6The Daily Tar HeelMonday, November 22, 1932
THANKSG
VING
902 .year of editorial freedom
John Drescher. eiw
Ann Peters, Managing fcwr
KENM1NGIS,4kooi W
Rachel Perry, UmtrsHy Editor
Lucy Hood, aty Editor
JIM WRINN, Stttf W Ndftww Editor
S.L. PRICE, Sports Editor '
LAURA SEIFERT. News Editor
Linda Robertson, Associate Editor
ELAINE MCCLATCHEY, Projects Editor
Susan Hudson. fhw Editor
Leah Talley, y4m fitor
Teresa Curry. Weekend Editor,
At STEELE, Photography Editor
Cookout
Beginning next semester, the University's plan to ban various cooking appli
ances from residence halls will go into effect. The goal is to reduce the chance of
a fire in residence halls and to comply with recommendations made by the North .
Carolina Insurance Commission in May. While University administrators were
correct to have moved quickly to develop a new cooking policy, they also should
develop a policy that includes upgrading cooking facilities now used in residence
halls..
Under the new policy, students will not be allowed to use high heat appliances,
such as hot plates, in their rooms. If they are caught doing so, they will be fined
and will face possible housing contract suspension. The reason for the Universi
ty's haste in formulating the new policy is simple: It doesn't want to be held re
sponsible by the insurance commission if a fire breaks out in a residence hall.
At first glance, the policy may look as if University administrators decided to
restrict too much too, soon. That isn't the case, however. Compared to other
schools in the 16-member UNC system, most of which allow no cooking in resi
dence halls, UNC students will still be given freedom to cook some meals in their
rooms. If the University is to make its new policy work, however, students will
have to be given some alternatives.
Residence hall kitchens, which each handle 100 residents, are not now equip
ped to handle the increased number of students that will be forced to use them
next semester. That problem is further complicated by this year's closing of
Chase Cafeteria for renovations.
Some of those students will be served by Chase Cafeteria when it reopens, but
that is at least a year away. The immediate problem will be to improve kitchen
facilities now provided students. One idea would be to install microwave ovens in
each residence hall. Though they would not totally solve the problem, the ovens
would be a great help, at a cost to the University of only $280 each.
Funding for the ovens could come from a number of sources. For example,
part of the money for the ovens could come from the fines collected from stu
dents caught cooking in their rooms. Funds for the ovens also could come from
residence hall enhancement money. The new cooking policy is needed, but in
order for it to be effective, the University will have to provide students another
option to cooking in their rooms or waiting in line for dorm kitchen facilities.
Chumps and champs
Some say it was Black Saturday for Carolina athletics. Not only did the UNC
basketball team lose its opener to St. John's 78-74 in overtime, but the football
team was humiliated 23-17 by Duke.
Those Blue Devils barely broke even this season with a mediocre 6-5 record,
yet they totally dominated UNC in the second half. Now the Tar Heels will have
to settle for a lousy 3-3 record in the ACC and the best they can finish is 7-4
overall. A 7-4 record for the once 4th-ranked Heels? How embarrassing.
"Even if we win the last three, if we are not playing well, we won't go to a
bowl," Coach Dick Crura said Nov. 9.
Well, UNC is going to a bowl, the Sun Bowl, in glamorous El Paso, Texas.
The only town worse than El Paso is Juarez, Mexico, which is right across the
border.
There's always basketball, right? But UNC stands at 0-1 even before the
season is underway. And most of the basketball players, like their counterparts
'in, football, have been limping around for '-one reason or another, "
I&t'tJNCs other defending national champions, the ones who don't make
television appearances or have their pictures plastered on every piece of available
paraphernalia, came through when the men didn't.
The UNC women's soccer team won its second national title in a row Sunday,
defeating Central Florida in Orlando, Fla. Striker Stephanie Zeh even played
with a broken foot. Furthermore, the team was able to come back after two big
mid-season losses.
Those grumbling about UNC's basketball and football failures have missed
the point: There is excellence in other sports at UNC, too. Dean Smith has one
national title. Soccer coach Anson Dorrance and Co. now have two.
By the way, the UNC women's basketball team won as well, 1 14-50 over Ap
palachian State, and the volleyball team successfully defended its ACC title.
UNC has another national championship. This time, however, they won't
close down Franklin Street.
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18 Business
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20 Religious
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22 Payout
23 Longtime
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28 Corrupts
23 Leavenworth
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31 Falls short
33 Recent
pref.
