Page 2/The Battalion/Friday, August 7, 1987
Monogamy is the best medicine
A young man came into The Battalion newsroom last week
to express his concern over a problem at Texas A&M. “John”
said he and his partner had just tested negative for the AIDS vi
rus, but he still was worried because few, if any, of the homosex
uals he knew had submitted to testing. It takes a lot of courage to
admit your homosexuality to someone at a school not known for
its tolerance. It takes even more courage for that same person to
then criticize the gay community for its irresponsibility.
But John didn’t come forward because he wanted to be
praised. He came forward because he felt that his story might
persuade somebody to seek testing — that he might save some
body’s life.
It was also this sense of decency that moved him to warn of
the threat to the heterosexual community at A&M. John said he
knew of homosexuals in the Corps, in fraternities, in sororities
and in University politics. Most homosexuals at A&M are unrec
ognizable because they don’t fit the limp-wristed stereotype, he
said. John also said many of these same people were “danger
ous” because they date the opposite sex as a “cover” or because
they are confused about their sexualty.
Certainly John was not trying to start a new wave of homo
phobia at A&M. He was just trying to warn “straight people” at
A&M that they also are at risk.
But, unfortunately, as more heterosexuals become infected
with the AIDS virus, the gay community will be blamed. Respon
sible people like John will be forgotten while irresponsible ones
like Jimmie Glenn Etheridge will be held up as the standard in
the gay community. Etheridge is believed to have infected as
many as 54 teen-age boys in six states and Mexico with the virus.
If homosexuals are to try and avoid a new wave of homo
phobia, then they, as individuals, should consent to testing.
If people in general are to lead a normal life, then they had
better make sure of the partners they’re sleeping with. To put it
another way, monogamy is the best medicine.
— The Battalion Editorial Board
Putting on the dog
Lewis
Grizzard
Catfish, the
black lab, trotted
over to me in
tears, his tail
between his legs.
“What’s the
matter?” I asked.
“You don’t
love me,” he
sobbed.
“Of course, I
love you,” I said. “You’re my best
friend, and you’re always glad to see
me when I come home, and you
don’t care where I’ve been nor what
I’ve been doing. Three wives were
never like that. Why don’t you think
I love you?”
“Because,” Catfish answered. “I
don’t have an air-conditioned
doghouse.”
So that’s it, I thought. Catfish has
been reading the paper again and
found out Jim and Tammy Bakker
had an air-conditioned house for
their dog bef ore it was auctioned
off.
“Catfish,“ I said, patting him on
his head, “just because I haven’t
provided you with an air-
conditioned doghouse, it doesn’t
mean I don’t love you.
“If s just that we don’t have the
kind of money the Bakkers have
been making at PTL. I’d like to
provide you with an air-conditioned
doghouse, even with a pool outside
for when your friends come over,
but if s just not practical.
“And look at what else the
Bakkers have that we don’t, a
houseboat, a $500,000
condominium in Florida with
$22,000 worth of floor-to-ceiling
windows, and a $600,000 home in
Palm Springs, Calif.
“I have to make money the old-
fashioned way— honestly,” I
continued. “I can’t go around
begging old people for their money
like the Bakkers did.”
Catfish seemed to understand.
He paused for a quick scratch and
then asked, “Why don’t we go into
the television ministry, so we can
have all those things, too?”
“Because,” I said, “I’m not a
lowlife scoundrel who could sleep at
night after using religion to bilk
people out of their money. That,
and I don’t have a wife who looks
like she just walked out of a wax
museum.”
“But I could help you,” said
Catifsh. “You beg and I’ll howl.
“You say, ‘Either you people send
me a couple of million for another
couple of houseboats or you’re all
going to hell,’ and then I’ll start
barking in tongues.
“I’ll go, ‘Baah-ruuuuu!’ and you
can interpret and tell the viewers
I’m saying, ‘Make it four million you
bunch of heathen tightwads.’”
“I’m surprised at you, Catfish,” I
said. “We have a very good life
without doing any of that. I’ve got a
red truck, a VCR for my bedroom
and a Jacuzzi.
