Page 2/The Battalion/Wednesday, October 28, 1987
Opinion
With cars, bad things happen in battalion!
Somebody once
said that bad
things happen in
threes. He was an
optimist. Here at
The Battalion,
we’ve found out
this semester that
bad things happen
in, well, battalions.
morning, city editor Rodney Rather
meandered into the newsroom and
calmly called the police to report that
he’d rolled his truck on the way to
school.
Sue
Krenek
We’re talking
car problems here.
More specifically, i
a little thing we call the Battalion Car
Curse (BCC), a plague that has
decimated the staffs vehicular
resources this fall.
This is hardly the first time we’ve
acted, or been acted upon, as a group.
Normally it’s restricted to consuming
mass amounts of alcohol as a group, but
on one memorable day last fall no fewer
than seven Battguys and Battgirls found
it necessary to throw themselves out of a
plane. That fiasco, which came at the
urging of fanatical skydiver and now-
editor Sondra Pickard, took its toll in
injuries: Radical columnist Karl
Pallmeyer took out several of the
ligaments in his knee, and At Ease
writer Nancy Neukirchner
sprained/bruised/otherwise mutilated
her wrist. Needless to say, we haven’t
been skydiving as a group since then.
But at least the parachuting
experience involved free will. The
automotive chaos that has befallen us
this semester can be explained only as
the work of a malevolent spirit, or at
least a Pallmeyer-hater who waited a
semester too long to exact his revenge.
The first phase of the curse
concerned Major Malfunctions. This
got started before school was even in
session, when photo editor Tracy Staton
tried to bludgeon a large truck with her
small Mustang. It worked.
Then, on the first day of classes, we
got a call from assistant city editor
Curtis Culberson. Curtis was MIA on
his way back to College Station from San
Antonio. Various other editors were
asserting that as soon as he showed up
here, he’d be DOA. Curtis, as it turned
out, was in the thriving metropolis of
Dime Box, where his car had broken
down. A rescue team was dispatched to
save Curtis. His car wasn’t so lucky,
having major amounts of cracked metal
that required a near-rebuild of the
engine.
Managing editor John Jarvis was up
next. He managed to ride his
motorcycle into a car at a blessedly slow
speed, mangling both the bike and his
knee.
Curtis got his car back on Thursday.
On that same bright and beautiful
Several explanations and one frantic
editor later (Sondra saw the truck by the
roadside and thought Rodney was
dead), we found out that Rodney had
rolled the truck for no apparent reason.
No alcohol involved. No other cars
involved. Obviously, a curse was
working.
Rodney’s truck entered the limbo of
insurance appraisers and repair shops, a
place where time loses all meaning and
becomes the estimated time of repair
multipled by three multipled by the
number of parts they have to order.
Rodney rented a scooter. (If you saw
something that looked like a scarecrow
on a Spree, that was him.)
The Major Malfunctions were over,
but the Nasty Inconveniences (big and
little) had just begun. Staff writer Lee
Schexnaider had to rent a car to cover
the pope’s San Antonio visit because his
own truck is terminally cursed. At Ease
writer Staci Finch got stuck at the
Austin airport after her rental car deal
fell through. At £ase editor Karen
Kroesche raised ridiculousness to new
heights by managing to run out of gas
on campus and having us come get her.
(She now carries a gas can in her trunk.)
News editor Robbyn Lister tried to
deal with a continually leaking radiator.
Assistant city editor Jean Mansavage
had to have her carburetor repaired.
Copy editor Alan Sembera left his truck
in gear on a driveway and watched it
roll into a tree. Clerk Kellie Copeland
had a fiat. Assistant news editor Kristin
Theodorsen had to replace the clutch in
her truck. Clerk Tam; Tate got
stranded several times by an
overheating engine. And the list goes
on, too numerous to mention.
By now five or six weeks had gone by.
Rodney got his truck back, triggering
the next phase of the curse. This time it
was my turn.
I came bounding downstairs from
apartment to car, late for class as usual.
I opened the door, threw my stuff
inside — and did a double-take. My red
tape case was no longer under the seat.
Denim jacket, also gone. I checked the
glove box. JVC tape player, gone. Radar
detector, gone.
