Opinion
Page 2/The Battalion/Wednesday, July 18, 1984
Raising drinking age
federal discrimination
Texas lawmakers will face a di
lemma when they meet in January —
either raise the drinking age to 21 or
lose federal highway funds.
President Reagan signed the legis
lation Tuesday. Any state that doesn’t
have a drinking age of 21 by 1987 will
lose 5 percent of its interstate highway
funds. If it’s not raised by 1988, the
state will lose 10 percent.
That works out to about a $150 mil
lion loss if Texas doesn’t comply.
Faced with a choice like that, the
state Legislature will almost surely
choose the higher drinking age.
State Rep. Neeley Lewis, D-Bryan,
says he is “violently opposed” to the
legislation, but sees no way the state
could do without the federal highway
aid.
“It’s coercion and it’s a poor method
for legislation,” Lewis says.
But it’s not unprecedented. Con
gress chose the same method of inflict
ing its will on the states when the
speed limit was decreased to 55 mph.
The measure is more than federal
blackmail — it’s a piece of discrimina
tory legislation.
A drinking age of 21 discriminates
against all adults between the ages of
18 and 21. Anyone old enough to fight
and die for their country or to vote is
certainly old enough to be allowed to
drink.
It’s ironic that the federal govern
ment can require states to pass dis
criminatory laws.
The solution to the drunken driving
problem is stricter DWI laws and bet
ter enforcement of those laws — not
increasing the drinking age.
Stricter DWI laws would put the
punishment where it belongs — on the
potential offenders. An entire class of
people — college students — shouldn’t
be punished.
— The Battalion Editorial Board
One para
cle on page
A&M Leg:
should have
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DAYTO
lessor and
ently becar
idwest
Even roaches are welcome after travels
HOME — After
a long journey, a
gilded warrior re
turns.
Home, the
place that Simon
and Garfunkel
promised waited
silently for me. I
piled out of the ve
hicle outfitted for
the rigors of West
Texas and darted
Donn Friedman
to the front door of apartment No. 1.
I jiggled the door knob trying to en
ter the security of my apartment. The
door would not open. Fishing into the
pockets of my thrice-worn-but-yet-un-
washed blue denim jeans, I pulled out
my leather Ford key ring. I gently slid
the key into the slot and turned the
knob.
The door opened. Dragging in two
weeks worth of West Texas dirty
clothes, I kicked the last remnants of
the feedlots from my boots.
Four years of yell practice with Gi-
g’em Aggies and Farmer’s Fight wasn’t
enough to send me windin’ down the
buckaroo trail to the Fair at Lott to buy
a pair of Tony Lamas’. But four weeks
with the rattlers and the rabbits on the
Texas range was enough to send me at
a full gallop to a western wear store in
Amarillo.
So what if it was a chain store in a
mall that could just as easily been in
College Station. So what if the boots
were on sale —just $59 for high-tops
that make my leather high-top Nikes
look like topsiders. It was just good to
be home and kick my boots off, like
the real cowboys do on television.
With my boots in my right hand, my
camera bag slung over my shoulder
and my suitcase in my left, I dragged
up the stairs toward my bedroom.
The door stood propped open with
the tennis shoe that I had left there
weeks before. My bath towels — none
of which said MOTEL — hung dry
over my closet door.
A familiar roach scurried away as he
saw me arrive, going wherever roaches
hide when people are at home.
I tossed my suitcase full of dirty
clothes in the direction of my laundry
bin that overflowed with clothes from
my last trip home. I opened my under
wear and sock drawer wondering
when I would have to wash.
Soon, I thought, as I counted one
pair of stretched out underwear worn
only in emergencies but never on a
trip. I wandered downstairs to the re
frigerator — nothing of interest ex
cept the smell — what could the odor
be, or what could it have been.
I climbed back up the stairs and slid
under the covers of my queen-size bed.
How long had it been since I
washed my sheets? Too long was the
only applicable answer to any civilized
person. I checked the box marked n/a
and fell asleep.
In the midst of a dream involving
an old man, a seedless melon, a 72-
ounce steak and a burning desire that
had nothing to do with beating tu, the
light in my room flashed on.
“So you’re home again,” Jeff, my
roommate, said.
We sat up and talked a while of
school and women and friends in
Turkish prisons. A marble of sweat
formed on Jeffs forehead and rolled
down his cheek.
“I think it’s time we turned on the
air conditioner, ” I said.
I breathed deeply as the vent came
to life blowing cool swirls of air into
the putrid mist. I smelled the green
fuzzy stuff that grew under the refrig
erator and the sweaty mildew that
clung to the piles of dirty clothes.
I was home.
Jim Smiths
a force
at the poll
ller Altoi
|iend, the
iTuesday.
■ Law ei
Scoured we
ing Cumb<
tory profes
the trunk c
west side ol
Nearby,
■9, and 1
and robbt
linister, v
Elizabeth’s
parmical,
harmed se
Colemai
bra Browr
in connect
crimes, inc
His bli
Housea, w
left by his
him Tues
help becai
“You’re ki
The FB
and Brow
after steal
Donn Friedman is a senior journa
lism major and the Battalion’s roving
columnist covering the plains of Texas
this summer. He has returned to the
outback and will File a report from an
other quaint hamlet next week.
By DICK WEST
Columnist for
United Press International
WASHINGTON — For what,|
anything, it might portend for
presidential election in November,i|
team of Republicans named Jim
will play a team of Democrats namd
Jim Smith in an all-Jim Smith softh! J. 0 . Harry
game Saturday at Boiling Springs,Pa ‘^TcU
The starting lineups were sent d ^ as t,eatei
me by a presumably non-partisanJiri' Daytoi
Smith, who publishes, of all things,;’ Broomfiel
Jim Smith newsletter. e ntly kidn
No matter how adroit afield: his cartel
softballer may be, or how hot abatkfjlj? 0 em:i
might swing, no player need apply: {y eelc ^ e ‘
his name is just plain Tom, Dick oil Most War
Harry Smith. Only genuine Jin^
Smiths will see action.
