci
sions about the condemnation of par
ticular chemical additives, are highly
suspect.
“We’ve had 30 years of exposure to
EDB, so why alarm the public with one
more cancer risk?,” John Weisburger,
who performed the experiments on
laboratory rats upon which the cancer
link to EDB is based, said.
Bruce Ames of the University of
California is the inventor of the Ames
test, which is widely used to establish
the mutagenicity of chemical com
pounds. Mutagenicity and carcino
genicity are considered to be highly
correlated.
Ames has pointed out that we are
constantly ingesting natural carcino
gens. Among these are the aflatoxins
in peanut butter which, based on the
same testing procedure as the one used
with EDB, are 1,000 times more carcin
ogenic than EDB.
Do the editors of The Battalion ever
eat peanut butter sandwiches or con
sume sugar-free drinks? I consider the
saccarin in sugar-free soft drinks to
present a vastly greater carcinogenic
threat than EDB.
Do the editors of The Battalion in
tend to give up the consumption of
charcoal broiled steaks accompanied
by mushrooms and seasoned with pep
per? There is no doubt that charcoal
broiling converts a portion of meat fats
to truly carcinogenic aromatic hydro
carbons, that the natural hydrazine de
rivatives in mushrooms belong to a car
cinogenic class of compounds and that
chemicals which occur naturally in
black pepper are also carcinogenic. I,
personally, do not plan to give up these
foods which add a great deal of plea
sure to my life.
Insects and plants have been en
dowed by nature with the instinct for
survival. Their survival is abetted by
their natural abilities to produce chem
icals which destroy their own natural
enemies. In our daily intake of food,
even if all of that food is purchased at a
et ant
readers
forum
health food store, we ingest large
amounts of natural chemicals that are
known to be toxic and carcinogenic.
Also consider the procedure used in
animal experiments. A liquid chemical
such as EDB is literally poured,
through a funnel, into the stomach of a
rat. Of course bad things are going to
happen! Virtually anything will cause
adverse effects when administered in
that manner.
An analogy is vinegar, which we use
in our salad dressings and as a condi
ment on an almost daily basis. Vinegars
contain about five percent acetic acid.
Pure acetic acid, however, is very
nasty stuff. If you spill a few droplets
on your skin, you will get oozing, pain
ful blisters.
Pure acetic acid, poured into the
stomach of a rat in the manner EDB
was administered, would bring about a
painful, agonizing and I wouldklst foi
rapid death to that poor animalFtf 1
continue to use vinegar at aceticb 1
of 50,000,000 parts per billion. ■ ^
1 object to the “weekly terra t | 1
sory” submitted to the public bn
media, especially when thereiscc
tional basis for fear.
Protocols for the estabfehntat
toxicity and carcinogenicity of ck I
cals should be reexamined and pis I
on a more rational basis. Decsi
made on the basis of the
tions of massive doses of substaij
that are bound to causeirritationsi
tissue damage in laboratory a«|
should not be extrapolated toal
parts per billion in humans.
There is no question that there! I
workers exposed to large cones
tions of ambient chemicals
significant. These workers
public must be protected
By M
unnecessarily dangerous exposurtt iberwil
Tech
tontinui
abundai
»f resea
Nation a
On the other hand, the!
certain chemicals could caused
health hazards than those whiclt? Doial
thought to be eliminated. EDBisi*^. a F
fective and inexpensive fumigant*
sect and mole contamination\
only greatly increase thecostofg
but could result in the introductiol
greater concentrations of natural ^
cinogens produced by theseorgi
Our life spans are steadily ire
ing. For 50 years death rates!
cer have remained steady, or air |^ e
dining. Since the incidence of can®
known to increase with the
group this would indicate thattkl* lajrch
lie is not being exposed to greater! r ets tb
cer risks. Ralph A.Zhf
Professor, Dept. ofChetnii'
New Hampshire's claim to fame
By ARNOLD SAWISLAK
Columnist for United Press International
New Hampshire may seem an odd
place to begin the presidential prima
ries, but since 1952 the state has had an
uncanny knack for spotlighting the can
didate who will win the November elec
tion.
