Page 2/The Battalion/Wednesday, July 12, 1984
Opinion
Textbook selection
controversy brews
And the controversy rages on.
At the first day of hearings by the
State Textbook Committee, once
again biology textbooks are being at
tacked by fundamentalist Christians
and by self-proclaimed textbook critics
Mel and Norma Gabler of Longview.
They are arguing that creationism
should be taught on an equal footing
with evolution. Another person ar
gued that explicit male and female an
atomical models in a proposed text are
“totally unnecessary.”
The consistently ridiculous sugges
tions that are made for textbooks in
Texas come from a few vocal groups.
The elected state Board of Education
members have been known to bow to
pressure exerted by people such as the
Gablers, who have had extensive pub
licity but no qualifications.
Each summer the textbook commit
tee hears testimony at the Texas Edu
cation Agency’s Austin field office.
The state Board of Education consid
ers the committee’s report in the fall,
listening to further testimony.
Anyone can testify at either hear
ing, after requesting an appearance by
writing to Raymon Bynum, the state’s
commissioner of education. More peo
ple should take advantage of that to
offset the power of people like the
Gablers.
The political pressure now exerted
by small groups should be lessened
with the appointed board set up by the
recent state educaton reforms. But
only if the governor chooses the most
qualified people — not people he owes
political favors.
There’s hope for the Texas system
yet — if a competent board is ap
pointed.
— The Battalion Editorial Board
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Ifs hard to swallow a 72 ounce slab of steakks
K First ai
AMARILLO —
“Free,” the high
way sign said. Just
the kind of sign I
like to see.
“Red meat.”
The kind that
comes from 1,200
pound Texas
steers. Big ex
bulls. 72 ounces
worth of BEVO. Donn Friedman
Free at the Big Tex in Amarillo.
In small print the billboard added:
“If eaten in one hour.”
Well, I was on my way, a few flat
plain miles past Plainview, heading for
Amarillo.
How hard could it be to devour and
digest less than 1/2 of 1 percent of a
normal beef animal. That’s assuming
the animal weighs 1,200 pounds. So,
with that assumption in hand, I began
to prepare for the meal.
Four-and-a-half pounds of heavy
Texas beef. My travel schedule gave
me one night to prepare. An extensive
stomach enlargement and training
regiment would be necessary.
I arrived in Amarillo at dinner time.
“Huffs — All You Can Eat,” the
billboard looming above 1-40 prom
ised.
Within minutes I was gorging my
self on greasy fried chicken and slimy
corned beef and cabbage. A trip to the
salad bar and back to the chicken. A
trip to the strawberry shortcake and
back by the brown-and-serve rolls. Ice
cream and mashed potatoes for the
grand finale.
“You must,” I remembered my
coach telling me, “push yourself be
yond what you think you can do, if
you’re ever going to reach your poten
tial.”
I went back for another helping of
corned beef and cabbage — and an
other piece of strawberry shortcake.
After a slightly restful night — I will
admit I had a dream involving a giant
strawberry, a chicken and a dog
named Bill-bo, but that’s another story
— I spent the day tagging along with a
scientist at the Bushland Research
Center feed lot. A day on the range
awakens my appetite; I was ready for a
72 ounce steak, medium rare.
A giant plastic steer, weighing more
than 5 tons — if its insides were flesh
rather than air — stood in the parking
lot beside tour buses, and campers,
and Ryder One-Way Rental trucks
with their air-conditioned comfort.
A cowboy duded up in a red snap-
shirt, kerchief and hat sat on a white
horse waving at the 1-40 traffic as it
sped by.
Towering overhead, 25-foot tall Big
Tex watched over his homestead. At
his belly a sign told travelers, “The Big
Texan Steak Ranch. Exit Now.”
The interior was pseudo-Texan
(like the Memorial Student Center).
The hostess, dressed in Western attire,
led me to a red velvet chair with steers’
horns for arms; ice-water was served
in a glass boot.
I flipped through the menu — a
newspaper and a food list in one. It
told of Longhorns, and beds and real
Texan food. The bigger, the better,
the more Texan.
The offer was there: a free 72-
ounce steak with baked potato, shrimp
cocktail, salad and roll.
Easy.
Then they came to me.
The eyes. Staring at me from be
hind the metal fence. They stomped
about in the feces. How could they live
in such filth?
They crawled around the com
pound on all fours. They were no bet
ter than animals.
The guards marched around the
pen barking orders. “Yihaaah,” they
said. “Git. Move it. We’re going to
have fun.”
“They’re only animals,” I said.
“What?” the waitress asked.
The taste of blood filled my mouth.
“I want,” I said and then the eyes
came back begging, pleading for me to
spare their brethren.
I’m a native Texan; no animal is
going to tell me what to eat or not eat.
But I couldn’t. I just couldn't talj
more than my share for sport.
“I want the 1 2-ounce sirlion,"Isai:
I finished off my steak, paidmyli
and hurried on my way. The trophi
— the rams, the deer, the lynx-i ;? mountt:
seemed to smile at me as I left theft™
storied dining room.
is most nr
Remov
place is i
in heat is
looling t
fanning
At the entry way, behind an i Sures tha
display of steaks, a tote board show: be applit
the score for the 72-ounce challens
21,784 attempts, 3863 complete
meals. Losers are billed $29.95.
A thick slab of beef sat challen]
— looking deceptively small.
I drifted past the LongbraK
shooting gallery in the lobby, passtt
the trinket shop and out the door,
licked the last bit of the tasty juicef
the prime steak out of my mustache.
That night, I shaved off my rant
tache.
wrapped
can relict
Salt tal
Instead,
ge am
amount
salt adde
any type
caffeine)
Vietirr
-emergen
/ As in i
(Donn Friedman is a senior joum
lism major and The Battalion’s romi |
columnist covering the plains of Ten |
this summer.)
