Editor's notebook
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All unsigned editorials are the opinion of the editor. Letters and
columns represent the opinions of others.
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si-ded' February 23, 1S33
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Yes, it is true. Let's try to get it
straight from the beginning this
summer: The Tar Heel will be
published twice a week, Tuesday
and Friday mornings.
Now, normally we wouldn't take
up your valuable time or The Tar
Heel's space to tell you something
like that, but so many camp
followers have dropped by the office
to either wish us well, or complain
that they can't" find a paper, we
simply must tell you now, this is the
first issue of a semi-weekly
publication.
And another thing, hopefully you
shouldn't have any trouble finding a
copy of the paper if you just look in
the riht places (the Carolina Union,
the Y Court, etc.). The main
advantage this summer is the
delivery time. Last summer and for
eons before. The Tar Heel was
delivered in the afternoon. We
humbly submit that in a stroke of
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The major U.S. auto makers lost
millions of dollars during the first
quarter of this year as big car sales fell
during the gas shortage. GM's profits
fell 85 per cent, Ford's 66 per cent and
Chrysler made only half what it did a
year ago.
UiAuto manufacturers have never been
c :es to take losses lightly and their
compensatory strategy has now become
apparent. Americans will be buying
small cars that use less gas, and Detroit
will obligingly make more of them.
However, the manufacturers will soon
be charging as much for their small cars
as they used to charge for the big ones.
Last Monday, GM announced its
third price increase since September, an
average rise of 1.9 per cent. The average
price rise on its large cars was just over
one per cent, while the price of a Vega,
GM's sub-compact car, was hiked 5.3
per cent.
During the last year, the price of a
Vega has risen 20 per cent while a full
size Chevrolet costs only four per cent
more than it did last May.
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Tuesday, May 21, 1974
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genius The Tar Heel's editors have
set forth onto broad new horizons
and late night work to turn The Tar
Heel into a morning publication.
That way, you can get a copy before
the afternoon work crews take them
all home to their puppies and
parakeets.
Logically, if you go back to the
same place where you picked up this
coPy you should find another there
Friday morning, but if you are the
adventurous type, look around any
of the open dorms, the Scuttlebutt,
Granville Towers, Memorial
Hospital, the Law School, or even
Hector's and the Carolina Coffee
Shop on Franklin Street.
Pssst ... by the way, if there are
any budding journalists or even
downright scholars out there in the
real world, you might consider
dropping by The Daily Tar Heel
office in the Carolina Union just to
see what's happening.
lies dffop:
Other U.S. manufacturers have
announced similar increases. The price
of a Ford Pinto, for example, has risen
three times more than the price of Ford's
least expensive full-size car.
One reason for these increases is to
provide incentive for big car buyers; big
cars now cost proportionately less than
they used to. The manufacturers could,
however, have provided incentive in a
manner that benefited the buyers as well
as themselves. They could have
improved the design of their big cars so
they averaged more than eight miles per
gallon. But this would have taken
research and considerable effort, and
that is not Detroit's method of
operation. They have, as usual, taken
the most expedient means to extricate
themselves from their problem.
If price increases continue on their
present pattern, auto manufacturers will
soon be making as much money as they
used to.
This will solve Detroit's problems,
but no one else's.
Joel Crinktey
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V.Y
This town's not big enough for the 29,512 of us.
At some point, some time in the past, the Village
grew to be a town, and then somewhere further along
the way got the incredible idea it could be a city.
Incredible: adj. (L. credibilis credere) not
believable, improbable or unlikely to the point of
unbelievability.
No . . . it's just not possible for this town to become a
city, not even a small one.
Yes . . . we've already tried to set all the rules which
seemingly follow in the steps of seeming progress;
we've pushed the Franklin Street flower ladies into an
alley underneath a fire escape; we've established an
appearance commission to decide whether or not a
building would look better where it is or some place
else; we've put our dogs on leashes, or most of them,
anyway; we've made parking a miracle worthy of the
pope or any saint on down the line; we've jammed the
area with apartments here and there plus a few extras
just outside of the municipal limits; we've gone to war
with the county commissioners, the state legislature.
Governor Holshouser and anyone else who would
indulge in a little verbal fisticuffs; we have in short,
fellow citizens, doomed ourselves to urban
Armageddon.
The end will come slowly no doubt, in short spasms
of nausea and refuse building to the point where
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LuAnn Jones
Summertime: living is easy
If you've never experienced Chapel Hill in the summer
welcome.
The pace is slow around here. It's a forget-your-troubles-and-relax
kind of town. Activity changes tempo from a four
four to a six-eight rhythm May through August.
Despite rumors that Chapel Hill is quickly losing the
village atmosphere, a small-town manner still pervades in
the downtown area for the most part.
