ally Tar Heel
'jiiciinaeii in avceft
in in in 1 1 mar
82nd Year of Editorial Freedom
All unsigned editorials arc tht opinion of the editors. Letters said
columns represent the opinions of individuals.
Founded February 23, 1893
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This Saturday there will be an
impeachment march in Washington.
That's right, it is the weekend before
exams. But probably at no other
time in the past decade will students
have such an opportunity to really
change national government. Half
of Congress is already on your side.
Cars will be leaving at 5 a.m.
Saturday, returning at 7 that night in
time for the John Denver concert.
The cost of the trip will be
approximately $3 or $4 plus meals.
It will be one of the cheapest, most
convenient forms of protest
possible, and students should take
advantage of the opportunity.
Sponsored by the local chapter of
the Young Democrats Club (YDC),
the march is part of the National
i I&ncy Pate
Marvin
Meet Marvin. He's what you would call a
mature college student. He goes to class most
of the time and does most of his own work.
The guys like him because he's willing to buy
a round of beer now and then. The girls like
him because he doesn't try to be a stud. His
"parents like him because he doesn't call
home collect and ask for money. He even
does his own laundry.
But then the Thursday before Easter the
metamorphosis begins. Marvin the Mature
is going to the beach for the weekend.
The transformation starts on the way
down in the car as Marvin consumes more
beer in four hours than he normally does in
four weeks. Marvin the Mature is now
Marvin the Menace as he recklessly passes
cars on the yellow line, speeds through small
towns and attempts to run down anyone in
white socks foolish enough to cross his path.
The fact that Marvin and his friends arrive at
their destination in one piece is nothing short
of miraculous.
Something about the sun affects Marvin's
brain. Another change occurs once he is on
the beach. Marvin the Messy litters the sand
with Old Mill cans, Twinkie wrappers and
cigarette butts. Playing Frisbee he takes
great delight in running over people's towels
with his sandy feet. And since the water's
cold and it's so far back to where he's staying,
Marvin considers the dunes his own private
outhouse.
The night air causes yet another
personality to emerge. Marvin the Molester
appears at the Spanish Galleon, intent on
picking up and picking at as many girls as
possible. Let me tell you, this Marvin is
1
Bunky Flagler
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A jEneal
"Just lay it out there on the table for the
other guy to see, and tough if he doesn't like
it," my friend said to me one chilly night, hot
tea spilling over his hand while we crouched
on the grey steps of the old white annex,
decrepit in its World War II construction.
Those words of wisdom I take to heart. I
will writs what I feel I make no apologies ,
for my sentimental ' attitude toward this
place. I have lived and loved here four years,
and it's my prerogative to be so.
There's something here. There's really
something here. Breaking my heart, it is, to
leave. But it's time for me to go.
It has been a glad, happy and also sad
place. We have changed immeasurably. We
. &re not the wide-moutheu bright-eyed girls
and boys we were when we first came,
gasping at all the young foUs, all of them.
Spirit engendering..Growing. Bright in the
twilight of our pony days. Galloping and
racing. Never slowing. Never will, we
thought. Always singing, studying, yelling,
whispering, hollering, loving, writing,
playing and study-breaking. Always blue
and green biking. Long-dress dancing.
Pi r,
This life here in Chapel Hill: it was like a.
dream. Green and yellow afternoons glinty
with wide smiles, soft with thick heartaches
and goodbyes, warm with wet kisses and
'hu.rs so tiht you lose your breath.
Licyc'-s rides so fast your legs go too slow
to catch up. Gliding rides spinning in your
mind too as you whiz by old trees and people
.nd places.
That's what these last dayv of school are
Tuesday, April 23, 1974
O A
T O
Campaign to Impeach Nixon.
Involved Americans from all over
the country will be coming to protest
the President's actions. You can be
an important part of that
movement.
Congressmen usually interpret
one letter as representing the
opinions of 100 constituents. One
marcher in Washington is
considered to represent the views of
far more people. Students must not
let the fears and frustrations of the
60s halt active political
involvement. This time you can
make a difference.
Information about rides is
available from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Monday through Friday in the Pit.
Sign up now.
0dC
really quick on his feet. It's a good thing too,
because with a pair of hands like he has,
Marvin has to make fast getaways or get
belted.
Midnight is approaching and Marvin
assumes his most terrifying identity to date.
Marvin the Maniac throws beer bottles off
the ninth floor of the hotel, shouts
obscenities at the top of his lungs and helps
push people in the pool before going in for a
little dip of his own.
By morning the metamorphosis is
complete. Marvin, mature college student,
has at last become Marvin the Mindless,
passing into oblivion as the sun comes up.
