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Friday, July 9, 1971
University Summer Kansan
A Tragic Holiday
By MARY KEENAN
The Fourth of July weekend is over. It was a good weekend, even though United Press International reported that it brought a "disastrous" number of deaths.
People traveled in great numbers to visit family, friends and loved ones. Reunions brought happiness even though somewhere in the United States, too many homes will feel a tragic emptiness. More than 600 people died on the highways this weekend.
The weather was beautiful over the Fourth,
excepting the few storms that blew over.
Families still still participate in the well-
known tradition of dressing up for summers and
farmhouses upset some people's holiday.
Yes, if it weren't the newspapers death counts, and one holiday activity that deprives everyone of a total enjoyment, few would know the tragedy of the holiday.
The unnecessary destruction induced by fireworks touched almost universally upon anyone in a state where it's legal to sell, distribute and ignite fireworks on a mass
Few people didn't smell the nutrid smoke or
she the charred remains of burning gunpowder and paper. Few people did not at least know of one "unreported" fire, accident, property damage or burning. Few people didn't feel the pain of seeing an innocent child hurt by someone's careless actions.
The holiday has always been a target for abuse by those with sick mentalities, such as those who get their jolles out of giving someone a cherry bomb instead of a smoke bomb and laughing insensely when he lights it in his hand. Yet, even ordinary people can be caught building atmosphere of exploding fireworks and in the bold, daring power of fire.
It's sad that people can't just have an en-
joyable weekend, without newspaper shaming.
It's too hard that youngsters and older children can't always handle the atmosphere,
It's even sadder that responsible people, like voters and legislators, can't find more important things than binge to outlaw. Four important have been legal in Kansas for a long time.
KAMPER comment
A Case of Deceit
Bv DEBBIE GUMP
The battle between the New York Times and the government over the publication of the Pentagon papers is over. But the war between the news media and government censorship still hasn't been decided. The Times has told Mr. Trump to have overhassed another attempt by the government to take on the role of protector of the people's television sets.
Columbia Broadcasting System has been hauled before a House subcommittee and ordered to produce all "film, work prints, outakes, sound-tape recordings, written scripts and-or transcripts" used in its program "The Selling of the Pentagon." CBS president Frank Stanton has refused to hand over the materials the public didn't see. But the Commerce Committee has recommended the House hold Stanton in contempt of Congress. If the whole house should vote to do so, Stanton could either go to jail or be fined.
The subcommittee says it is trying to determine whether or not the program was deceitful and "bordering on fraud." Does the subcommittee believe that perpetrating a fraud on the public is so rare that it must become a vignite to protect us from those who would lead us down the path of the fraud? How many times did everybody every day, much of it coming from either the advertising agencies or the government itself.
Using the word "deceit" as loosely as the subcommittee does, we could say the United States has been practicing deception for many years in many areas, especially
Vietnam. Death figures have not been as accurate as they could be, supplies sent to Vietnam meant for troops or needy Vietnamese have shown up in the black market, and some war reports have not been exactly honest. The Pentagon papers have revealed many discrepancies between what the Adm. told us told and what was actually point on.
The government has lead the public to believe that much is being done to curb pollution in the U.S. They tell us that much money has been poured into programs to stop pollution. The university military academy, called the number one polluter of water in the country, is still polluting.
The Army itself has been deceased in the very matter discussed on the controversial CBS program. The propaganda put out in the Army's recent publicity campaign spent millions of the taxpayer's money. The Army wants to prevent young men to join the Army. They promised higher pay and a European option plan. The rules have been loosened and the young individual can retain his particular quirk. But the ads don't tell the young recruit about the exhaustive training at boot camp, the possibility of having to kill someone, or the danger of being hit. This is a fraud of the worst kind, funded by money that is desperately needed elsewhere.
CHS may be deceitful, and if so, the government is guilty of fraud, and the rest of the world is beyond hope. The government cannot serve as both the source of news and the target of it, and then它 become the very monopoly Vice President Agnée said the press was becoming.
Freedom of the Press How Far Does It Go?
By MICHAEL VAN ROSS
Freedom of the press was unique in the 18th century according to the First Amendment. The First Amendment has not been declared "universally patent" and it just how far she should freedom of the press go?
