Page 2rfhe BattalioiVTuesday, February 4, 1986
Opinion
Despite shuttle disaster, America wants spao
Richard
Cohen
At the Air and
Space Museum yes
terday it was decided
that this particular,
shuttle launch would '
be shown on the television monitor in
Space Hall. The launches had become
so routine that even in this palace to
rocketry they had ceased to take much
notice. But this one was different. The
first teacher was going into space and so
the monitor was on. Beside it, like a
marquee, were posted the relevant
names. Sometime around noon, it be
came clear that the names of the crew
were the names of the dead.
ing videotape. It was May 25, 1961, and
he was appearing before a joint session
of Congress. There was Lyndon John
son, the Senate majority leader. And
there was Sam Rayburn, the speaker of
the House. The young president said we
were going to send an American to the
moon and back. Amazingly, there was
no applause. Maybe no one believed
him. The moon! It once seemed a silly
dream.
United Feature Syndicate
©M86 Houston rust
But we have been there and back. We
have been to space like no other nation.
We have made it our frontier, the
American frontier, and we have done it
in a characteristic way. We centered it
People came and stood before the
monitor. Looming behind them were
the immense rockets of the past, huge
things that go clear to the high ceiling,
with all those familiar, Walter Cronkite-
era names and you could almost hear
him say them — JU-piter. These were
the Conestoga wagons of our genera
tion, the Pony Express of the American
Space Age — names that fired the
American imagination and convinced us
that space was ours. Look at the flag that
waves from the moon.
around man himself, the individual,
and then we mythologized it with stories
and movies and the speeches of poli
ticians. We made the astronauts into
senators and corporate executives and
even took one who wasn’t one, Chuck
Yeager, and made him the biggest hero
of them all. He had the Right Stuff.
The monitor showed the tape of the
catastrophic blast-off. A kid in a Super
man cape looked into it, uncompre
hending. A woman slowly brought her
hand up to her face as if to ward off the
coming blast and, at the moment, a
man’s mouth just dropped open. No
one said anything — not to relatives, not
to strangers. It was as if a president had
died and once again where we were so
proud, we were just so sad.
Almost instantly, reporters and com
mentators on television were question
ing the worth of the program and
whether we always needed to send peo
ple into space. Other nations send ma
chines. Still others do nothing. Wasn’t
this some characteristic American silli
ness, one that has backfired? NASA
publicists had put Christa McAuliffe,
perky Christa McAuliffe, in each of our
families. Now, because of that, we would
mourn her all the more.
Up in a gallery, the voice of John F.
Kennedy recited his summons to the
moon. He spoke on a constantly-repeat
But while the commentators were
commenting and the reporters were
questioning, the revolving doors to the
museum kept turning. The people kept
coming as they do everyday. There is no
more popular museum in the world and
even on this tragic day the revolving
doors seemed to churn them in and out.
Most of them already knew the news,
some did not. But even those, once they
were told, went on with their tour. They
were drawn to this place because space
is where America has placed the banner
of manifest destiny. They moved quickly
to the rockets, the satellites, hardly
pausing at the original Wright Brothers
plane that hangs near the doorway. It is
space they want. It is space they will con
tinue to get.
guide, started his walk across the main
floor of the museum. Stephens is retired
Air Force, a space buff like so many of
the volunteers. Earlier, he had said to a
colleague, “I don’t feel like giving the
tour.” but now he was standing where
the tour begins, waiting. One by one the
people approached. A family from New
York. A man with a denim jacket. An
other family and another man until, fi
nally, there were about 20 of them.
At 12:59, Bob Stephens, a volunteer
Stephens spoke up. “Well, good af
ternoon, ladies, gentleman,” he said.
“Now I suppose that you all kno. I
tragedy. As far as we know thereJj
survivors.” He paused. “This ma
feel very somber, but I’ll do
can.” He scanned the faces'
him. “Any questions?” he askedP : ' T .’
Okay. Let’s walk out and lookatife
first machine-powered aircrafi
There was an appropriate pans
the tour resumed.
So will the space program.
Richard Cohen is a columnistlt
Washington Post Writers Group
The future of groundhogs depends on the weathef
ile a
Attni
In a controver
sial decision Sun
day, Punxatawney
Phil, the world’s
only official
weather forecast
ing rodent, pre
dicted an early
spring. The early
spring verdict has
been rendered
only seven times in
the last 99 years.
Some members
Loren Stefffy
of the oniooking
crowd were speechless, others even
questioned the decision of the world’s
shortest and most accurate weather wiz
ard.
Despite fierce competition from my
fellow reporters, I managed to get an
exclusive interview with Phil in his bur
row after the earth-shattering event.
Phil’s humble abode far exceeds the
wildest fantasies of most other ground
dwelling animals. Although it was a little
cramped for me, this underground cha
teau provides ample living space for
Phil. The burrow is electrically heated in
the winter and cooled by central air con
ditioning in the summer. An indoor
pool and jaccuzzi help Phil get through
the summer months when his meteoro
logical talents aren’t needed.
Phil fixed himself a dry martini and
put on some music — “Me and My
Shadow.” He sat back iii his recliner.
“So, whatcha wanna know?” he asked.
I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Here I
was sitting in the burrow of the leading
pioneer in the field of shadowseasono-
logy — the study of seasonal change
through the use of one’s shadow.
“Well,” I said, “why the decision of an
early spring? Usually you predict six
more weeks of winter.”
“I just go with what the shadow says.
If it ain’t there, it ain’t there.”
“I see. Well, that’s only happened
seven times in the last 99 years.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Phil re
plied. “I haven’t been at it that long. I
did give the early spring call in 1983,
though.”
“Well, your record so far has been in
fallible, you must have some secret.”
