Thursday, April 11, 1991
If you hate
So no one's writing letters
to the editor anymore, and no
one thinks anything on Earth
needs to be changed. Come
0n...
We've got eight men and
one woman deciding whether
or not women should have the
right to have abortions.
Moreover, the Catholic
Church, a bunch of celibate
guys, has the gall to stand up
and tell women what they can
or cannot do with their
bodies. We've got a president
who lied to his country about
taxes and let scandals rage,
but is a god because our
brothers won a war for him.
We've got police, under the
general assumption that
they're around to protect and
serve the people, beating
people, some to death,
harassing kids and living out
the ultimate McDonald's
manager power trip.
It's hard to imagine how
any of us could make any
impact on the world at large
when we let everything around
here happen without a
complaint.
Here we've got security
cameras in the game room,
while clothes get stolen from
the laundry rooms like it's
Parades, heroes: enough already
by Mike Royko
They're getting up there in
years, the World War II vets. But
they're still my choice as this
century's most remarkable
generation of men.
Most came of age in the Great
Depression. Because of hard
times everywhere, men who had
the brains to be physicists or
engineers were happy to get jobs
as apprentice toolmakers or
carpenters. Or digging ditches, if
that's all there was.
Then they won the biggest,
bloodiest war in the history of
this planet. And when it was
over, they came back and went
right to work making this
country the most powerful
industrial and economic force in
the world.
Recently I wrote about how a
few of them felt about the
homecoming hoopla that
followed the abrupt ending of the
Gulf War. They were generally
amused when they compared the
TV coverage of festive airport
reunion scenes with their own
quiet arrivals.
That column brought a small
flood of mail from other WW II
vets, sharing their memories.
None begrudge the Gulf War
troops their due. But some are
skeptical about flag-waving
politicians; others think the word
"hero" is being tossed around too
freely; and most have wry,
amused memories of their own
going out of style. For some
sort of moral reason, I
suppose, they took cigarette
machines off the campus
(where there would be hella
cash to be made) and they dog
us with bogus money making
schemes like the computer lab
fee.
We've got signs going up
mocking concern for our
sexuality, attacking date rape
and promoting gay support
groups. Meanwhile, you have
to somehow get to the West
side of Erie to get an STD or
an AIDS test. We have bucks
pouring into an "Awani
Winning Speaker Series" that
students don't attend while we
have a library that is as well
stocked as the average
bookmobile. It doesn't make
The weightroom was
redone, but without a decent
squat rack, freeweights
(dumbbells) over 50 pounds or
even a few belts. The place is
an embarrassment to the
athletic department. I'm really
tired of cringing every time I
see Dobbins menu for the day.
I'm sick of seeing "nerds"
on the brink of suicide
because there is nothing for
them here. It's only a
homecomings.
So I thought I'd share some of
their views.
An Indiana man, who preferred
that his name not be used, said:
"I was in the Pacific for three
years. Took part in the fight for
Iwo and some other islands.
Came home on a stinking ship
and hot bus, My mom made me
dinner. Now a town near where I
live is planning a big parade for
one of the local boys who was in
the desert. He was there three
months and they sent him home
because he has a kidney infection.
Hey, come on!"
A physician, David Berner, of
Condon, Mont., took note of a
proposal by a congressman that
all Gulf War troops be given a
$lO,OOO bonus. Berner fired off a
letter to the congressman, and
sent me a copy.
"As a combat infantryman
(New Guinea, Solomon Islands,
Luzon), I've decided to join you
in the orgy of euphoria engulfing
the nation. Admittedly, this war
was a pushover and most of the
troops saw no combat,
experienced little danger, and
weren't 'over there very long, as
wars go, but that shouldn't detract
from their all being 'heroes' in
the eyes of the multitudes. Some
may feel that the genuine heroes
of the, world are belittled by such
a mass anointment, but they're
obviously soreheads.
"Anyway, your idea to break
the bank on behalf of the Gulf
The Collegian
it:
continuation of high school
for them and they can't start
their own fraternity or
anything.
This in mind, perhaps
someone should run the S.P.C.
who knows how to throw a
party and is in touch with
those in fraternities. They
could set up an "S.P.C. house"
off campus (of course, a good
time is not to be found with
Bchrend cops around) where
fraternities will show them
John
Einolf
partying that they may not
have experienced otherwise.
I don't understand these
R.A.s and campus cops that
are stricter than most parents.
Not to mention the excess of
guys who suddenly think
they're cool and worth
something the minute they've
got Greek letters on their
backs.
