The Tar HeelThursday, June 2, 198817
Opinion
Biscuit ciraviing leads
IVe been on a Kentucky Fried
Chicken kick lately. What that
means is, when I get on these
kicks (I do it for bananas, strawber
ries and certain songs), I can't go for
more than about two days before I
need a KFC biscuit or three. So,
almost every night around 5 o'clock,
I've left the computer to drive over
to Carrboro in my car (which looks
more like my grandfather's boat
that old and that big).
When I drive, I turn on my old
tape player (since the radio quit two
years ago) and try to forget everything
I have to do in the next 24 hours.
It should be a time to think about
absolutely nothing.
But it never works out that way,
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Murder made simple
Gun shots. Loud screams. One
child murdered, others
injured, and a gun in the
hands of an unstable woman who
eventually commits suicide. The
incident last week in Winnetka, 111.,
has restarted the debate over who
should be allowed to purchase guns.
In a class discussion last semester
on whether it was worth the price in
human lives to have guns for hunting
or protection against intruders, the
conversation was dominated by an
instructor who was against guns for
reasons to the effect that most
murders occur when someone takes
his girlfriend out someone else
looks at her cross-eyed, and the next
thing you have is a body in a pool
of blood. Opposition in the class came
from students saying they have a
constitutional right to bear arms and
hunt when they please.
But is it worth the cost in human
life? Should guns be so freely
distributed?
If what happened last week could
have been prevented by a stronger
control on the sale of firearms,
shouldn't Americans support further
control? We are so fragile. We break,
shatter, and fall, yet there are still
those who wish to have a gun in their
possession. But at a time of irrational
because as soon as I turn off of
Cameron Avenue, I drive by the
town's soup kitchen and the group
of men hanging around outside.
Even in my big, old car that makes
me feel utterly ridiculous anywhere
on Franklin Street, I end up feeling
ostentatious when I drive by, thinking
that I really ought to be walking, that
I don't deserve this luxury. And I
remember the one time I worked in
the soup kitchen, for lunch last year.
1 went because my campus pastor
went every Friday and campus
ministry members were supposed to
help. I didn't really mind going and
dealing with the older men and
women there I served them the
food and talked briefly with some of
Randy Basinger
Staff Columnist
thought and anger, they could easily
pull the trigger and waste a God-given
life.
What if it were harder to kill
someone? If guns were abolished, the
process of killing a person would
come down to using a baseball bat
or strangling with a cord, a process
much more personal than pulling a
trigger on a gun at a great distance
from the victim. With a gun there is
none of the aftermath implanted; one
just turns away and avoids seeing the
holes left behind.
However, with a bat or a cord, you
see the blood, the blue face, the cracks
in the skull. The blood can come off
with water, but it will never wash
away from a conscience. If guns were
abolished, murder influenced by
passion or alcohol would become too
personal and would rarely reach the
stage of death. Few have the guts to
finish off a person who will die in
their hands.
Randy Basinger is a sophomore
journalism major from Statesville.
to a heavyhearted drive
Sharon Kebschull
Editor
them. They didnt really tell me their
stories of why they were there, as I
wouldVe expected they just didn't
seem to want to rehash that.
What I did have a difficult time
with were the few guys there who were
my age or just a little older. They
were generally good-looking and not
the types I expected to see. And they
were the ones I couldn't talk to,
because I couldn't figure out what to
say.
I wanted to ask why they were
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there, why not in school or at work.
Jobs are plentiful in this area, I
thought, so are you all just lazy?
Since then, IVe learned at least
partial answers to those questions.
Some of them probably did have jobs
and were trying to support them
selves. But in Chapel Hill, minimum
wage jobs don't go too far when you
try to pay for an apartment and food
and clothing. For those guys who had
moved away from their families, self
support was tough especially in
a part of North Carolina where a
college degree is almost the rule.