Ferraro selection shocks Queens native
By ART BUCHWALD
Columnist for
The Los Angeles Times Syndicate
Archie Bunker was sitting in his
home in Astoria, Long Island, when
he saw the news on television that
Mondale had chosen Geraldine Fer
raro as his running mate. He let out a
scream and Edith came rushing in
from the kitchen.
“What is it, Archie?” Edith asked.
“That meathead Mondale has put
our Congresswoman Geraldine Fer
raro on his ticket as V.P.”
“Isn’t that nice,” Edith said.
“You would say that. She’s one of
your people.”
“I’m not Italian, Archie.”
“I don’t mean Eyetalian. I got noth
ing against Eyetalians. I mean one of
your people — a woman.”
“It’s about time,” Edith said.
“What does a dame know about
running the United States of Ameri
ca?”
“What does a man know about it?”
“The vice presidency of the United
States has always been reserved for
male. The founding fathers of the
Constitution wanted it that way.”
“There is nothing in the Constitu
tion that says a woman can’t be vice
president.”
“That’s because at the time it was
written no one in his right mind could
imagine a meathead presidential can
didate choosing one. But I’ll bet you if
you took a poll of the great men who
signed the Declaration of Indepen
dence, they would have said ‘No
woman vice presedents or we give the
country back to England.’”
Edith replied, “Mrs. Ferraro is a
very smart lady. I rang doorbells for
her when she was campaigning for
congresswoman.”
“You pushed one doorbell too
many, and now look what we’ve got. A
mother of three who could be a heart
beat away from the presidency.”
Edith was losing her temper. “We
represent more than half the vote and
we belong in the seat of power.”
“That’s the way your people always
think. I knew we was in serious trouble
when them women liberators was al
lowed to march in the street without
the cops shooting tear gas at them.”
“I wish you’d stop referring to
women as my people,” Edith said.
“All right. I’ll call them by their
right name — dingbats.”
“Archie, you have no right to call a
woman vice presidential candidate a
dingbat.”
“Why not? It’s a free country, isn’t
it? Well, I’ll say one thing. Since Mrs.
Ferraro represents Astoria and Jack-
son Heights, she at least knows some
thing about the Third World.”
Whether she wins or loses she’s broken
the mold once and for all.”
Gloria, Archie’s daughter, came
rushing in breathlessly. “Mommy, did
you hear the news? Mondale chose a
woman right here from Queens.”
Archie said, “Another dingbat.
They’re all coming out of the wood
work.”
“What’s the matter with Daddy?”
Gloria said to Edith.
“He’s upset because Mondale chose
one of our people as his running
mate.”
“That’s not very funny, Archie. You
should be proud that someone from
our own district is running for vice
president of the United States.
“One of our people?” Gloria said.
“Are we related to Mrs. Ferraro?”
“No, your father is referring to our
sex.”
“I can’t believe it, Daddy. You’re liv
ing in the stone age.”
“Edith is taking my remarks out of
context. I got nothing against a
woman running a country as long as
she stays in India.”
The Battalion
(ISPS 045 360
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
The Battalion Editorial Board
Rebeca Zimmermann, Editor
Bill Robinson, Editorial Page Editor
Shelley Hoekstra, City Editor
Kathleen Hart, News Editor
Travis Tingle, Sports Editor
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ACWLVh.M 6AG00AI P/PAlf TURN BMCKW
REAGAN APPOimp THAT ANNE3URF0RP...
A player may, however, have a 1)1
zarre middle name, or use a differefi
first initial, as in B. James Smith,pro
vided he doesn’t flaunt it.
Personally, I rather doubt the oui
come of a six-inning softball garat
even with a Jim Smith at every
tion, will presage very much f
cally. Of more import, if vaudevt
ever makes a comeback, might be tilt
impact on the old “Who’s on f
routine.
I can tell you, however, that ac)
presidential candidate who ignorestlit
Jim Smith vote does so at his otti
peril.
At last count, the Jim Smith Socien
which is sponsoring the softball game
had 1,240 members. That figure, ol
course, does not include the vast nun
ber of closet Jim Smiths who arelurl
ing about omniwheres.
All together, they add up to a coo
siderable political potential.
Considering all the hoopla that at
tended Walter Mondale’s selectionoh
running'mate, I was a little surprise:
the Democrats didn’t put a Jim S
on the ticket as a vice presidential cao
didate.
Taking nothing away from I
dale’s choice, Geraldine Ferraro
ply doesn’t have the ring to it that Jiff
Smith has. Nor would it necessaril'
have been a sexist nomination.
I am told that one of the Jim Smith 1
attending the 1981 gathering at Boi
ing Springs was a woman. Had Moo
dale put out the word, there probabi'
would have been a dozen or morefr
male Jim Smiths showing up forintetj
views.
They wouldn’t have come froff
Congress, however. Of the six Smith
currently serving in the House, onH
one, Rep. Virginia Smith, R-Neb.,is , j
woman. Although definitely of tb'<
right gender, she has an unsuitabl'
first name as well as the wrong
affiliation.
There aren’t any Jims, not to so'[
gems, among male Smiths in tiff
House either.
Chris, Bob and Denny Smith ah
like Virginia, Republicans. Rep
Larry Smith and Neal Smith, whih
sufficiently Democratic, lack fir* 1
name creditability.
If I were a presidential candidate !
would not miss this opinion surveyiif
opportunity. For there may betruthi*
the old maxim that “as Jim Smith goe^
so goes the nation.”