“Not really. It’s in my blood. I was al
ways good at foreseeing lows in baro
metric pressure and things like that.”
“So how did you get started in this
business?”
“I was just in the right place at the
right time. One day I was digging up
some juicy roots, and this farmer grabs
me and brings me here. Now I got this
nice place, no rent, free food, fans who
love me and a job that only takes up one
day a year.”
“Have you ever thought of moving
on?”
“I kicked it around for a while, but I
like it here. I turned down a job with the
National Weather Service, you know.
Predicting hurricanes just isn’t my style.
Seasonal changes are my specialty.”
“I noticed you looked pretty comfort
able in front of the cameras earlier, have
you ever thought about going into tele
vision?”
“Sure. I’m certainly qualified, but I
hate to wear ties. I keep tripping over
them.”
“The tradition of Groundhog Day. . .
“Woodchuck Day, please. ‘Ground
hog’ is such a derogatory term.”
“Sorry. Woodchuck Day got started
under more . . . natural conditions. Do
you feel all this modernization has af
fected your ability to accurately predict
the seasonal transition?”
“Nah. My predecessors had it rough,
but so did yours. You’ve come a long
way from transcribing everything by
hand. I don’t feel my modern comforts
hurt my work — they help it, just like
word processors have helped yours.”
“What do you see in the future for
ground . . . uh . . . woodchucks?”
“Well, I’m going to stay right here un
til it’s time to retire. I’ve got a nice pen
sion coming, and I plan to enjoy it.
“But I think times are changing for
woodchucks as a whole. People are start
ing to realize their forecasting abilities.
Many are getting snatched up by big
businesses that need accurate il
predictions in a hurry. Othersir^
ing their own companies. 1 ili
NWS soon will have some stiff I
tion.
“I think in the next 20 to;
you’ll see woodchucks reco^
worldwide as superior meteorol
T he possibilities will be tremendfl
course, some still will choosethes
life — digging up roots, gettings!
by farmers, chased by dogs — M
society has its throwbacks.”
“One final question, Phil, hod
wood would a wood chuck chiiii|
woodchuck could chuck wood?"
“Everyone always asks methatl
really don’t know the arwmTj
smart, he doesn’t chuck wood,hei
job like mine where he just has’l
out of a hole once a year and let
bounce off him.”
Loren Steffy is a junior journrittW
jor and the Opinion Page £#■
The Battalion.
Mail Call
Hit and run
EDITOR:
This letter is addressed to the person who hit my bi
cycle with their car Tuesday night and wrapped it
around a tree in the MSC parking lot. I am a 30-year-
old mother who has returned to college and am doing
my best to make ends meet.
Memorial Student Center this Wednesday. Our per
sonnel will be anxious to meet you, give you a schedule
and bumpersticker, and introduce you to the world of
public radio.
In the first article. Dr. Brad Johnson, the faculty
club subcommittee chairman, was quoted as saying
“The availability of alcoholic beverages is an impor
tant issue. Faculty members are old enough to decide
if they want a drink or not and should have a choice.”
It’s not easy but I didn’t expect it would be. My bicy
cle helped in some small way to make my life on cam
pus easier for me. Unfortunately it was damaged so
badly that there is no way to repair it. I am sure that
whoever hit it thought that it was no big deal, but the
least they could have done was exhibit the true spirit
of this school and offer to help.
KAMU-FM features jazz and classical music, but
there are also programs that regularly present reggae,
bluegrass, folk and contemporary Christian music.
And the news programs from National Public Radio
are without equal. So take a few moments and stop by
our table in the MSC, and “plug into the world” with
KAMU-FM 90.9.
These two articles have the making of a classic dou
ble-standard. Texas law states that if you are 21 you
are old enough to make the decision that Dr. Johnson
feels so strongly about — deciding to have a drink with
alcohol in it.
Larry Jackson
KAMU-FM 90.9
Anyway, I hope the guilty party reads this letter in
deed feels a little remorse for their action.
Classic double-standard
EDITOR:
If a club that serves alcohol to faculty members in
Rudder Tower is allowed, then the campus should not
be dry to students. A campus should be completely
dry or not dry at all.
Lisa A. Palmer
Civil Engineering ’88
Thanks for the reference
EDITOR:
Thank you for printing the letter from Brian Ster
ling in last Wednesday’s Battalion. KAMU-FM has no
advertising budget, and the reference to our NEW
AGE MUSIC program (Fridays at 7 p.m.) was great
publicity.
In Friday’s Battalion, there appeared two articles
concerning alcohol on campus. The first article, “Fa
culty Senate Seeking Place For Proposed Club” by
Mona L. Palmer, discussed a Faculty Senate subcom
mittee that was dealing with a proposed club in Rud
der Tower that would serve alcohol to members of the
faculty.
Speaking of publicity, we invite all University stu
dents and staff to stop by the KAMU-FM table in the
The second article, “Alcohol at A&M May Be On
the Rocks” by Sonia Lopez, reported about a “special
University committee” considering ideas to deal with
the new drinking law — and it said that some mem
bers of the committee are in favor of a dry campus (i.e.
no alcohol in dorms).
I can understand how it would be hard to ensure
that students under 21 will not drink if other dorm
residents are drinking drinking in front of them. A
possible solution that would appease the dipsomaniacs
of both faculty and student status would be to have
both a faculty club and an over 21 student club (per
haps Rumour’s) and prohibit alcohol in the dorms.
Stan Wysocki ’87
EDITOR’S NOTE: Under Texas a law, a person must
be 19 or older to drink. The drinking age will be
raised to 21 in September of this year.
Letters to the Editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The
editorial staff reserves the right to edit letters for style and length
but will make every effort to maintain the author's intent. Each let
ter must be signed and must include the address and telephone
number of the writer.
-i
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r
Vi
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