But not for long. The whole cycle will be
repeated as soon as he wakes up.
The most disgusting thing about Marvin,
however, is that he refuses to let people know
who he is. If only he would tattoo his name
on his forehead so we could avoid
him. But no, he insists on masquerading as
College Student, always wearing a T-shirt
with the name of his alma mater emblazoned
across the front. Pity all of Marvin's fellow
students who will be labelled nurds because
they are unfortunate enough to go to the
same school. Marvin just can't be content to
degrade himself. He must also bring down
the image of every other Tar Heel, Blue
Devil, AVolfpacker, etc., not to mention the
' ' -name of college students in general.
So much for Marvin the Mature. He will
return from his three days of fun in the sun
all burned and hungover. But he will tell
everyone what a great time he had and how
he can't wait to go back to the beach.
Well, we can. Indefinitely.
hits
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ilhoMgM: the yonmg, green days
like spinning in your mind back to bright
mornings when the music of a lone silver
flute danced through the wind; gliding in
memory to familiar rooms jammed with
four-year-old memories already dusty and
distant; whizzing back to 4 a.m. hikes in a
downpour to Roy's Frolics in the graveyard.
Hymns in the Halloween forest at midnight.
Sobs by the creek. Joni Mitchel singing away
the raw edges.
Trees waving good morning and unknown
day-seekers throwing you the ever-orange
frisbee. Folks calling out, laughing you over
for a quick chat a talk to turn the day
around.
A talk that slows you from speeding on
sunshine and green grass highs to mellow
brown and stone-grey wall thinking.
Thinking about the people who spirited
the dream here. People like Richard Cole
and Walter Spearman one a young,
bearded man flashy with patent leather belts,
and shoes and impeccable ties. The other,
balding and bespectacled, wearing clothes,
stylish who-knows-when, if ever. Physical
appearance has nothing to do with these
teachers.
What matters is the sparkle, the fiery love
of life which fills each of them and
subsequently overflows into their teaching.
They love journalism, and they have made
me, in their combined efforts, to love it, too.
But besides love of a subject, they have
instilled in me self confidence unheard of
before in me. They helped wipe away the fear
of laying myself open on paper no small
siraucn
What would you say if you saw this
cartoon in The Daily Tar Heel tomorrow?
MANAGER: This is the Pine Room,
another area of gastronomic delight in the
Chapel Hill area. (In the background,
cashier asks, "How'r yew to'dayT and a
worker replies "Ho-gih!")
MANAGER: This is the staff behind the
counter, who manage to look busy while
completely ignoring you.
STUDENT: I want a Coke! (Lady turns
her head around, not seeing him.)
SECOND LADY: I wring out rags.
THIRD LADY: I stand with my back to
you.
MANAGER: These are our cooks. They
specialize in throwing food and producing
hamburgers that look like dog meat which
has been beaten with a stick. (Lady cook
pushes food into face of male cook, who
loses his chefs hat.)
MANAGER: We are thinking of
changing the name of the Pine Room to
something more in keeping with its exquisite
culinary savor, like Dirty Bill's Hash House.
(In background, student is taken aback by
the smell of the food.)
Well, if you did see it, you'd probably say,
"Whoever made that up knew what he was
talking about," or maybe, "I wonder if
somebody in our dorm did that." But that
cartoon is actually six and one-half years
old. It was done by Bruce Strauch of
Burlington, whose cartoons, drawn off and
on from 1966-1969, made him one of the"
most frequently read contributors in DTH
history. It has been five years since Strauch's
last DTH cartoon, and very little has been
heard of him since. His father says that Bruce
studied in England at Oxford University for
two years, and that now he works for an
insurance company. But that is all we know.
. A faded DTH article of Oct. 18, 1968 tells
the tale. "Strauch ... is probably the most
maligned student on the UNC campus. And
his cartoons are probably the most widely
read portion of any edition of the DTHJ".
The story goes on to mention that Strauch
was publishing a book, The Best of Strauch,
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task.
And others here: Father Devereaux, Mark
Reed, Louis Rubin and Ronald Moran the
first two- gentle, the latter two surly and
gruff, have filled their classrooms with a
passion for their subjects, Shakespeare,
Romantic poetry,, and contemporary
American literature that has moved more
than one student to sign or applaude at the
end of the semester.
Sr. and Sra. Sandro DiSilvio, instructors
of Italian, shine as teachers of a most
intimate classroom experience, entrancing
the eight of us with the beauty of the sound
and the literature of Italian.
There are others like thoughtful Dr.
William Peck and Ruel Tyson, teaching
provoking courses, courses successful in
making us think deeply about ourselves
and our world. Carlyle Sitterson, renowned
historian and former UNC Chancellor
enlivened his classroom with more than an
interesting lecture full of personal anecdotes.