I've got people next door
who challenge people to
fights. When they realize they
can't possibly win, they start
vets should logically apply to us
who served before -- generally
longer, bloodier and with less
media and public adoration. Your
idea for a $lO,OOO bonus sounds
swell, and I would like mine in
one lump sum -- with interest, of
course, dating from December
1945. Furthermore, though I
witnessed ample gore and
brutality in my two years
l voirt o 4
Mike Royko
overseas, I haven't yet needed
'readjustment counseling,' which
I know is obligatory for all
inconveniences. But I'd like
Congress to send me a lot of
money for the counseling I'll
doubtless need in my old age.
"I confess that I would be
embarrassed to accept this
money. You see, I never really
thought of myself as just another
voice it
saying "I could have fifty
brothers down here." Crying
to your big brother because
you found a fist in your face
went out of practice for most
of us in third grade.
Why would anyone waste
money to have a musically
lame Christian band come in
and harass us all about Jesus
when we could get a good
local band for little or
nothing that just wants to
have a good time and get
some exposure?
Why doesn't the Blue Bus
run on Mondays? Do parking
tickets fall out of the sky?
Why doesn't the Back Room
or the Rub desk give out
change? Why is it called the
Rub desk? Why don't they sell
stamps at the mail room?
Moreover, why didn't they
sell $.4 stamps when the price
jumped?
A lot of things in the world
and at little Behrend bug me,
folks, and I know plenty bugs
all of you.
But no one makes any
noise about anything around
here, no one writes letters to
the editor giving their piece
of mind. Come on, this ain't
high school, if you've got
something to bitch about,
in that endless series of poor
slobs paying the repetitive
penalty for failure of national or
tribal leaders.
"However, I heartily join the
bandwagon. I will accept your
payola, I'm practicing a hero's
swagger, and I'm eagerly looking
forward to some sort of
maladjustment."
Agree or disagree, you have to
concede that. Doc Berner knows
how to write a zinger.
Jacquelyn Jefferson, of
Hinsdale, 111., says of her
husband: "He remembers only
one conversation after his return
from the war. He met a close
friend in a neighborhood bar and
asked him where he'd served. The
friend told him and asked the
same question, adding: 'Did you
see any s---?' My husband said:
'Yeah, some. How about you?'
The friend said, 'Yeah, me, too."
And that was the total extent of
his discussion of his war
experiences."
That's another quality I've
seen of the WW II generation.
They were doers, not talkers.
Another homecoming
memory, from David Dander, of
Tiffin, Ohio: "Had four and a half
years, most of it in the Pacific.
Coming back, it was 21 days on
a troop ship. Then five days on a
troop train to New Jersey. Then a
train to Pittsburgh. My older
brother, who survived his
destroyer being blown up on D-
Day, picked me up at the train
Page
scrawl down whatever you beef
is and bring it to The
Collegian office. People go
on and on about how boring
this paper is and how this
sucks and that sucks. A lot of
us have the same complaints,
but we've got to voice them
before anything's done.
Look, stop practicing for
the real world and stop letting
everything go by only
grumbling to yourself or a
friend. Although the college
and some teachers know us as
Mr. 207-45-9825 or Ms. 205-
67-5934 we ought to try to
make some sort of difference.
Yeah, pretty soon we're all
going to be out in the real
world, and yeah, it'll be near
impossible for us to make
changes in the world. But this
place is so small, your
grumblings will be heard if
you start airing them.
What am I thinking? Life at
Bchrend won't ever change
because none of us give a funk
about this place.
Never mind, forget it.
John Einolf is a second
semester Pre-law major. His
columns appears every other
week in The Collegian.
station at 2 a.m. But that was
OK. I hate parades, anyway."
Ken Morris, of Council
Bluffs, Iowa: "Thank goodness
the desert war was over quickly
and with few losses. But all this
euphoria has a movie
atmosphere. I was in WW 11 and
Korea. Two of my brothers were
killed in WW II and buried at sea.
They called it shark feeding. I
don't think some of the people
putting up. yellow ribbons and
waving flags could tell you much
about the Bataan Death March or
Iwo Jima. I don't think they
know about the reality of war and
how bad it can really be."
Maybe Jim Hill, of Arkansas,
sums up the feelings of his
generation best: "I was attached
to Patton's Third Army. I seldom
talk about the war, the freezing
days and nights, the fatigue, the
fear, the dirt, mud and the smell
of dead bodies. There was no big
thankfulness for being back and
alive. Our welcome was seen in
the smiling, joyous faces of our
parents, brothers, sisters and
sweethearts or wives. We didn't
need parades."
Maybe Jim Hill didn't need
parades. But today's politicians
surely do.
Mike Royko is a Chicago -
based, nationally syndicated
columnist. His column appears
weekly in The Collegian.