Take a stroll down Franklin Street about noon and you'll
see what I mean.
Lolling on the Post Office steps, jean-clad students take a
break just to watch the world go by. They sit, absorbing the
sun's heat and, at the same time, are oppressed by that
boiling blaze, as if waiting for some supernatural power to
come along and move them.
Across the street more young people lounge on the wall,
sitting cross-legged so the impression of the stones will
remain on their ankles long after they leave their vigil.
Near the corner of the University Methodist Church lawn
a huge old magnolia tree just beginning to bloom gives off a
delicious fragrance and blessed mid-day shade.
Pertly-dressed secretaries file out of Baskin-Robbins,
exchanging office gossip and trying to stay one lick ahead of
their rapidly melting tutti-fruiti mint nut sherbet.
Bisbort and Swallow
Weekenndls nun CtapeL
If God had not wanted us to drink. He
would not have made Chapel Hill.
That is to say, there is very little to do in
Chapel Hill during the summer weekends.
Summer movies range from bad to worse
and are best seen under an alcoholic haze.
There are no dinner theatres, no nightclubs,
no liquor by the drink, no brothels, no
concerts, no places to dance.
What we do have are bars, beer bars and
lots of them. We have five hip bars, ranging
from subtle hip (Cat's Cradle) to bluegrass
hip (Endangered Species) to down and out
freak hip (Town Hall). We have, an old
jock f rat bar (The Tavern) and a new
jockfrat bar (McCauley's). Wc have a
preppie bar (The Shack). We have a gay bar
(The Electric Co.) Wc have a teenie bopper
bar (The Hideaway). And we have a hard hat
bar (Scoreboard).
What more could anyone want? All
manner and variation of bars. And so, on the
summer weekends in Chapel Hill, we drink.
Over and over come the sounds of
developers will no longer find anymore village
atmosphere to prostitute into pecuniary value.
NCNB will pack its three stories of steel, glass and
cash and fade into some nice urban skyline sunset while
Roberts Associates will try to sell all its Chapel Hill
holdings to IT&T and buy up what's left of
H illsborough's greenery so there can be, yes, even more
apartments for all of we gullible sardines to stack our
scaley sides into plaster-coated walls.
Surely when the end comes, the board of alderpeople
will be debating over those biting issues of our time,
bicycle paths and the Horace Williams annual open
house.
Meanwhile Watergate flows on down the river,
apparently into eventual oblivion; baseball's greatest
slugger still opens his mail to read "Dear Nigger"; and
the world's greatest living writer wonders about the.
fate of his family. If those aren't enough for you, we can
'talk about Patricia Hearst for a while, or England's
economy, or King Faisal's oil, or Chile, or famine in
Africa, on and on . . . blah, blah ... ad infinitum.
You know we've got trouble and 1 know we've got
trouble; the point is that it's not just the rest of the
world; we've got trouble right here in River City.
Now don't go writing letters to the editor saying
Elliott Warnock doesn't know that there really is
trouble in the world. (Just wait, somebody will do it.)
Walking down Franklin Street, U.S.A., we can see the
averted eyes staring down at the pavement, we can see
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someone having a good time. Just like the
jive TV beer commercials with the burley.
chested sideburned grunts who come off the
imitation old ships and throw their ring tops
all over the beach. They're just having a good
time. Good old boys. Don't you just hate
them?
Don't you think you're above such macho
nonsense? Don't you think that you ain't no
animal? I'm polite and mannerly when 1
drink, you think. Bullshit. You are as
slobbery and skunk drunk as the rest of them
(even if it's only in your head.)
Town Hairs a dive and that's from
someone who ought to know. But don't let
that scare you. Nothing like an onion bagel
after you can't sec from all that beer. Can't
walk cither. (Why do you do such things to
yourself? Well, got any better ideas?) Town
Hall is also good if you want someone to fall
over you or make a pass at you. It's
sometimes called Pick Up City and if it's
freaks you want, Town Hall is the place.
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Cool-looking businessmen exit from NCNB Plaza and
begin to swelter in the humidity. But the executives still try to
look like they just stepped from the pages of Tlie New
Yorker.
On a paint-peeled park bench sits a bearded gentleman,
hunched over a thick paperback and seemingly unaware of
the world outside his novel.
The Flower Ladies fan themselves peacefully in the shade
of the alley between the Varsity Theater and the Intimate
Bookstore. Tin cans filled with daisies, pink peonies, deep
blue bachelor buttons and dozens of other varieties of
freshly-cut flowers surround them.
Motorists, anxious to escape the scorching heat, wait
impatiently as pedestrians wander idly across the street,
oblivious to the screeching brakes and the "Walk with the
light" sign.
