4.00
Opinion
Page 4 University Daily Kansan, October 9, 1981
No room at the inn
Interesting, how federal legislation can flounder in red tape for months and then suddenly appear out of nowhere.
Last year, the government passed a law making it illegal for non-immigrating student aliens to live in federally-subsidized housing. No one is sure what happened to the law right after that; it seems to have been sucked into the Bureaucracy. But it recently dropped into the laps of the Lawrence Housing Authority (which was taken totally by surprise) and other agencies that run public housing. It came complete with orders to comply within 60 days.
Consequently, foreign students who are studying in the United States, but who have not committed themselves to living here after they get a degree, are no longer
eligible for public housing. If they already live in a federal housing project, they are being forced out.
In Lawrence, this affects at least seven foreign students and their families living in Edgewood Homes; if cooperatives are included under the law, more students will evict envision. Where will these people go? They live in public housing primarily because of money problems. Where else could seven people rent a four-bedroom apartment for $75 a month? And why was the notice so sudden?
Whether the United States should feel justified in cutting off assistance to these foreign students is a separate issue. What is clear here is that the decision was poorly executed and that communication was virtually nonexistent.
Friends who accept our faults help us to accept ourselves
What is it then? Why am I so content? I think it's my friends, new-found and long-held. Friendships that dety my understanding and ability to work, constantly lap against my day-to-day activities.
Earlier tonight I looked in the mirror, and I liked what I saw. The new clothes were decidedly fall, but even without the sweater, I had liked it better than not. I arrived early, the trainnings don't determine my feelings.
Honest and complete self-acceptance?
Countless times, as I carefully scrutinize
DAVID
HENRY
myself—my intellect, my achievements, my past and my future—the devises appear to outweigh the credits. My opinioninated boorishness, my lack of act, my selfishness and materialism crash down on me I add up these qualities like crashing down a slut like slut. I don't like myself, plain and sinny.
Oh sure, I have pluuses. Plenty of them, for which I am thankful. Yet often they don't shine like others.
When in college, we're concerned with ideals. An image of the ideal student, the one with perfect attendance, complexion and GPA, always looms down on us. For me, each semester begins with a competition, a race to catch the reflection of my 'perfect' self.
Yet it never fails to be a losing proposition.
Like a dog chasing its tail, I only end up tired from the race and discouraged by the defeat.
Sometimes I find myself shuffling along like someone from "The Night of the Living Dead," and heaven knows, meeting deadlines.
And then suddenly, out of nowhere, you appear. Not with trumpets or bolts of lightning; usually through a phone call or a quick update on Jayhawk Boulevard between classes. We may talk about the silious things: what happened last week, the nightmare—comprehensive art history exam, the price of rice in China. It really doesn't matter.
You smile, throwing back your head to laugh. You put your hand on my shoulder as if to say, 'You won't flunk out, you'll make your deadline, you're going to phone him.' he said. 'You tell me to phone you later tonight.'
But at that point I really couldn't care, because I have you. You listen to me and understand me, and still, you like me. Me, with all my short-comings.
We both continue about our business, now on the verge of tardiness to class. 'I probably be on the verge of tardiness to class.'
It struck me tonight as I sat in my favorite chair, the tacky black Samsonite rechair, what you give me as my friend. Far more precious than my education, my far-flung travels or the fruits of my Smith-Corona is your unconditional acceptance of me, just as I am.
You give me valuable advice when new problems supplant the old. You share a cup of coffee with me when neither of us has the time. You tell me moods and my bad moods. You tell me to shut up.
In a way, you act as a mirror, one which filters out the harsh light of self-pity and allows a more flattering self-image to be seen. My warts are small, but be sure, but somehow they're not quite so ugly.
I have to finish this now. There's a mean game of charades awaiting me at a party, and lemme tell you, it's for blood. In fact, you'll be there. We'll talk and laugh and try to stump the other team with "Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters."
Before I leave, I glance in the mirror one last time. The final check. This time I also see you when I glance at myself. I smile as I put on my jacket and close the door.