34 Choppers
38 Congress
business
40 William
Gibson
comedy
44 Bismarck
45 Hotness
degrees:
abbr.
43 Pension
plan let
ters 47 Wandered
50 Obliquely
52 Sculpture
piece
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Your home is where the hearth is
By RANDY WALKER
Does anyone remember
Freezers jammed with Breyer's strawberry ice
cream and homemade frozen blueberry cream pie?.
Steaming long baths on Sunday morning?
Midnight embers pulsing in your living room
fireplace?
If you are like me, you come from a middle-class
home, with middle-class parents, middle-class siblings
and a middle-class dog. On Tuesday or Wednesday,
you will blow off your last class and head for home
with an empty stomach and a full laundry basket
How long have you been away? I have not been home ,
since the summer. Come, let's celebrate Thanksgiving.
Wednesday. It already is dark when I pull into the
'driveway. Yellow light spills from the kitchen window;
Mom is cooking dinner. A sting in the air tells me Dad
has the fire going. As I walk to the door, a black shape
with a jingling collar leaps out of darkness and licks
my face. You still remember me.
Thursday.- At my grandmother's house, aunts,
uncles, nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters gather for
Thanksgiving dinner. We laugh, we smile. The same
blood flows through our veins, we sit together once a
year around a table piled with more cornbread, sweet
potatoes, peas, squash, ham, turkey, gravy and apple
pie than we can possibly eat. We are a lucky people.
Saturday. Back home again, I chop wood in the
morning sun. The axe swings true in my hands. Clean
air rushes into my lungs, my muscles glow, my skin
tingles. 1 throw sticks for our labrador retriever.
I love my dorm, but it just doesn't have a fireplace.
I haul in wood, light the Fire and care for it all day.
After everyone has said good night, I curl up in front
of the hearth to watch the last embers fade. Our dog
breathes softly in the orange glow. Spirits of ancestors
creep up within me.
in the kitchen.
The luxury of a private room! 'But can you imagine
a private bathroom, with thick carpet, soft heavy
towels, and a bathtub? I run hot water until steam
pours out, I dissolve into soap and water.
When I come out, a breakfast of pancakes, syrup,
bacon, melted cheese, milk, orange juice and the front
section of the Richmond Times-Dispatch waits. I read
the paper all morning, stretched out in front of the
fire.
Hey God, hey man, I don't even know who you are or anything, I
don't even know what I am myself , but hey man, I wanna say one
thing: thanks a lot.
Hey, thousand-times-great grandfather, did you
crouch beside coals in the night, with your dog at your
side, warding off evil spirits? Your dog sleeps beside
me, his feet move in a dream. Your fire warms my
face. I feel you inside, watching the fire through my
eyes, until the fire god flickers to ashes.
I pull myself up and say my dog's name. I put him
downstairs, pull the curtains, lock the door and turn
out the porch light. I fall asleep in my own bed, like
three thousand nights before.
Sunday. I open my eyes and lie still in bed. What
time is it? I hear muffled voices and the fan humming
Even now, as a hardened senior, I hate leaving this
place. I say goodbye quickly and hit the road, I will eat
with my comrades at Carr dorm tonight.
I don't know where I'll be next year,, but this year
has been going great. Everything has fallen into place.
So I say: Hey God, hey man, I don't know what you
are or who you are or anything, I don't even know
what I am myself, but hey man, I wanna say one
thing: thanks a lot.
Randy Walker, a senior journalism major from
Richmond, Va is a staff writer for The Daily Tar
Heel.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
UNC brass won't OK Chapel Thrill
To the editor:
While Student Government plans for a
Spring 1983 social event for the UNC stu
dent body are still in the preliminary
stages, it seems appropriate to state the
position of the Division of Student Affairs
on such an event. The idea of an event
held in the latter part of second semester to
celebrate the coming of spring and the
passing of another academic year is not in
question.
Potentially, celebrations can have a
positive appeal and can have a unifying ef
fect for the campus. However, the spring
event known as Chapel Thrill, as we have
experienced it, can no longer be supported
and approved by the Division of Student
Affairs. This event has contributed to and
has been responsible for a considerable
amount of human suffering both at the
time of the concert and for some persons
for the rest of their lives. Additionally, this
event can in no way be described as com
patible with the goals and mission of this
University; .
Official reports from various depart
ments within the University have docu
mented the following: The majority of
those .who have attended Chapel Thrill
were not from the University community
and had little respect for the University.
