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Western Carolinian Volume 40 Number 31

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  • Pa^e THE WESTERN CAROLINIAN THURSDAY JANUARY 30, 1975 Nixon again ? Shock was the feeling, no doubt, of most people who caught the headline yesterday that Richard Nixon wants to help the Republican Party again. Embracing Nixon would seem like a kiss of death even if he has garnered more life-time votes than any other man in American history. According to Sen. Barry Goldwater, (R-Ariz.), Nixon doesn't want to be a candidate for some office again, but he would like to be a party spokesman. What he could do other than apologize to the nation for his corrupt administration is beyond our imagination. After the Republican disaster last November, we're willing to bet GOP faithfuls will be at least reluctant to let Nixon speak for them. Spying on students We were glad to see the United States Senate set up its own Watergate-style investigation committee on possible illegal CIA spying on American citizens. The chance for the truth to surface has now increased overwhelmingly from what it was with the Rockefeller committee making its probe. Hopefully, the Central Intelligence Agency's active role on college campuses will be investigated. By some reports, the CIA used students and professors clandestinely to recruit or report on students for CIA information purposes. According to Victor Marchetti in The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence, professors on some campuses were used to contact foreign students, who were kept on a payroll and used as information sources when they returned to their native lands. Marchetti claims the CIA was on over one hundred campuses with its contacts. "To spot and evaluate these students, the Clandestine Services (within the CIA) maintained a contractual relationship with key professors on numerous campuses. When a professor picked out a likely candidate, he notified his contact at the CIA and, on occasion, participated in the actual recruitment attempt. Some professors performed these services without being on a formal retainer. Others actively participated in agency covert operations by serving as 'cut outs,' or intermediaries, and even by carrying out secret missions during foreign journeys." If Marchetti is right the senators might be ready to hear some startling information about the abuses of intelligence agencies. IllEr Wl=5TE*to C-AImLiMIAM Published twice weekly through the academic year and weekly during the summer by the students of Western Carolina University. Member: Collegiate Press Service. EDITOR-IN-CHIEF . , BUSINESS MANAGER DWIGHT A. SPARKS .... MIKE KILLAM Offices, first floor Joyner, phone 293-7267. Mailing address, Box 66, Cullowhee, N.C. 28723. Subscription rates, $4.00 per year. my answer^ b.sanders (All thai talk about me having the flu and being out <>f sorts last week was untrue. I was in the intensive care ward of the La Costa County (Calif.) Hospital after over-amping on some really terrific speed Dr. Robinson sold me in the back seat of the Hardees Courtesy Bus. To maintain Robinson's cover, the school borrowed a Ben Franklin look-alike from the Bicentennial Committee in Philadelphia which was having a slow week. I understand this fellow actually ate dinner with all my friends, bummed coffee and newspaper money from my Townhouse associates and pestered my teachers with lousy excuses for not turning in his work on time. Well, it wasn't my fault. I'm feeling better now. (inly an occasional speed rush hits me now, and you can tell it's happening when my legs go askew and I drop my books, gazing blankly into the sun.) I have finally decided to graduate from Western Carolina University. I have the hours, the courses, the requirements and the proper distribution. It's all there on my transcript, so weeks ago when I made this decision, I figured it would be easy. I knew I would have forms to fill out r.nd bills to pay, but after years of that, it has become easy to do. I walked the 72 steps up to Bird Building, confident that years of dealing with the Registrar's office would help me out of any bureaucratic tangle I might get into. All the mysteries of college life were at last behind me. I could finish this ordeal and gel on with the American dream. "Hello. I'm Brooks Sanders, and I would like to graduate." My confident voice hid a fear that had" oddlv come over hie. "Oh. You do, do you?" the clerk smiled. "Well, uh, yes. How do I go about it? ', "Mr. Sanders, your record looks complete. The hours are all in, the foreign language requirement, too. Rut, you -- uh." "But what?" I was worried now, trying hard to hold it together. "Well, to be frank, you don't look like you're ready," she said, looking at my eyes and hands. "Have you been through the Trauma""' I was struck dumb. In all the years of work and blood, the tears and the shoe laces, I had never heard of the Trauma, and had not even tried to go through it. "Why, no - I, uh, didn't know anything about it," I stammered. "Most folks don't," she said. "Sit down, Brooks. I have something to tell you." I steeled myself for the worst, thinking that would 1/e appropriate. My mind's eye dashed back through the microfilm of the past, wondering if a parking ticket had gone unpaid, or if all those vitamins the Infirmary gave me were finally going to catch up. My socks were wet. "Most students about to graduate are required by this university to go through a six-week period of heavy-duty emotional and physical trauma," she said. "It usually involves a pre-graduation period of desperation, of frantic worry about jobs and eating regularly, things like that." i nodded quietly, hoping the up-and-down motion would hide the 1100 rpm shakes now coursing through my body. "You, on the other hand, have shown little stress as you approached the end of your University life, and that really bothers us," she said. Blankly I wondered where she got her mind-reading degree. "We don't like to send our graduates into the world as happy, whole individuals. We want you to sit in dark rooms with your stomach tied in knots. When you are in public we want you to flatulate, to sweat, to knock knees." She was smiling all the time now, as I made a note to see what "flatulate" means. She began looking at my hands again, and suddenly reached over and grabbed my left one. "You have nice hands,'' she said. I quivered. "Now, Brooks, this being a regional university, we can get away with things they don't even dream of doing down there in Raleigh and Chapel Hill," she said. "For instance, we can do away with the Trauma Requirement without letting Dr. Friday know about it." I nodded hopefully. "Of course, unusual means are involved," she said. She grabbed both of my hands this time. "It's too bad. you needing to type in your work. But you do want to graduate, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked me out the door and down to the steam plant, where I was told to wait until dark. Food was brought in, as was water. Time passed slowly. That evening I discovered the most mysterious and most terrifying thing about this university that has ever been discovered. You know the cross-tiered flagpole in front of Bird administration building, the one we all used to joke Continued on P. 5
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