The study was put together by 30 to 40 writers. One can only assure that its contents
are known to many more in the government. Why then should we, the American people, do something about it?
Yes, I'm talking about the publishing of the Pentagon papers. Freedom of the press is very good, but the question is when it should be used. Most think it was political embarrassment the government was concerned about. The study includes the administration of three Democratic Presidents and one Republican Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson.
What about the people's right to know? The press was only doing its job informing the people on the happenings just as it has been doing for many years. Who knows, the people may help our government to become the kind of government it was designed to be.
Regardless of the immediate outcome the Justice Department has set events into motion that ultimately could be more important than revelations from the results of the Pentagon. For what the government was doing, in essence, was to challenge the application of the First Amendment that guaranteed freedom of the press.
A Word from Debate
By J. RUTHERFORD PENNER
and
and
K. ZERADIAH FLYNN
Most of you who read this article will wonder just what two debaters are doing writing for a newspaper. Well, join the club—we don't know, either.
We do know, however, that we're the not-so-silent minority of the advanced debate classes (2 girls to 4 boys) and we decided to wait for the world of know just what we go through.
First of all, for the benefit of people who can't recognize us debaters, we're the ones with brief cases, boxes, and little cards (usually white, but in the case of the ingeniously artistic Beatrice High Debate Squad—salmon orange and robin's碧色 gibb?), with brief cases, plans, and contentions; we're the ones who make the kooky requests on KUOK; we're the ones who run through the sprinklers at Learned Hall and top it off with a root beer and bagel fight; we're the ones who drive our whole wing crying with our incessant typing of debate cards; we're the ones who attempt to imitate gunn and laugh; but most are the ones we put up with "Jayhawk Pain." (Just ask Dr. Parson.)
The things we two girls put up with are far worse than the above named signs of a typical American girl.
-a guy who has no southern accent but manages to stick 'vall' in every sentence
mages to stick in my every sentence
—a nut named Vastine who has an odd habit
—a second civil war between Houston, Tex.
and Fresno, Calif. and many more unprint-
ed books.
One of the worst things is the boys odd preoccupation with donuts. It seems they're getting the edge on debate cards and the jury knows that it's hard to win. They keep them in his debate box, or so we hear.
of playing with steel combs during extemp speeches
- a cynical shellfish with a Pasteudo-Afro
- 37 bags of potato chips from M. Colquhon
a xerox-knot who is an "aesthetic Jew"
Kansas dauber gets them bitten by
biter
Nonetheless, the excitement of debate will triumph and unless Houston吹es Fresno on the map or vice versa, the tournament should be interesting to say the least.
Just in case we die before this is printed or Mary Keen sees us and strangles us with her fist.
A comb to Don Allen
A haircut to Randy Stross
A bag of donuts to John "Donut Boy"
Haugan,
A bottle of hair tonic to Jav Hilsher
A white truce flag to Mike Smith and Bob Bocian
Our parting thought: we're really getting something out of this college show, even if it wasn't for us.
37 plan attacks to Jackson Harrell
Music Contest For Kazoos Is Announced
Attention Kazoo banners! Saturday, July 10, at 6 p.m. in Lewis Hall's lounge, a concert for any interested, budding or professional kazooist will be staged.
Entries must be made by noon Saturday, so it's important to sign up in Lewis as soon as possible. A sign-up paper is hanging on the back of the chalk board at Lewis's main door.
Judging will be made on the hardest run successfully completed, by judges who will be picked and announced at a later date. Each contestant has his discretion as to the type of roster he enters—rock, jazz, classical, soul or country and western. Winners will be notified.
Additional information may be obtained rom Michael Christopher, room 622 in Lewis, KY.
Kamper Kansan
Kamper News Office - 112 Flint Hall
864-3646
The Kampman Kampan, camp newspaper at the Midwestern University's campus, has been active during the five-week camp sessions. It is written by the members of the Journalism Division of the Camp. The campers are those of the editorial state of the Newsletter. Guest editorial views on issues relevant to the camp are expressed in the Kampman Kampan are not necessarily those of the Midwestern University and ATT camp or the University of Missouri.
