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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (July 17, 1987)
Page 2/The Battalion/Friday, July 17, 1987 Opinion Deny Clements spending power Gov. Bill Clements and the state’s top two legislative leaders op I hammered out a fragile agreement Wednesday on a budget for the 1988-89 biennium. But if Clements has his way, that agreement could be changed even after the Legislature has adjourned. Lost in most of Thursday’s headlines was a promise by Clem ents to call a third special session if the Legislature did not grant the governor more power over state spending. Although voters in 1985 approved a constitutional amend ment to give such power to the governor in a fiscal crisis, or to a panel of officials including the governor, legislators have yet to pass a law allowing it. In his quest for more power, Clements has decided to black mail the Legislature into passing the law. With the tenuous state of the Texas economy, chances are good the state will face another fiscal crisis in the next two years, giving Clements an opportunity to back out on the compromise he forged with Lt. Gov. Bill Hobby and House Speaker Gib Le wis. The governor already has shown his hostility toward educa tion by requiring a cut in state aid to primary and secondary schools before he would agree to the compromise. Increased funding to higher education, desperately needed if Texas col leges and universities are to remain competitive, would have been slashed if Hobby had not insisted that it remain. If legis lators give Clements trie added power over spending, there’s no doubt that education will be the first area hit in the event of a “fiscal crisis.” If education in Texas is to proceed on a progressive path, and if the budget compromise is to remain intact, the Legis lature must resist Clement’s threat and deny him the power to freely exercise his often questionable judgment over state spend ing. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the announcement you have been waiting for. I am — are you ready? — forming a committee to study the possibility that I may, someday and somehow, run for . . . er, President. I am contemplating the and notices that you have exceeded your credit limit. Visa would be Visa, and that would be it. Richard Cohen formation of such a committee for the following reason: I propose that all of us — the rich and the poor, Republican and Democrat, of whatever sexual orientation — be given a single account number for all our credit cards and other bills. I would make this a law. In addition, any bill from a group health practice would have to state in capital letters who the check should be made out to. (Feinblum, Smith, Golden, Arrowsmith & Newman simply will not fit on a check.) The Cohen administration (aaah) has other plans as well. It would forbid any elevator to have a button for the lobby that did not say “L.” No “G” or “1” (sometimes the basement) or “LL,” which I think must stand for lobby-lobby. Also, people who run red lights would be shot, litterers would be jailed, and bicyclists who ride on the sidewalk would be stoned to death. Under the Cohen administration (merely to write those words gives me a thrill), no one would ever again have to study a bill with a diamond-cutter’s intensity to find an account number to write in the lower left- hand corner of a check. There would be no account number, such as the one I have with a bank that was silly enough to grant me credit, that has seven zeroes in the middle of the number and that, every month, I have to count out to write on the check. I am afraid that if I am wrong by one zero, my payment will wind up in Ollie North’s Swiss bank account and go to underwrite a dinner for Los Freedom Fighters in a Miami restaurant. The Cohen administration would see to it that every bill payer has the same account number for American Express, Visa, Choice, MasterCard and even the gas company. Moreover, it would be against the law for any company to add a prefix to your account number, leaving you unsure of just what your real account number is and unaware that you have made a mistake until you try to write the number in the little boxes on the envelope and see that there are too few boxes for the number that is already on the check sealed inside. A stiffjail sentence would be given to people who play car radios too loudly, to drivers who perch their kids on their laps, to TV weathermen who call rain “precipitation,” to newscasters who say accident victims were “victimized,” to flight attendants who tell you to remain seated until the plane comes to a “full stop” (what other kind of stop is there?), and to people whose cars carry “Baby on Board” signs (I am never sure what I am expected to do about it). It would be forbidden to say “Have a good day” (to which my wife-always says, “Thanks, I have other plans”), and no bellhop, on pain of death, would be allowed to show you how your hotel TV set works. And any restaurant that puts quotes around such phrases as “Today’s Special” would be closed for a week. Moreover, the Cohen administration would insist that all checks be made out to the name of the company on the credit card. Thus, checks to Visa would be made out to “Visa” and not, as in my case, “UV Bak,” whatever the hell that is. As it is now, I have to pause before