Thursday February 4,1988
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Published since 1889 by the students of the University of Kansas
Vol. 98, No. 89 (USPS 650-640)
House votes to eliminate contra plan
The Associated Press
WASHINGTON — A bitterly divided House voted yesterday to cut off U.S. military support for Nicaragua's contra rebels, rejecting President Reagan's aid request in the hope of spurring peace prospects in Central America.
The 219-211 vote, culminating six years of overt and covert military support for the rebels fighting the leftist Sandinista government, killed Reagan's request for $36.2 million in new aid to keep the contras alive as a fighting force through June.
It was a serious defeat for the president, who had lobbed hard on the issue for two weeks and had put the contras among the top foreign policy priorities for his final year in office. Only a day earlier, Reagan had argued that failure to extend aid would strengthen communist influence in the hemisphere.
"Today's vote is the end of a chanter," said House Majority Wha
"If you vote this package down, you'd better be prepared to bear the consequences," Michel said. "And who among you is smart enough to predict the path on which Daniel Ortega will take you?"
Current aid to the rebels expires Feb. 29, and democrats pledged to hold another vote before the month is out on an alternative package of purely humanitarian aid to the rebels, and to follow that up with a new emphasis on economic development aid for countries in the region that abide by terms of a five-nation peace accord.
The most controversial part of the defeated package was $3.6 million earmarked for weapons and ammunition, which Reagan had said he would withhold until March 31 to see how cease-fire talks went between the rebels and the Managua government. Those talks are scheduled to
childish scrawl were the words, "Kris B.." Kris B. Kribe
I looked up at her to find her surveying me quizably.
"John, John Anders. What's the B for, Kris B."?
"Bonnet." She smiled back, blushed furiously, and stared back at the chem. eng. book,
"Whatcha studyin'?" She pulled a sandwich out of a cavernous pocket of the jacket and unwrapped it. She sniffed it and began to munch.
shirt it and organ it." "Chemical engineering," I said. "I have a test," I added, rather unnecessarily. I wanted to prolong the conversation.
"Blow it off." I didn't understand.
"Blow it off. You know, forget it." She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the sandwich clenched in her hands. "This sandwich is sad. Let's go have a picnic." I stared at her.
"What? I don't even know you."
"You will. Jesus; loosen up, man. Come on, let's go on a picnic. It's too nice a day to stay indoors and take tests." I stared at her.
"Uh . . no, no thanks. This is an important test," what could I say? Things like that never happen to me. Strange women never talk to me; they usually don't even notice me. She smiled sadly and shook her head at me.
"I our loss, Johny. I'll see you around." She picked up her notebook and was gone. I looked back at my book. What the hell had just happened? Was she a hooker . . . or just a weird? I puzzled over the encounter as I sat on the hard plastic chair and stared out at the fall afternoon. The leaves outside were the same color as the plastic chairs. I was late for the test. I also failed the test.
t home that evening, I sat on the couch bundled in a blanket, trying to forget the test. I was doing a terrible job. I sipped some warm tea and assessed my chances of getting at least a passing grade in the class. I was afraid they weren't very good. I just
couldn't seem to get the hang of college. Put me in a line and give me orders and march me around and I was fine. But put a book in my hand and tell me I have to be tested on it, and it was like a foreign language echoin my head. I was going to have to do something soon because the Navy pay I had saved wouldn't keep me much longer. Johnny Carson was on the television making fun of the president. Damn communist. Carson, not the president.
The dark-haired Krisbee intruded on my glum thoughts of the future. I mulled the events of the afternoon. Was she making fun of me? Trying to pick me up? I couldn't understand why. No one ever wanted to pick me up. I was almost 30 years old and balding. Next to these young college studs, I looked like an old shoe.
When I heard a knack at the door, somehow I knew it was her. Don't ask me how; I know it sounds stupid. I don't believe in ESP or fate or any of that; I just knew. And I was right. I got up to let her in.
She carried a picnic basket and wore an orange stocking cap. Her beautiful hair cascaded down her back. Before I could save anything, she spoke.