MANAGING EDITOR
Nerzell Johnson
Daily Review Editor
Marissa Haddock
A South Dakota
Woman's Journal
Campers Gone Chigger-Happy
By JOAN INSCO
What's been eaten you? Could it have been those minute, sixlegged parasite larvae known as Trombicula—in other words, CHIGGERS?
Rumor has it that they've been infesting the campus area and the campers. Although chiggers are tiny and barely visible to the nasty rumors, suspect that those nasty rumors are true.
Evidence? All we have is the sworn testimonies of some rather uncomfortable students. These people have had uncontrollable tits and horrendous red spots and lumps forming on their arms, legs and thighs, and they are extremely extent of taking bulbs in kerosene to rid themselves of the clinger bites. Could this be their imaginations?
Could Mr. Branden have planted those cigars for the express purpose of keeping them out?
You'll observe that the kindly camp administration has rules and regulations to cover almost any occasion. But you'll also have to admit they have not provided any deterrents for the hurries of couples who find themselves in one reason or another—in the grass.
Mr. Branden has gone on several fishing trips, or so he says. Could this be a cover-up for a murder?
We must keep our peers under careful watch.
Too many of our fellow campers have already been affected. Kerosene and calomine lotion have been endured long enough that we have already licked ourselves into grapevines.
We must act now to stop this terrible calamity. Unite, fellow campers, it is time the enemy knew our strength and forebearance. Victory must be ours. Down with chickens!
"I Warned You to Stay
Off the Grass!"
If I Could Know
By MICHELE THOMPSON
If I could only know myself
My every mood and way
And why my thoughts are always,
Always different every day.
If I could know and pick
The road that I, myself, should take
If I could live to love and build
Instead of hate and break.
But how do I know what I want
Or what's important to me.
And how do I know who I am
And what I'd like to be.
How do I show what I'm like
The real, sincere true me
How do I quietly accept things
When I feel they shouldn't be.
I'd really like to be able
To know I've done what's right
To do what I think best
To believe enough to fight.
I guess that's part of living
Not knowing yourself or man
I guess that's why you're living
To find out all you can.
The Vote: Campers Speak Out
By CONNIE MOWER
As of January, 1971, 18 to 20-year-olds were given the responsibility and honor of voting. Opinions vary greatly concerning the voting system, but it does not challenge the challenge; others disdainfully refuse it.
"Eighteen-year-olds should be allowed to vote because they are old and mature enough to fight a war; therefore, mature enough to decide on national decisions," said John Corpus, journalism camper from Spring Valley, III.
Liz Loooney, Wichita, agree, saying, "No American can really attempt and succeed in defending his country unless he can take part in the government."
Jill Hewitt summed up her comments by saying, "Even though I am opposed to the 18-year-old vote, I will do my best to learn about the issues and then vote as maturely as possible."
"I don't think that 18-year-olds should vote. We haven't experienced enough in life: taxes, raising families and, in general, experiencing adult life," said Jill Hewitt, a camper from Great Bend, Kansas. "The statement that 'if one can fight one can vote' is illegitimate. Just look at all the women that don't fight and they aren't eligible for the draft, they can vote!"
More arguments for the 18-year-old vote include that of Peggy Brown from Wheaton, IL. She said that, because the legal age in most states for marriage, cigarettes, beer, sometimes liquor and personal property is 18, she should be lowered to meet those standards.
Steve Whitlock, a McPherson, Kan. camer
commented that in some cases the 18 and
19-year-olds are more mature than those 21 and
older.
"Simply to say that all 18-year-olds will vote wisely and be well-informed at all times is as foolish as saying that they will not. But those who are interested and would take the time to be well-informed and would vote should not be denied that right."
In the Year of the Fool
By JOHN CORPUS
The purple haze held the sleepy village of Candenburg tightly as a brisk wind whelished through. The spines of the small shops and villas waged with the gale. Shawls worn by the womenfolk and the heavy coats of the men danced into the air and back again while the busy peasants of Candenburg went about the morning's business.
Chickens and ducks scampered about the last-brown streets as if they were headless.
**SPRING** WAS in the air and winter was taking its final bow before it gathered up all of its cold winds and snow and blew northward. The Candenburgians needed the winds to blow them about. They needed a primer before their sixth sense registered 'SPRING' into their heads, which they knew were fastened on the top of their bodies.
