August 31, 1995
The Blue Banner
The Blue
Banner
The student newspaper of the
University of North Carolina
at Asheville
Editorial
ABC’s Prime Time anchor Diane Sawyer described Shannon
Faulkner as a woman who wanted to be a pioneer and ended up a
casualty. However, one might say Faulkner really committed sui
cide.
Faulkner had ample opportunity over a two-year period to prepare
herself for the rigors of military-style training, but it seems she
wasted a valuable opportunity. In all jjiat time, it looks like she could
have spent her time getting physically fit and mentally prepared for
life as the first female cadet at The Citadel. During the long court
battle, Faulkner should have be arming herself for a career as a cadet.
Faulkner said she had been running each morning and evening,
and working out with Nautilus equipment every other day, yet she
admitted to being over the military weight standards. Media film
from two years ago reveals a much slimmer Faulkner. So, what
happened?
Faulkner has been on The .Citadel campus taking classes. She had
to have some idea of what she was facing dyring "hell week", and she
had to know the whole country was watching to see how a woman
would fare if accepted to the cadet program
Obviously, Faulkner wasn’t ready physically, and she claims the
stress was simply too much. If Faulkner had been better prepared,
maybe more people would be sympathetic to her situation. Many
who once supported Faulkner now see her as a quitter. Those who
were against her have even more reason to gloat. Many feel that
Faulkner particularly let down women who have struggled for equal
opportunities.
Faulkner finally got her opportunity and only proved that she
wasn't woman enough to meet the challenge.
But those cheering cadets in South Carolina had better enjoy the
celebration now, for soon there will be women who are up to the
challenge and will survive "hell week" with the best of them.
yihai happened to summeri
Editorial Board
Teri Smith
Andrea Lawson
Kristi Hamby
Greg Deal
Lat Ray
Editor-in-Chief
News Editor
Features Editor
Sports Editor
Photo Editor
Staff
Paul Buttles, Amy Cannon, William Davis, Jennifer Dinsmore,
James Hertsch, Anne Kuester, Debbie Larson, Michael Morgan,
Marti Parson, Tracy Singleton, Renee Slaydon, Kevin Watson,
Wendi Wolfe
Karen Brinson
Alice Hui
Greg Deal
Advertising
Business Manager
Circulation
Mark West, faculty advisor
Weather report provided by UNCA Department of Atmospheric Sciences
The Blue Banner is the student newspaper of the University of
North Carolina at Asheville.
We publish each Thursday except during summer sessions,
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Greg Calvert
Columnist
Didn’t you just hate those es
says you had to write as a kid
about “What I Did On My Sum
mer Vacation?” They served no
purpose other than to occupy
your time during those first few
tortruous hours, reminding you
that your time was no longer
your own. It was like rubbing
salt in those scraped knees that
you had come by in some great
adventure or daring feat. The
summer had held so much prom
ise of freedom and seemed to
have lasted forever, but there you
were back in that labor camp
that was a classroom, yearning
for j ust one more day of no shoes
and warm sunshine.
These were my thoughts last
week as I lamented my summer
over a few beers with a couple of
friends. “Who stole my sum
mer?” I whined mournfully. For
every year I grow older, I seem to
lose a little more of the summer
freedom I looked forward to and
cherished like a broken-in base
ball mitt. Responsibilities seem
to increase exponentially, while
playtime dwindles like the
amount of sun left in the day.
Who in the hell dictated that I
couldn’t go out and play any
more? I told them how it used to
be, how Tom and I would go
down to the platform by the
creek and pretend it was a big
steamboat sailing down the Ohio
River. Or how we would be
knights, with curtain rods for
swords, rescuing damsels in dis
tress (which were really Tom’s
little sisters we had previously
tied up in the barn). Now those
were glorious summers that
seemed to go on for years.
