'wallow
( :: : j i I M tit!
It has become cold in the middle of the day
and the sun has gone, as though it were
twili-ht. The dust sweeps off the Union
pzrking lot, the wind twisting it around like a
small dirty whisper of the coming storm. In a
moment, it is gone. And the wind and the
dust and 1 are all waitine for the rain.
I promise myself, when this is all over, I
will go to the beach. But that is not what I
really mean to say. It is a way to pacify
myself. I don't want to wait; 1 want to go
now. 1 want to meet the rain with the ocean
and the storm and my loneliness. "
If I could, I would go this minute. I would
w rap my loneliness around me like a shroud
and put on my parka and walk. Walk
through the waves on the cold, wind-beaten
North Carolina beaches.
It is not the sun I want, nor is it the South
Carolina beaches, tinsel and tawdry and
drunkenly warm with beach friendships.
I have had enough of that.
I want the beaches cf my childhood, when
I could walk alone for hours, down the
stretch of beach that seemed endless, no
boundary markers, no crowds, no cars, just
the ocean. '
There are parts of the North Carolina
"levin McCarthy
ires of learning
We came to UNC with the promise of an .
exciting education dazzling like a pearl
before our eyes. We had suffered through
high school, its fact-ridden tests, its
incompetent pedants. When cap-and-gown
time arrived, we all breathed a sigh of relief
and anxiously awaited the coming of our
first semester of college. .
Nursed on a summer of high expectations,
the promised pearl grew to such exaggerated
luster that even the dismal week of freshman
orientation couldn't stifle our naive hopes.
But, by the year's end sooner for the
more cynical our expectations that college
would be the mecca of motivation had
splintered irreparably. We had
sophisticated, adjusted.
Thus emerged the College Student: the
man who skips classes religiously and yawns
throughout when he does go; the man who
pops a Coke tab during a quiet moment in a
Peter Gilmore
kink impeachment
A i
Contrary to the wishes of many people '
these days, Nixon has not been impeached
yet. From the looks of things President
Nixon won't be impeached until July.
Cut we must not get too depressed at this
discouraging thought. Depression can only
hinder the activities needed to ensure
impeachment by the House. We must
continue to write our congressmen, write our
congresswomen and write our
congresspeople. This is the most important
function that we have, besides persuading
others to do the same. On Capitol Hill, one
letter is estimated to represent 100
constituents.
The House Judiciary Committee will
probably report its "favorable without
reservation" findings to the full House
sometime in the latter half of May. Up until
that time most congresspeople will remain
uncommitted. But when that report is made
the uncommitted are going to be required to
commit themselves. There will be no excuses
iinimsill
A remembrance
I am a senior. In 12 days I will be leaving
Chapel Hill. And that is that.
But that is never just that. Because if the
facts are simple, the feelings never are.
And I wish I just had some time, in
between the term papers and the exams, to
sit down and think about and remember all
the people and the places of a lifetime, of
how I've changed and how I've grown, and
what lies behind and what's ahead.
But I don't have the time. Or I won't make
time. Not really being able to face or want to
face a fact as simple as an end.
What I can't stand is knowing that
Carolina goes on without me. If it's not going
to exist for me, how dare it exist for someone
else. We all have this feeling we're
indispensible, and none of us are. Life goes
on. Chapel Hill goes on. .
Not really. Because I know that Chapel
Hill, my Chapel Hill, will cease to exist when
1 leave.
The buildings will be here, the trees, the
grass, McCorkle Place and Silent Sam.
Cut it's not Silent Sam I'll be remembering
in later years, but a gray Sunday in winter
v.i.en we all trooped uptown for breakfast, in
the middle of the afternoon. There was some
snow on the ground and someone had a
c-rr.era so we stopped and took pictures.
And there we are, grouped around Silent
Cam, laughing and half-frozen, and frozen
forever in my mind, although I've never seen
the picture.
It's the people that make the place, after
all. Locking back, I see us all, as if in a series
cf slides caught in our characteristic poses, if
crJy for cr.e moment. We are young and
cftsn foolish, but mostly we are happy.
Our memories will not be the same, you
tr.d I.