writing a check to see what fool name the company has come up with. Usually, the information is found in very tiny print somewhere in a maze of disclosures, indecipherable interest rates But it is by emancipating the average American bill-payer that the Cohen administration will leave its mark. Return envelopes that are too small for the “top portion” would be strictly forbidden, as would envelopes with little windows that reveal your name and not the company to which you are sending your payment, a fact you discover only after sealing the envelope. (You don’t know how many times I’ve mailed the payment to myself.) Also forbidden would be the several pounds of special offers and newsletters that fall out when you open the bill. While I’m at it, I would also ban subscription cards that fall out of magazines. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my platform. It is direct and to the point. I am about to form a political-action committee to accept donations. Send your checks to me and make them out to RCPAC. I’ll send your permenant account number by return mail. Copyright 1987, Washington Post Writers Group The Battalion (USPS 045 360) Member of Texas Press Association Southwest Journalism Conference The Battalion Editorial Board Sondra Pickard, Editor Jerry Oslin, Opinion Page Editor Rodney Rather, City Editor John Jarvis, Robbyn L. Lister, News Editors Homer Jacobs, Sports Editor Tracy Staton, Photo Editor Editorial Policy The Battalion is a non-profit, self-supporting newspaper operated as a community service to Texas A&M and Bryan- College Station. Opinions expressed in The Battalion are those of the edito rial board or the author, and do not necessarily represent the opinions of Texas A&M administrators, faculty or the Board of Regents. The Battalion also serves as a laboratory newspaper for stu dents in reporting, editing and photography classes within the Department of Journalism. The Battalion is published Monday through Friday during Texas A&M regular semesters, except for holiday and exami nation periods. Mail subscriptions are $17.44 per semester, $34.62 per school year and $36.44 per full year. Advertising rates fur nished on request. Our address: The Battalion, 216 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843-4111. Second class postage paid at College Station, TX 77843. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to The Battalion, 216 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, College Station TX 77843-4111. Pilots can’t afford to make mistakes Thunderous engines drown out all other sounds. Although you’re strapped tightly to it, you sit almost comfortably in an upright seat which will, if need be, serve as a “flotation device’’ — or at least that’s Sondra Pickard Bill-payer emancipation is just a vote away what the grim black print on the next seat reads. Smiling stewardesses have vanished — they, too, are buckled in for the count. Just overhead, a small, rectangular light glows, silently urging you not to unhook your seatbelt or smoke a cigarette until the business at hand is complete. A white paper bag resembling a lunch sack lingers among the frequent flyer magazines stashed in front of you, but instructions aren’t needed as to its use. You pretend to be reading one of those magazines or listening to the radio you brought along, as are other passengers. But just beneath the calm expression is a rumbling tension awaiting the slightest unfamiliar movement or noise, in which case heads quietly jerk up and helpless eyes dart around the compartment, wondering, questioning. Outside, double-paned windows, palm trees, terminals and airport employees slowly glide by as the wheels beneath you roll forward, seeming much too weak for the load they bear. Upon reaching the designated runway, even more sound is muffled by engines preparing for takeoff. These engines don’t work alone, but are instead directed by the proud, but very human few who now reside in the cockpit. They alone control. They alone will determine whether that hidden tension inside will result in composure or panic. Far-fetched as it may sound, your life is at their fingertips. The wheels turn faster and the pressure against your body rapidly increases until it becomes difficult to lift your head from its headrest. There’s no mistaking that split second when sheer momentum causes you to stop rolling on Earth and start floating above it. It’s wonderful and at the same time frightening. There’s nothing else like it. This particular runway is unique, for only three things lie beyond it: sand, water and more water. Within seconds, you realize that, besides rising above the ground, you’ve left it altogether. Looming 1,500 feet below is nothing but the cold Pacific Ocean. h Then, just as ears become accustomed to the roaring engines, and strain begins subsiding into calm, it happens: the engines stop. All is quiet, but nothing is right. The force exerted firmly against you just seconds before has suddenly been replaced by a biting nausea as the nose of the huge craft lurches downward, with you trapped inside. Bordering on panic, erratic thoughts crowd your mind. Thoughts of home, thoughts of family, thoughts of the cushion you’re perched upon — does it really float? Why now? Why me? An unsure voice from the intercom above warns, “Prepare for a crash.” With one last glance out the window and another around the compartment, you throw your head down between your knees, bracing yourself, knowing it’s next to impossible to come out of this alive. Within 600 feet of impact, a familiar sound bursts above the hysteria. The sound is immediately accompanied by a sudden, powerful lift. The engines are back on. The craft levels out. You’rt: going lo die — not now. 1 can only imagine what someont< this particular commercial airlinelll experienced. I care only to imagim, I’ve been through part of it manyt® before — up until the part whemli? engines quit. Unfortunately, a plant!; of people had to go through it this summer. 