They bumped into each other on the dust-down streets' and exchanged pre-p春 greetings. "How wonderful it is," they all hoot. "Spring is coming to Candenburg. The sun is blooming, the sun will sit down on our heads, and we will once be gmarry."
About mid-afternoon the whole village was buzzing with excitement about the arrival of spring as the people prepared for this happy change in climate.
DURING THE NIGHT they tossed and turned unable to wait until the next morning to see if spring had yet arrived. Dust had settled back into the corners they previously had swept away, but they could could they hadn't tried to brush it away. They just needed to keep thinking "spring."
Finally the day arrived. Some were so nervous that they worked themselves to sickness and would be the Mayer's "Spring Day." The mayor asked Mayor Royald had it to be so. He did.
There was dancing and merry-making in the streets for three days. Half of the town's supply of both food and drink had been consumed and the people were full of spring—full up to the brim of Spring. Spring was making them sick. They were sick of spring and
began working once again. The dead were buried and the terrible life continued.
THE FOOL had arrived forty days after the death of spring. His small, black, pointed shoes kicked up clouds of dust as he walked into Candrenburg, the Candrenburgians, to find in the fields he greeted with the concern of the Fool, who his funny purple hat which rested atop his head. It must have been worn through many a poor-wearday season for it bore the brushes of winter. It seemed to float on his head as he walked. Oh! that head! The Fool's head, which he wore tilted to one side, was bruised between the eyes in his head and hung out over a chapped lip. His ears were amusing and his clothes covered with black earth.
The peasants noticed these features and the peculiar clothes worn by the Fool as he left the house. Some stared at his-head (Oh, that head!?) Some at his clothes. And yet others only noticed the shiny fiddle he carried under his left arm which was held and had a three-legged extreme
THE WOMEN gaked from their homes as they prepared for the mid afternoon meal. They stretched their necks to view the back of the building on the street. His clammy skook his body.
He often fiddled a merry ture or bowed on the violin seriously. He ate and drank the food set at the bottom of the hill by the townpeople who enjoined his playing.
Even the chickens and ducks seem to use their heads and eyes to view the stranger passing along the dust-blown street. They will move forward, unable to keep up with his awkward arm.
The Fool reached the high, green hill which rose up from the middle of the town. As he looked over the village he smiled and began fudfling.
town meetings as they sat listening to the fiddle or violin. No longer did work seem like work—as long as the fiddle played. Sometimes the people would laugh so loud the Pool could hear them as he sat on top of the fiddle and play. Then when the fiddle has fiddled and the people would hush to listen
The Candenburgians listened and laughed at the Fool throughout the Terrible Spring (as it was later called) and on into the Happy Summer. Jokes are among the people who have come to see him and his head (Oh! that head!). They would imitate his walk and manner of appearance at
Telephones and T.V. came and so did the noise and smell from the city of Candenburg. It became hard to see or hear the old Fool on ton the brown hill.
CHRISTMAS AND snow came and so I found them on trees in the city and the carols from them.
The jokes were now being told privately from home to home over the phones or to groups on party lines. The happy people laughed frantically as they "heard the one about the fool who" from comedians over the T.V.
The laughter would make the Fool smile but it got so that the people didn't listen when he said, "You're wrong."
For some time the "foolish" jokes continued and so did good times in Candenburg. A group began to wonder how the old Doll was meant to look. It was never still putting food at the bottom of the hill.
A GROUP called "Save the Fool" decided to go up and see the man who had saved the metropolis of Candenburg during the Terrible Winter and generated only knew of him from text books.
When they reached the peak, the Fool didn't move or laugh when someone told a foolish joke. They buried him right there immediately, six feet from the top of his bill.
The dirt covered his head (it really wasn't that bad) and soon the hole was filled. The 'Save the Foo' group quickly left the hill and told the people. They beat their breasts and spread flowers at the bottom of the hill. They took their eyes and began seeing the brittle surfaces on their bodies and went insane during the days of silence that followed.
The Fool stirred in the ground and continued wondering about his people—how they changed and what they had done. He widened his gaze to the children, who was heavy and he couldn't fiddle to people.