“And look at you. You don’t have
an air-conditioned doghouse, but
you have a nice carpet in the living
room to sleep on, and I feed you
from the table.
“And you’re not satisfied?
Greed,” I said to my dog, “doesn’t
become you.”
“You’re right and I’m sorry,”
Catfish said. “By the way,” he went
on, “what do you think will happen
to Jim and Tammy after the IRS
gets through with them?”
“If they get what they deserve,” I
said, “they’ll need the doghouse
back for a place to live.”
“Baah-ruuuuuu!” howled Catfish
in total agreement. .
Copyright 1987, Cowles Syndicate
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
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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
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POSTMASTER: Send address changes to The Battalion,
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TX 77843-4111.
Opinion
An ad could make a difference
Ready or not,
our local media
and the
community
supporting it
should put aside
their hesitations
and encourage
open
advertisement of
birth control,
especially that of
Carroll. “It’s a pretty conservative
town, and I’m sure there would be
objections from many community
leaders.”
Sondra
Pickard
condoms, which also have proven
the best method of preventing a
disease that’s out of control.
Condom commercials have been
offered and are available— they
bave been for some time. But like
too many other wary television
stations, ours has chosen to turn
down a prime opportunity that
could make a difference. The
station’s corporate policy forbids the
airing of such commercials, and its
directors don’t “feel ready” to
handle them. Their reason: a fear
that the explicit nature of the
material won’t be readily accepted in
the Bryan-College Station
community.
It’s unfortunate, but Carroll is
probably right. From a sales
manager’s point of view, airing an
advertisement advocating the use of
something even remotely related to
sex in this town could mean
financial disaster. Local businesses
and community leaders are what
keep the station ticking. They are
what keep all the media ticking. To
offend an advertiser could mean to
lose an advertiser. To lose an
advertiser means to lose a buck. The
station feels it will suffer financially
because of the backward attitudes of
its viewers.
“The commercials definitely
would raise some eyebrows,” said
KBTX-TV sales manager Todd
KBTX is not alone. Although
they aren’t held ultimately
responsible for them, stations
everywhere are turning down public
service advertisements advocating
condom use in order to pacify a
potentially skittish audience. Now is
not the time for audiences to be
skittish, and now is not the time for
the media to look away. Unwanted
pregnancies coupled with a deadly
disease should tell us that now is the
time to spread the word — effective
birth control can save you alotof
trouble. Condoms, in particular,!]
save your life.
Carroll himself said hecan’ttlt
of anything more horrid than
unwanted pregnancies or
contracting AIDS becauseofalai
of knowledge. Airing the ads, he
said, might force the issue of bin
control on those parents who are
hesitant to discuss it with their
children. The issue should be
forcefully emphasized, nothusht
The age-old argument thatsai
talking openly about sex willonli
encourage sex might have some
validity, but doesn’t hold upinal
situations. Sooner or later, whetit
while children, young adultsor
grown-ups, people are going to It
about and experience “theact,”v
or without television. Rut more
information is needed, especialh
now. With the message shouldo
the alternatives and the warninjy
If it doesn’t come from parent
must come from somewhereelse
l oo often it’s left out completely
and an unwanted child isbornor
the case of AIDS, the innocent!
Sondra Pickard is a senior
journalism major and editoroll
Battalion.
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Guest Columnist
march. Motorists
waiting at the
railroad crossing
follow each car past, moving their heads
from side to side like toy dogs in the
rear windows of East L.A. lowriders or
tennis fans at a Wimbledon match. A
captive audience of onlookers, the
motorists wait for the sometimes
friendly, sometimes mannequinesque
figure seated in the window of the dusty
red caboose that signals the end of the
train.
vans, brakeman’s cabs, accomodation
cars, train cars and way cars were the
conductor’s office — and sometimes
home — on wheels. From the rear of the
train the conductor was the considered
the captain by the railroad companies.
But the men riding the rails on a daily
basis did not always follow suit.
Russell Scott, a Southern Pacific
conductor, said engineers arid
conductors often fought over who was
the boss of the train.
watched for overheated axlebearin?
