opinions
editorial
Fine tuning
For some 12,000 University students who,
receive grants from the Pennsylvania High
er Education Assistance Agency, the up
coming academic year could be met with
more than just pennies from heaven.
PHEAA recently approved new
guidelines for its grant recipients that ba
sically increase the total grant money avail
able by $1.3 million.
The new rules will increase awards for
some students, and PHEAA spokesman
John Ebersol said "the types of problems
we have addressed will give many (stu
dents) a better shake."
The new guidelines include increasing:
eligibility for students from single-parent
families; eligibility for students with depen
dent children; the off-campus housing allot
ment; the equity shelter for families with
more than two children; and the investment
shelter for families with more than two
children, to name a few.
PHEA.A is apparently trying to keep its
aid in step with the rising cost of living and
A deserving hero
Saving the day is nothing new for Julius
Erving. And in his final home game as a
Philadelphia 76er Friday night, Dr. J saved
the day in more ways than one.
Although the 76ers lost, the final score of
the game was not really important.
What did matter was that following one of
the darkest weeks in professional sports
history, a week that featured several pro
fessional athletes being indicted on drug
charges, another checking into a drug reha
bilitation center and yet another being
arrested on DUI charges, Erving let profes
sional sports fans know that there was still
someone worthy of the label hero.
Erving scored 38 points, one more than
his age, to become only the third person in
professional basketball to score more than
30,000 points in a career. He did it with the
same moves that made him a superstar, a
legend, and an idol in basketball circles
over the past 16 years.
The same moves that sent aspiring young
players to bed every night dreaming about
the daily Collegian
Monday April 20, 1987
©1987 Collegian Inc.
Chris Raymond
Editor
Glenn B. Rougier
Business Manager
The Daily Collegian's editorial opin
ion is determined by its Board of
Opinion, with the editor holding
final responsibility. Opinions ex
pressed on the editorial pages are
not necessarily those of The Daily
Collegian, Collegian Inc. or The
Pennsylvania State University.
Collegian Inc., publishers of The
Daily Collegian and related publica
tions, is a separate corporate insti
tution from Penn State.
Board of Editors
Managing Editor Bob King
Opinion Editor Terry Mutchler
Assistant Opinion Editor Jim Higgins
Editorial Writers
Donna Saber, Kathy Casey,
Christine Negley
Fear
Confident through Israeli bombings but unnerved
Not once during my seven week stay in
Israel last summer did I cry as a result of
fear fear that might have been caused by
acts of terrorism from inside the country or
outside.
At least once a week we would hear news
of bombs on buses or the exchange of
gunfire near the borders. And that's only
what we heard from others; the majority of
us could not understand the Hebrew on the
radio or in the newspapers reporting the
same occurences, daily.
One night some of my fellow American
students returned to the dorms at Tel Aviv
University shaken and teary-eyed, telling
inflation. At a time when the educational
system is not receiving the financial back
ing necessary to offer a quality education on
a national level, such fine tuning is music to
the ears of financially needy students within
the Commonwealth.
It is refreshing to know that some organi
zations still believe in the need for a quality,
affordable education especially after
students have had to foot an ever-rising
Penn State tuition bill and listen to the anti
student rhetoric of leaders such as Presi
dent Reagan and Education Secretary Wil
liam Bennett. Moreover, PHEAA is willing
to do something about it.
Bennett and Reagan have made it clear
that they think students must bear the
responsiblity of paying the rising tuition
and that if they can't put the cash up front,
education should take a back seat.
In light of that ludicrous mindset, PHEAA
is to be commended for being realistic in its
attempt to help build the foundation of the
Commonwealth and the nation: education.
playing like the Doctor. Among those aspir
ing players were many of today's NBA All-
Stars, including Michael Jordan, Domin
ique Wilkins and Magic Johnson, just to
name a few.
"He's who we all wanted to be," Jordan
said.
But what really set Erving apart from
other players, more so than his flashy
playing style, was the way he handled
himself off the court.
