Page 2/Thursday, October 29, 1986/The Battalion
Opinion
Despite painful memories mowing now not badcs
I mowed the
lawn the other day.
It was the first time
in about four years
that I got behind a
mower and
pushed it through
grass the size of
overgrown mun-
chkins. The funny
thing is that I real
ly had a good time.
When I was
Karl
Pallmeyer
growing up in Matador, I used to want to
help my brother with the mowing. My
brother never appreciated my help,
usually because it would take twice as
long to get the job done. I wanted to play
with the dogs in the freshly cut grass and
kept getting in the way. He sometimes
would let me push the mower with him,
but when I got a little older I discovered
how heavy that machine was without my
brother’s touch. When I was old enough,
I was stuck with the mowing all by my
self.
The yard at our home in Matador was
HUGE. It usually took three full days to
complete the task. The fact that the
mower broke down every 10 minutes
didn’t help. I woidd have to get my
brother to fix the mower so that I could
complete my duties.
Despite prayers to the great Briggs
and Stratton god, my brother always
managed to get the damn thing running
again. I always was grateful for the slight
reprive from mowing that the mechanic
al breakdown provided, but I never en
joyed my brother’s remarks concerning
my obvious lack of manhood because I
couldn’t put a carburetor back together.
Some kids, namely my brother, are
born with great mechanical ability, but I
was not. Older brothers rarely are sym
pathetic when it comes to a younger
brother’s inability to get a motor started.
When we moved to Meridian, the yard
wasn’t much better. Unfortunately the
yard at our Meridian home was just as
big as the other one, and even worse, this
yard had trees. It’s bad enough when you
have to mow in a straight line but when
you have to work around trees you spend
twice as much time on the job.
While Matador was in the Panhandle
and rarely got rain during the summer
months, Meridian usually received lots
of rain. I always seemed to finish the
front yard before a week-long rain storm
hit. By the time things dried up enough
to continue mowing and finish the back
yard, the front needed cutting again. I
felt like I had been condemned to
Dante’s “Inferno” and my punishment
was to mow for eternity.
When we moved to Meridian, the old
Briggs and Stratton, along with all of its
problems went with us. By this time my
brother had grown up and moved away
so I had to find someone else to fix the
mower. That someone else was my dad.
It was awful. I would try in vain for
hours to get the mower started, but it
would never work. My dad would give
the cord one pull and the mower would
purr to life, eager to destroy any grass
that lay in its path. After a couple of
hours of mowing, the machine would
sputter and die. Once again I pull and
pull and pull to no avail. My dad would
come out, give the cord a single pull and
once again the mower jumped into ac
tion. I am convinced that a special fea-
The “Father Switch” will keep the
mower from starting if it’s in the “off”
position. Only fathers know the location
of the “Father Switch” so that sons will be
forced to ask their dads for help and
dads have something that makes them
feel superior to their sons. The Briggs
and Stratton secret instruction book
must have a whole chapter on the
“Father Switch” that includes sly re
marks to make to your son once you start
the mower he has been fighting for the
past 10 years of his life.
On more occasions than I would care
to remember, the mower’s problems
could not be solved by the “Father
Switch.” Sometimes the mower had to be
taken apart, and that led to a wonderful
father-son get together over parts and
tools and grease and sweat.
After a few dozen frustrated hours of
mower repair, my father began to sus
pect that I had sabotaged the mower in
an attempt to free myself from my
duties. Little did he realize that I would
gladly mow a dozen lawns, trees and all,
than incur his wrath.
Jjou'RG UNDER ARREST.'
©
A movie without popcorn
like a teen-ager without zits
NEW YORK —
This is incredible.
Here I am in the
entertainment
capital of the
world, and 1 go
into a movie thea
ter on Broadway,
the entertainment
street of the world,
and I can’t buy
popcorn.
Lewis
Grizzard
There was popcorn in the movie thea
ter. There just was nobody behind the
counter to sell it.
“I would like to speak to the mana
ger,” I said to the man who had taken my
ticket. “There’s nobody to sell the pop
corn.”
“The manager’s not here,” said the
man, “but I can tell you why there’s no
body to sell the popcorn. The popcorn
girl didn’t show up for work.”