But, alas, my moaning fell on
understanding, yet unsympa
thetic ears. One friend told me
to grow up and stop being such a
baby. When we were younger,
he said, we would give anything
to be grown up (whatever that
means) and this is the expected
outcome from our pact with the
devil to be “big.” Life, to him
meant not having fun anymore,
getting our satisfaction from
work and a peaceful existence.
Well, I just couldn’t stand for
this roll-over-and-play-dead train
of thought, so I turned to my
other friend for some kind of
moral support. He didn’t want
to have anything to do with my
return to childhood either, but
his reasoning was that it was our
acceptance ot technology that was
to blame. His thinking was that
because technology has allowed
us to be more easily productive
in less time, we can therefore do
more with far less sweat. In this
way we get caught in a Catch-22,
spending more of our time being
productive, allowing “manage
ment” to expect more from us,
and keeping us more productive.
My response was that I didn’t
need anymore psycho-babble
from a bunch of drunks. T o keep
the insults and punches to a mini
mum we moved on to other more
mundane subjects, but my ques
tions still haunted me.
Then while driving my car a
few days later, I had one of those
great revelations you sometimes
get while listening to a song (I
can’t be the only one this hap
pens to). I heard “Ants March
ing” by The Dave Matthews
Band, and although I’m sure the
writer didn’t intend some deep
prophetic message, it had this
lightning-bolt effect on me. It
reminded me of this Beatle’s
song,—“A Day In The Life” I
think its called,~describing a bor
ing existence of getting up to
another day of drudgery. Doing
all of the same things every morn
ing, doing all of the same things
every day, ending the evening in
the same routine like clockwork.
Living your life by someone else’s
timeline without a sense of kick
ing your shoes off, letting down
your hair, and having a little fun.
And it reminded me of myself
and how I spent my summer
(you knew I had to come to the
point somewhere, huh?)
Like most people, summer is
this magical period where time is
supposed to stop. We all make
big plans to go on vacation, to
finish those projects we excused
ourselves from during the win
ter, or to read all those books we
want to read and just don’t have
to read for some class. And I was
no different in May; boy did I
ever have plans. This was Greg’s
summer and nothing or nobody
was going to get in my way of
doing what I wanted to do, what
ever it may be.
But lo and behold, the best laid
plans of mice and men often go
awry. I work as a pilot and really
love what I do and although some
people would call this job more
like fun, it is still a job. My
responsibilities increased with a
promotion and the addition of
another aircraft with which to
bore holes in the sky. Then a few
natural disasters and Generals
with someplace to go had Uncle
Sam knocking at my door to pay
him back for all the money he
(i.e. us) spent on my training.
Before long, June led to July,
July flew into August and my
31st birthday, and the next thing
I know I’m buying way over
priced books and sitting in way-
too-hot classrooms. Going back
in a whirlwind to the question of
where did my summer go and
who the hell took it away from
me! WTiich leads us back to the
drunks, the car (not at the same
time of course), the songs, and
my lightning bolt of a revelation.
It isn’t some childhood curse of
wanting to be a big boy, and it
isn’t Bill Gates and Silicon
Valley’s fault I didn’t have the
freedom and fun I wished for,
however nice it would be to blame
some really rich guy. The answer
to my woes was glaring back at
me in the mirror. This is a new
one in this day of shrugged re-
sponsibihties, but it was my fault
I didn’t have the kind of fun I
wanted. In my life, and the lives
of many acquaintances, we have
tried to have it all. We would all
like to say "been there, done that,
gotthet-shirt," but in doing that
we pay an awfully high price. For
reaching for the almighty dollar,
climbing the ladder, or spending
a bit too much time glued to the
Internet, we lose all the adven
ture, romance, and fun of being
that kid who knew no other time
clock than the one that brought
your grimy little self back to the
dinner table at night. Now I’m
not saying go and forsake all of
your studies and jobs for the
sandbox, even I’m a realist to
that point. But go out and play,
have fun, before you forget how
and start droning on, day to day,
clock to clock. It happens all too
easily.
