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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (April 21, 1988)
Page 2/The Battalion/Thursday, April 21, 1988 “ WV, CERTNNU/ \ Wct&$> 'WWW YOU SMV.TtN?.- \ IHXWKTWE. mJVt SIVK ORGWZK'NCm>^VERFKX PORTWESIWtWNKiR- ** The suffering is still there Thanh Cong Nguyen Guest Columnist Edi tor’s note: The following is the last in a three- part series. It is the true story of a friend of the au thor. For various reasons, the au thor wishes his friend’s name to remain anony mous. I used to cher ish, almost worship, the sunset. When 1 was young I remember how my sister and I used to walk side by side alone the Mekong river. When the sun began to set, we knelt down facing the river, looking towards the colorful clouds and prayed that the God of the Sun would lighten up the river so that we could search for a floating body. When we did see a floating object, we prayed and prayed that it would not be our Daddy’s body. (He went fishing one day wearing his usual kakki shirt and never re turned.) God did answer our prayers, for we never found Daddy. We searched and searched, day after day, night after night, along the river, under the bridges, in the ditches. On we went, call ing, “Daddy, Daddy,” in those silent nights; only a few dead leaves answered each footstep we took. The world had taken our Mom away before, on one violent night — a cold night with rolling thunder, explosions and fire. At least in my heart. My sister’s heart, however, was glued to the beautiful doll “made in USA” which she saw in the window of a store. “If Daddy were here, he would give me this doll,” she cried. She was only seven. She had no little sis ter to hold or to dress. She had no mother who loved her and combed her hair each night. She had lost the Daddy who would give her the doll she wanted. For that doll, 1 sold many newspapers and polished many shoes for many months. But when the doll was hers, she took it back and used the money to buy food to place as an offering at our moth er’s grave. Day after day, we sold papers and searched for Daddy. Each time we saw a person wearing a khaki shirt and hold ing a fishing rod, we rushed over want ing to call Daddy, but we could only ask it he liked to buy a paper. The search went on until sunset. We sat at the river watching the colorful clouds, feeling the warmness into our hearts and made us proud for surviving another day with out Daddy, and gave us hope that to morrow our Daddy would be found. Somehow, today, the warmness of the setting sun doesn’t illuminate the cold ness in my heart. It’s been different since we left Vietnam. My little sister is not little anymore. She has grown to be a beautiful woman and is not concerned with dolls. Instead, she sits at home and melts in the arms of her beloved hus band. Every moment, she cherishes her new life. She needs no little sister, since her children are there for to hold. She needs no mother, since she herself is a mother. She needs no Daddy to give her a doll “made in USA” since her husband is American. Watching the sunset today is like watching a darkness about to over shadow my life. Watching the sun go down, sinking into the deep sea, is like watching my last loved one melting into the coldness. Where is my Daddy? Where is my Mommy? Where is my little sister? Where did they go? What did 1 do to deserve this? Where is my home? Burned down? Who burned my home? No, no . . . my home is still there, a beau tiful home, an empty home, waiting for me to return, and my Mommy and Daddy . . . Oh, cold. Cold. The coldness of hell. I could feel it, the coldness of the silent night, as I wade into the breath of the reckless sea. No, no it’s not cold. It’s warm. I could feel it, the warmness of seeing my Dad waving at me on the other side and Mommy cooking a tasty meal for me. I could feel it, warmer and warmer, as I wade my way home farther and farther into the coldest sea . . . Thanh Cong Nguyen is a senior petro leum engineering major. EDITOR: With each passing semester my pride in A&M grows and grows. 