We can remember the same things, like
Ciler.t Sam ar.d late nisht bull sessions, but
Mima ceeo he&j
beaches that are still like that. There are
parts of the North Carolina beaches that do
not have Utter by the side of the road, nor
long rows of motels with pools, nor high
priced restaurants. There are parts of the
North Carolina beaches that are free, just as
this land was free, once.
These special parts are the beach. The
other parts are civilization. And it has always !
been precisely that civilization that has
always made me run, come back to the
beaches of my past.
There was a time when 1 was just
discovering those beaches. My friend and I
picked a spot out on the map and at 2 a.m. we
set off to find it, to leave behind the
confusion and stand in the ocean, the lines
sharply delineated, clear and ragingly angry.
Two days later we returned, gritty and red
and wet, but our minds were clear. Even
though we couldn't get all the sand off when
we tried to wash up in the gas station
restrooms, there was so much we had washed
off, the ocean carrying it away with the tide.
There was the time during the summer
when 1 had been drunk for two months when
we went to the Outer Banks in a day. 1 was
huge, echoing lecture hall.
There are a good many reasons for this
transformation from the happy learner "to
the cynical student. English I is one. When
this year's juniors . were freshmen, the
introductory English course was billed as an
awakening experience designed to light the
fires of adolescent creativity. It was an
incredible bore taught by the department
dregs. We were told, for instance, to tromp
off to Kessing Pool, gaze into its murky
waters and put down on paper the existential
flow that rippled before our eyes.
Then, there is the lack of quality teaching.
Out of every five teachers you listen to per
semester, you're damned lucky if one is
good. Some know their material but are
stupendously boring; others cover up real
knowledge with exciting lectures. But rarely
do students stumble across a teacher who is
exciting, knows his field and, most
and this is where we come in. We must each
communicate with our representatives to
make sure they understand that report. Our
congresspeople are going to want to
represent their constituents on this most
important of votes. Your opinion counts
with them. Express it in person or in a letter.
The Watergate scandal and Nixon's other
sordid activities have got to be concluded
before the November election. If it is not, I
shudder to think of the absolute revulsion to
the whole thing that will be demonstrated at
the polls by the silent majority.
By a majority vote the House can impeach
Nixon. This assures a full and conclusive
trial in the Senate. We need to assure that
trial by pressuring our congresspeople to
vote in favor of impeachment as soon as
possible.
So if you don't do anything else this
summer, please write your representatives.
Just remember that Nixon is not impeached
yet.
ttfino'iui's
you'll be thinking of another group, of which
you were a part, and of the night you all tried
to figure out if there was a God, and if he did
exist, where was he. Me, I'll be thinking of
my friends and the times we tried to solve all
the world's problems at 2 a.m. and then
ended up going to Golden West because food
was always the easiest solution.
And last night, when I should have been
writing this, I was talking to friends, and if I
don't remember what we talked about, it
doesn't matter, because people are more
important than papers.
And I wish there was a way to tell everyone
what I think of them kiss some good-bye
and tell others to kiss-off. Because there are
some people I'll never see again, and 1 just
want to tell them thanks for being
themselves, for being my friends, for making
a difference in my life.
Chapel Hill does not exist without the
people. I was up here over Christmas and
there's nothing more meaningless than a
deserted campus.
And so the Chapel Hill 1 know is the
people I know. And there's no way that it'll
ever be the same again. Some will be leaving
and some will stay behind, but even they will
change. We'll move into different worlds and
' the day-to-day things that held us together
crummy classes, fighting to be first in the
shower, sharing a cigarette they'll be gone.
And that is the way it is.
So my Chapel Hill will end as a reality.
Just as yours will. But it never was the same
to begin with.
Everything is relative. It all depends on the
way you look at it.
And the way I look at it is, well you
know. You were here too.' And it's not the
same for every person. But it's what we call
Chapel Hill.
Mzncy Pats
trying to stop drinking, trying to get straight
in my mind about what had gone down in my
mind, trying to get to the beaches and back in
24 hours. It worked then too, just standing
on the beach for several hours before we had
to head back, still it worked.
Those were special times, when I really
needed the beach. There were so many other
times when I just wanted to go, to get away,
to come back to myself.
Desolate, windy and deserted, these are
the special beaches. They have no special
attractions, no discount rates, nothing but
the ocean and the sand. These are my
beaches, they are the North Carolina
beaches.