Yes, it's a lazy kind of town. Chapel Hill knows when it's
time to take a break. Don't be surprised if about the middle
of June you see a notice on a storefront window reading
"Closed for vacation." That's just the way things are done
here.
So take a cue from the Southern part of Heaven. Slow
down and take a breather to watch the world go by. -It's
summertime and the living is easy around here
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On the other hand, if you want to be
jostled by preppies in starched tennis shirts
go to The Shack at night. Preppies always
have good loudmouth drunks.
At the Scoreboard the lights are so low, it's
hard to tell who's there. You can play with
the knobs on each table's individual juke box
selector. And with the lights so low you can
pretend to be whatever you want.
There is something for everybody. That is,
if you want to drink beer. You could go to
the ABC store at Eastgate where they don't
ask for an I.D. and take a bottle home and
drink like a true ice bucket alcoholic, or put
it up on the shelf and impress yourself.
Or you could stay at home and watch T.V.
and pretend you aren't at college or in
Chapel Hill.
Everything you always heard about
Chapel Hill and Carolina and drinking is
probably true. You can be cynical if you
want, but well, if God hadn't wanted us to
drink . . .
the trash lying around the campus, we don't see
parking spaces. And just in case you say I'm crying in
my beer and I'm just a Goodbye Mr. Chips nostalgia
freak, let me tell you friend; I can remember back to the
times when not only were there parking spaces, not
only that; I can remember when members of the
Chapel Hill public community could get tickets to the
basketball games. That's right . . . everyday members of
middle class America could watch basketball in
person. Now don't tell me that was wrong.
No, the good old days are good and gone. We live in
the present, in (eech) modern Chapel Hill. The
University Mall and Granville Towers are here to stay,
just like the University. The overriding question that
remains with all these fabulous structures is how many
more such gems as the NCNB parking deck will be
built; how many more times will permanent problems
be dodged with temporary answers.
What's worse the UNC student body will probably
sit back on its collective haunches and watch as the
world goes by and Chapel Hill goes down the gutter.
HA! you say . . . what can one little old student do?
Well, for starters you might try speaking up once in a
while, get up out of your comfy bean-bag chair and say
something, anything. Think it through before you
shoot off your mouth of course; you don't want to
make a fool of yourself, but you would be more of a
fool to just sit back and watch as what's left of this town
disappears into a pyramid of parking decks.
The revolution
in SLA style
burns itself out
Is nothing sacred?
The Symbionese Liberation Army in its
war against the insect or pig or state for
whatever good cause it is fighting has
reached a new low": shoplifting.
The Harrises had to shoot their way out of
a store after being accused of shoplifting a
pair of socks. They managed to escape but
not without first dropping a gun, peppering
the store front with bullet holes and letting
Los Angeles know that the SLA was in town.
Meanwhile, General Field Marshal
Cinque and companions hid out in a home
for which they paid $ 100 a night. They could
have gotten a place in the Holiday Inn
cheaper. They flashed their guns around
again, somebody got scared and tipped off
the police.
Then, in one of the most one-sided battles
since Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
took on the whole Bolivian army, the FBI
provided the evening's entertainment for
thousands of Americans as they watched a
massacre live on TV. The result was six
charred bodies and not one cop killed.
The purpose of the SLA's moving to Los
Angeles was twofold: first, to escape the
pressure of the San Francisco area, and
second to bomb the campaign headquarters
of San Francisco's Mayor Alioto. But their
Bonnie and Clyde style of commandeering at
least three cars and their itchy trigger fingers
made them a vulnerable target rather than
providing needed protection. Now the name
of the game is to lie low and quiet, plan some
spectacular caper, and spring it suddenly.
The next thing to be looking for from the
SLA is another tape by Tania declaring
herself to be the new Field Marshal General
for the SLA. Then be ready to see Tania walk
into the Student Stores, -shoplift some No
Doz and have it all captured on those hidden
cameras for the evening news.
After watching it on TV oven a cold beer,
the world will know that the revolution we
were all waiting for in the '60s has Finally
come, only to burn itself out in Los Angeles.
C3 Gaines
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The summer Tar Heel not only
welcomes, but urges the expression of
all points of view on the editorial page
through the letters to the editor.
Although the newspaper reserves the
right to edit all letters for libelous
statements and good taste, we urge
you to write us, whatever your
problem, point of view or comment.
Letters should be limited to 303
words and must include the name,
address and phone number of the
writer. We will not print a letter
without knowing the writer's name.
Type letters on a 69 space Une. Submit
them to the Tar Heel office in the
Student Union.
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Elliott Warnock ......... Editor
Valeria Jordan
Joel Crinktey.
, Usvn EdllQT
Jean Cwallow.
C::i Key
.Assodsta Editor
Cpcrti Eiltar
Alsn Distort .
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