Spaced out professor to be Father of World War III
By ART BUCHWALE)
Columnist for
The Los Angeles Times Syndicate
The successful test of an anti-ballistic missile
against a dummy one in space could not come at
a better time for President Reagan’s campaign to
get more funds for his “Star Wars” program.
It also vindicated the lifetime work of Profes
sor Grindle Grindlewald, who was the first to put
forward the theory that anything man could put
into space he could also shoot down.
Ridiculed in the scientific community for
years, Grindlewald may now go down in history
as the Father of World War III.
I found the old man in his home in Falls
Church, Va.
He took me into his garage and showed me
sketches dating back to 1962 covered with math
ematical calculations, and then told me his story.
“After the Soviets launched Sputnik, everyone
in America panicked except me. I went to see
Kennedy’s people in the White House and said,
‘There is only one answer to Sputnik. We have to
launch a crash program to shoot it down.’ They
told me the president had a better idea. America
would develop satellites on its own, and compete
peacefully with the Soviets in space.
“So he created- NASA and sent manned and
unmanned satellites into the sky, without giving
any thought to their military value. Every time I
saw one go up I got sick.”
“Pretty soon there were hundreds of satellites
swooping around the sky. It made me furious.
“First I went to NASA and asked them if they
would finance my research. No one would listen
to me.
“Then I went to Congress with my dream. I
asked them to let me shoot down one commu
nications satellite to prove that it could be done.
My timing was off because our astronauts had
just landed on the moon and the country was
brainwashed into beleiving this accomplishment
was the dawn of a new civilization. I had to laugh.
“What finally saved me was Vladimir Rich-
eskvy, a Soviet scientist who also had a deep ha
tred of using space for peaceful purposes. We
met at a ‘Star Trek’ convention at Disneyland and
exchanged views. I told him if he would let me
steal his anti-satellite weapon plans I could prove
the Soviets were going to use space to launch a
first-strike attack on the U.S. Then Congress
would give men funds to develop my program.
In exchange I would let him steal my plans so he
could prove to the Kremlin we were working on a
top-secret strategy to shoot down their satellin
Then he could get all the rubles he needed froi|
the Kremlin to finance his research.
“He naturally agreed, and now thanks totL
meeting the U.S. and U.S.S.R. are on acollisioj
course in space.”
“You gave the space program a whole nw;
lease on life,” I said.
Grindlewald said modestly, “I never doubts
we could do it. Once I proved the Soviets were«|
to their ears in space warfare research I hadPrS
ident Reagan’s ear.”
“What did he say when you showed him yotf,
anti-satellite weapons plan?”
“Hejust smiled and said, ‘This is one smallstf
for man and one giant leap for mankind!’”
Congress needs a studio audience
Speeches are inserted that were never made, while those made
are often deleted or substantially altered. Legislative history is
regularly manufactured and inserted into the Record after cru
cial votes have been taken.
By DICK WEST
Columnist for
United Press International
WASHINGTON — Back in the
days before somebody invented C-
Span, members of the House had to
resort to the printed word, namely the
Congressional Record, to pull the wool
over their constituents’ eyes.
The rules were such that congress
men could magically be in two places
at once. The Record would make it ap
pear they were on the House floor de
livering orations on vital issues,
whereas in reality they might be back
in their home districts currying favor
with the electorate.
As three members asserted in a suit
to require verbatim reporting on con
gressional activity, “Speeches are in
serted that were never made, while
those made are often deleted or sub
stantially altered. Legislative history is
regularly manufactured and inserted
into the Record after crucial votes
have been taken.”
Yes, but when C-Span began “live”
television coverage of House sessions,
some of the lawgivers actually started
delivering “special orders” in person.
The term “special orders” is some
what difficult to explain to televiewers.
In general, it means that congressmen
have permission to address the House
on subjects dear to their heart after
the day’s other legislative business is
over.
Until the cameras invaded > the
chamber, few holders of special orders
bothered with an audio presentation
of their speeches. They simply had the
material inserted in the Record.
Even fewer House members stayed
glued to their seats during this attitude
adjustment hour, thus avoiding the
risk that they might be swayed by the
power and logic of the oratory, and
change their opinions.
As long as the cameras remained fo
cused on the speechmakers, rather
than panning the chamber, there
wasn’t much point in providing warm
bodies to audit the proceedings.
The cameras did, however, confirm
certain fears expressed during debate
on the question of whether to permit
televised coverage.
During these deliberations, the
House heard warnings that television
would tempt some members of carry
issues directly to the great American
public rather than try to influence
their colleagues.
These predictions essentially came
to pass. Which is one reason Speaker
Thomas O’Neill, D-Mass., ordered
that the cameras start showing empty
seats during special order oratory.
Although certain loquacious con
gressmen contend the speaker went
too far in directing that new camera
angles be imposed, I don’t think he
went far enough.
If the House is going to be a tele
vision, as well as a legislative, body, I
think it ought to go all out and adopt
some of the methods used by the bet
ter networks.
Studio audiences clearly is one pos
sibility.
If there is an understandable reluc
tance to remain in the chamber during
special orders, that disinclination ob
viously is not shared by the home view
ers.
So why not invite these public-spir
ited citizens to attend the sessions
when they are in the neighborhood?
Many, I’m sure, would jump at the
change to sit in on a special order ren
dition. And when the cameras panned
the chamber, few if any empty seats
would be visible.
If need be, there could even be elec-
tic “applause” signs behind the ros
trum to indicate the proper emotional
response.
Admittedly, a non-elected audience
might be a bit deceptive. But veteran
readers of the Congressional Record
probably would accept that chicanery
without batting an eye.
The Battalion
USPS 045 360
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
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