"You wouldn't go on a picnic with me, so I brought you one." She sailed into my living room and plopped down on the floor. She opened the picnic basket and took out . . . a pizza. This was ridiculous. I decided to play along. I kneeled beside her.
"Phone book. Anders. A-N-D-E-R-S. Spell it like it sounds, babe." I suppressed an urge to wipe sauce off her chin. "Have some." I shrugged. What the hell. I took a piece and began to eat. It was cold. We chewed in silence. She looked curiously around my apartment.
"How did you find me?" She lifted a piece of pizza to her mouth. It looked to be Canadian bacon. She took a huge bite, chewed several times. Then she spoke with her mouth full.
"I like this place. It's cozy." She swallowed. "You got a girlfriend, Jobny?"
"No . . . no." I stammered. Being around this girl seemed to impede my speech. We continued to eat in silence. Several minutes passed. Suddenly, she snapped the picnic basket shuttle and stood up.
"Gotta go, babe." She bent and kissed on the cheek "See ya." And she was gone. I was floored. Flabbergasted.
That was a week ago. Since then, she had shown up at my apartment each night. We would eat and talk, usually of nonsensical things. I learned a few things about her, but she was reluctant to tell me much. She did tell me she was from Connecticut. Hence, the strange lil in her voice. I learned she had a boyfriend in Connecticut whom she missed dreadfully. And I learned Crispy was an incurable flirt.
In the Navy, we had a word for girls who flirted like Crispy without carrying things through, but I don't believe that word bears repeating here. I would be sitting on my couch wrapped in my blanket, and she would sit next to me. Soon, she would utter a big sigh and begin slowly to lean or me. Always an obliging fellow, I would shift to let her lay her head in my lap, which she invariably would.
I would stare at her beautiful hair flowing across my legs. She had her face turned toward the television, and didn't see my unbroken gaze. I longed to stroke the hair. At first, my hand would hover over her head, not quite daring to touch her. But on the third, or perhaps it was the fourth night since Crispy had walked into my life, I dared to lay my hand softly on the hair. She purrred a little under my caress, and shifted to make her hair more accessible. Holding my breath, I began to softly stroke the rich, brown locks. They were as soft as anything I'd ever touched.
"Mmmm . . . I love that." She whispered. I didn't answer. What could I possibly say, even if I could speak? My heart was blocking my vocal chords. It was swelling in my throat as I fingered the silky hair. I got bolder and smoothed the bangs off her small forehead. She closed her eyes and snuggled down into my lap more. Before I knew it, she was asleep.
It continued like this for the next couple of nights. She would lean on me, slide into my lap. I would stroke her hair. She would sleep. At around ten o'clock, she would jerk awake and look frantically at the clock and be gone before I could say anything. It was so strange, but so wonderful. I wanted to know what was going on, but I didn't want to risk it ending. I was afraid if I understood, it would be over. So, I said nothing.
It was Saturday night, and we were alone in my apartment. And I loved her. I loved her as only someone who has never loved before can. And I never had loved before. . . . I was always too busy, too into myself, the Navy. And now here I was, lonely one day and in love the next. If I had stopped to think about it, I would have realized I was probably crazy. But I didn't think about it. I loved it. I loved her. I love Crispy, my mind cried out. Her legs thrown over the side of a chair. She was
She had her legs thrown over the side of a chair. She was laughing out loud, like a child, at a Snoopy cartoon.
"Let's go out," I suggested. I wanted to put her in a different setting. I wanted to solve this puzzle of who she was. She pointed the remote control at the television to mute it.
"Where should we go, Johnny?"
"Dancing," I said without hesitation. I wanted to dance with her. To hold the little body close to me and rest my chin on top of the dark head.
"Why?" I jumped on any chance to get her to talk of her home life. I had no idea where she lived, or what or if she studied. What she did when she was away from me. But she shut me out.
"I don't feel like it." She turned the TV up.
"Crispy, come on . . . I never go anywhere. We'll just go for a little while, please?" She looked at me, wide-eyed.
