Page 2/The Battalion/Thursday, August 5 1987
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I’ll buy American
“I see you don’t
support America,”
the old man said.
“Do what?” I
replied. I didn’t
understand the
reason for the old
man’s question. He
didn’t look like the
type that read my
stuff in The
Battalion. 1 wasn’t
wearing my Soviet
Union T-shirt. I
didn’t think I was doing anything that could
be viewed as anti-American. I was just
standing in line at a store, waiting to buy
some blank videotapes.
“Did you happen to see that special they
got on Scotch brand videotape?” he asked.
“It’s just as good as that stuff you’ve got
there. You get three tapes for $13.98, and
it’s made by Americans.”
I did see the special the store was running
on Scotch videotape, but I also saw the
special on Polaroid videotape. It’s just as
good as Scotch, and you get five tapes for
$18.88 and a coupon for a $5 mail-in rebate.
Who cares if it’s made by Koreans?
It’s a strange form of patriotism that
requires one to pay a higher price for the
same, or sometimes inferior, product. If the
Koreans, Japanese, Germans or Martians
are able to make a good product for a good
cost, it’s foolish from a consumer’s
standpoint to spend more. That’s business.
My VCR, stereo, camera, keyboard and
acoustic guitar were made in Japan. My car
and electric guitar were made in America.
My television was made by an American
company that just sold out to a Japanese
company. One of my favorite writers, Yukio
Mishima, and one of my favorite directors,
Akira Kurosawa, were made in Japan. I
enjoy drinking Japenese rice wine and saki.
I usually don’t care where a product is
i I’m from Washington,
i but I’m no yankee
l
It usually
happens like this: -
“Can you guys G I Cl T k
tell me where I
can get a quart of IvIlMOr
oil?” I ask, Guest Columnist
innocently. But I
carelessly
pronounce the word oil as “oy-ul”, like
most civilized people.
“Whar ya from, boy,” growls a
friendly native Texan, his highly
trained ear detecting my verbal
indescretion.
The “Native Texan” sticker on his
windshield verifies his state of origin. I
guess the sticker is issued along with
your birth certificate.
“Washington,” I answer confidently.
“Washington D.C.?” The native
Texan agressivly asks.
“The state. Washington state. State of
Washington. You know - Mount St.
Helens, apples, the Space Needle -
you’ve seen pictures,” I reply cheerfully.
To be honest, I’m a little tired of our
nation’s capital shamelessly using the
moniker of my home state. Our nation’s
capital is Washington with a D.C., and
the state is Washington, period. I mean
no other state is obligated to include the
word “state” in its title. You never hear,
“Hi, I’m Debbi from the state of
Florida,” or “Pleased to meet you, I’m
from Iowa - Iowa state.”
Washington the state is Washington,
and Washington D.C. is Washington
D.C.
Anyway, at this point the native
Texan mumbles something about
“damn Yankee” and then drives off into
the sunset in his trusty pick-up.
Now, I don’t mind being called a
Yankee. In fact, I know several and
some are even allowed to operate simple
appliances and take meals at the table.
But I do feel a little embarrassed for
pedigreed Texans who show their
ignorance by referring to me as a
Yankee.
A short lesson in history and
geography should shed some light on
this confusion.
Y’all listen up.
First the history.
Washington, our nation’s 42nd state,
was admitted to the Union in 1889.
Only 98 years ago.
The U.S. Civil War, contrary to what
you may have been told, ended April 9,
1865, with a Union victory, 122 years
ago — 24 years before Washington even
became a state.
What kind of people settled
Washington? European immigrants
who came as farmers and loggers, and
families from places like Kentucky,
Missouri and Texas (yes, some people
actually leave the Lone-Star state) who
came for the same reasons.
My ancestors moved west from
Tennessee, hardly a haven for Yankees.
In 1972 The U.S. Surgeon General
warned that calling a native of
Tennessee a Yankee may increase the
likelihood of being hit along side the
head with a pool cue.
I think even native Texans can follow
the lesson so far. (I realize I’m assuming
a lot.)
Now a brush-up course in geography.
When someone is called a Yankee, it’s
because he or she lives above the famed
Mason-Dixon Line, the extended
imaginary line that separates the North
and the South and the states of
Pennsylvania and Maryland.
Washington is north of the Line.
But, hey dudes! Surfs up in Los
Angeles and San Diego, both which are
south of the Line. So are the genteel
southern cities of Baltimore, Md,
Dayton, Ohio, and San Francisco, Calif.
So is (gasp) Atlantic City, N.J. New
Jersey? Look it up.
However, an imaginary line means
nothing to a state that wasn’t even a
twinkle in the eyes of the U.S. Congress
during the Civil War, when the Mason-
Dixon Line became such a big deal.
So the Mason-Dixon Line, which
seems to mean a lot more for the people
who live south of it, has no relevance to
the residents of Washington.
Some of you will say that the Mason-
Dixon Line is meaningless anyway,
because any place north of the Dallas is
Yankeeland. People in Kentucky,
Tenesee, and North and South Carolina
might find this somewhat of a surprise.
Since this claim borders on the asinine,
it warrents no further discussion.
Like I said, I don’t mind being called
a Yankee. Yankees, generally referring
to the inhabitants of the Northeastern
United States, gave their lives fighting
for the establishment of the good of
U.S. of A.