1 b, that I could never regret a minute 1 spend here nor would I be ashamedi admit my association with any other fellow Ags. Until now, I’ve had no ft) son. Until now? That’s right! My feathers are ruffled and I’m damn mad Call me naive, but I was under the assumption that because we alll»[ reached this level of education, we have also gained some degree of mat© along with it. Well, you know what happens when you assume... I’m refering to the disrespectful South-Side Ags who must think theyt; blessing the rest of us with their presence. Why else would they vandalize® beloved Commons and act like slobby 10-year-olds? Have they reservedi their respect for the MSG? Couldn’t there be just a little bit left over forSoii? Side and the rest of the campus? Show some Aggie pride or at least sob fellowship. You may not care about our school but plenty of us do. Ib Austin is looking for a new Sanitation Superintendent. Maybe some of is bad Ags should pick up an application!! Suzanne Strauser ’90 What an attitude problem EDITOR: I wotdd like to express my opinion of an operation manager who work! the ECS (Engineering Computing Services). I first encountered this ployee when I went to her office to find out why my computer account taken away. As I tried to inquire more about the situation from the ECS ployee, I was informed that I was suspected of some kind of computer sec rity breach. Then I was rudely accused and yelled at by the operationn® ager without any proof or reasoning. 1 can understand to a certain depa that my computer account was cut off, but I do not comprehend the rude® obnoxious behavior. I feel that my constitutional tights were violated beau I was treated as guilty until proven innocent, and I know that I am inn® of her alledged accusations. The ECS employee is former “Aggie" herself and should knowl*! about conducting herself in any kind of business-like environment aswei how to treat others with respect. At first I thought the ECS employee was just mad at me, but lalsodis ered that she treated another student the same way. I also witnessed the ployee loudly reprimanding a fellow ECS worker in public and heard v complaints from other ECS employees against the operation manager. Finally, I feel that this type of attitude is unnecessary and uncalledfi think that the operation manager should learn to control her manners, that her actions should properly investigated by the appropriateofftdat this problem is not corrected I feel that the operation manager shouldbl placed by a more civilized and competent worker. Scott Wong ’88 No more noise! EDITOR: What a wonderful group of folks we have in the SAA! Always on lookout for the oppressed, the unfortunate and the despised. Arewereti ing to the 1960s? Allowing ourselves to have a true sense oI awareness human compassion? The Halt reports their every move, every constni project and every reconstruction project. They have become the focal of many a conversation throughout tire campus. The talk of thetownif will. The editorial pages of the past few weeks have given rise tocountb cusations of who is the most ignorant. But why, of all the current events in our community, state and nai levels, does the plight of non-whites in South Africa produce such a ra comment from both supporters and opponents. Do we really have 5,000 miles to find seemingly unjust actions? 1 leaven forbid thatourci could produce the impoverished. Why is there such a romantic idea dial best help that can be given is via long distances? We have poor. Drive into those sections of town that best exem term poverty. We all know where they are. But we avoid them. Whyisil we cannot produce the same enthusiasm f or our f ellow Americans,Tex; Bryan-College Station residents that we do for Anti-Apartheid. Unitl the blacks of South Africa unify, no amount of pressure by the side world will change the status quo. I for one will be thankful that the and its abundant controversy will be gone this week. I low about it,SA.q something worth while for your next construction project. Makead not just a bunch of noise! Doug Oliver Who could part with his Master’s tickets? It is society’s fault Lewis Grizzard The most diffi cult tickets to ob tain in all of sport are those which al low the holder to walk upon the sa cred grounds of Augusta National during the Mas- i ters golf tourna ment. There are no sales to the gen eral public. Those who have tickets ei ther inherited them or got on the list for the privilege of buying them years ago. Jack, a guy from Columbus, Ga., first began buying tickets 23 years ago. “They were just $15 back then,” he said, “but they went up to 70.” “My wife didn’t like me going to the Masters or playing golf or fishing or running with my buddies. I was on a leash. “I was a salesman and my territory was the Southeast. On Friday af ternoons on my way home, I enjoyed stopping by the Elks Club and having a few beers with my buddies.” “And you wife didn’t like that?” “Of course not. She’d start yelling at me the minute I got home, ‘Jack, you stopped by the Elks Club, didn’t you? How many beers did you have?’ “I always said, ‘Two.’ I usually had 27. She’d say, ‘Why do you always say two?’ and I’d say, ‘What difference does it make what I tell you? You don’t believe anything I say anyway.’ “One day she got so mad at me she went to my closet and took out all my clothes and then she got my golf clubs and went out on the deck and covered them with coarcoal lighter and set them on fire.” “But what about the Masters tickets?” “My wife had gotten herself a job at the courthouse and she started thinking she was pretty high and mighty and she wanted to be seen in all the right places. So she began going to the Masters with me just to be seen, but she never wanted to stay over an hour. “One thing led to another and we fi nally got a divorce. I was so sick and tired of everything I wanted it to be over as fast as possible. “When the lawyers came to me I told them my wife could have everything — the house included. “I signed the papers without really looking at them. “And do you know what she had put in those papers?” “Don’t tell me...?” “Yep, She had them put in that she got my two Masters tickets and she doesn’t even like golf. She did it out of spite.” “That’s one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard,” I said. “To have once had Masters tickets and then to have lost them to an ex-wife. Have you ever tried to get them back from her?” “I’m afraid to,” said Jack. “A woman who’ll take your Masters tickets would kill you if she got half the chance.” I heard that, too. Copyright 1987, Cowles Syndicate EDITOR: Something is wrong. When a crime has been committed everyone! The criminal has made a decision and forfeited his right to a placeinsi He has failed at the greatest test — life. In our society the punishmentofi criminal is the solution. Unfortunately, the punishment of cri never equal the losses of the victims. But w ho made the decision tocoi the crime — who has truly failed? A person, any person, is no more than the influences and experience 1 their life. We all start the same and are shaped into who we are. The only elusion then, is that society has failed — WE have failed, not THEY.ft 1 tendon, however, is not given to the cause but to the effect. T he problem, ultimately the answer, rests not with the one criminal but with sociei; whole. As the numbers of criminals and cost of crime increase, we musi past the short-term answer of imprisonment and execution. Todayv# rights are being recognized as much as criminals’ rights. Willweevei lock them up also? The potential lies not with the courts and juries we delegate to red our failures but in the values and actions of all. We must recognize the losses of the many victims and criminals and each change a little to pr even greater loss. We must look past the criminals to the society that has duced them — that society is you and me. There is no simple answef problem as complicated as our society itself. John Isenberg ’90 Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The editorial staff reserves Ihtrigl for style and length, but will make every effort to maintain the author's intent. Each letter must lx sip m ust include the classification, address and telephone number of the writer. The Battalion (USPS 045 360) Member of Texas Press Association Southwest Journalism Conference The Battalion Editorial Board Sue Krenek, Editor t Daniel A. LaBry, Managing Editor Mark Nair, Opinion Page Editor Amy Couvillon, City Editor Robbyn L. Lister and Becky Weisenfels, News Editors Loyd Brumfield, Sports Editor Jay Janner, Photo Editor Editorial Policy The Battalion is a non-profit, self-supporting newspa per operated as a community service to Texas A&M and Bryan-College Station. Opinions expressed in The Battalion are those of the editorial board or the author, and do not necessarily rep resent jhe opinions of Texas A&M administrators, fac ulty or the Board of Regents. The Battalion also serves as a laboratory newspaper for students 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 examination periods. Mail subscriptions are $17.44 per semester, $34.62 per school year and $36.44 per full year. Advertising rates furnished on request. Our address: The Battalion, 230 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843-1 111. Second class postage paid at College Station, TX 77843. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to The Battal ion, 216 Reed McDonald, Texas A&M University, Col lege Station TX 77843-4 111. BLOOM COUNTY by Berke Breat! /*5 (/ZVdC, WmiN TWO MEBKd, /? CUXJP OF CHA05 HAP pesccNPEt? upon me MiOhnvX MBAPOW PARTY POUTICAL MACHtNe. out THexe /s msmess anp SHAuie ecjewHexe ON THIS PePRPSdlNO PAWN... 1...1WH JACKWti IS KIM LOOPY h