• Format
  • Publications (documents)
• Type
  • Text
• Source institution
  • Western Carolina University
• Identifier
  • HL_WesternCarolinian_1985-10-31_Vol50_No11_04

PAGE 4 OCTOBER 31, 1985 WESTERN CAROLINIAN PERSPECTIVES GRAY ERLACHER EDITORIAL RANDY ROSENTHAL " Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter." — Thomas Jefferson Writings VI The vital importance of having a free and independent press has been a principle of the American ideal since the inception of our great nation. At that time the press was the only form of mass communication available. Its power and influence were acknowledged, and its role of providing information to the masses and expressing the ideas of the public were respected. Being very familiar with this, the creators of our Constitutionbuilt in the freedom of the press as one of the fundamental elements of our governmental structure. If we had other forms of mass communication when the Constitution was written, then surely they too would have been included in the freedom of the press. However, we have strayed away from the ideals of the Constitution and towards the point of indiscriminate censorship. A recent law passed in North Carolina bans the distribution of erotic video tapes. This law flagrantly denies Americans the right to receive forms of communication in their own homes. The same type of material in printed form is not restricted because our Constitution defends the right of Americans to print and communicate whatever ideas they wish without governmental interference. Why do we not grant other forms of communication the same rights that are guaranteed to the press? Why do we not have a free media? On a similar note, I would like to address the latter from the concerned citizen that was so worked up over a personal ad, that they sent a letter to Chancellor Coulter, and a carbon copy of that letter to what seems like a significant portion of the campus community. I have no respect for someone who does not have the courage to sign their name and stand behind their beliefs. Our concerned citizen asks "where are the bounaries? Are there no controls?" The answer, concerned citizen, is no. This is not the Soviet Union. We don't contol our newspapers in America. Our citizen also mentions that "such as this (the personal ad) off-sets the positive aspects of..our county." The student newspaper is not a reflection on the county. The county has essentially nothing to do with the student newspaper. This newspaper is created and paid for by the students of Western Carolina University. Nonetheless, the poignantly disturbing thing about that statement is that it is referingto an insignificant personal ad on the back page of a newspaper that carried red headlines on the front page warning that the government is looking at this county to dump nuclear waste. Honestly, ■rich is more important? ANDY ATKIN fkft/A/ I rJMI>... % Western Carolinian #» ro-MW Wwtern QtroBta University p 0, Bo» WCjflwftw. NotlhOwBw a»«3 Randy Rosenthal EDITOR IN CHIEF Business Manager Cheryl Davis Features Editor Gray Erlacher News Editor Sherra Robinson Photo Editor Tonya Lamm Design Editor Jeffrey W. Richards Asst. Design Editor Andy Atkin Sports Editor Billy Graham Prod. Circulation Manager Danell Arnold Managing Assnt. Jeff Bacon Design Staff Anne Campbell Bum Chuck Sorrels Account Executives Mary Ellen DeSessa Paula Koon David Nutt Typesetters Jessie McPeeke Laurie Stroupe Teresa Walden Kim Carriek Venus Chavis Staff Writers Robb Schrof CartBrickman Karen Sue Howard Sandy Davis John Gore Barbara Rosenthal N. Lloyd Rachels Chris Geis Melissa Taylor Stephanie Crocilto Dan Lorey Regina McDaniels Amy Thompson Office Assnt. Linda Sefmah Jocularity, Jocularity.. Hardee's is a dangerous place. A modern, up-to- date airfield for a variety of flies; some large enough to carry a free-drink card and money sufficient for two steak n' egg biscuits. Pathenogens run amuck, chortling audibly. They mock those whose hygiene habits they don't totally agree with, and laugh hysterically should any customer see fit to buy an Alvin and the Chipmunks glass. The restaurant serves it's purpose, however, as a late-night mecca for the history, physics, or Boone's Farm Strawberry ravaged student, which is a noble charge within itself, I suppose. When the occasion is not auspicious or early enough for a