New Hampshire has held the first
presidential primary since 1920, when it
was set in mid-March to coincide with
the much older traditional town meet
ing day. It was 32 years before anybody
paid much attention to the primary.
In 1952, New Hampshire was the
first election anywhere for Dwight D.
Eisenhower. He beat Sen. Robert A.
Taft, R-Ohio, and Sen. Estes Kefauver,
D-Tenn., defeated President Truman
— a real shocker — putting the primary
on the political map to stay.
New Hampshire shrugs off criticism
that it is not a fair test of candidates for
national office. It is eighth from the bot
tom in population, has no real major cit
ies, has a much smaller percentage of
minority population than the country at
large and has the lowest unemployment
in the nation.
With only 462,000 registered voters
and less than a quarter of that likely to
vote in the primary, it is easy to argue
that New Hampshire can prove little in
the national political scheme.
But the record indicates it has done
just that. Since 1952, no one has won the
presidency without first winning the
New Hampshire primary, although a
number of candidates have won their
party nominations without a victory in
New Hampshire.
In 1960, both John Kennedy and
Richard Nixon began their march to
ward nomination by winning the New
Hampshire primary.
In 1964, President Johnson had no
trouble in New Hampshire, but Yankee
Republicans put up Henry Cabot Lodge
to beat Sen. Barry Goldwater.
In 1968, it was the Nixon comeback
kickoff, and it was Johnson over Sen.
Eugene McCarthy, D-Minn., by such a
narrow margin that LBJ quit the race
shortly thereafter.
In 1972, Nixon won the GOP pri
mary again, and Sen. Edmund Muskie,
D-Maine, beat Sen. George McGovern,
D-S.D. in the Democratic test, but still
saw his presidential hopes fade.
By 1976, the primary had a life of its
own, and Jimmy Carter used its mys
tique to start his drive to the Democratic
nomination. President Ford beat Ron
ald Reagan on the GOP side.
In 1980, New Hampshire provided
the handwriting on the waMotSei
ward Kennedy, D-Mass., when fief
President Carter. It also was thestf
Reagan’s triumphal procession w
GOP nomination and the WhiteHn
As a result, presidential cantfc
don’t dare ignore New Hampshirt
And New Hampshire,'®
cheerfully admits that the primal 1
its attendant hoopla does wondet
business, isn’t about to give up its?
in the midwinter sun.
Some states are proud of theii
eminence in one field or anotltf i.
work to sustain it; New Hampshire .]
have been the first to pass a law ®
subject. The law says New Hani|
must hold its primary one week
any other state.
Sc
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SP
The Battalion
USPS 045 360
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
Editor Rebeca Zimmermann
Managing Editor . John Wagner
City Editor Patrice Koranek
Assistant City Editor Kathleen Hart,
Stephanie Ross
News Editor Tracey Taylor
Assistant News Editors Susan Talbot,
Brigid Brockman, Kelley Smith
Editorial Page Editor Kathy Wiesepape
Sports Editor Bonn Friedman
Assistant Sports Editor Bill Robinson
Entertainment Editor Shelley Hoekstra
Assistant Entertainment Editor Angel Stokes
Photo Editor . John Makely
Stall writers Ed Alanis, Robin Black,
Bob Caster, Bonnie Langford,
Sarah Oates, Michelle Powe,
Lauri Reese, Dave Scott, Karen Wallace
Photographers.
Bill Hughes, KatheriiC
John Ryan, DC
Editorial Policy
The Battalion is a non-profit, sclf-suppo0!
paper operated as a community service to Tt**
University and Bryan-Collcge Station. Opi^'j
pressed in The Battalion arc those of the edit 11
author, and do not necessarily represent theopt 1
Texas A&M University administrators or fact 1 '
hers, or of the Board of Regents.
The Battalion also serves as a laboratorynP
for students in reporting, editing and photoff
scs within the Department of Commun/calW*
Questions or comments concerning any eilitif 1
ter should be directed to the editor.
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