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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 4, 1994)
November 4, 1994 Good deeds drive fear off road Blake Rlggs/Tur Batoijijs ainst Rice, helped shing. r Steve Ensminger jit of razzle-dazzle t« e Longhorn defense, led a lateral out ho rolled left, then sk and heaved into the end zone. ;gies and five Long- ipt high for the y getting a fingertip fore the pigskins nes itly into the awaiting nior wide receiver rs. The cannon ex ; majority of the sta t'd into an eerie si- iggies kicked the ex- th all zeros on the dlling 36-30 win. ly to start off the sec- years of the greatest ege football. agent market or le dynamic duo? alented nucleus of lavericks (Mash- nd Jackson) come ith the troubled arpley, to lead the the playoffs? 1 olden State War- m Hardaway and healthy enough sign Chris Web- ete at a champi- , Flowers of appreciation blossom with kindness MELISSA MEGLIOLA Columnist E very once and a while something happens to make you rethink an opinion — even if you are as stubborn as I am. Last fall I wrote a column about the fear I encoun tered when a strange man jumped out in front of my car on a deserted road in the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t stop to help him. He could have been a rapist, murderer or a carjacker. The car pulled over on the side of the road could have been strate gically placed to look like it had hit the guard rail nearby. A ploy to trap an overzealous do-gooder. His crazed expres sion could have been cocaine or heroin induced. Or, it could have been caused by shock or some type of injury. Maybe the car really had hit the guard rail. He could have really needed my help. His life could have been in jeopardy. Unsure, stopping was a risk I chose not to take. Afterwards, I spent much of the next day wondering about the man in the road. And then I wrote about how sad it is that today we can’t afford to help strangers anymore. About how the danger simply outweighs the impor tance of human kindness. We have become a society that is self- protective to the point of destruction. We’re scared and emotionally sterile. Looking the other way doesn’t even hurt much anymore. Desensitized, we simply try to forget when we learn about the five-year-old child dropped from a fourteenth story window in Chicago. Subconsciously, we vow to stay away from open win dows. Sad. But, that’s just the way it is, I concluded. And then, last night I talked to my mother on the phone. “Melissa, the most interesting thing happened to your dad and I today,” she began, starting a long story. While on their way to visit my younger sister at Texas Tech several weeks ago, my parents passed a broken-down minivan on the side of the highway. They drove past and then, for some unknown reason, decided to go back and see if anyone needed help. My dad pulled onto the shoulder and reversed for several hundred feet before stopping right next to the parked vehicle. Immediately they were met by a older couple. After learning that they needed to find a me chanic, my parents offered to drive them to the nearest gas station. The couple decided that the woman would go the gas station, and the man would stay to watch the van. A few minutes later, the three of them were on their way to the next exit when the woman mentioned something about a tire. Realizing that they simply needed a tire changed he put the car in reverse again. Within a few minutes, the spare was in place, and they were headed to Lubbock again. The event was forgotten over the trip. A few days ago, my parents received a package from the couple they helped on the highway. Inside was a Hummel, a small porcelain figurine made in Germany. The collec tor’s item modeled a young girl watering flowers. A note at tached explained that the couple bought the statue in Ger many in 1957 and considered it their guardian angel. Feeling guilty about receiving something so precious to people they don’t even know, my parents put the statue on a shelf in the living room and marveled at how much their small act of kindness must have meant to the older couple. And then, yesterday, a neighbor called to congratulate my mom. “On what?” she asked with surprise. It was then that she learned that the couple had also written a letter to the editor of the Plano paper explaining how they had been on their way to El Paso, so that the man could undergo his third surgical attempt to battle cancer. They wanted to express their gratitude publicly and inform the Plano community of the “Good Samaritans” living among them. “We’ll never forget their kindness,” the woman wrote. “They stopped to help us without knowing that my hus band is handicapped.” Little things do matter. Enough to make them worth the risk of personal danger. We’re not really protecting our selves by withdrawing from an already stoic society. Sure, it was the middle of the day when my parents stopped to check on the van. But anyone could have been waiting in side it. A murderer. A rapist . A carjacker. A man and his wife on the way to the hospital. Melissa Megliola is a senior industrial engineering major Little things do matter. Enough to make them worth the risk of personal danger. We're not really protecting ourselves by withdrawing from an already stoic society. answers to these ill we can do is son unfold before ^ht, as the ball is ■r court in a NBA you. ised on improving the Texas ghest they have been in thirty-five billion dollar a year n all different walks of life to itury. SINESS - NOT A SPORT THE WINNER MUST turn at bat. Drive one out of has been knocking the ball like her in public office. er that you own this thirty- i hire somebody to run Texas formance in HARDS. Men and women differ, but chivalry lives on We are a few of the gentlemen who Hugh Simonich has observed opening doors and offering to give up our seats for a lady. These are not things which we do, because we believe women inca pable of performing the same actions. These are things which we do out of courtesy, but they are primarily sym bolic. They are ways which we demon strate following beliefs. 1. ) Men and women are basically dif ferent form one another, and these differ ences are not trivial. 