The University Daily Kansan welcomes letters to the editor. Letters should be typewritten, double-spaced and not exceed 500 words. They should include the writer's name, address and phone number. If the letter contains questions, the letter should include the class and home town or faculty or staff position. The Kansan reserves the right to edit or reject letters.
Letters policy
Schools display flagging allegiance
Bv BEL KAUFMAN
New York Times Special Feature
NEW YORK—Today, when our students are rebellion against school and society, I find myself recalling the solenl勇队 we pledged to a flag long ago, when I was a schoolgirl here.
To us the flag stood for the mandatory salute in assembly and for the pomp andRTR attending it, as the coveted trio of the color guard (students ranking highest in effort and department) walked slowly, step by measured step, down the maximum stair. The flag-bearer was flanked by two less experienced stared ahead with unblinking difference, while the patient in absolute silence (silence was always absolute), tensing our stomach muscles against the inevitable flat note from the bugle.
In those days, the Pledge of Allegiance was accomplished by two fingers of the right hand lightly touching the right temple in a salute both hands. In the Middle Ages, Cooper's in the Foreign Legion, or a smartly uniformed doorman's. The words, inherited by thousands of children from thousands of children, were chanted in a union as precise as the first verse, with the emphasis falling heavily on prespensions.
"I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the
Rublic for which it stands..."
Then they changed it. It must have occurred to someone that here was fertile soil for tression;
To avoid this threat, we had to say: "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands and stands as a symbol of our loyalty, wavely havoc with our rhythm."
could easily represent any enemy nation. the small traitor might be pledging away to the wrong country, ready to overthrow all that we fear, or as we saluted, tilting slightly with respect.
Years later, when I was a teacher, another phrase was added to the pledge, this time not for national but for religious security. After "one nation," the words "under God" had to be quickly slipped in before one could go on to "indivisible."
Someplace along the way, an anatomical change occurred: The right hand was transferred from the forehead to the region of the more trustworthy heart.
As students, after we made known our allegiance, the music teacher at the piano struck the opening chords of the national anthem. But even here we weren't safe. At first, secure in the choral unanimity of our young voices, we happily sang "bo-boms bursting in air," making "bombs" into a two-syllable word. One day it was announced that it should be "the bombs bursting in air." The emphasis on "the" got us back on the beat, so that it became "the bombs," which, through a vaguely stirring sense of prosody, I found disturbing.
Only when the last note died in the air and the music teacher struck a stern chord could we sit down to it.
chairs, and—legitimized by our patriotism—proceed with the next item on the program. This was the Bible reading by the principal or by a carefully selected girl coached in advance by the elocation teacher. A girl's speech was assumed to be neater than a boy's.
The forces of change, always at work, subsequently outlawed the Bible reading through a ruling of the Supreme Court, which also has upheld the right of a student to abstain from pledging allegiance to the flag. Today, in many New York public schools the flag salute is used together, as is the national anthem, as are—because of the danger of riots—most assemblies.
On a recent visit to a New York high school I witnessed a solitary boy standing amid the chaotic din of his homeroom, his hand on his still faithful heart, pledging allegiance to the little flag drooping over the fire drill sign. He was ignored by the others. "You can if you want, but you don't have to," one boy explained, "because no liberty and justice for all, it's a bona fide."
"This here is a democracy," another informed me, "we can do what we want."
Still another had written on the blackboard the puzzling words: "Give the power back to the school."
I am not without sympathy for our students and their rights, I too, am opposed to hypocrisy and sham; but I cannot help feeling a winge of nostalgia for something that is forever lost.
(Bel Kaufman is author of the novels "Love,
ecc," and "Up the Down Staircase," the latter
matter being a reworking of the same theme.)
To the Editor:
Letters to the Editor
Innovative math format deserves praise
Ronald Reagan's prune-like visage, coupled with his Hollywood career and eccentric, youthful illusions, has redefined the art of facial makeup. As a result, one of the most recognizable faces in America, that of our fearless leader, is in reality merely a mask, applied every day by a master craftsman.