"Is it that important to you?"
"Yes!" Suddenly it was. It was desperately important to me, to take her out as if she was mine. To display her to others. To make them think we were a couple. She sighed. "Okay, but not for long. I have to go hope."
"No reason." She stood and I stood, and we went to a nightclub.
The place was packed. Pink, blue and red lights shone off the ceiling. College students, impossibly young to me, milled about. They were all smiling, laughing. I grabbed Crispy's hand and pulled her through the people and the haze to an empty table. We sat, and a waitress materialized. She slapped two napkins down on the table.
"Bring me a beer . . . and a . . . a glass of water for the lady." I had never been out with a girl who didn't drink before. Probably because the few girls I had been out with hadn't been girls, or even ladies. They had been a different breed from Crispy. I watched her from across the table. She was staring out at the dance floor, watching the gyrating couples. I followed her gaze. They were packed so close together; they were moving as one mass, up and down, side to side. The music pulsated loudly. I yelled across the table at her.
"Drinks?" I looked at Crispy. She shook her head.
"What's this song?" She looked at me in surprise, as if she had forgotten I was there.
"The Police. Haven't you heard it before?" I hadn't, of course. I was somewhat surprised she had. Somehow, I had pictured her as the kind of girl who listened to harps and mandolins. I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. The waitress brought the beer and water. I gave her the ridiculous sum of four dollars. I had definitely been out of circulation for a while. I downed the beer. Crispy didn't
touch the water. Her whole attention was focused on that dance floor. She seemed fascinated by the college students, especially the girls. She appeared to be drinking in every detail of their dress, the way they moved and talked and danced.
I followed her gaze to try and understand her fascination. I noticed she looked different from them. They wore tight, short skirts and a lot of jewelry. They looked like the women I had kept company with in the Navy. But Crispy was different. Her hair was longer and hung without the elaborate styling of the college girls. She wore no jewelry, and like as not would appear at my apartment in those faded jeans and baggy sweatshirts or sweaters, sometimes with holes. She wore no make-up. The college girls had hard looks in their eyes. Crispy's deep, brown eyes had a sparkle, but a naive that touched me deeply. She was the kind of girl I had always longed for . . . if I could just figure her out.
She was still staring at the floor, so I twisted and began to scan the room to see if anyone was envying the happy couple in their midst. A man standing at the bar caught my attention because he was the type of fellow my buddies and I used to beat up on. The wimpy kind, with a silk shirt and gold chains around his neck. He looked to be about my age, maybe a little older. He 'looked as if he were trying hard to fit in with these college kids, even though he was several years older. I smirked at him and turned back to the table. Men who wouldn't act their ages always made me laugh. I signaled the waitress for another beer. Just then, a slower song came on. The grating couples on the dance floor began to separate into two. Ah-ha.
"Let's dance." I stood up and grabbed her hand. Increbably, she shook her head.
"I don't dance." Desperately, I searched for something to say. I had to dance with her. I had to have an excuse to hold this maddening creature close to me, if even just for the time it takes to play the A-side of a record.
"Please, Crispy . . . I'll teach you. It's real easy. Just follow my lead, okay? Come on, please?" I grasped her hand in both of mine. She looked into my eyes, and I believe she could see the desperation there. Whatever it was, she chose to give in.
kay, Johnny. One song." I led her to the floor. I hadn't danced in several years, but I figured I could remember. She moved awkwardly into my arms. I grassed her right hand with "O
mine and put my left around her waist. She put her arm around my neck, but refused to get very close. We moved in silence for a moment, then on the pretense of a stumble, I pulled her a little closer. I almost had her close enough to rest my cushion on her head. She danced fairly well for someone who didn't dance. I knew it couldn't be my leading. I backed up for a minute and looked into her eyes. She was far away. She focused for a minute, and I smiled at her. She smiled back, wistfully. God, that fellow in Connecticut was one lucky devil. I pulled her closer and put my chin on the top of her head.
