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The Behrend College
Collegian
Published weekly by the students
of
The Pennsylvania State University
at Erie, The Behrend College
Co-Edltore
Matthew D. Cissne
Alicia Hartman
Business &
Advertiring Manager
Iris Spinier,
News Editor
Laura Borawski
Entertainment Editor
DanettePamstt
Sports Editors
Tim Mahon
JoeMotiHo
Photo Coordinators
Holly Berry
Jen Colvin
Copy Editor
Alicia Hartman
Office Manager
ft Typfct
Lori Anna Dyer
Distribution
Justin Tinker
Courier
Jay Rozelle
Advisor'
Cathy Mester
The Collegian's editorial opinion it
determined by the editorial tuff, with
the editort hiding final maponsiibiHty.
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Collegian or The Pamiylvmtia State
University.
You mean there's an ALLIGATOR in there?
by Dave Barry
Syndicated Columnist
If you look at any list of
great modern writers such as
Emest Hemingway, William
Faulkner and F. Scott
Fitzgerald, you’ll notice two
things about them:
1. They all had editors.
2. They are all dead.
Thus we can draw the
scientific conclusion that
editors are fatal. I was made
intensely aware of this recently
when, as the direct result of an
idea conceived of by my editor,
I wound up flailing around up
to my armpits in the Swamp
of Doom.
That is not its technical
name. Its technical name is
the Big Cypress National
Preserve, which is part of the
Everglades ecosystem, an
enormous, wet, nature
intensive area that at one time
was considered useless, but
which is now recognized as a
vital ecological resource,
providing Florida with an
estimated 93 percent of its
bloodsucking insects.
No, really, the Everglades are
very important. Tragically,
they have been tampered with
by man, an ecological moron
who is always blundering into
sensitive areas and befouling
Coßegism Stiff: Adam Bebko, Jerry
Bruno* R. Carl Campbell, Maria
Cemadas, Jane Csir, Megan Dearth,
Brian Esper, Tracy Gordon, Brian
Gregory, John Hafner, Ericha
Hagenbuch, Dia'Hama, Erica Jones,
Portia Kelly, Sarah Melchkwre, Erin
Mprreii. Loretu Olson, Jill Pauch, Greg
Pierce, Colette Rethage, John
Rocaomando, Betsy Sauer, Brian Sudler,
Julfe Stocker, Nick Zukmch.
Photographers: Tennille Antonetti,
Sheila Bickel, Mandy Elder, Keith Frsh,
Paul Gniteck, Mark Johnson, Dan
Nowicki, Zubin Patrawala, Stephanie
Payne.
Letter PoMcy: The Collegian encourages
letters cm new* coverage, editorial content
and University affairs. Lenars should be
typewritten, double-ipeced and signed by
no more than two persons. Letters should
be no longer than 400 words. Letters
shooU include the semester standing and
nugor of the writer. All letters should
provide the address and phone number of
the writer for verification of the tetter*
The Collegian reserves the right to edit
letters for length and to reject letters.
Letters submitted to The Collegian
heroine property of ti*newepai>er. The
Collegia* is published every Thursday
doting the academic year on recycled
IMpcr.
Postal Information: The Colkgian
is published weekly by the students of
The Pennsylvania State University at
Erie, The Behrend College; First Floor,
The J. Elmer Reed Union Building,
4utk*Jte«t, Brie, PA MM3. 814-
B9B*MBt«rBl4-8984019fbx. ISSN
1071-9288.
them with beer cans, used
condoms, golf courses, etc.
Only lately has man realized
that the best thing for him to
do is stay out of the
Everglades. This was certainly
MY policy. For years the only
contact I had with the
Everglades was when I drove
across them on Highway 41 at
a speed of 87 miles per hour,
which I figured was fast
enough to outrun any wildlife
that might prey on motorists.
Even then I occasionally had
nature encounters, such as the
time my car encountered a flying
green bug large enough to have a
business class section, which
produced a windshield splat
easily the size of U.S. labor
Secretary Robert Reich.
So it never occurred to me to
set actual foot in the
Everglades until my editor,
Tom Shroder, suggested that I
go hiking with him out there.
“It’s real interesting,” he
said, never once mentioning
alligators, let alone poison
trees.
So one Saturday morning we
went. On die edge of the
Everglades we stopped for
supplies at a combination truck
stop/sporting-goods store. I
bought the survival basics: a
safari-style helmet, a machete,
beef jerky, a bottle of Evian
water, a snakebite kit and
Certs.
(Here is an actual quotation
from the snakebite kit
instructions: “Misuse of the
lymph constrictor...could cause
gangrene which might even
necessitate amputation.” And
this does not refer to the snake.)
I used the machete to cut the
tag off the safari-style helmet, so
the wildlife creatures would not
think I was some easily edible
swamp rookie. But I was still
nervous. And I did not feel
better when we met our guide,
John Kalafarslri, a park service
ranger who is extremely
knowledgeable about wildlife.
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INC.
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“See this tree?” He said,
pointing to a tree that looked,
to me, exactly like every other
tree in the Everglades. “This
is a poisonwood tree. You
don’t want to touch it.”
“I’m not touching anything,”
I said.
Then we began our hike. At
first it was fine. There was an
actual path, with little signs to
identify the plants. But
suddenly John, having
apparently brushed up against a
lunaticwood tree, plunged
RIGHT INTO THE SWAMP.
Soon we were up to our knees
in murky, festering soup,
walking on one of those
squishy muck bottoms,
surrounded by dense growth and
the smell of rotting vegetation.
Deeper and deeper we went I
was fighting my way through
big snarls of vines, stumbling
over logs, falling into hidden
holes, while up ahead, John,
oblivious to die aura of menace
all around us, was delivering a
cheerful nonstop commentary
on the flora and fauna, pointing
out rare mushrooms, tree
snails, etc. I wanted to scream:
“TREE SNAILS? There could
be GIANT SNAKES hiding in
this water, and you’re looking
at TREE SNAILS??”
But I did not want to act like a
% -
* V * '
Thursday, October 27,1994
weenie. I saved that until the
water started getting deeper, and
deeper, until finally we were up
to our armpits, our feet sinking
in goo, and John, pointing right
in front of us, said “This is an
alligator hole.”
“You mean there’s a (bad
word) ALLIGATOR in these?”
I asked.
“Yes,” said John, “and it’s
appropriate that you should use
that word to describe him,
because this is mating season.”
"WE DON’T WANT YOUR
WOMEN!” I shouted at die
hole.
"That might offend him,” Tom
pointed out
Fdrtunately we got out of
there without having my
important limbs chomped off.
Although the certs were ruined.
When we got back onto the
dry trail, I opened the beef
jerky package with my machete
and passed it mound, and we
enjoyed a pleasant sense of
fellowship and accomplishment
and wondered if we would need
oral surgery to repair the jerky
related damage to our teeth. If
you enjoy nature, I strongly
recommend that you, too, take
a hike in the Everglades. I’ll
wave to you from the car.