Then I saw the door, or rather, the
. space between the door and the rest of
my car. The window stood out from the
car body by a good two inches, souvenir
of a thief with a crowbar. (No wonder I
didn’t hear glass breaking.) Visions of
astronomical repair bills danced in my
head. I called the cops and shivered —
now jacketless — while I waited for
them to arrive.
Mail Call
Go read the classifieds
EDITOR:
This letter is in response to the “Where’s the punchline?” letter written by
Joseph Kachmar on Oct. 23. Mr. Kachmar, you should immediately take
action! Jim Davis’ “Garfield” characters have no “between-the-eyes” spaces
either! For that matter, you should contact Charles Schultz as well; his
“Peanuts” characters have been the same age since 1957. What’s worse,
Charlie Brown has been bald for the same amount of time.
I don’t want to change how you feel, Mr. Kachmar, but I thought a
graduate student might find more worthwhile things to do than criticize the
artwork of a college newspaper’s cartoon. Aside from that, I at least hoped a
graduate students would be able to understand one.
Dan Barlow does a fine job at submitting understandable strips daily.
Next to the syndicated “Bloom County,” “Joe Transfer” is the most realistic
and humorous comic The Battalion has. And if Mr. Barlow chooses to draw
his characters with facial hair (although the only bearded character I know
of, Joe, has recently shaved) and large muscles, so be it. For goodness sake,
Mr. Kachmar, stay away from art museums. Picasso paints noses where ears
belong, and I don’t want you to end up in a padded cell!
Perhaps a strange analogy, but artists are like umpires: If you don’t like it,
you’re out! If it bothers you that much, read the classifieds instead.
Alan Lively ’89
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 letter must be signed and
must include the classification, address and telephone number of the writer.
And so my car entered the limbo of
insurance appraisers and repair shops.
Assistant city editor Amy Couvillon
offered to loan me her scooter while my
car door was being squished back into
shape. Knowing that the the car-repair
gods have a sick sense of humor,
however, I got my ancient Volkswagen
from home and hoped the thieves
would have sense enough to know
there’s never anything of value in a
Volkswagen.
Amy wasn’t so lucky. That Friday,
driving her scooter to school, she had a
blowout at 40 m.p.h. on Texas Avenue.
The scooter went one direction, and
Amy went the other — toward the
street. The scooter lost some lights and
mirrors; Amy lost some skin off her
arms, a now-torn pair of jeans and,
temporarily, the use of one ankle. The
BCC had become the BC&MC —
Battalion Car & Moped Curse. But Amy
got out of several days of work, a quiz,
two tests and a graphics project. So the
wreck was a small price to pay.
That was two and a half weeks ago,
and things have been fairly calm since
then. Just a few minor malfunctions,
like Tracy, Rodney and I driving to
Harlingen with no cap on the oil
reservoir, and Curtis breakingthe
armrest in Tracy’s much-abused
Mustang. A few minor em
like Jean’s car stalling in the middle
Jersey Street. And, of course, theei{ I ”
present ticket-and-tow threat that® |L was C oh
with parking illegally behindtheRee
McDonald building.
But it’s time for Baft stafferstokj
the alert again, because the BCtt;
about to start stalking a new victim,
You see, I get my car backtodat
Sue Krenek is a senior journalise
major and opinion page editor hi
Battalion.
The Battalion
(USPS 045 360)
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
The Battalion Editorial Board
Sondra Pickard, Editor
John Jarvis, Managing Editor
Sue Krenek, Opinion Page Editor
Rodney Rather, City Editor
Robbyn Lister, News Editor
Loyd Brumfield, Sports Editor
Tracy Staton, Photo Editor
nY BROKER IS
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Stock market crash means
the end of the world is nigh
ss 500 ;
Gary Matloi
Ipultch, u
down o
Iters.
|Because
Naturally, all of
you want to know
what’s happening
to the stock
market and, more
important, why.
Well, you’ve come
to the right place.
I’ve been studying
this problem, off
and on, for the
better part of two
days now and I
Donald
Kaul
think I’ve got it figured out.
The market did not merely crash, it
disappeared, like an incautious bather
who wades out too far into the ocean.
One moment it was there, full of life;
the next it was gone. And now we stand
at the water’s edge, pointing ot the spot
where it went down, hoping it will
reappear.
Why it happened is another matter,
far n ore complex.