9L . On June 30, a Delta Air Linespil; jyl mistakenly cut off fuel to both engir : of a Boeing 767, shortly after takeo:! from Los Angeles International Airport. The plane glided from 1,51 feet to within 600 feet of the ocean W before the engines could be restarts door It was a mistake, but in thiscaseal t0 a many like it, it was an inexcusableac* their potentially disasterous one. Thepit Al apparently thought he was turningc every an automated flight control system a<ce l slip of the hand that could have bee: ‘ et ^ ( and should be, his last. teach Whether or not it will do anygoot|icap| the Federal Aviation Administrado: Rr announced Wednesday it will B‘ n g investigate the training practicesat s f nt Delta. The FAA’s decision todoso stems from other incidents besidesi one in Los Angeles. These include!] pilots taking off on the wrong ends: runways, landing on the wrong runways, landing at the wrongairpe and flying within 100 feet of other airplanes. But the specific airline is reallyr important. Delta, Continental, American — it’s probably happened t j le *<. the best of theii pilots. It shouldn't!: Qiilc the Delta incidents and in all othercii the r them, a Finger can be pointed. Some: Lhil< was at fault. That s< uneone shouldc cou * < be a pilot — too many lives depend:: Sondra Pickard is a senior joumli: ' major and editor ofThe Battalion. Drunk driving lows lax on habitual offenders Five years and $500. . . xhats the Robbyn L. sentence State District Judge Carroll E. Wilborn Jr. handed a 60- year-old man on Lister Guest Columnist Monday for his crime against society. That seems like a reasonable sentence until the facts surrounding the man’s case are disclosed. Samuel LaRoy Hargrave, of Anahuac, pleaded no contest to a charge of felony driving while intoxicated. But this wasn’t the first time Hargrave had gotten into his car and driven away under the influence of alcohol. Hargrave has been convicted 18 other times for drunken driving. Four of those convictions were handed down in Wilborn’s court. And last week, State District Judge W.G. Woods Jr. gave Hargrave the same 5-year, $500 sentence for driving while intoxicated on Feb. 10, 13 days after the crash that brought him into Wilborn’s court. Hargrave’s 18 convictions don’t seem to have convinced him to change his ways, and taking away his driver’s license didn’t do any good. Hargrave, by his own admission, has been driving without a valid license since 1966. In fact, Hargrave now is serving a six- month sentence because his probation was revoked for driving without a license or liability insurance. But not even his five-year prison sentence can possibly make up for the tragic aftermath Hargrave left in his drunken wake one morning in January. At 9 a.m. on Jan. 28, a station wagon stalled on Interstate 10 in the middle of Lost River Bridge. Shrouded in fog, the car triggered a chain reaction of crashes. Af ter lhe 25 cars involved in the accident were untangled, five members of a Rockport family were dead, and six others were injured. Troopers from the Texas Department of Public Safety said Hargrave was the driver of the station wagon. A blood sample was taken, showing Hargrave had 11 percent alcohol in his bloodstream. A person is considered intoxicated in Texas if the blood-alcohol content registers at 10 percent. The people who lived to climb out of the pileup now must live with the pain and anger they feel against Hargrave, his drinking and the justice system that let him get away. Hargrave rewarded the system by f inally managing toki! someone with his reckless disregard: others’ lives. Although the laws against drunk: driving are getting tougher, mainlyB to lobbying ef forts by Mothers Agair Drunk Driving and the public outen against drivers like Hargrave, harsh® penalties must be drafted to keeptk killers off the streets. The laws that now exist serve onl) : handcuff the judges who would like|| see justice carried out in the sentenct given to drunken drivers who kill through their actions. One of the worst facets of the cast that because Hargrave could not be convicted as a repeat or habitual offender, Wilborn’s hands weretied the sentencing process. “You have been convicted moretif; r than I can count of felony offenses. Wilborn said as he sentenced Hargr; “But for the peculiar quirk that does allow you to be indicted as a repeat!' or habitual felon, the maximum punishment this court can allow is fi years in TDC.” Five years for Five lives. A fair trade. Robbyn L. Lister is a senior jour major and news editor for The Battalion. sia an de pr th. mi sal Jai ch lat co: sta T1 W. jui M; eo m; de P 1; lai na an fo tic Al dt in; th^ W br mi ex so id' of ba pr of