2. ) There are certain duties and oblig ations which men have toward women,, among these are to protect, to cherish, and to honor. We do not believe women to be in any way inferior to men. To say that men and women are identical however, flies in the face of common sense. We have de scribed the way we view the world to ex plain a code of conduct which many refer to as chivalry. I do not mean to imply Simonich should act in the same way, or even that women who do not care for chivalry should be forced to accept our courtesies. We do however, take comfort in the fact that we are not alone in observing these beliefs. There are many other men that agree with us, and there are many women who appreciate our position. David Lewis Class of’96 Accompanied by 2 signatures Straight-ticket voting buys cohesive beliefs Every two years The Battalion editori al board says that straight ticket voting is bad. They say that people should not vote if they are not making educated, considered decisions. If The Battalion is your only source of news you should not vote for anything but governor and sena tor because they chose not to cover the is sue-oriented event that a lot of the Re publican candidates took part in this fall on campus. If you don’t know the issues or candidates, let me tell you why you should vote straight ticket. When you vote straight ticket, you are voting for a consistent philosophy in government. Most Republicans, for the most part, stand together on issues. Republicans stand for low taxes, not because they are greedy, but because the free market, not government, determines maximum utili ty (greatest efficiency in the allocation of scarce resources). Republicans believe in empowering people over empowering government which explains their stances on property right and gun control. It is difficult to tell what Democrats stand for. You have “new” Democrats, conservative Democrats, liberal Democ rats, etc. The Democrats do not have a consistent philosophy, and inconsistent philosophies cause gridlock. The Repub licans do not hold a majority of votes in either the House or the Senate, so the Democrats should be able to pass any thing they stand together on. Instead, the Democrats, with an obliging media put a spin on the situation and say the Republicans are obstructionists. To avoid gridlock don’t ticket split, and don’t vote straight Democrat. Vote straight-ticket Republican. Chad Walter Class of ‘94 The Battalion encour ages letters to the editor and will print As many as space allows. Letters must be 300 words or (ess and include the au thor's name, class, and phone number. We reserve the right to edit letters for length, style, and accuracy. Address letters to: The Battalion - Mail Call 013 Reed McDonald Texas A&M University College Station, TX 77843-1111 Fax: (409) 845-2647 E-mail: Batt®tamvml .tamu.edu Why, oh why must their little farm go? Urbanization plows over grandparents' farm, leaving only family memories to rebuild haven LYNN BOOMER O ne of my first memories of my grandparents’ farm was of my family pulling away in our al- most-new Chevy Mal ibu after one of our weekend visits. “Bye y’all!” my mom shouted in her usual custom. “Bye ya!” I repeated after her, not old enough to fully form the words. From there on out, I associated the phrase with my grandmother, and she became affectionately known as “Byeya.” In 1928, my great-grandfather Edgar traded his house on 33rd Street in Austin for the farm south of the city. It had no electricity, no tele phone, little well water and the sole building on it was a small wooden house with a firewood heater. Sometimes I think that my mother’s greatest regret in life is that my sister and I never had to milk cows, She nev er lets us forget that she toiled in the dairy barn twice a day for 13 years, trudging through rain and snow, car rying 100 pound milk canisters. When I complained about cleaning my room, mom would show me her high school ring. Her fingers had been so big from milking cows that the ring that once fit her now falls off her thumb. Through out the Great Depression, my grandfather Ed ward, who ran the dairy, delivered milk, butter and cream to everyone who needed it. Those who could afford to pay bartered for the milk products. Those who had no money or goods re ceived the food on credit. After the De pression, only one person never paid Ed back. When Grandaddy was old, he still felt the need to help the less fortunate. Hundreds of cats had been deposited on the farm over the years. People ap parently thought that a dairy was a more appropriate place to leave their unwanted pets than the animal shel ter. Long after the cows were gone, Byeya and Grandaddy had a herd of cats to care for. One day, during the Depression, when Ed was delivering milk to a gro cery store on his route, the store own er suggested that he go to a certain farm to look at a cow. Ed replied that he was already producing more milk than he could sell. When the store owner explained that there were “two good-looking girls” at the farm, however, Ed decid ed looking at another cow might not be a bad idea. One of the two girls on the farm made such an impression on him that Ed felt com pelled to come back, ostensibly to look at the cow again. Ed and Hermine, the good- ; looking daughter, were married the fol lowing June. I have never been able to envision my grandparents, Hermine and Ed, living anywhere else but “the farm.” When I knew them, they were living alone in the small white-washed farm house that once had been home to them, their four children and Ed’s mother Jeffie for many years. It was in a back room of that house that Byeya ran her seamstress shop. She once proudly exclaimed that NASA was one of her customers and showed me a tool belt she had devised that later flew on a space shuttle. When three of their children were in college, Ed and Hermine no longer had enough help to continue in the dairy business. Urban development around the farm was making it difficult to keep the cows pastured, so Ed sold most of his cows and all of his equipment. After Hermine died, he continued to I think that my mother's greatest regret in life is that my sister and I never had to milk cows. grow hay and other crops almost up until his death this summer. Today the farm is bounded by hous ing developments, offices and a major hotel. It was annexed into the city of Austin about 10 years ago. All that is left of the once wide-open space is a small, tranquil oasis in the midst of urban chaos. The family that was rooted there for more than 60 years has flown to the winds, much as the chaff has blown away from the wheat that grew on the farm for so many years. Ed was the last of the farmers in my family, and now that he is dead, the farm will go with him. My family can’t afford to pay the taxes necessary to keep the land that is so much a part of who we are. So each time I return to Austin, I take what will soon be my last looks at the undulating waves of grain. And I know that when I take my children there to s' e a part of their heritage, they will not see the farm as I do, but only the asphalt and offices that cover it. Lynn Booher is a junior English and psychology major