They also died fighting the
Confederate Army, believing in their
cause as much as the Confederate
soldiers believed in theirs.
Being a Yankee is nothing to be
ashamed of, but when erroneously used
to derogatorily describe someone like
myself, who, unfortunatly, has not been
east of the Mississippi River, is slightly
offensive.
I’ll make you a deal.
Don’t show your ignorance by calling
me a Yankee, and I’ll forget that parts
of New Jersey are south of the Mason-
Dixon. Sounds fair to me.
Clark Miller is a senior journalism
major and a guest columnist for The
Battalion.
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
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Opinion
when it’s worth my whil
made as long as it’s better and/or cheaper
than another product. Although I would
rather have an American-made Martin
acoustic guitar, I had to settle for a Japanese-
made Sigma acoustic guitar because of the
price. Since Sigma is the Japanese division of
Martin, I got a good guitar for a good price.
The Japanese have been making some pretty
good acoustic guitars and even Bruce “Born
in the U.S.A.” Springsteen uses a Takamine
acoustic guitar in concert. But no matter
how hard they try, the Japanese have yet to
make an electic guitar that plays as well as
my American-made Fender Stratocaster.
Instead of making guitars that can compare
to those made in America by Fender or
Gibson, the Japanese make a lot of cheap,
dumb-looking guitars that teenaged head
bangers love.
There are no American-made cameras or
keyboards that can compare to those made
in Japan. There are no American-made cars,
VCRs or stereos that can compare to the
quality of those made in Japan at the same
price. If the Japanese can’t do it better, they
do it cheaper.
The Japanese have been taking a lot of
flack for their industriousness. The
government has placed high tariffs on
imported goods and has been trying other
methods to decrease the trade deficit. Some
Americans have developed attitudes like that
of the old man I met in the store and those
who put “Buy American” bumper stickers
on their pick-up trucks.
Some Americans are losing their jobs
because some companies can’t compete with
the Japanese. But you can’t blame the
Japanese. They’rejust trying to make
money. Just like we Americans.
There are several problems with the
American corporate system. Most
corporations have no respect for their
employees and would gladly return to the
days of slavery. Why don’t more
corporations understand that their workers
will produce more if they are treated like
individuals instead of machines? Thep
between the factory owner and theco®
worker is broader than the gapbetwen
Medieval king and peasant. Thatdoesi
build a good working relationship.
Another problem is labor unions
are necessary to protect the workersfi
the corporation but have lost sight of
goals. So many labor unions arenowi
men who use the union as a tooltoincn
their own wealth instead of protecting
welfare of the workers. The unionsarei
powerful and that power is easily abuse:
evil men. The last president of the
Teamsters Union that didn’t end upin;
was Jimmy Hoffa. Who knows whereht
ended up? i
Instead of blaming the Japanese for|;
problems, America needs to adapt and
improve its business practices. I’llstan
buying American once the American's®
it worth my while.
Karl Pallmeyer is a journalism gradm:
and a columnist for The Battalion.
TOTCf^C-W
It sounds like a wrong numbi
roll
he
trol
Before you go out
and spend a lot of
money to have a
telephone installed
in your car, ask
yourself, do I really
want to do this?
It occurred to me
recently to have a
telephone put into
my car, mainly
because a lot of my
friends were doing
so, but then I rememberedjust how much of
a nuisance a telephone can be.
It’s bad enough having one in your
bedroom, which means that no matter how
much you need a good night’s sleep,
somebody can awaken you with a telephone
call at any hour.
There’s some dentist, who apparently
once had the telephone number I have now.
I got numerous calls each day, some as late
as midnight, asking for him.
I am forced to explain to each caller that
Lewis
Grlzzard
they are speaking to somebody who wouldn’t
know a molar if one bit him.
I’ve decided it’s mainly ego that makes
people do stupid things like having a
telephone in their car.
If I have a phone in my car, then it must
mean I think I am so important I can’t drive
to the convenience store and pick up a six-
pack without being out of touch.
A lot of men probably put phones in their
cars to impress girls. In the old days, we
hung foam-rubber dice from our rear-view
mirror to impress girls.
The fact is, the automobile is the setting
for many a romantic interlude and who
wants to be at the height of passion and get a
call from his mother wanting to know if he’s
wearing clean underwear.
There’s also a safety factor involved here.
We have campaigned urgently to get the
drunken driver off the roads.
But what about some mover-and-shaker
cutting a million-dollar business deal on his
car phone at 70 miles per hour?
I see enough people driving while doing
“seated” dancing to their favorite songs:
the radio, applying various cosmetics,
searching madly for a cigarette that hasp
fallen between their legs, gazing open-
mouthed at everything other than the®
and trying to steer with one hand while
dialing their bookie with the other.
I look at it this way. If I’m in my car U
really need to get in touch with someboe
phone, it’s not that much trouble to pul:
a service station and use the old reliable
immobile phone.
The problem with any status symbol!
as a car telephone is that it won’t last.
Somebody will always be able to goyoui
better.
Samuel Goldwyn, the eccentric
Hollywood producer, had a bitter rival*:
had a phone installed in his limousine.
Not to be outdone, Goldwyn had one
installed in his limousine, and his first®
was to his rival, who answered inthebadl
seat and, upon hearing who was calling*
“Hold it a minute, Sam, I’ve gotacalloi
other line.”
Copyright 1987, Cowles Syndicate