But now, the sun has come out again, and
although the wind is still playing in the
Union parking lot, the rain looks very far
away. So maybe I can wait until the term is
over, just a few more days, 1 promise myself
again.
But really, I want to go now. It's not that I
need to go, there is nothing I really need at
the beach. But I want to go, I want to go
home, for we are friends, the beach and I . We
are old friends.
snuffed
importantly, is gifted with that magical
ability to motivate students in the manner
they dreamed about in that pre-college
summer.
We have endured so many types: the
pseudo-hip professor who makes organic
peanut butter and homemade beer; the
picayune, dogmatic teacher who slashes 10
points off your grade for every misspelled
word.
So now an attempt at improving
education at Carolina is being whispered
about: the course-teacher evaluation. But
the College Student can only greet this
development with characteristic skepticism.
The Course-Teacher Evaluation
Commission is currently conducting a pilot
evaluation in various departments
throughout the University. Results will be
published in pamphlet form and distributed
free to students early next fall. Department
chairmen and teachers will also see the
survey data. It all looks quite impressive on
paper: the phrase "student input" dances in
our skulls.
But before empty phrases clutter your
mind, think about this: What is a good
teacher to some is a lousy teacher to others.
While some might require that magical spark
of instilling motivation in students, others
might define a good teacher as an easy one.
Until you discover or what basis students
assign the word "good" to a teacher or
course, you cannot interpret the survey
results.
Further, what will department chairmen
do with teachers rated poorly by students?
Talk to them? Fire them? Or will they just
ignore the survey as so much student guff.
How about the teachers themselves? Will
any of them really make an effort to change?
For just a moment, those old fires of
exciting learning flicker with the possibility
of academic reform. But it is too late for us.
We have hardened. We have become cynical.
Winston Churchill once said it was
characteristic of youth to be romantic and
revolutionary and adults to be conservative
and wary. But as far as academic reform is
concerned, it seems we have aged before our
time.
A
n
P A
tfimir kmh
An open mind
I've just turned in my last college paper
(ta-da) so while the self-righteousness lasts I
feel totally justified in skipping a class and
banging down some random notes on senior
itis and such.
Don't wo,rry about wading through my
personal spiel on You Can Never Go Home,
Again. We batted that one around enough in
English II for me to never desire to be
literary.
But there are some things that have
changed both in me and my contemporaries
in the last four years. Time was when a
march on D.C. was as much on the
curriculum as P.E. I'm meeting too many
freshmen who think that Soul on Ice is the
latest issue down at Baskin Robbins'.
Even in my own class and mind, I'm
beginning to hear and see things that I never
thought possible. Maybe it's the last term
madness that turns many of us away from
humanitarian thoughts and plans, but
whatever the reason, there's a lot of the old
time materialism going down.
I remember thinking that when Jesse
Helms won a Senate seat that it would be
O.K. to say "nigger" on the street again. It's
comforting to know that this has not
happened yet.
Many of the Issues were well under way
when we got here in the fall of '70, but there
have been some things since that have
Daily
ar riee.
Toe
The Baity Tar Heel
82nd Year of Eilitorial Freedom
All unsigned editorials are the opinion of the editors. Letters and columns represent the opinions of
individuals.
Founded February 23, 1893
MpeaeliMffieiniu wniilfn
In the last regular issue of the
DTH it is important to face the most
vital political problem of our
generation: President Nixon's
impeachment. The stunning
question preoccupied the minds of
all Americans concerned with the
moral bankruptcy of our national
government.
We are using the limited, technical
definition of impeachment: the
process of being brought to trial
before the Senate, not a euphemism
for getting kicked out of office. The
decision whether Congress moves to
impeach or not will be made .within
the next two months.
During the past year Nixon has
released bombshell after bombshell
on the sensibilities of the nation.
Even conservative Republicans are
shell-shocked from the continuing
salvos of extortion, tax-evasion,
perjury, larceny, bribery, invasion of
privacy, obstruction of justice and
most discouraging of all, plain
ineptitude.
Representatives from all parts of
the nation are calling for resignation
or impeachment; hardly a
newspaper in America fully
supports the President. They fear
that Nixon has lied continually, that
Q n j
Well, this is it. Our last issue. For
a while, that is.