'Over the years, he became a model hu
man being as much as a model professional
athlete. At various times he has been a
spokesman for the game, a businessman, a
friend, a teammate, a father and a husband,
all .of which he is equally proud of.
And all the while gaining the respect of
peers, fans and even non-fans.
Erving is certainly deserving of the title
hero; he is one of the few who was able to
maintain the image outside the realm of
sports, and one who probably always will.
News Editors
Phil Galewitz, James Stewart
CopylWire Editors
Susan Kearney, Theresa Pancoast
Eric Schmidt, Damon Chappie
:Town Editor Christine Metzger
Assistant Town Editor
Jane Kopacki
Campus Editor Nancy Funk
Assistant Campus Editor
Carolyn Sorisio
Sports Editor Matt Herb
Assistant Sports Editors
Rob Biertempfel, Bob Williams
Stacey Jacobson
Arts Editor Beth Brestensky
Assistant Arts'Editor Ron Sweg man
Science Editor Kathi Dodson
Graphics Editor Tony Ciccarelli
Photo Editor Cristy Rickard
Assistant Photo Editor Dan Oleski
Board of Managers
Assistant Business Manager
Lori Spossey
Accounting Manager K. C. McClure
Office Manager Curt Sayers
Assistant Office Manager Kelly Moffat
Sales Manager Joe Palastro
Layout Coordinator Annie Corson
Marketing Manager
Dante Orazzi 11l
Assistant Marketing Manager
Kristy Burgess
Complaints: News and editorial corn
plaints should be presented to the editor
stories about a bomb that had exploded on a
street where they had been a mere fifteen
minutes beforehand. I listened and didn't
even flinch. I had the attitude that it just
couldn't happen to me, or to any of us.
Later we learned that only one person was
injured as a result of the explosion, which
only bolstered my confidence.
Shortly afterword, I was riding on a bus to
Eilat, at the southern-most tip of Israel,
when an Israeli soldier told me that two
Israeli soldiers and a few Lebanese terror
ists were killed when the soldiers tried to
stop the terrorists from entering Israel
from the water. The incident occurred at a
place called Rosh HaNikra near the border
between Israel and Lebanon.
My confidence was slightly shaken be
cause the group I was touring with had
visited Rosh HaNikra one week before. It
was a strange feeling that we had been at
the exact location where people were killed;
it could have easily happened one week
earlier.
I wondered if the Israelis felt fear every
time they heard about a bomb.. Does the
Business and advertising complaints
should be presented to the business
manager. If a complaint is not satisfacto
rily resolved, grievances may be filed
with the Accuracy and Fair Play Commit
tee of Colleglaninc. Information on filing
grievances Is available from Gerry Lynn
Hamilton, executive secretary, Collegian
Inc.
Letters Policy: The Daily Collegian en
courages comments on news coverage,
editorial policy and University affairs.
Letters must be typewritten, double
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Students' letters should include se
mester standing, major and campus of
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Names may be withheld on request.
The Collegian reserves the right to edit
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Collegian. All letters received become
the property of Collegian Inc.
fear continue to increase, and do they wait
for the next one to' hit them? Or has it
become so routine that they tend to disre
gard them as normal?
The only real fear I had was that of the
news reaching my parents, who had so
reluctantly allowed me to take this trip. If
every week they were to hear of these
incidents, it would probably have taken
years off of their lives.
They were overwhelmed with relief and
joy when they received my phone call from
New York confirming that I had arrived on
U.S. soil safely.
I, on the otherhand, was not so joyful.
I cried 'when the wheels of the plane left
the runway in Tel Aviv, because I was
leaving a place that I had grown to love and
did not know if or when I would return.
I was welcomed back to the United States
by a grey, humid New York day after seven
weeks of nothing but beautiful sunshine.
And rain was expepted! I hadn't seen rain
since I had left here seven weeks ago.
The Entenman's chocolate chip cookies
my sister had waiting for me in the car
RAG RAISING 4Nec2 AmERICAt.I EMBASS-e IN MOSCOW
reader opinion
A guardian
John Orr: You are a guardian.