pizza, the entirety of a half-an-hour might evaporate there, amidst flying animadversion, raw insult, and there, amidst flying aspersion, raw insult, and ketchup. Sue h was the case a few nights ago, as a group of us ate, drank and complained loudly about a habitual borrowerof money who sat in our midst. The individual had depended upon us all, for the umpteenth time this month, to supply his meal. My R.A. Paul the Figurehead, a great—albeit publicity- shy— American, suddenly sought to cure the perpetrator of stated habit by standing on his seal and leading the gathering through a rousing rendition of "We are the World." This amused me to noend.and set the wheels in motion for the development of a column which, strangely enough, has absolutely nothing to do with bright orange eating places. A few weeks ago th is reporter, a nd Schrof (one of the other idiots who contributes to this page), were summarily accused of masturbating verbally, (Gads! No!) and what's more, printing it four-and-a-half thousand times over for all to see, on a weekly basis. A capital offense, surely, or if not that at least cause for the appropriate university official to pull a handful of hair out of our legs. It's beentouchandgo ever since. \ More recently, in a critical letter, it was offered that one might better develop creativity by writing of subjects with which one isn't directly related. Point well taken. Perhaps I should have spoken of Hardee's as if the place didn't really exist. The critic then took things overboard as he accused us of being "portic souls delight(ing) in prose insane," which, we surmised, isto words what 'portly souls delighting in quiche Lorraine' might be to the art of eating properly. This week, a number of really touchy people have written in order to bitch about a classified that Schrof and I submitted forthe last issue. We asked for, among other things, some soiled underwear from a co-ed or two on campus. A relatively innocuous request we thought, although we did agree that we'd rather not have our grandmothers get wind of it. (So to speak.) But no. People from all walks of life began raising hell about that obscure advertisement, oblivious to the front-page story stating that radioactive waste may soon be dumped in their back yards, and that consequently their ears are liable to slide down the sides of their faces, destined to meet, eventually, on the undersides of their jaws. All of which underscores the simple fact that what's funny to one might not be so funny to another, (always a shame, that), or might actually offend another (making the original funny so much more so) i It all boils down to subtleties and absurdities, in a polite mesh with under and over statements. I'm amused when my roommate Captain Rudd claims that holding, a jack-of-spades and speaking German simultaneously is grounds for victory in a poker hand by anyone's rules, and that we should quit accusing him of cheating. At the same time, knock-knock jokes are seldom the ticket for me anymore, nor are dead-baby jokes, and flatulence on crowded elevators hardly brings about the chuckle that it once did. A report on the news over fall break quoted a concerned mother who said that she knew her son to be adversely affected by rock and roll music, as he had taken to writing 'Anarchy' upon everything that she owned. When I quit rolling around on the floor and laughing, I realized that myfather, mycatand a neighboring fern were all looking at me as if I were an idiot. Rather subtle, dry humour, that. But absurdities might have the same effect. Woody Allen once wrote a small collection of 'reminiscences', one of which is a prime example: "It is Mardi Gras." Allen writes, "Creole food everywhere. Crowds in costume jam the streets. A man dressed as a shrimp is thrown into a steaming pot of bisque. He protests, but no one believes that he is not a crustacean. Finally he produces a driver's liscence and is released." Good stuff. Along the same vein, Schrof and I sat in Sylva's McDonald's a few weeks back, and with consideration to the fact that Sweet n' Low is often called 'cancer in a bag', we wondered what the effects of another artificial sweetner, 'Nutrasweet', mignt be. After much cosideration, and consultation with nearby patrons, we determined that Nutrasweet might cause one to walk about upon one's hands in public, sporadically