I could smell her fragrant hair and feel the softness under my chin. She fit perfectly. We moved in union to the music. We swayed, and I closed my eyes to make the moment last longer. There was no dance floor, no crowd. Crispy and I were alone, dancing. Holding each other. The song ended. A blaring blast of rock 'n' roll jolted me away from her. She led me off the floor. I honestly believe I was not capable of making it on my own. We were seated again. I stared at her across the table. She still would not look at me.
Crispy, I love you. I held back the words. They were welling up in my throat, filling my eyes. They wanted to escape; they wanted to be vocalized. I had never felt a need this great before; I had never wanted to say something so much in my life. But she wouldn't look at me. She was staring over my shoulder. It took me several minutes to realize she was staring AT someone. Her eyes got wider as I heard a voice speak behind me.
"Kristine, is that you? What in the hell are you doing here?" I turned, to see the man in the silk shirt. He had a small blonde woman by the hand. He was staring furiously at my Crispy. "The car is outside. Go. I'll be there in a minute."
I stared at him incredulously. Who did he think he was?
"That's my date, mister. What's the idea?"
"Your date, man? That's my daughter. She's only 12 years old." His teeth shone pink through the smoke.
Jan Hollday is a senior in broadcast journalism from Great Bend. She is the news anchor on KANU FM-91.5.
KANSAN MAGAZINE February 3,1988 15
Halftime acrobats entertain audience
By Jeff Suggs
Kansan staff writer
Several athletes made spectacular moves at last night's KU-Oklahoma basketball game. But they didn't just include Danny Manning, Harvey Grant or Stacey King
In fact, some of the best action occurred at halftime.
The Bud Light Daredevils, with the help of a mini-trampoline, fascinated the sellout crowd in Allen Field House with their acrobatic slam dunks.
The Daredevils, who are based in Memphis, Tenn., perform around the world. The four-member team has played in over 150 colleges, in every National Basketball Association arena and in Europe, the Middle East, Japan, Latin America and Australia.
The team will play at Nebraska tonight, Missouri Western tomorrow, Kansas State on Saturday and at the Topeka Sizzlers game on Sunday.
y Cobb, coach and performer the Daredevils, founded the m when he was a cheerleader the University of Mississippi in 0. It was originally a part-time, but when he graduated in 1983, became a profession. Cobb said was surprised at the success of Daredevil team.
Bob Curran said, "Real surprised," Cobb said. "It's always just for fun. I feel 'really lucky.'"
Cobb's team includes his other, Guy, Tim Lancaster and with Eldred.
Part of the team's act is to pull outple out of the audience and get am involved in the performance. The movement is the point of the show.
"Eye-to-eye contact — that aks the whole show," Lancasc said. "It's a real personal experience to look like we're vying a party."
"Oh yeah — that crowd — what a me to come to," he said. "It eans a lot to us. It is one of e best so far, for sure."
Lancaster said that at some aces, the crowd was not too ceptive to the Daredevil's per- mance. But he said the Jaywick fans were great.
rties
Ohnemus said that the association vanted the fraternities to sign the esolution too.
David Morris, president of the interfraternity Council, said that the council hadn't had a chance to review his resolution yet but that it would be discussed at an upcoming meeting.
Andrea Reeche, president of Gamma Phi Beta sorority and a member of the phellenolic alcohol task force, aid that the future might bring even tricher policies.
Reese said that a policy to ban alcohol from all functions, even for hose who could legally drink, was being discussed.
women comparable
"I find it a little difficult to believe," she said. "I hope it's true, but we've got quite a long ways to to."
She said that even if the 70 percent igure were true, it was meaningless because some women still don't getaid as much as men, even thoughhev do the same jobs.
Between 1986 and 1987, the average weekly earnings of women working full time rose by $13 a week, from $72 in 1986 to $85 in 1987. Earnings rose $17, from $482 to $445.
Barbara Ballard, director of the Emily Taylor Women's Resource Center, said she didn't know what factors the study was based on but said she guessed the percentage was steadily going up because more women were moving into higher
See SALARY, p. 6, col. 1