You are one of the few American males if not the only
American male who understands the pain of far too
many women. In this sense you are privileged: your
views are not obfuscated, your understanding is deep.
Because you are a guardian, I presume that you. have
never made a sexist remark in your life. I also presume
that your interpretations of of history, of literature, and
psychology have never been tainted by your masculinity.
And I presume that you have never used your masculinity
for self-advancement at the expensd of a woman.
No none of this because you are a guardian.
But the rest of us, we are the dogs.
We are the insatiable, lascivious beasts who won't keep
our pants zippered. We are the voluptuaries, incapable of
developing a meaningful relationship with a woman. And
we are the hedonists, flatly refusing to help a woman in
distress.or need.
All of this because we are not guardians.
When I look at the history of the last 150 years, I see a lot
of guardians: I see Joseph Stalin, slaughtering those
"God-fearing Russians," because he knew they would
never be good communists; I see Fritz Klein, an SS
physician who knew the Jew was the "gangrenous appen
dix on the body of mankind" which had to be surgically
removed that is, exterminated; and lastly, I see our
own White House, where the guardians know the real
dangers of the Sandinistas and therefore aid . the Contras
in slitting•the throats of innocent Nicaraguans.
John Orr, you know that the American male is a base
creature. And we will beat our wives, abuse our daugh
ters, and exploit our mistresses until you, the guardian,
mend our ways. Because we are so base, you may use any
method to purify us: the keys to the torture chamber lie
on the table.
But before you drag me in, one question a perennial
question of political philosophy, if there ever was one:
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? "Who guards the guardi
ans?" •
Real volleyball
- I would like to comment the men's volleyball team for
their fine representation of the University on their two
David Tubbs
senior-political science
at the clap of a Brooklyn thunder
cheered me up a little bit, but it was going to
take a lot more than cookies.
My sister and I decided to spend the night
in New York, rather than drive home in the
dark. I went to sleep fairly early due to the
exhausting plane ride and our early morn
ing journey home to two anxiously awaiting
parents.
It was between 12 and 12:30 a.m. when I
experienced fear like I have never experi
enced before. There had been a series of
loud clashes of thunder followed by a bolt of
lightning that lit up the entire sky. I awoke
to find myself sitting up, staring at the light
fading through the window, my face
streaming with tears. I finally realized that
the quivering voice asking between sobs,
"What was that?!" was my own.
In a matter of seconds, my sister Judy
who rarely displays affection was holding
my shaking body, reassuring me that it was
only a thunderstorm.
I remained sitting and shaking, while I
clutched my blanket to my chest. I kept
repeating the same line over and over
again: "I thought it was a bomb." Each
time my voice became slower and softer
The Daily Collegian
Monday,April 20, 1987
recent visits to Southern California. I'm sure they were
under a great deal of pressure to perform well in such
hostile territory.
Ever since I moved to Los Angeles eight months ago,
I've discovered that Californians actually believe that
they are the only people who know how to play volleyball.
They have this idea that nobody east of the Rockies is
capable of playing "real" volleyball.
At every match I attended, the fans were rude and
arrogant. They spent their energy yelling insults at the
Penn State players instead of cheering for their own
teams.
However, the team played admirably in spite of the
less-than-friendly crowds. It's really a shame that the
home team crowds wouldn't even show a little respect to
such a well-deserving Penn State team.
Coach Tait and the entire team are to be congratulated
for their performance, both on and off the court. They
truly make me feel Penn State proud!
I will be looking forward to seeing them play in the
Final Four at UCLA in May. Good luck guys! Let's show•
California what an Eastern team can do!
Praise
Currently being a freshman at PSU I have to admit that
I am just learning the real importance and values of the
Collegian. It's only taken me almost two full semesters.
In the beginning I would only pick up the Collegian for
two reasons,•to read the Far Side and to get the Domino's
coupons. Then one day I started to read the articles. To
my own surprise they were full of important and interest
ing information.