It's about that time of year again.
We on the staff have to stop
publishing and start studying.
There's just a little work we have to
make up from April. Even some
from March. Would you believe
February too? At any rate, we've just
about run out of excuses to give our
professors, and besides, professors
don't grade excuses.
So before we sing our theme song
(which goes to the same tune as the
Mickey Mouse theme song), we'd
just like to saw a few things.
First off, although this is our last
official regular issue, a few of us die
hards are going to stay on and put
out a 12-page special election issue,
to come out on April 30, hoping not
to flunk our finals in the meantime.
Also, for those of you who will be
around this summer, a summer
carried on the torch of commitment and
caring.
Women can now expect a better deal out
of society. Lessons of the sixties tell us that
collective guilt is not worth half as much as
an active mind-set to make things even in the
future.
Ecology seems to have kept its
respectability even against the odds of the
major oil companies.
But back to the "meat hook realities" of
Hunter Thompson (at least we know that
Effron's read it). I'm a little more frightened
than I thought I'd be. Courage is a lot easier
come by when you're a trifle mad at the
world and demand some retribution. We
now' know that this recompense is not
necessarily coming.
The best we take with us is the energy and
experience of the past. An open mind will be
harder to come by in the next few years.
We've been left with a strong foundation of
heros. King to Kennedy; McGovern to
Percy.
There's a sign at the Shack that I've seen
several times, but never with the poignancy
with which it struck me last night. "I've been
a long time leaving but I'll be a long time
gone."
Thought I'd leave without that last
paragraph unity? Easy "B."
Mike Thomas
., ,.Tr-. fTManm BBS a
Jim Cooper, Greg Turossk
Editors
Kevin McCarthy, Managing Editor
Michael Davis, Associate Editor
Jean Swallow, Associate Editor
Ken Alien, News Editor
Harriet Sugar, Feature Editor
Eiliott Varnock, Sports Editor
Tom Randolph, Photo Editor
Dob Jasinkiewicz, Night Editor
ass
Martha Mitchell has told the truth
and, most important, three more
years of shadow government. Even
the President seems compelled to
reaffirm daily that he is not, in fact,
considering resignation.
We feel that Nixon should be
impeached, that is, formally called
into question on his actions. Then it
will be up to the Senate to decide his
guilt or innocence. It is best for the
country that the scandals be
examined in detail so that we may
once again turn our full attention to
the essential problems of
government: poverty, unemploy
ment and inflation.
Impeachment is not an easy
solution. Close scrutiny of Nixon's
actions will be as painful for the
country as it will be for the
President. And right now the
President's chances for acquittal by
the Senate do not seem very
favorable.
An important part of Congress'
decision to impeach will be the vote's
many implications. If Nixon is
convicted it is uncertain whether
Jerry Ford, the mild-mannered
leader of a milquetoast Congress, is
man enough to direct a strong
foreign policy, to tame the lawless
G9
elgM Greg
version of the paper, simply called
The Tar Heel, will begin publication
on May 20. If you want to work for
us, drop us a line.
In the past, the summer paper has
come out once a week. This summer
we hope to publish twice a week. The
present editors have nothing to do
with the summer paper; the
Publications Board chooses an
editor for the summer paper today,
and the regular editors take a
vacation.
We remind you again about
Variation magazine. If you're
travelling this summer, or you're
doing something really strange, and
you think it would make good
reading, write down your name and
idea and send it to Variation
magazine editor, DTH Office,
Carolina Union, and we may use it
next fall.
And most important of all, we'd
Mum
Ji
A julfillment
Back in 1970, it was still appropriate to cry
at graduation. Seniors cried, retiring
teachers cried. My father cried, too. Now I'm
ready to graduate again, and Dad will
probably cry again, but this time I'll know
why.
Since I was a child, Dad talked about the
value of education, and I always thought he
meant the monetary benerits. He was from a
farming family of 10 children, his father was
illiterate, and his mother taught herself to
read from the Bible. None of the 10
graduated from high school. I remember
Grandma telling me before she died, "1
wanted my children to finish school. 1 always
hoped your dad would, I knew he could, but
he didn't want to be a burden."
