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THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Thursday December 3,1987 Vol. 98,No.71
Published since 1889 by the students of the University of Kansas
(USPS 650-640)
Census will alter way of counting city's KU students
By VIRGINIA McGRATH
Staff writer
Kansas will begin its once- decade census this January to reaportion legislative districts according to population.
ing to populate A bill passed by the Legislature last session will change the way KU students are counted but will not affect where they are registered to vote.
Vote. Under the new law, students who are not permanent residents of the state districts in Lawrence will be counted in the district where their permanent residence is.
"Students should be counted at home unless they have abandoned that residence and established a new permanent legal residence at college," said Frank Ybarra, co-director of public relations for Secretary of State Bill Graves. The census will be conducted by Graves' office.
Beginning Jan. 8, Graves' office will send cards to every household in Kansas asking them to list all members of the household and designate those who are college students.
Census workers then will match that information against lists of students given to them by universities to ensure that students aren't counted twice. It also will determine those students who were not registered on one of the cards.
In February, census takers will go door to door in Lawrence and across the state to obtain information from those who have not been counted.
State Sen. Wint Winter Jr., R-Lawrence, said the new way of counting students was a bad idea. Winter said he represented everyone in his district, whether they did or didn't vote for him, whether they were registered voters, residents or neither.
If students were not counted, Winter's senate district and Lawrence area house districts could be reapportioned. That would result in area legislators representing more people in a larger area, he said.
"It treats students as not being here when they really are." Winter said.
See CENSUS, p. 6, col. 3
Abilene is the home of the Dwight D. Eisenhower Library, a bowling alley, a Hardees and an Alco. Its bus station is in a small office in the middle of a block of other small offices. The station has a pay phone out front next to a bench covered with ragged vinyl. The office was dark, and the street was still.
You don't see much of towns when you drive through them. You don't learn a lot about the people who live there. But at least you get a snapshot.
We stopped for coffee at a truck stop a little farther down the interstate. I wanted a sandwich, but the ham behind the glass doors of the refrigerator looked kind of brown. I grabbed a candy bar and stood outside, waiting for the driver to take us west.
A guy in his 208 from Cleveland waited with me. He was traveling from Boston to San Francisco. He had been on the bus for two days and looked a little scrruffy. He might have lookered scrruffy from the start.
"Where's the driver?" he asked. "You think he got lucky?"
No. But Bob Poteet, the driver, does think his job has its high points. We talked over a greasy breakfast in WaKeeney at 2:30 that morning.
"It's something a little bit different every day," he said. "It may be the same old highway, but every trip's a little different."
Potete, 56, has been driving a bus for 32 years. He's not ready to retire, although his work isn't always easy.
"Alcohol and drugs (of passengers) are our main problems, the same as a lot of situations, I suppose," he said. "The police are usually pretty cooperative."
When he does have a problem with a passenger, he said, it's usually at night from someone sitting in the rear.
sitting.
"It seems like the drinkers and the troublemakers usually like the comfort of the darkness, in back," he said. "But we don't have any serious problems."
1 sat in the middle of the bus when we left WaKeeney. A man in his 30s who said he was a back-seat regular sat behind me.
"If you really want to get tuned into what's happening in a bus, sit in the last four rows," he said. "That's where all the freaks and heavies hang out."
we talked about buses. We talked about politics. We talked about journalism, television and sports. We talked about actress Shirley MacLaine and her beliefs about metaphysics.
"It's weird. It's segregated, but it's segregated by choice."
sometimes at very small towns. Once we pulled off at a closed interstate gas station surrounded only by miles of prairie. We slowed down, drove by and went on. I was asleep when we crossed into Colorado.
"I always go in the back because I can be cool. I can talk to people. You go up there," he said, pointing to the front of the bus, "you get the little old ladies."
I awoke among tall buildings and dawn. Downtown Denver was still at 7 a.m. Saturday. Lawrence was 500 miles and a time zone behind us. A few blocks ahead was the Denver Bus Center on 19th Street, across from the Embassy Suites hotel.
We stopped often that night, sometimes at small towns and
Rooms at the Embassy Suites cost $95 a night. Lockers in the bus station rent for $1. There wasn't any traffic between the two.
I grabbed my bag as the bus stopped next to the terminal. Other passengers were getting up, too, and I waited for them to clear the aisle. I might have told my back-seat friend to take it easy. Glassy-eyed and hungry, I stumbled off the bus.
My brother and sister-in-law were waiting inside. They took me to their home, fed me and let me rest.