The Collegian is a paper that has good human and
political values that represent the views of the majority
as well as the counter culture. It is a paper that doesn't
use the "power of the press" to influence its' readers and
many times prints both sides of a subject.
I feel the Collegian is a symbol of excellence in college
journalism and is in a class by itself. I enjoy reading the
Collegian and for that reason I would like to thank you and
congratulate you on your 100th year.
because every time I heard those words
they became more ridiculous, and as time
passed I realized that I was not in my hot
dorm room at Tel Aviv University, but I was
in an air-conditioned bedroom in a Brooklyn
house.
Judy returned to her bed, and I sat staring
at the window. The tears slowly subsided, I
released the blanket and listened to the
unfamiliar sound of rain. Carefully I re
turned to my back, then to my side and
curled into the fetal position, waiting for my
heartbeat to return to normal. My eyes
were wide open like those of a child who has
suddenly realized he lost his mother in a
large department store: alone and fright
ened.
During those seven weeks in Israel, I was
confident and never cried for fear that my
life was endangered. Seven weeks later,
during a stormy night in Brooklyn the
experience of Israel became a reality and I
finally cried the tears.
Susan Goldstein is a sophomore majoring
in broadcast journalism, and is a sports
writer for The Daily Collegian.
Theresa M. Milore
Los Angeles
Class of 1986
Mike. Ryan
freshman-business administration
opinions
Bullfights: bravery, pride, and performing an art, while
"Don't do it. You will not make it, you will
die," the Spanish woman said in broken
English.
I and the eight Americans I were with stood
in silence. We had not been in Ciudad Rodrigo
15 minutes when this short, frowning woman
approached us. She had overheard the four
guys from our group three from Stanford
University and one from Penn State talk
ing about running with the bulls.
It was carnival day in this town about an
hour and a half from Salamanca, Spain. On
carnival day it is traditional here to run a
herd of bulls through the streets and all the
brave men and boys run with them. While it is
not as large as the famed running of the bulls
in Pamplona Spain it is still as dangerous.
One man was killed during the running last
year.
In spite of this peril, the Spanish woman,
whom the guys dubbed "Mrs. Doom," was
the only person to reproach my friends. All
other Spaniards we spoke with thought is was
natural and valiant that they wanted to run.
Some old men even gave them tips, such as
staying away from corners since it's difficult
to see the bulls coming and staying our of
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crowds. The man who was killed last year
was crushed by a crowd running from a bull.
Sitting in the stands in the plaza with
everyone else who, like me, were either less
brave or more sane, it hit me just what my
friends were attempting. I ate some bread
and cheese, drank some cheap wine and
loaded my camera hoping it would take the
worry out of my mind.
A man rang the town bell. It was beginning.
We had to wait since the plaza or arena
marked the end of the run.
In 15 minutes the 5,000 spectators in the
stands around the plaza became quiet. Sud
denly men, pushing and running poured into
the plaza gate, followed by four huge bulls.
Then more men, but not as large a group,
tumbled in. In the stands, we scanned the
ring for the daring four. Two had jumped into
the stands and two were hanging on the gate.
They had all made it. For the rest of the day
we heard many bull stories (which can proba
bly be taken either way). When I asked them
why they had done it, none could give me a
good answer. They shrugged their shoulders
and more or less said it would make a good
war story back in the U.S.
But the reasoning was very different for the
Spaniards who ran. I began to understand the
bravery, the powerful bulls and the chance
taking with death later that afternoon when I
saw the bullfights.
The town isn't big enough to attract the
great matadors of Spain. But, Ciudad Rodri
go is famed for its show at the novilladas or
young novices training to be bullfighters.
I didn't know what to expect as the first
matador appeared in the ring wearing a
tight-fitting gray striped outfit, black hat and
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hard cool smile. The band in the stands
played marches as he strolled around, and a
man near me explained that he had only one
eye due to a bullfight.
Next, a gate opened and a black bull ran
into the ring. The bull was huge but I heard
some people say it wasn't as big as the older
ones more experienced matadors fight.