“What’s the problem with her?” I
asked. “She has a new zit?” (Ever notice
that all kids who work for movie theaters
have terrible acne?)
“No,” the ticket-taker replied, “her
boyfriend, Julio, lost his earring in a
gangfight and she’s helping him look for
it.”
“Why don’t you sell me some pop
corn?” I asked.
“No way,” he answered. “The union
won’t let me.”
I’m dying for a bag of popcorn and I
have to run into Samuel Gompers.
The reason I go to movies in the first
place is for the popcorn. A movie with
out popcorn is like a punkhead without
an earring.
I always buy the largest container of
popcorn available, so if the movie is long
and boring, like Amadeus, I still have a
good time eating all that popcorn.
I’m also stingy with my popcorn. If I
take a date to the movie, I always ask her
politely, “Will you have some popcorn?”
Most women answer that by saying,
“No, I’ll just have some of yours.”
I never fall for that. Nobody can eat
just a little popcorn, so when a woman
doesn’t have her own she starts eating
yours, and pretty soon, it’s all gone.
I say, “Listen, you can have as much or
as little popcorn as you want, but you
must carry it to your seat in your own
personal container. Try to get some of
mine, and you’ll draw back a nub.”
I rarely have a second date with a
woman I take to a movie, but a man must
have his priorities in order.
The movie I saw sans popcorn was
Rob Reiner’s “Stand by Me.”
It’s about four 12-year-olds who go
looking for a dead body and nearly get
eaten by a junkyard dog, run over by a
train, drained dry of their blood by
leeches and sliced by bullies’ switch
blades. It’s a comedy.
The Battalion
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Cathie Anderson, Editor
Kirsten Dietz, Managing Editor
Loren Steffy, Opinion Page Editor
Frank Smith, City Editor
Sue Krenek, News Editor
Ken Sury, Sports Editor
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iryan-College Sta-
ated as a community service to Texas A&M ;
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Vavertising rates furnished
But that’s about all I remember. I was
too busy thinking about popcorn to pay
much attention to the movie.
As I was leaving the theater, the pop
corn girl finally was showing up for work
with Julio and his relocated earring in
tow.
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“You’re both a disgrace to the good
name of Orville Redenbacher,” I said,
wishing on both the dreaded curse of
large, red zits on the ends of their noses.
Harsh perhaps, but popcorn is my life.
When I moved off to college I finally
was reprived of the mowing sentence I
had received when I got old enough to
take over for my brother. The main
reason I have gone to summer school for
four years is so I wouldn’t be home long
enough to have to struggle with the old
Briggs and Stratton. (Ironically, the old
Briggs and Stratton became the new
Briggs and Stratton when my dad began
to start mowing.)
1 spent my college career living in
dorms and apartments without yards —
until I found a house to rent. Now 1 have
a yard, even though it is a small one.
At the first of the summer, when my
roommates and I moved into the house,
we tried to split up all of the tasks equally.
Needless to say I didn’t volunteer for the
mowing privileges. Until the other day.
The lawn had grown to the point
where the neighbor kids begat jk
appear and small bones wereik||
in the driveway. My roommate
tr
busy with work and school,atj
By
he c
afternoon with a little free time,I,
ed up the mower, a Bri
supplied by our landlord.and,*
it. 1 he mower started on the
and didn’t stop until 1 waifir^HT
After about an hour I wasdiJ^p^,,
sweat, grass and bugs. As I .'[.Jh the
beer and looked out overtheylg^mg 1;
feeling of accomplishment
Philip
and t
strange, but I actuallyenjom,.—.
1 hope my dad doesn't read L?!
migh. g.-i iIk' wrung idea *'
ga\
proii' uni
Kml Pallmeyer is a senior h,
major and a columnist forlkpi 1
lion.
Mail Call
jb a love
without z
his outgc
courtroo
ness, hov
lion.
New prescription for South Africa
r “You i
natme.a
says
“Bu
Copyright 1986, Cowles Syndicate
EDITOR:
The American people are such hypocrites. At home, wededa
morality cannot be legislated. We resent those whom we perceivetob
to impose their morality on ns. Yet in our foreign policy, wen
ourselves to be crusaders commissioned to impose our moralitvoi
nations who do not behave as we do.