On Sunday, about 10 p.m., they dropped me off back at the station. I had an hour to kill. But the cafeteria was closed and the novelty of the video arcade quickly wore off. I dropped a quarter in one of the pay televisions that were propped in front of a row of chairs. I could get the news, PBS and the Jeffersons, which others around me were watching.
The station was fairly full. Old men in feed caps sat alone. Old women in polyester stretch pants sat together. A few cops, a few security guards and a few packs of young toughs strolled around the lobby.
Almost everyone looked tired.
Most had a suitcase. Of the couple hundred travelers, not one wore a tie.
I had to catch a bus. About 10:45 that night. I headed to the door where I would board. There was already a long line. At first I didn't know why. But then I remembered that I didn't have a guaranteed seat.
"You meet all different kinds of people — strange, weird. Out there," in the lobby, she said, "you see everything."
If there wasn't room this time,
I thought, I'd have to call my
employers and tell them I was
spending the night at the Denver
bus station. It still wouldn't be
any fun.
Karen Lloyd has worked at the station's snack counter for three years.
If you want to ride the bus from Lawrence to Denver and back, you buy a ticket for Lawrence to Denver and back. You can take any bus, any time, as long as there's room. If there isn't room, you have to wait.
She sees drunks, crazies, punk rockers, drug addicts. Does she like her job?
bus pull out of the parking lot. I remembered calling my parents and crying.
"You work here for a day and see what you think."
As I stood behind the crowd waiting to get on the bus, I thought of Fort Smith, Ark. I remembered standing in the station about 11 p.m. watching the
But there was room. I got on the bus. And I sat in the back seat.
The bus filled in front of me. The back seat, to the left of the bathroom, had room for three. A guy in his 80s coming from Las Vegas sat on my left. A teenage girl traveling with her mother sat on my right.
They weren't freaks or heavies. It must have been a good night.
John Jamerson, the guy on my left, was headed home to St. Louis after a few weeks of playing blackjack.
Never hit on 14, he said, unless the dealer has a lousy card up. Only split aces. If you are playing at a table where people are splitting face cards, get up and move. You can make a lot of money if you double down right.
Did he win
When's he going back?
I was pressed between Jamerson and the girl as we crossed Colorado. Sometimes that night, at a short stop in western Kansas, a seat opened in front and Jamerson moved up. I stretched out.
When he's going back.
"December," he said. "The weather's great."
I was slouching in my seat, bouncing along in the back of the bus, but I slept.
When you're relaxing on a bus, comfort is relative.
We got to Manhattan late Monday morning. As we sat in the station waiting for passengers to board, I watched children playing outside the bus. I wondered why they weren't in school. Then I remembered that I should have been sitting in Wescow Hall in my Spanish class. It was time to get back to KU.
Country stars Ronie Milsap, Brenda Lee and Randy Travis have stopped there before. Michelle Montgomery, who works the cash register, sees a lot of people coming through. But she can't stereotype them.
We made most of the same stops on the trip home. We got gas at a truck stop in Solomon.
We pulled into the Lawrence bus station around 2 that afternoon, 67 hours after I had left. I got off the bus and hurried to my car, finding it undisturbed. I drove home.
"There's a wide range," she said.
When you travel by airplane, you never see where you're going. For all you know, the pilot takes off, flies around in circles and lands at a different part of the airport.
When you travel by bus,you know you've been somewhere.
--off, off-campus senator, speaks in
ing money to distribute condoms to
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KANSAN MAGAZINE December 2, 1987
ts Iowa r top post
In late October, Iowa released the ames of four potential candidates or the university presidency, including Horowitz. Challoner was added to the list of candidates in November
The other candidates for the position are Nils Hasslemo, provost at the University of Arizona at Tucson; Jonald N. Langenberg, chancellor at the University of Illinois-Chicago; and Robert Stein, dean of law at the University of Minnesota-Minneapolis.
Sam Becker, president of the search committee, said yesterday hat committee members would be asking Horowitz about her leadership experience, her vision for Iowa and her understanding of issues facing students and faculty.
Horowitz said that she was interested in the position because she received her doctorate at Iowa, and she liked the thought of returning to her alma mater as president.
Herowitz has taught at the University of Kansas for the last 26 years. she began in 1961 as a research associate in the Bureau of Child Research. In 1978 she became the first vice chancellor for research, graduate studies and public service.
Horowitz received a bachelor of arts degree in philosophy from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. She received a master's degree in education from Goucher College in Towson, Md.
Iowa is a Big Ten conference school and has garnered a reputation as a major research university in the Midwest. Its enrollment this fall was about 29,000.
ation kit
Dan Ruettimann/KANSAN
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