He married my mother after he came
home from the war, went to work in a
Hickory furniture factory and joined the
Baptist church. Momma went back to the
same hosiery mill she had worked in after she
got out of school.
I often asked them why we didn't ever go
anywhere on vacation except the mountains,
which lie only an hour's drive from Hickory.
"We're saving for your education. Besides,
the world's the same everywhere," was the
inevitable answer. I didn't care about
education, if it meant no trips to the beach.
Then I watched Dad stay up late at night,
trying to get his high school diploma through
a correspondence course, or taking courses
at the local tech school in everything from
automobile mechanics to speed reading. But
something always interfered with his
studying, and he never got his diploma.
First it was the sleepless nights with
Grandpa, as he died with cancer. It was not
the family's first experience with the disease.
Dad's oldest brother and niece died with it
when I was a baby. The same lot fell to his
youngest brother, then Grandma died with
diabetes. Dad went through it all with
them the convulsions, the moaning nights,
the hell. One after another, the long illnesses
came, and Dad again would postpone his
Thursday, April 25, 1974
Jiioirao
D Q
o
arrogance of the White House staff,
or to cut through the Gordian knot
of scandal which will still encumber
his career as President.
Americans are foolish to think
that if Nixon is removed from office,
the scandals will be over. The next
three years will be overshadowed by
. investigations into present crimes,
just as when Calvin Coolidge
succeeded Warren G. Harding's
Teapot Dome Presidency. The
Nixon mistakes are indelibly written
into history; they cannot be
forgotten.
Nixon's absence will not rid
government of its corruption, even
temporarily. We cannot impeach
injustice. The lesson of Watergate is
to constantly examine our
government and ourselves to sound
out our weaknesses and strengths.
This difficult process must continue
even with a new, better president
because negligence on the part of the
public will always make scandal
possible.
A careful regency of the people is
needed to insure good government
in the future. It is tempting, but
foolish to believe that by ridding
government of' a criminal,
government is rid of crime.
just like to take a moment to
recognize one of our editors who is a
senior and will be leaving us with
this issue.
We refer of course to Associate
Editor Michael Davis, who is
graduating and moving out into the
real world to try and do whatever
people with psychology degrees try
to do. Mike Davis has been a
constant source of wit, life and
friendliness in the office, and he will
be missed immensely. We hate to see
ya go, Mike.
But most of us will be back next
fall, hopefully refreshed by a
summer break.
There's . not much left to say
except, to everyone: so long for a
while; to seniors: best of luck; to all
exam-takers: find time to relax
amidst it all hope for the best, but
don't expect too much.
Have a good summer.
lbs
studying.
Then it was his turn. The day Mom and I
walked into his hospital room, he smiled a
little, and said. "Yes, they've found a tumor."
Momma and I cried a lot that night, and my
brother blamed God.
It's been six years since then. Dad's had
surgery three times; been in countless,
nameless hospitals; and taken
correspondence courses in locksmithing.
watch repair and English lit. The doctors
don't know how he's lived. Daddy just says.
"The Lord still has work for me to do."
I said I wouldn't go to college. I'd stay and
give Dad his shot for pain every four hours,
and work somewhere at night. "Don't let
anything rob you of an education," he said.
"You have to learn about the world, how to
help people." So I got a scholarship and went
to ASU. then Europe for a year, then
Carolina for two.
In that time, I've read more than I've
remembered, cursed my coffee cramps after
cramming for finals all night and several
times called home, telling my parents 1
couldn't take any more. "Just do your best,
ask God to help you, and remember what
you're working for," Dad would say.
1 was never sure what I was working for,
until several weeks ago. Sure, 1 want to be a
journalist, but since no job offers have come,
I've said it was all for nothing. Then 1
thought about Dad and Mom. and how
they've given their love to me and so many
others. And I realized that they've lived to
love and help others, not iust to be loved.
So I'll go through the graduation
ceremony, even though Dad's too sick to
make it this time, and have sloppy,
sentimental thoughts through the whole
thing. But I won't cry about leaving, like 1
did in high school. I'll rejoice that I've finally
gotten the education my parents have had
for a long time the lesson of loving my
neighbor and myself, too.
Gall Cronscn