He gave us, more importantly, serious,
thoughtful wanderings about Life.
And Vermont Royster, former editor of
the Wall Street Journal. I've called him an
old codger before. He is. But he is a
wonderful old codger, seriously going about
the business of teaching the newspaper
business.
I'll come back to memories of these people
and other friends and Chapel Hill often
but only in my mind. For it is no good to be a
spectator here. You have to live every day
fully, living each moment. That's the stuff
that a life-time's made of.
cartoons
or Where Will Art Be When The Revolution
Comes? This book is in the North Carolina
Collection of Wilson Library, and in reading
it you almost find yourself in a time warp.
You know you are reading material from the
late '60s, yet so much of it is relevant to UNC,
1974.
(Scene: the Book-Ex, forerunner of the
Student Stores)
CASHIER: Put your name, school
address and local address on all checks.
STUDENT: But this is cash!
CASHIER: Don't forget your student
number, social security number (they
weren't .the same in those days). Selective
Service number and hometown library card.
STUDENT: It's cash, I tell you! Look,
Abraham Lincoln!
CASHIER: Also include a front and side
view photo, full set of fingerprints, blood
type and cranial index.
STUDENT: Legal tender! Greenbacks!
Yankee dollah!
CASHIER: Put your name, school
address and local address on all checks.
STUDENT: Keep the books! (crying) I
don't want them! I'll fail my courses!
I'll... (sob)"
The picture of Strauch himself, staring
back from that '68 D TH surprises one who
has read his cartoons. Here is a very,
conservative-looking fellow with plastic
rimmed glasses and a receding hairline. He
was only 2 1 , the article said, but he looked 28
or 30. His world, as expressed in his
cartoons, was a weird place where people
who didn't watch out got screwed in every
direction. One of his favorite targets was
Student Government. In one cartoon a
student calls up SG to see if they are doing
anything for him. The pleasant-voiced guy
on the other end says "Let me check . . . No,
the same as usual." "Nothing," replies the
annoyed student.
In Strauch's garden of miseries, athletics
were controlled by "professional
mercenaries," fraternities were made up of
snobs who cut the sleeves off $129 sweaters
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You can't come back here and remember,
when you sweated cursed and drank in the
Daily Tar Heel office. You can't come back
and re-live the glory of a first by-line or the
meeting of new friends.
Because when you come back, it's a flat
experience. It's no longer what it was. You
don't know anyone anymore. It's newer.
Everything's different.
But what's mainly different is you. You'll
turn fiat and grey too unless you keep the
golden way of Chapel Hill dreaming you
once did deep in your heart.
People say live it up now because you'll
never have better days than your college
years.
But why not? Old and wrinkled, we can
nevertheless remain green as the days were
young here inside not by mind-tripping back
to Chapel Hill, but by realizing tht not only is
it good here. All Life is good. And the world
away from here, though it be a little less
green and gold and lovely, offers us
everything.
Like Royster growled to me one day:
"Commencement means just what it says.
It's beginning. And anybody who doesn't
keep on learning and living is no damn
good."
So I'm leaving on the beginning of a new
journey. And Chapel Hill, a fine golden
spirit and place, will in the end, be a bright
part of the whole tapestry of our lives.
We have not learned anything at all here, if
we let the college past be the only bright days
of our lives.
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and told lies about their sex lives, and the
administration was selfish, deluded and'
indifferent.WhetherUNC really was this way
I don't know; but Strauch offended
somebody with almost everything he drew.
One student wrote the DTH, "I think it is
nothing less than disgusting and insulting for
The Daily- Tar Heel to allow . . . Strauch a
space on the editorial page in which he does
little more than glorify himself... it is high
time that the editor of the DTH 'cleaned up
his own house by ridding our paper of the
blockheaded crusader from Burlington."
Consider how some local folks might have
felt about this one:
RESTAURANT OWNER: I am the
owner of the typical crumby little Chapel
Hill cafe. If I could find a way, I'd charge you
for the air you breathe. I hire the surliest
waiters I can find.
WAITRESS: Eat thet and shut up!
STUDENT: Yes'm.
OWNER: (standing at register, talking to
student who's just eaten) Crust of
bread. ..glass of water. What kind of bread?
STUDENT: White.
OWNER: Ice in the water?
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bring us together
Today 80 per cent of tre Housing
office employees signed a petition
against the new parking lystem.
Their specific complaint wfas that
$72 a year is too much for a poor
employee to spend for a parking
place.