Some say it was a much-needed
correction in a continuing bull market.
These are the same people who look
upon the Visigoths’ sack of Rome as
urban renewal. Others say it is the
beginning of an economic recession. I
take a third view.
I think it’s the end of the world.
There have been a lot of signs lately,
strange happenings that bode ill. For
example:
Last week London suffered a
hurricane. We’re talking London,
England, here. Ever hear of a hurricane
in London before) Jamaica is huricanes;
London is fog. When the wind gets up
to 100 mph past Buckingham Palace,
strange things are going on.
The Minnesota Twins won the World
Series. Not since the 1944 St. Louis
Browns has a worse team than
Minnesota appeared in the Series, and
the Browns had World War II as an
excuse. The Twins are no better than
the 10th best team in baseball;
moreover, they play in an abandoned
roller skating rink. They shouldn’t even
be in a World Series, let alone win it.
Something’s wrong.
And last week, in my neighborhood,
the cock croweth thrice before the dawn
and a snow-white owl flew across the
moon. I live in the suburbs.
Could all that be a coincidence? Naw.
The end is near. God is punishing us for
our sins.
I knew we were in trouble last month
when I visited the Ralph Lauren store in
New York, a clothing store housed in an
old mansion on Fifih Avenue in the
swankiest part of town. There I saw a
cotton sweatshirt selling for $77.50, plus
tax. The only thing to distinguish it
from any other sweatshirt was the polo
player on the breast and a thin stripe of
color around the waistband. And people
kept elbowing me aside to get at them. It
struck me that any society whose
members pay 77 bucks for something to
sweat in was badly in need of
chastisement.
Nor is the sweatshirt the most
egregious example of this phenomenon.
The children’s section of a Christmas
catalog from one of the high and mighty
department stores features $5,000 mink
teddy bears and toy cars for as much as
$14,500. You can pay $1.5 million for a
one-bedroom apartment in New York
(good location) and what we used to
term a “starter home” in California will
set you back three- or four-hundred
thou.
Where spending becomes that lavish
and self-indulgent, disaster lurks. As the
Bible (Bad News edition) says, “Behold!
God doth not suffer Yuppies gladly.”
People keep asking if thecurreit
situation is as bad as 1929, wheiuls
stock market collapse took event
with it. In my opinion, it is not. Itii
worse.
I n 1929 we had a smart manas
president of the United States.Sa"
you will of Herbert Hoover's
confront the Great Depression,^
they were made by a man whoWi
paying attention. Today we havci
president who is very nearly brat
Mr. Reagan’s performance at
market’s disappearance Monday
pathetic. In times like these, wte £
sky is falling, one expects a leadK
come before the microphonesawR
the nation some words of wisdoffi
perhaps comfort. He could haves
“As Joe Biden once said, wehavt
nothing to fear but fear itself."In 5
we get him on the run, yellingovf
roar of a helicopter, sayingthatl*
guessed people were cashinginot
profits. No wonder they hardlyc'f
him out of his cage.
I’ll bet that when the Reagan
administration ends, therewilUx*
truly terrifying stories by White;
insiders, illustrating how discotf
from reality this presidenthasbf"
I lost some money in thematic
Monday; not much, just my life
or saving as 1 now call it. I puta®
my broker but he didn’t call bad
wanted to know what route hist-
take home from school.
My mother called, though,m'
mother who has been urgingntet
out of the market ever since Igd 1
And she didn’t say I told you so.;
She said: “Don’t worry,Honey/
comes to worst I can always move
with you and we can live offmy- ;
Security.” I think I’ll get thegue i!
bedroom ready, just incase.
Copyright 1987, Tribune MediaSeni^
BLOOM COUNTY
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ment of Journalism.
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POSTMASTER. Send address changes to The Battalion, 216
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In the absence of
the striking union
characters, Bloom County
management officials
will be temporarily
providing the clay’s
waggish entertainment.
Today: Mr. Will J.
Knudson, Asst. Director
of Accounting
4.1J
2.87
2.0‘
2.04
2.02
2.02
2.01
1.82
1.5£
1.2C
1.17
1.1C
1.1C
1.0£
1.06
1.02
1.01
1.0C
1.0C
.87
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.80
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.78
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.05
•Full Jew
•30 Day A
(excludin
Hfe havt
elry.