For all we know, fearless Ronnie's natural features could actually resemble a Fearless Fossidk Halloween mask. The layered makeup, so cleverly packed onto the president's face, could hide virtually anything from a minor scar to a major defect, such as the one exhibited by the mythological Cyclops.
Pot Shots
Coral Beach
When caught by the television cameras at just the right angle, telltale signs of the precisely planned paint-job can be seen near Reagan's collar and hair lines. This is not surprising, however, as no makeup artist could be expected to have the combined skills of painter, painter and bricklayer obviously needed to shape our president's features.
Perhaps Reagan's schedule doesn't include more "on the job" time because of the number of hours he must spend in the makeup chair. After all, he must look his best, if not for the nation, then for Nancy. If she saw the real Ronnie, the shock would probably crack her own facial mask, bringing personal, and probably national, embarrassment.
Place a checkmark by the name of each KU museum that you have visited in the past.
The Museum of Natural History.
The Spencer Museum of Art.
The Museum of Anthropology in Spooner.
The Museum of Entomology in Snow.
Did anybody score any points? If you're like
students, very few of you had to lift a pencil.
Clearly,very few KU students take advantage of the many cultural displays on campus. How sad, considering that the natural history museum is actually the biggest tourist attraction in Kansas, drawing more visitors than even the world's largest prairie dog, off-17 in western Kansas!
Then why do we have these million dollar buildings and school kids in Kansas a place to field trips?
Cindy Campbell
Many great things can be learned in KU's museums. For instance, until Sept. 20, students could have seen a Spencer Museum exhibition of Junction City photographs. What a cultural thrill that would have been. And how many of you have stopped by to see the bugs in Snow Hall on your way home from class?
What a great opportunity to get some culture in your life for free, and you missed it.
There has been a lot of fuss in recent years about the draft. I must admit the prospect of a draft gives me goose pimples. But when we say "give draft endangers young men's lives," "I 'peep' cock." The greatest harm that could come to the draft would be an onslaught of runny eyes.
My room this semester has a broken window, domepe, and late at night there is quite a chilly draft from it—but I just bundle up and carry the draft. The draft is of no concern to me. Even if I did, what is a sniffle or two? Those who can stand the lack of heat should go to the kitchen.
I believe those who say registration will prevent the draft, not bring it on. If I had not
registered a work order for my window, my landlord would never have known to fix it
Our leaders say the draft allows us in the honor of making a sacrifice for our country. I agree. We should consider it a privilege to wear our long woollies into an unheated classroom. Why, in the banana republic of young people even have long underwear.
People up in arms about a draft should not demonstrate: they should insulate. A draft is no reason to get militant. I don't understand why people concern themselves with trivial matters like a draft instead of real worries—like the prospect of having to go to war.
The author reported only one side of the issue. He apparently made no effort to gather information to balance the rather extreme position of the one student he interviewed. The story should be applauded, but it should be applauded for its efforts in developing new and more effective methods of teaching.
Zieman solicited one student's opinion from a pool of 1,900 enrolled in the course. Surely we cannot assume that her statements were accurate. In 1,900 pools, 1,000 Indeed, she may have been in the majority.
Interviews with a number of other students would have given the reader a feel for the issue of general concern. Interviewing even one student with a contrary opinion would have provided a balance more in line with professional journalistic practices.
Similarly, the story suggested that the director thought the program had benefits as well as problems. The author not only failed to explore the problems clearly, but completely ignored the possible benefits. The story could have been improved if Zieman had followed up on the director's comments that the program showed promise.
Of special concern to us is that the article condemned mastery methods of teaching by implication. Such condemnation was unwarranted. Mastery methods of teaching have been employed with great success. Faculty and students from the departments of education, human development have played an important role in the development of this successful technology.
Many, if not all, of the faculty and staff in the department of human development who are involved with mastery teaching would have gladly discussed its problems and merits. Once again, Zieman missed an important opportunity to improve his story.
KU students should applaud the math department's willingness to try new teaching methods. Any new method will need time to "get the bugs out." As members of the University community, we should do all we can to support attempts to improve instruction at KU.
Richard W. Couch
Steven P. Johnson
Tom Welsh
HDFL graduate students
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