Persons who did attend the concert were
permitted to bring alcoholic beverages and
other drugs into the stadium in any quanti
ty. The extensive abuse of alcohol and
other drugs led to a high level of rowdy
and destructive conduct and a large num
. ber of physical injuries and related illness
es. Almost all of the individuals who were
treated at the various aid stations were suf
. fering from the effects of alcohol abuse,
and many of these persons were difficult
to treat because of their hostile and com
bative behavior. Of a more serious nature,
as a result of Chapel Thrill, one student
sustained very serious injuries after falling
from an upper deck in Kenan Stadium,
and another student suffered permanent
visual impairment.
The excessive use of alcohol also led to
fighting, the throwing of full beer cans and
bottles and a higher than normal DUI ar
rest rate following the concert. The concert
also contributed to the misuse of alcohol
by underage teenagers in the Chapel Hill
community and surrounding areas.
While there was considerable damage to
and loss of property, both University and
personal, as a result of the concert, it is in
significant compared to the long-term
physical and emotional disabilities sus
tained during and following Chapel Thrill.
The negative manner in which such an
event reflects on The University of North '
Carolina at Chapel Hill also is of great
concern.
An activity like Chapel Thrill puts a
burden on our campus and local law en
forcement and medical facilities. When the
majority of the resources of these agencies ,
are diverted into Chapel Thrill, it severely
jeopardizes the welfare of the rest of the .
University and Chapel Hill community.
All of these problems and concerns have
reached such a magnitude that the staff of
the Division of Student Affairs feels that it
can no longer support a spring activity that
will be a repeat of what this campus has
experienced over the last three years. It
isn't enough to say that profits made from
a Chapel Thrill will go to charity. The sup
port of a charity should not be made at the
expense of a life or the physical and emo
tional well-being of our students.
The Division of Student Affairs, how
ever, is open to consider proposals for a
spring celebration which will affirm life
and is consistent with the goals and mis
sion of The University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill.
Donald A. Boulton
Vice Chancellor and Dean
Division of Student Affairs
Days, not years
To the editor:
I would just like to say that the football
strike only seemed like it lasted 57 years, as
The Associated Press reported in the story
"End to lengthy strike in sight" (DTH,
Nov. 17). I certainly hope that the DTH
will once again start proofreading their
work. On the other hand, it could fill the
void when Doonesbury leaves. Anyway,
keep up the mediocre work.
'Jay Dominick
Chapel Hill
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hat damn car
By MIKE SHARSKY
I keep a can of oil in my car, just in case. In case of
what, you ask? In case my dad looks at me solemnly and
says, "Do you have enough oil, son?" the next time I'm
about to leave my driveway back home. In my ex
perience, however, a can of spinach is probably as use
ful. Cars are infinitely complex; the chance that a can of
oil will solve any given problem is beyond computation.
We all carry little toy tools in pur cars, and this gives an
illusion of readiness.
The grim truth is that no matter what you lug around
in your car, you have almost no hope of on-the-spot
repairAfter all, you already keep an eye on the oil and
water and gas and tires. But what happens when your car
dies on the highway? You leap out and check the oil and
water and gas and tires again. Naturally, they're fine.
I know the amateur mechanics out there will sneer and
say, "I could get my car going again. If you'd just learn
something about cars you wouldn't be so helpless."
That's fine, if your trunk is packed with expensive tools
and someone gives you a lift to a parts shop. But not
even Junior Johnson can build a new fuel pump from a
can of oil when his car croaks in the middle of nowhere.
Most student cars are of particular interest. Many
things can fail that don't prevent transportation. They
tend to be permanent because we're too poor to fix them
right away, and with a little time we forget a mere in
convenience. Take the cigarette lighter. I have a high
strung friend, the kind who slams doors by instinct.
Once, years ago, he jammed a cigarette between his lips.
and mashed the lighter into its socket.
It never came back.
Some problems are more inconvenient, but still too
expensive to justify repair. For instance, my car has a
wire-grid rear window defroster. This device developed
an interesting short: the defroster only works in warm
weather. Cold shrinks something in the wiring and the
defroster fails. So out I must go with scraper and rag,
until summer rolls around and the defroster thaws out.
Cute.