Our government was founded to secure the blessings of lib
ourselves and our posterity. We elect and pay public officials toproti
general welfare of our country, not to chasten other sovereign nan
their supposed misdeeds. Governing our country is a full-time job;
and it cannot he done properly if we are distracted with moralg
against foreigners.
We deceive ourselves if we think we can force other nationstodo
right. We may have temporary, superficial success, hut lasdnt.e
change is possible only when the erring nations themselveschooseto
their ways. Though you may l>e able to compel me as an individual!;
your moral standard, unless 1 choose your standard myself, 1 wilii
rebel against your imposed will.
Do we truly desire to see South Africa healed of the disease thaiaf
We treat the sic k with care, giving them foods to nourish theirb;>:
drugs to attack their sickness. South Africa has an ideological &
body politic must be nourished w ith right ideas, and the diseasedc
infecting it must be refuted and driven out. Promoting truthbvon
and example will do much to effect this cure. Force, however *
applied through economic sanctions or military interventiotyistk
perscription for the healing of South Africa.
by the la*
and mix
(fairness i
treat pen
treated-
be.
| “I feel
j come to
: it’s impoi
WASH I
that Deal ‘
ladln’s hi
dump nan
pttle-noti(
Ben. 1.1"''
Benlse
menu he;
mg W'atei
June, iml
federal agi
progi ams
tionrof \\ a
This \\(
dksiie m I
ihe Oy.ill.
Brian Arthur Frederick ’87
Meaning behind the words
EDITOR:
Let us consider for a moment the underlying philosophial
behind the phrase “Highway 6 runs Ixuli wavs." Being a non-T(
not understand the true concept that the statement espouses,btni
mean, rather than trv to change (lungs at I exas A&M. eveniffortlt^
leave it you don’t like them.
Coming from a large (lilseral) midwestern university, whosevw
lies in the cultivation of original thought, this attitude strikesmes
best, and at worst, self-destructive. Those few who are trulyconctrat
the continued intellectual growth of this institution mustaccepiasu
the idea that constructive criticism can only benefit. If we allow tins
become so incestuized by the vocal few who promote this absurdn*
it is governed by one mindless, self-propogating force, then we alb
in our struggle for its betterment.
Conflicting ideas and the ability (and right) to state them pub
elements on which the foundation of this nation rests. Mymessaf
who adhere to this position is to think about what is truly thebesiapp
take to heighten the stature of this University. If the conclusion bill
quo is the ultimate that it can achieve, then Highway 6 actually®
only one direction — down.
Alan D. Propp
'Good Ags' from 'bod Ags'
EDITOR:
I had a friend drive down for the
our extraordinary football games, yc
environment here at A&M. which is
we returned to his car the windshield
but not nearly so much as 1 was <
apologize for the behavior of a few
incidents this football season. Are we
with babysitters to protect visitors’ v
The presence of a few out-numbe
encourages the Aggie crowd to chee
the unity of the school. Is our pride 1
traditions fade till they disappear?
campus? God forbid. Let’s leave this
fine.
Baylor game who hadhearii
•11 practices and, above all,tlx
not offered at many school*
was shattered, i was quiteeu
lisappointed. i could do
had Ags. This is not the fin
going to have to provideapaii
chicles from destruction
red spectators at our yellp®- 1 ]
r on its fighting team andk
>eiug threatened to causetto'
Are we going to becomejifl
for the U1 students,tlieyre*
A*
Mercedes Salinas ’89
Who turns out the lights?
EDITOR:
I want to express my sincere appreciation to the persbnorf
charge of the lights overlooking Kyle Field. They single-hand^
what well may be the most popular tradition at the world’sgre#
sity!
For those of us who are fortunate enough to be hand-in-P
lady of our choice, those in charge of the lights make midnight'?
truly enjoyable experience.
I doubt that the light operators are given the credit ortherfeofj
deserve, so on behalf of the A&M student body, thank you a#
THE GOOD WORK!
Ray McMillan ’87
Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The editorialsiaifKH
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Eac h letter must he signed and must include the classification, addressandltlep^
the writer.