These bulls were not from the famed Sala
manca of Alipio Perez-Tobernero Sanchon,
who raises the best bulls for fighting in Spain.
Yet, they were still supposed to be fierce and
quick.
The bull circled around the matador, mov
ing ih the directions the man steered him.
The animal seemed confused. But unwilling
to give into the confusion, he lunged at the
matador. The audience yelled "ole" with
each pass of the bull, man and cape between
them.
Then, the matador left the middle of the
ring and the picadores moved in, carrying
pink capes. One man jumped up and down
trying to anger the bull enough to run toward
him. As the bull gained speed, running direct
ly at him, the man raised both hands holding
two colorful banderillas picks with barbed
steel ends. He lunged with the banderillas
jabbing the hump of muscle over the bull's
neck. He then jumped out of -the way just
before being struck by the bull's huge horns.
Instantly blood began rolling down both
sides of the bull. It was easy to see since the
sun reflected off the animals sleek back.
Showing even more confusion but now also
rage, the bull dug the dirt with his right hoof
and then galloped, head low, toward the
matador's red cape. After about 10 more
minutes of graceful maneuvers, the matador
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brought out his sword. A lone trumpeter. in
the band played as the matador, aiming for
the back of the neck, plunged the long blade
into the beast.
The bull tried to rear up but couldn't move
his head. He roamed aimlessly around the
ring. His torso moved in and out as he tried to
breath, and he opened his mouth, allowing
the blood to drip into the sand.
As the bull came closer and closer to death,
the matador strolled gracefully around the
ring to the cheers and applause of the specta
tors. The band played a happy, quick march.
But the bull would not fall.
The one-eyed matador walked over to the
bull, removed the sword and stabbed him
again. The bull fell. The crowd cheered with
joy and I think some relief. A picador remov
ed a small knife from his belt and struck the
bull's head. The animal was dead. The pic
ador then cut off the bull's right ear, and
handed it to the matador. If it had been a
better kill with only one knife the
matador would have received both ears and
maybe the tail.
Next, a chain was wrapped around one of
the huge horns and two horses dragged the
dead "toro" out of the ring. A small trail of
red to the gate opening was all that remained
as evidence of what in 20 minutes time
had been the bull's tragedy.
The matador was still walking around the
ring, people threw flowers and hats; some
stood; others waved their handkerchiefs.
I couldn't stop watching. I was experienc
ing "Death in the Afternoon," seeing what
had become an obsession with Hemingway
and more than intrigued James Michener.
On the surface the performance was proba
bly the cruelest scene I've ever witnessed.
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The Daily Collegian Monday, April 20, 1987-9
daring nature
But I watched four bullfights that day, and
after a while the setting lost its cruelty and I
began to see it for what it was Spain. •
One bullfighter, standing near the bull,
threw his cape and fell down on his knees,
daring the bull to come at him. Other mat
adors turned their backs to the bulls and
gestured for the audience to cheer.
This exaggerated "machismo," this daring
pride is the country. Suddenly, this man in a
country with a 20 percent unemployment
rate, that hasn't been a superpower since the
16th century was all powerful. He was pass
ing through an ancient ritual and taking
everyone in the stands with him.
The bull has been a sacred animal in the
Iberian Peninsula for hundreds of years and
it is revered as a strong adversary to man. It
is interesting that along with Spain, bullfight
ing is also popular in two other poor, yet
proud countries Portugal and Mexico.
The matador is pitted against an animal
weighing some 11,000 lbs. While the bull's
death is assured, in the ring he still has the
ability to kill the unprotected man. Last year
one of Spain's greatest bullfighters, Francis
co Rivera "Paquirri" was fatally wounded
after a bull rammed him and then picked him
up off the ground with his horns.
Bravery, pride, and performing an art
while daring nature is what a bullfight and
Spain are about.
There's much that can be learned about a
country in an afternoon's sun and I'm looking
forward to seeing my next bullfight.
Jeanette Krebs is a senior majoring in
journalism and Latin American Studies and
is a columnist abroad for The Daily Colle
gian. She is studying in Salamanca, Spain