Opinion Page THE BRUNSWICIt&iEACON Edward M. Sweatt and Carolyn H. Sweatt Publishers Lynn Sweatt Carlson Editor Susan Usher . News Editor Doug Rutter Sports Editor Eric Carlson Staff Writer Mary Potts & Peggy Earwood Office Managers Morrev Thomas Advertising Director Ttmberiey Adams ? Linda Cheers.... Advertising Kepreseniatwes Dorothy Brennan & Brenda Clemmons Moore Graphic Artists William Manning J*ressman Lonnle Sprinkle Assistant Pressman PAGE 4 -A, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1994 Investigation Needed To Remove Stench From Sheriff's Race The race for Brunswick County sheriff has turned ugly in the vilest kind of way, with serious implications for both the Demo cratic and Republican candidates. It is important to separate what can be substantiated from what is alleged. These facLs are admitted: ? Two years ago, a group of seemingly responsible adults taking a course to learn basic law enforcement rented and watched an X-rated videotape in mixed company while in a classroom. ? The incident occurred at Brunswick Community College, a taxpayer-funded institution of higher learning, on equipment bought with public money. ? Excerpts from an X-rated videotape purported to be one they watched have been distributed in Brunswick County along with a letter besmirching the heretofore good name of Demo cratic candidate Ronald Hewett. These are the allegations: ? Three of 12 students enrolled in the class say Hewett, who was their instructor, allowed the viewing to take place and was present when it happened. At least two others admit the tape was shown, but say Hewett was off campus for lunch at the time, a claim the college administration says its investigation bears out. ? Hewett's attorney is accusing Republican candidate James Brown of having taken an active part in distributing the smut in an overt, mean-spirited and possibly illegal attempt to impugn the character of his opponent. Everyone known to be involved in the distribution will face legal action, the attorney says. The admitted facts point to bad judgment, unprofessional conduct and questionable morality on the part of a few men and women who were supposed to be studying to become officers of the law. The letter raises questions about the wisdom of accusers who would implicate themselves in the process of trying to dis credit a candidate they oppose. The allegations are more serious, since they involve the pos sibility of illegal activities such as conspiracy, libel, dissemina tion of pornography and violation of copyright laws. The voters of Brunswick County deserve to have this cloud of stench removed from the sheriff's race before they go to the polls on Nov. 8. The only way to accomplish that is with an im mediate and thorough criminal investigation ? from an authority higher than the Brunswick County Sheriff's Department ? fol lowed by a full public disclosure of the findings. Searching No More Campbell's Zesty Tomato Soup, imported sausages, a particular brand of Creole spices, a favorite cleaner. Lemon ice cream. You never know when a column is going to strike a chord. Lemon ice cream seemed an unlikely topic. However, it seems many of us have experienced that frustrating search of the aisles to find a product that was there only a few weeks ago, or was on the shelf of another store in another place but seemingly can't be found here. During the past week eight peo ple have called with promises to send recipes for Italian lemon ice, lemon sherbet and the real thing.. .lemon ice cream. I plan to try every one. They and others have also shared their own tales of the hunt; some are still looking, I'm sad to report. Two callers offered almost immediate relief in my own search. Ken Proctor, co-owner of the new grocery store at Ocean Isle Beach, reported that with a few telephone calls he had found a source for lemon ice cream and will soon have it in the freezer case. Hurray and thanks! Maybe he can ncip those oilier lolks out too... The volunteers with Brunswick County Habitat For Humanity came through "with an unexpected source that I had to share, "Partners in the Kitchen, From Our House To Yours," a cookbook published by Habitat For Humanity International. Brunswick County's Habitat chapter just received copies that it started selling at the N.C. Oyster Festival this weekend. Like any true cookbook lover. Karen Stanley immediately skimmed it from cover to cover. She sent word it included a Lemon Velvet Ice Cream recipe. President Doreen Alloway made sure I received a copy at the festival. A beautiful, spiral-bound collection of recipes submitted by Habitat af filiates across the United States, it uses the analogy of a house-raising for its structure and incorporates photographs and information about Habitat's housing ministry. "Feeding Hungry Workers," for instance, features make and take recipes good for a house-raising or for a family reunion, church dinner or neighborhood potluck. You can try the lemon ice cream recipe yourself with your own cook book from Brunswick County Habitat For Humanity Inc., P.O. Box 3347, Shallotte, N.C. 28459. Cost is $10 plus shipping. For more information con tact Habitat at 910-754-3788. Proceeds will go toward the partnership's ef fort to see that people have decent, affordable housing. Sometimes all you need to do to find an answer is to ask the right ques tion. Worth Repeating... ? Knowledge of human nature is the beginning and end of po litical education. ? Henry Brook Adams ? It is the customary fate of new truths to begin as heresies and end as superstitions. ? Thomas Henry Huxley ? Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning. ? Thornton Wilder Some Days Are Better Than Others 5>o how was your day? I usually answer that question, as most people do, by saying some thing like: "the usual" or "nothing new" or "same stuff, different day." After all, much of newspaper re porting involves pretty boring activi ties, like talking to government offi cials and going to public meetings that you lucky readers don't want to attend any moie mail 1 uo. But every now and then, there are days like last Tuesday, when the adrenaline in your bloodstream won't let you sleep until the wee hours of the following morning. It started out quiet. Too quiet. Another slow day in what we in the bidness call "a slow news week." Nothing exciting to write about ? just the most recent meetings of the Utilities Operations Board, the Eco nomic Development Commission, the Board of Health, etc. etc. I was busy working on stories about septic tank regulations when the police scanner went totally crazy: "Motor vehicle accident near the state line!. ..Gasoline tanker and one automobile!... Car overturned!... Subjects trapped!. .Vehicle on fire!... Fully involved in flames!. ..Danger of fuel spill explosion!... Priority traffic!... All available units re spond!" Eric Carlson I < kWKKfl i I reckon that means me, I thought, grabbing my camera bag and the portable radio. I got behind a Shal lotte Volunteer Rescue Squad crash truck and buzzed down U.S. 17 to ward the state line. Often, these emergency calls turn out to be less urgent than originally reported. But not this one. The radio traffic became more intense as po lice, fire and rescue units updated their progress. Blue lights and sirens wailed past me in the left lane Miles from the scene, clouds of smoke could be seen billowing into the air. Knowing I might not get too close, I fumbled to attach a tclcpho to lens and loaded a fresh roll of film while steering with my knees. Sure enough, the southbound lane was clogged with emergency vehi cles. Volunteers were jumping from cars, rushing toward the smoke, donning helmets and pulling on their protective turn-out gear. I ran too, straight into a scene that looked like something from the movie "Road Warrior." A dozen black skid marks covered the pave ment for a hundred feet, trailing off into deep gouges across the grassy shoulder of the highway. One set of marks led toward the tractor-trailer truck, jackknifcd and iwiMcd into on iiicApliiduic contor tion of cab and tanker, leaning at a strange angle across the embank ment. The other black scar became a furrow of plowed earth leading to ward an unrecognizable mass of smoking, crumbled metal surround ed by yellow raincoats and stream ing fire hoses. How many in there? Two. Maybe three Male or female? Can't tell yet. Anything spill? The car's gas tank ruptured Set the woods on fire. How about the tanker1 No leaks Thank God It was bad But it could have been A LOT worse. That was the general sentiment from everyone who help ed prevent things from getting that way. What if the first respondent had arrived a few minutes later ^ What if Route 17, Highway or Dieway? HOW COME THEY'VE GOT MONEY FOR ALL THESE SIGNS &\JT NOME F OR. TRAFFIC SIGNALS? MAYBE THEY SHOULD ADD 'USE AT YOUR OWN RISK"/ the car fire had spread to that 4,500 gallons of fuel? What if the truck's cab had jackknifcd the other way, overturning the tanker into the infer no? As the smoke cleared and rescue workers began the grisly business of cutting open the wreckage, there came a tidbit of good news. Better anyway. There was only one person (>Air rtlH Hinmon I Knrw. i ii.nuv , u V,M ?* ********* * * K* never knew what hit her. The other charred body was a dog. The third suspected fatality turned out to be a pile of laundry. It's hard to get your mind back on the ramifications of septic drain field overload after witnessing a scene like that. I had just finished the septic tank story when the photos hit my desk, bringing back the images in stark black and white. I selected two pic tures suitable for a family newspa per and left for the Calabash town board meeting. Somehow, the lengthy discussions of drainage ditch maintenance, sew er system acquisition and street-sign installation seemed inconsequential as I jotted down notes and gazed in to space, lost in a thousand-yard stare. It was the same expression I saw afterwards at the Calabash Volunteer l ire Department building, where I stopped to make a phone call They had been there, too. Driving up Thomasboro Road. I moved along briskly, hoping to get this last story out in time to make it home by midnight But no I was near the end of the last long straightaway before the final curve leading to U.S. 17 when I saw head lights in m> rear view mirror. They were closing fast. F.xpecting a dis play of flashing blue lights. I gl?rve