Meredith Herald
January 17, 2001
Campus Opinion
Bush’s cabinet bare
From the
Editor
Well, we finally have a president. After weeks of wailing and
nights of watching MSNBC and CNN, in December the nation
finally learned who would lead the country for the next four years.
Amid much debate and controversy,
George W. Bush was declared the winner
of the November Presidential election.
So, in the past few weeks. Bush has been
nominating the people who will be his
closest political advisers and. in some
cases, conspirators, in the next four years.
Bush’s choices for cabinet positisions leave much to be desired,
especially for those who arc more moderate on the political spec
trum. Indeed. Bush’s nominees for cabinet positions include for
Secretary of the Interior, Gail Norton, who once worked under
James Watt, an opponent and bitter foe of environmental groups
All U.S. citizens can expect from Norton and Bush is explo
ration in the Alaskan National Reserve for untapped oil in a vain
attempt to avoid Hnding other alternatives to our obsessive and
fossil fuel dependent .society.
In addition, the nominee for attorney general, John Ashcroft, is
simply Bush’s nod to the Religious Right, to the right-wing, con
servative, fundamental people that still rear their heads from lime
to time on issues such as abortion, civil rights and the environ
ment.
Ashcroft is no exception to this common perception of the
Religious Right; indeed, his track record on both abortion and
civil rights has more moderate Republicans and DemiKrats alike
scratching their heads al Bush's selection. He is, in fact, an oppt>-
nent of abortion and his loyalty to ensuring civil rights is ques
tionable. North Carolina Senator John Edwards (D) is jusl one of
those who has vocalized conccrns about Ashcroft's nomination.
With Bush’s inauguration this Saturday, Jan. 20, and the Senate
hearings next week for cabinet approval, we are nearing the date
that will determine our country’s fate for the next four year.s? Do
we want to ignore and cover up environmentalists, feminists and
civil rights advocates'? If all Bush's cabinet selections go through,
that will certainly be the case.
Meredith Herald
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I Dream of Jimmy
Chkistina Holdrr
Associate Editor
They were flying some
where over Virginia when my
grandfather broke the news.
My dad, only twelve then,
had looked up into my grandfa
ther’s face not knowing quite
what to anticipate. The two
were on their way to Washing
ton, D.C.. and Dad had never
been before.
“Son, you belter begin think
ing about what you are going to
say to Caroline," he said in a
serious voice.
My dad, confused, waited
for my grandfather to explain.
“We are having dinner with
the Kennedy’s tonight.”
And what began as harmless
humor to lighten the thick,
stuffy air in the crowded plane,
turned into the controlling
thought in my father’s head.
My dad was never supposed
to buy it. At least that’s what
my grandfather thought.
But Dad's head had already
begun spinning as he began
shifting nervously. What would
he say to Caroline Kennedy?
He loosened the top button on
his white-collared shirt. What
do you say to a president's
daughter anyway?
It wa.sn’t until well into the
day, as the two passed the
Capitol, that my grandfather
reassured my father that dinner
with the Kennedy’s was merely
a joke. Dad blew a sigh of
relief. Grandfather chuckled.
And they walked on.
1 chuckled too, as I thought
of the story standing in line
outside of Quail Ridge Books
last Thursday sometime around
5 p.m.. Well, I was standing in
the vicinity of Quail Ridge. I
was actually about 1000 people
back, wrapped around the
shopping center and standing
on Ridge Road.
Jimmy Carter, thirty-ninth
president of the United States,
was somewhere inside, dutiful
ly surrounded by secret service
agents, and 1 was going to meet
him. He was at Quail Ridge
promoting his new book An
Hour Before Daylight, a mem
oir of his childhood growing up
in rural Georgia.
When 1 walked from my
dorm room across screaming-
Wade Avenue traffic to the
store, I was only half-prepared
for the crowd that awaited.
My friend Sarah had warned
me that when she had dropped
by the store earlier that day,
people had already set up
camp, firmly seated in lawn
chairs placed around the book
aisles. According to her, they
had been there since 2 p.m.
Carter was scheduled to sign
books only from 6 until 8, and
due to a shoulder injury, the
booksellers warned the crowd
there was no guarantee he
would gel through the entire
line. Still, I took my place,
deciding that it was worth a try
to meet a former president of
the United Stales.
Bui what would I say to
him? I didn't want to sound
like everyone else, exploding
with some drippy, saccharine
monologue that he would never
remember. I wanted to sound
refined, intellectual, apprecia
tive. Afterall. I respected him
for his character, even if he
didn't have the greatest presi
dency.
So the first hour I tossed
, around conversation starters.
President Carter, your work
with Habitat for Humanity is a
model for all American people.
My sister and I aren't getting
along. Can you teach me how
to master a peace talk?
Jimmy, great to see you!
How is Rosalynn?
And then I did that for the
second and third hour too.
Occasionally my concentra
tion would break as the line
ahead ebbed inside the store
and I moved a few feet for
ward. But I always returned to
the same thoughts that could
not seem to match the search
for the perfect opening.
So 1 began doing what any
journalist would. I began talk
ing to the people around me for
some ideas. No luck. 1 flipped
open the book and began read
ing, hoping to be inspired by a
passage that I could comment
upon. Still no luck.
In the back of my head, I
envisioned my own ten-minute
conversation with Jimmy talk
ing about school, politics and
the good old days.
When I finally got inside the
store shortly after eight. I
began to feel the same nervous
ness my dad must have felt
anticipating what he would say
to Caroline Kennedy.
As my line flowed into the
store, 1 searched for Jimmy. 1
assumed he was near the back
considering the glop of people
(hat seemed to bounce around
in that area. I considered mak
ing a beeline for the huddle,
but then I caught a glimpse of
the clerks directing traffic in
front of me.
They stood stoically at
strategic places amid the book
shelves looking like the stern
(icket-takers al the Ferris
wheel.
And as I looped around the
dictionaries and travel books, 1
accordingly fell like a kid wait
ing in that never-ending
amusement park line.
When I rounded the final
corner before reaching the
table where the President sat
waving his pen across pages, a
clerk stopped me and told me
to open my book to the title
page.
Finally as I stepped up to the
table, a clerk took my bK)k
and began .sliding it across the
table like it was a non-perish
able being scanned at the gro
cery store, as she did the book
after mine and on and on down
the line.
Carter, who was wildly sign
ing title page.s, looked up peri
odically to smile and say
“hello.” He looked up to the
man in front of me and the
woman behind me. But his
head was down when I passed.
“Hi, nice to meet you,(hank
you, bye," I said with more
speed (han grace. I passed on
through, feeling like one of (he
sheep passing through the
checkout line in John Updike's
“A & P.”
It was so very disappointing.
I had waited over three hours
to meet Jimmy Carter, former
President of the United States.
I didn't get to say anything to
him.
1 didn't even get to shake his
hand. And the only thing that
was on my mind as I opened to
the title page to see “J Carter"
scrawled quickly in a diagnol,
was reprimanding myself for
not having been one of the first
one hundred in line. Then,
maybe he would have sigited
his full name.