F/orida drirers mrHi the only ones with had habits
Michael Gelman
Columnist
So you think you’re a good
driver? Answer this easy ques
tion: What color is a yield sign?
Just in case you don’t know the
answer, it is at the end of this
column.
I’m not the best driver in the
world, but I am safe. I get where
I’m going quickly, and I’m usu
ally courteous. Asheville roads
are swarming with under-in-
formed motorists. I don’t know
where they all come from —
only about half of them have
Florida license plates.
North Carolina’s driving hand
book only tells you some of the
dos-and-don’ts about driving,
and based on what I see every
day, many drivers don’t obey
even these. Here are a few mis
takes that even good drivers
sometimes make.
Take the right-of-way, if it is
yours. Giving away the right-of-
way is NOT courteous. It causes
confusion, puts everyone at risk,
and cynics like me will accuse
you of trying to assume control
over the other motorists.
When you’re the first to stop at
a red light, pull up to the line.
The road has a sensor under it
that tells the switch that you’re
there. The government doesn’t
tell you about it, but if you drive
a motorcycle, you soon learn to
position your bike in just the
right spot on the road.
Parking lots with angled spaces
are directional (oneway). When
you drive through a full parking
lot of this type, cars are parked so
that you can see their back ends
when looking forward. These lots
are designed so that you can pull
straight in and park. When you’re
ready to leave, you back out about
1-1/2 car lengths, turning your
car slightly, and drive forward
again, in the correct direction. If
you go the wrong way, you have
to do some tricky maneuvering
to park your car. Yes, I am aware
that Sears has “STOP” printed at
both ends of their directional
parking lots. That’s to protect us
from the under-informed mo
torists that drive the wrong way.
Those center lanes on 5-lane
roads, such as Tunnel Road, are
there so you can get out of the
way of traffic while you wait for
a chance to turn. Don’t drive in
this lane. It’s not a bi-directional
fifth traffic lane. One under-in-
formed motorist driving in the
center lane makes it unavailable
for motorists moving in both
directions.
When someone ahead of you is
trying to enter the interstate,
move to the left if you can. You
know, the “Golden Rule?”
If you need to get on or off a
ramp, do it as soon as possible.
This is just common sense. Ifyou
wait, you may lose your chance
to do it safely.
Keep to your side of the road if
the road is wide enough for some
one to pass you, going the other
way. I absolutely HATE IT when
motorists play “chicken” with me.
I won’t write how I teach these
people a lesson, but if I’ve ever
done it to you, you know. Don’t
play chicken when you’re driv
ing — don’t play at all.
Instead of braking on the inter
state, stay a safe distance from
the car in front of you. Instead of
braking while going down a hill,
use a lower gear. This is one of
those rare times when you need
to shift an automatic transmis
sion; useoneofthe“L”or“LOW’
gears. I’ve seen someone wear
out a new set of break pads in a
few weeks from breaking while
going down mountain roads.
When you turn on to another
road, turn in to the lane that is
closest to you. Don’t swing into
the next lane to avoid making a
sharp turn, then honk at the
other car that is also turning onto
the same road, and is in the lane
that you want to swerve into.
Don’t feed wild bears, and don’t
give money to the “Will work for
food” people. You’ll only be do
ing them an injustice by sup
porting their substance abuse
habits. If no one gave them
money they wouldn’t be sitting
at intersections. Give money at
church, but DRIVE when you’re
on the road.
Finally, each car must stop at a
4-way stop intersection. You
can’t just drive on through with
the car in front of you, if there is
at least one other car already
stopped at a stop sign. Wait your
turn.
Answer: Yield signs are red and
white. If you answered “yellow”
you are most likely over 25 years
old. Yield signs have not been
yellow since 1973.
Michael Gelman is a management
senior, weddingphotographer, and
weekend manager of the ABCCM
Homeless Shelter. He was formerly
a photographer at the Asheville
Citizen-Times, and a guest col
umnist at the Blue Banner.