: My gauges are a lot of fun, too. The gas needle
registers what it damn well pleases, except when it's near
empty. It's reliable from one-eighth of a tank down, just
good enough so I'll never run out of gas, so there's no
reason to spend hundreds on a new gauge. When the
problem began, I would glance at the gauge and see, say,
less than half a tank. Being a wise motorist, I'd pull off
the highway and step confidently to the self-service
pump. In goes the nozzle. Three seconds later, I've filled
the tank with 49 cents of regular.
One day my speedometer became erratic. I looked and
noted my speed was 60 miles per hour. Moments later, I
found the needle resting comfortably at zero. Aghast, I
clutched the wheel and locked my right foot, certain I
was now doing 80 or 90. This was no inconvenience.
This was a damn nuisance. Whenever the needle decided
to pop up I ignored it and took clues from the environ
ment. Soon I became quite adept at the shrubbery-per-hour
method.
Not satisfied with testing my nerve; the car tried a
psychological ploy: the muffler broke. The question the
car put to me was, how long can you stand complete
embarrassment?' This kind of failure works by telling
everyone within a mile of your car that something is ter
ribly, horribly wrong and you haven't yet fixed it. The
car cries out your guilt in a tremendously annoying and
yet pathetic way.
Stopped at a light, the car idled . asthmatically:
Cars were behind and around me and
it seemed as if hundreds of pedestrians milled at every
corner.
The light changed to green. I nudged the accelerator.
The car shuddered forward: whumwhumwhumwhum.
Forced to speed up, I gritted my teeth and gave her gas. The
car let out a roar that rocked me to the bone: FAM
FAMFAMFAMFAMFAMFAM! I had the undivided
attention of every living creature in my path. Sweat
gathered on my brow. FAMFAMFAMFAMFAMFAM!
A hundred yards ahead I saw a cat flatten to the ground
and vanish, tail hugely puffed. Someone leaned out a
window and grimaced. A group of school children
pointed and jeered. Stopped at the next light, I debated
just getting out and walking away. Too late. FAMFAM
FAMFAMFAMFAMFAM! I fixed the muffler. The car had learned, however,
that spectacular effects were my weak point so one day,
on a curvy hill in a downpour, my windshield wiper flew
off. On the upstroke, it simply vanished. Meanwhile, the
arm continued to sweep insanely: SCREE-SCREE,
SCREE-SCREE, SCREE-SCREE. With the odd calm
detachment that grips me in moments of sudden crisis, I
noticed the tip of the arm was very gradually engraving a
beautifully symmetrical semicircle in the glass. SCREE
SCREE! The road was a drowned blur. I pulled over un
til the rain stopped.
I fixed that too, dammit. But the car saved its knock
out punch for later. On a highway through Fayetteville,
it blew a hose.
I mean, it really blew a hose. One minute I was hum
ming along; the next, wisps of steam were floating
through the car, and when I checked the temperature,
the needle was half an inch above H and straining for
more. By the time I pulled over, it was too late. Water
would not save me now the car had blown the head
gasket.
That's the bossman, the big guy, the gasket-in-chief.
It keeps the engine from committing suicide by shrivell
ing up in its own heat. With a blown head gasket, the car
will consume gallons of water in minutes, and should
you be so foolish as to approach a speed faster than a
baby's first steps, the engine will crack and melt to slag.'
And with every foot you drive the engine is straining,
clattering, gurgling. The noise of a cooling system turn
ing itself to high pressure steam is indescribable.
The steam must go somewhere. Actually, because the
gasket is blown, it goes everywhere. The engine is full of
vapor and what doesn't shoot out the exhaust, puffs
from under the hood. My car looked exactly like a big
purple box, full of boiling water, on wheels. Lurching
down the road to a gas station, the car went wuffwuf
fwuffwuff and belched white clouds from its rear. I
created a fog. What someone must have thought, driving
suddenly into pea-soup on a sunny day and hearing that
mournful, clatter ahead, I can't say. -
I wonder what's next. There are plenty of possible
' problems left the window that goes down and never
comes up, the transmission that only goes in reverse, the
turn signal that must be blinked manually, and a host of
groans, whistles, rattles and screams. With its dramatic
history, however, I think the car's finale will be like
Oliver Wendell Holmes' wonderful one-hoss shay, the
little carriage that at the end of a hundred years did not
wear out, but fell apart all at once.
Some day, as I scramble to work, I'll get in the car,
slam the door, and just like in the cartoons, the tires will
burst, the doors will crash to the ground, the fenders will
drop off, the hood and trunk will pop up and with a
weary sigh the engine will collapse in a litter of cams and
shafts.
Mike Sharsky is a senior English major from Greensboro.