Town leaders are working for low
income housing and shelters for
special children or battered wives. But
it's not fast enough to help those
Ponytails and prejudices
Iused to have long hair. It got to
be long enough so that I could
pull it back into a ponytail. Not
one of those wimpy ponytails, either;
it took forever to grow, and it was
hard to part with.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I
thought it was attractive, and even
entertaining. I could twirl it around
my finger, or put it in my mouth and
be happy (I'm easy to please) for
hours.
The real reason I had it, though,
had more to do with a little "game"
I was playing. A ponytail is an
extremely stereotypical trait, and a lot
of people committed themselves to
some interesting attributions about
my personality upon meeting me and
seeing my ponytail.
I always loved to hear them later:
Gosh, I thought you were freaked out
on drugs when I met you. Gosh, I
thought you were a pinko-commie
It was more than funny. People
who allow themselves to judge some
one by a ponytail open themselves
up to a lot of abuse. In a discussion,
in a social situation, in a busineess
transaction, I could often gain the
upper hand because people couldn't
figure out how I was going to act,
or what I was going to say next.
It wasn't all good, though.
Although I loved the attention that
resulted from it, I also rCoticed
another more subtle shading. In
almost every "group" situation, I
always felt different. I could be
accepted, but I never felt totally
"assimilated."
It was very much like being a guy
in a room full of girls, a Southerner
in a room full of Northerners, or an
American in a room full of Brits.
Except it wasn't a room, it was a
world, and it never stopped. Just as
bad were the people who wanted to
accept me just because I had a
Editors Sharon Kebschull
News Editor Julia Coon
Photography Editor David Minton
Design Editor Mandy Spence
Assistant Editor James Benton
Editorial Writers Bill Hildebolt and Randy Basinger
Staff Francine Allen, Allison Baker, Kari Barlow, Frank
Bragg, Bill Brown, Beth Buffington, Scott Cooper, Tony
Deifell, Jeff Eckard, Shelley Erbland, Mark Evans, Nancy
Fister, Robert Genadio, Dawn Gibson, Susan Holdsclaw,
Anne Isenhower, James Mills, Michael Phillips, Angelia
Poteat, Subhash Roy, Chris Sellers, Chris Sontchi, Mary
Turner.
people I see nightly outside the shelter
get out of the rut they're stuck in.
The town can't solve those people's
problems, but it could take a big
chunk out of them.
I haven't been back to the shelter
I usually say I'm too busy, and
that's generally the truth. But I want
to go back, and I want to talk to
the people who are my age, to find
out what kinds of jobs they have and
how what kinds of plans they have
for the future. And I want to ask what
they think whenever they see cars like
mine drive by and just keep on going.
Sharon Kebschull is a junior
journalism and religious studies
major from Raleigh.
Bill Hildebolt
Staff Columnist
ponytail. "So what," I felt like
screaming, "it's just how I look, it
doesn't mean anything." Except it
did.
Finally, the fun of having people
thinking I was something I wasn't lost
out to this feeling of being different
in a way that I could never totally
overcome.
So I had my ponytail cut off. As
I sat in the barber's chair, I wondered
if I was losing part of my personality.
As six-inch blond locks fell to the
floor, I wondered if I was giving up
and selling out To social pressure, or
just doing what was necessary to
reach my full potential.
I kept taking heart in a sign on
the Black Cultural Center's wall
"To win the game, play by the rules,
but don't believe in it," but then I
questioned something that goes a
little deeper than my ponytail and my
need to fit in.
The ponytail came off with a pair
of scissors, but other characteristics
aren't so easily changed. Skin color,
economic background and shoe size,
among other things, are one-shot
deals, and the people who judged me
by my ponytail probably judge
everyone by their appearance. I
wonder how I would have dealt with
life if my ponytail were permanent.
Bill Hildebolt is a sophomore
economics I political science major
from Winston-Salem who has short
hair and hasn't worn a bandana in
months.