‘hot box,” as overheated bearings# erman, so
known to trainmen, could causeac)i
derail. In the event of a hotboxthe
conductor would release the emergd j
stop valve and a brakeman, regard?
of weather would backtrack to warn
‘I fount
nd 12 in
But there is no weathered red
caboose. There will be no leathery
conductor resting high in the raised
portion of the car, known as the cupola,
or leaning out of the more modern side-
bay window. The caboose has been
replaced by a no-nonsense black box on
the end of the last car.
From behind, the box resembles the
orange and white candy stripe caution
markers guarding road construction
areas. Its yellow flashing-light head
warns approaching trains of impending
danger. But the boxes don’t wave or
smile. Nor do they create visions of
wandering souls content in solitude and
the life of the rail. Instead, they
monotonously click out brake pressure
information in a digital language and
dispatch it to the engine of the train
where it is monitored by the engineer —
like the attendant at a Gulf station might
monitor a gas pump.
The elimination of the caboose does
more than shorten trains, it
dehumanizes railroading. In a business
of metal and speed the caboose
somehow remained friendly and
demure.
Cabooses, cabin cars, conductor’s
“The conductor could make the
engineer stop the train (using the
emergency brake system) but he
couldn’t make ’em go,” Scott said. On
the other hand the engineer was unable
to move his $300,000 train until the
conductor waved his $2 lantern. The
squabbling never changed anything and
now the whole crew, which often means
conductor and engiqeer, rides in the
front of the train.
Scott doesn’t waste time griping over
thCinew arrangement but says it is less
effective at times than a set of good eyes
in back. Like the time Scott was riding in
the engine of a train and a diesel truck
trailer fell off.
“We got a call from a freight behind
us saying they’d seen a piggyback (truck
trailer) from our train laying off beside
a curve,” Scott said, “but 1 didn’t get in
much trouble because there wasn’t any
way I could’ve seen it.”
Before computers tookover the
bookkeeping, every piece of freight was
the conductor’s responsibility from the
time it was put on board to the time it
was unloaded. He maintained the
“consist,” or list of freight, documenting
every move of every item. Legend has it
a conductor once poted on his consist
that a vase was broken, then sent it on
toward its destination. The next
conductor to check the vase off his
consist noted, “vase still broken.”
The conductor and brakeman also
E rofession
ut the hoi
ing as a b
thouj
got this jol
I was little
weatherm;
plied f or tl
do that,” h
He wasr
before the
Soon he w
and 10 p.r
approaching trains of the stoppedm l^ s own
ahead.
These older cabooses sported a
raised-roof in the center designedt? .
improve the conductors visibility.Sd j
were elevated against each wall an!
reach these seats, conductorsdimb?!
ladders built in the walls. But visits
was not the only thing increased. Rit aweatherr
six feet off the floor was dangerous ,!1 **
The greatest danger was fromau ^
effect known as slack action. As the' f ore j on g
or so of space existing between cof
cars was reeled in or out during
acceleration or deceleration it could
generate a tremendous jerk. A 201)
pound man could be thrown from f
end of the caboose to the other, ori
dozing cupola conductor tossedoi#
head. The action produced a
characteristic sound, sendingtrain®B
grabbing for anything tied down/! .
conductors knew where it would room that
happen on their routes it was secoiic 0 f com p U |
nature. Too bad they couldn’t pred# some darn
the fate of the caboose. Johnsoi
These modest railroad cars have waU J ]
reached the end of their utility. Fu' 1 f
generations of children will never< break,
caboose unless its in a museum or
roadside park. Many people willne 1 “Severa
even notice them missing. Buto# first floor
they will look at the end of a train J 11
notice there is no caboose. The ne*;
time they see a train, if they remeir- ^ ectron j c
they will look for the caboose again^
it won’t be there. Only then will t!’! Engine*
realize there really are no more planned t<
cabooses. No more cabooses. Ward s;
collected *
Robert W. Rizzo is a photograph 11 ' computer
a guest columnist for The Battal! ’
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