. It is mildly ironic that the Housing
office, so long maligned and
degraded by the students, is now on
the student side of the fence
complaining about increased costs
ffegiMy nunc
Would you think it a bit strange if a
burly, unshaven, greasy-haired, tatooed,
leather-jacketed, spike-booted, scarred,
white-socked, body-odored, shoulder
hunched, weather-burned, beer-bellied,
switchblade-carrying, blood-shot eyed,
motorcycle angman swaggered up to your
stalled car, swallowed his cigarette butt right
in front of you, smiled and said cheerfully,
"May I help your?
Just drive up around Philly, pull over to
the side of the road, stick your stocking feet
out of the front window, lean back and wait
for the roadside service of the "Warlock's"
motorcycle gang.
You may soon hear a sound approaching
that of a thousand jumbo-jets without
mufflers, and catch sight of a real mean bike
with the fattest wheels and the biggest seat
and handlebars you've ever seen, smoking
down the highway, doing at least a sixty
degree wheelie before cutting in front of your
car and coming to a most abrupt halt.
A cat named the Rat leaves his big
chested, long blond-haired chick back on the
bike, walks over to you, spits into both of his
greasy, black, broken-nail hands, a thick
brown oozy spit, rubs his hands together,
puts his arm, which is about as big as your
The
Daily
Tar Heel
Jlni Cccpcr, Greg Turossk
- Editors
Kevin McCarthy, Managing Editor
Michael Davis, Associate Editor
Jeen Swallow, Assoclats Editor
Ken Allen, Maws Editor
Hcrrlet Sugar, Feature Editor
EKIctt Vsrnock, Sports Editor
Tern Randolph, Photo Editor
Dob JeslnkievIcz, flight Editor
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STUDENT: No.
OWNER: That'll be $1.45. (Wonder what
it'd be today).
OWNER: Next I'll put in meters and
charge you for sitting, (he beckons two
disgruntled students) All right, sit down
now. (He pushes a lever) Ching-click-click-click.
Strauch even criticized the ordinary
student who hadn't done anything.
STUDENT: Well, Dad, here are my
semester grades.
FATHER: 4 Fs and a D. huh?
STUDENT: Well, Dad, I guess it was just
a case of . . . concentrating too much on one
subject.
Bruce Strauch's last cartoon appeared on
Feb. 23, 1969. It was a Sunday the DTH
could afford to publish seven days a week
then. The cartoon showed "Your president
and mine, Flash (Ken) Day, valiantly
battling for student rights at a meeting with
the administration." (Day is represented as a
balloon held by one of the administrators.)
One thing is clear whether he was better
than today's D TH cartoonists and writers or
not, Bruce sure had 'em jumping.
profits:
and reduced services.
But even discontent can be put to
good use. Now perhaps Housing will
be more sympathetic to student
needs.
Employees, student, and faculty
will have to struggle through with
the new transit system, changing it
where it needs change, but backing
the innovative system to the hilt.
And maybe the new transportation
system will bring us together both on
campus and on the bus.
o
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leg, around your shoulder, leads you to the
front of your car, yanks open the hood, looks
inside, and says, with the best south Philly
accent, "Now . . . what's te matte here?"
"Won't start," you say lamely.
So, the Rat checks the batteries, pauses to
light a ciagarette, checks the starter,
demands your keys, which you supply, gets
into the front seat, depressing it most
severely, starts your car, leaves the
accelerator pressed against the floor while
black fumes shoot desperately out of your
exhaust pipe, says the car's okay now, which
you don't question, leaves you his card,
straddles his motorcycle, starts the bike with
a ferocious downward fling of the leg, and
zips off until he, his bike and his chick are no
more than a dot on the horizon.
That's what you call the motorcycle gang
version of a public relations campaign.
"We're an organization with a bad name,"
says outlaw Warlock's gang member Bruce
Ettien, 28, of Glenolden, Pa., "We're not
what people think we are. We're not the
cream of the crop, but a lot of us are good
human beings, too."
So Ettien, who is free on bail appealing a
2lA to 5 year sentence on a weapons charge,
had several thousand business-sized calling
cards printed up for the Warlock's 350 active
club members, saying:
"Warlock's M.C. You have just been
helped by an outlaw motorcyclist. When we
do right no one remembers. When we do
wrong no one forgets."
Ettien claims that his gang b willing to
change tires, provide gasoline, and perform
other services for stranded motorists.
"But you know," he says, "There will be
people on the roads who will see us coming
and get back into their autos and lock the
doors.
"When we ride up to help them, I guess
they assume we're going to rip them off."
According to Ettien, Warlock's "are no
different from average people who have
bikes and get together on weekends." Right,
Ettien, you go out on picnics, baskets and the
whole bit.
But basically, I've no objection to public
service, so before I split, just gotta say this
right man, dig it.
Gregory C. Turotak
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