singing in a deep, gutteral voice, a medly of Bing Crosby's favorite Christmas songs! Ah, but it is time to run. The fellow next door, known with grudging admiration as 'Gonad the Barbarian' is having a field day, and concentration is no longer possible. I quit this in hopes that your sense of humour and mine have been relatively compatible. If not Well if not, then, knock,knock? TEN MILLION TURKEYS BY RICH HALL The following is a column that appeared in the Western Carolinian during the 1974- 75 school year. It was written by Rich Hall who is now seen on Saturday Night Live. FEAR AND LOATHING IN WAYNESVILLE Plagiaristic Intensity I was somewhere around the edges of West Cullowhee or East LaPort when the depression began to take hold of me. Immediately I thought "remedies". Can't let this psychosis get me. I knew that I needed to take the "savage journey into the heart of the American Nightmare," a trip to Waynesville. I told my atttorney, a 97-pound weakling from Bulgaria, it was essential to make it to Haywood County before I lost my marbles. Bringing himself out of the drastic stupor created by a week of Cullowhee, he agreed and began rounding up some clothes. In 10 minutes we are at his automobile--a 1959 Flamingo pink roadster with running boards. "The Great Pink Dolphin" he calls it. Friday afternoon in Cullowhee Relentless Boredom is the main cause of death in this region. What else is there to do but trek to Waynesville and glide obliviously down that ribbon of asphalt that curves through the heart of the pollution capital, winds slowly past the Hemlock-Euthanasia Rest Home and empties out on a two-mile straightaway through revs the Dolphin and we pull away from WCU. But I tell him we can't make this primeaval journey withou being mentally prepared. "Or at least half-stoned," agrees my attorney. "But you know the drug situation around here. The Maxey Gang is tightening in like a corkscrew." To solve the problem we goto the Infirmary, to fake pneumonia and load up on Romilar and Coricidin. Inside we are confronted by a nurse who glares at us like Nazis. Before I can say a word she jambsa thermometer down my throat and snatches at my pulse. I whip the thermometer out and begin the explinations. "I'm here representing the Ata Crata Tomata fraternity. All my brothers caught the flu or the clap or something, and they sent me over to pick up enough pharmaceuticalsto last the weekend and get us all recovered." She doesn't believe us. She would rather have all the frats come by so she could plunge thermometers up their rectums sadistically My attorney became furious. "You fat commie schizoid turniphead! Where's the chief surgeon' i wanna speak to the chief surgeon!" Hearing the uproar the doctor comes in as my attorney collapses to the floor with a fit of violent hacking. "Nurse!" the doctor orders. "This man has pneumonia. Give him all the medicine he needs1" Five minutes later we are back in the intrepid Pink Dolphin with the rear seat looking like the warehouse of Parke-Davis. We are loaded with four galloons of Romilar, a plastic jug full of hallucinogenic orange-flavored children's aspirin eight ounces of the finest Contac this side of California, 40 pellets of Dynamite Excedrin a mayonaisse jar half full of Nyquil and a Thermos jug of pure liquid codeine: everything we would need for two people with minor sniffles and sore throats about to embark on a weekend trip to the package store Continued next week.

The Western Carolinian is Western Carolina University’s student-run newspaper. The paper was published as the Cullowhee Yodel from 1924 to 1931 before changing its name to The Western Carolinian in 1933.

• Creator
  • Western Carolina University
• Format
  • Publications (documents)
• Type
  • Text
• Date
  • Date original: 1985-10-31
  • Date digitized: 2019-02-28
• Extent
  • Dimension: 22.75" x 15"
  • Pages: 14 pages
• Subject - Topic
  • College student newspapers and periodicals
  • Cullowhee (N.C.) -- Newspapers
  • Universities and colleges -- North Carolina -- Cullowhee -- Newspapers
• Location
  • Jackson County (N.C.)
  • Cullowhee (N.C.)
• Source institution
  • Western Carolina University
• Source Collection
  • WCU Students Newspapers Collection
• Identifier
  • HL_WesternCarolinian_1985-10-31_Vol50_No11
• Repository
  • Western Carolina University Hunter Library