Thursday, May 2, 1991
Hey Dad.
thanks
by Mark Owens
Dads are neat people
Not neat, as clean or
insanely teddy; dads are
notorious for leaving their
part of the house, usually
the basement, rather messy.
Which, incidentally, always
struck me as kind of funny.
Women used to
complain when they were
sent to the kitchen to do that
domestic thing while men
did those traditional male
things, yet even in today's
liberated society where
women do many of those
traditional male activities
(Mom, for example, is a
bookie), men still find
themselves in the basement
spending time with the
water heater and boxes of
Christmas ornaments).
Rather, I meant neat as
in pretty cool, way hip,
rather gnarly dude-types.
Take my dad for instance.
Remember learning how
to drive? I do. Remember
the first time you got
behind the wheel? I do.
Remember backing out of
the driveway at
It didn't take long to lose euphoria
by Mike Royko
That old euphoria. Like the
24-hour flu, it seems to just
come and go. And now it's
going, going and might soon be
gone.
Only seven weeks ago,
Newsweek Magazine conducted a
poll in which this question was
asked: "Saddam Hussein has
withdrawn from Kuwait, but
remains in power in Iraq. Is this a
victory for the U.S. and allied
forces?"
Fifty-five percent said yes, it
was a victory. Only 38 percent
said it wasn't. The rest didn't
know or didn't care.
Now the magazine has done
another poll and asked the very
same question. But the results are
almost a perfect flip-flop.
This time 55 percent said, no,
it wasn't a victory. Only 36
percent thought it was, and the
rest were watching soaps or
something.
If the poll really represents
what Americans believe, it means
that in only a few weeks, tens of
millions of people have sprung a
major euphoria leak.
This is probably viewed as
bad news in the White House,
with all the parades and airport
greetings still on the schedule.
approximately Warp Nine
and mowing down a row of
mailboxes? I do.
Since then I've managed
to damage three vehicles,
limiting casualties to
another mailbox, a
telephone pole and a road
sign. In fact, it's gotten to
the point where he treats
accidents like an everyday
a=nim:x:
But the White House
shouldn't take it as a
disappointment. If anything, it
shows that the Bush
administration knew what it was
doing and did it almost to
perfection. Except for one minor
glitch, which we'll go into a
little later.
The first poll, in which 55
percent said we scored a victory,
proved how effective censorship,
media manipulation and skillful
propaganda can be in shaping
public opinion.
It didn't matter that Saddam,
the latter-day Hitler, was still in
power. We had won, really kicked
butt, with little loss of lives to
our troops. And to most
Americans, that was what
counted.
And it had been done so
neatly. All the dramatic video
bombings and Scud interceptions.
The generals in their combat
fatigues and boots detailing each
day's triumphs. (I've always
wondered why generals wear
combat fatigues and boots to sit
in offices.)
Then the lightning-fast ground
attack that brought Saddam's
miserable 4-F's popping out of
their gopher holes with their
hands in the air.
So we didn't kill or capture
The Collegian
• •
Me: Ummm, Dad? I've,
er, damaged the car again.
Dad: 0h... how 'bout
them Cubs?
Still, Dad wasn't really
upset about the accidents;
(mind you, I picked up my
homecoming date on the
Route 9 bus, but that's
something else). He didn't
have to say much, knowing
I felt bad enough for the
both of us.
Of course I've done
other things than damage
the family car, but I won't
mention them here, seeing
as there's this
Constitutional amendment
about self-incrimination.
Like everyone else, I
was a real joy to be around
while I was growing up;
my parents were uptight
and didn't know anything,
if I do something it'll work
despite what everyone else
says, etc., etc., etc.
Surprisingly, Dad put up
with my attitude. He
supported me when I
needed it (even when I
thought I didn't) and let me
go on my own when I
didn't (even when I thought
Saddam. What's the difference?
We stomped him so thoroughly
and quickly that it didn't seem to
matter. Besides it was only a
matter of time until Saddam's
own people would string the
villain up for messing up their
country. Our leader told us so.
It was more than even the
Mike Royko
White House could have hoped
for. Wham, barn, thank you
Saddam. All that remained was
for the troops to come home to
heroes' welcomes and let the
festivities begin.
Ah, but then came that little
glitch I mentioned.
The
Missing
Pieces
I did), figuring I'd catch
0n... sooner or later.
The other evening I was
out on a bike ride and
stopped by my parents'
house and talked with Dad
for a few minutes about
school. I got ready to leave,
saying I wanted to get back
before dark so I could get
some work done and get to
bed.
My father smiled and
asked me what happened to
the kid who stayed up late
for insane periods of time
and was never bothered by
riding alter dark?
I told him I was getting
old. Dad laughed and gave
me one of those looks
parents can't wait to use-- a
cross between "I told you
so" and "maybe he's got the
idea."
I mention all of this
because today marks my
dad's 25 anniversary
working here.
It's kind of weird, in a
way. Growing up, I never
saw Dad until three or four
in the afternoon. Now, I
see him on a lawnmower at
Once the war was ended, so
did the censorship. No more press
pools being told where they could
go and to whom they could
speak. No more carefully staged
and filtered briefings. No more
ladling out info and carefully
chosen bo►'bing-run tapes like
thin broth a soup line.
Anybouy with a camera or a
notepad was free to go where he
chose. And many went into
northern Iran, where the Kurds
were trying to pull off a
revolution. When Saddam's
Republican Guard began
slaughtering the rebels, the
cameras and notepads followed
the masses of fleeing Kurds into
the cold and muddy mountains
where they hoped to avoid
extermination.
Suddenly the pictures on TV
weren't neat and pretty anymore.
A general blustering at reporters,
a bridge in the crosshairs
suddenly going "proof"--these
images were replaced by those of
children with skin blistered and
blackened from napalm; their
teeth chattering from the cold;
their little bodies being wrapped
in burial rags; their mothers
shrieking their grief.
Of course, it wasn't our fault.
We don't napalm Kurdish
children. We don't chase them
Page 5
eight in the morning or
walking under my window
around noon when I'm
waking up.
Things are a little
different, though. I don't
get lectures -- only advice.
He doesn't check up on me
or ask professors what I'm
up to. In return, I borrow
money.
Actually in the past two
years more and more of
what he's told me makes
sense. At one time my
friends and I dreaded
growing up to do and say
the things our parents did.
Now I'm thinking it
wouldn't be a bad idea.
Congratulations, Dad.
You're the best.
Mark Owens is a sixth
semester Communication
major and Collegian staff
gofer. His column appears
every so often in Th e
Collegian.
into the cold mountains to die of
exposure, hunger and disease. All
we did was leave Saddam in
power, with his robust health and
evil nature, and the means to
engage in mass slaughter.
So Americans, many of
whom have soft hearts and get
squeamish at the sight of
suffering children, began thinking
that if this pain was the fruit of
our victory, it might not have
been our finest hour.
There's a lesson in all of this
that our present and future leaders
should keep in mind. When you
fight a war, don't be too quick to
declare it over. Even if you stop
fighting, by officially remaining
at war, you can keep the
censorship going, herd the press
pools like sheep, and filter
anything that might upset the TV
viewer's appetite.
Remember, next time keep
the lid on. No burned, freezing,
starving or dying kids.
They can ruin a good show.
Mike Royko is a Chicago
based, nationally syndicated
columnist. His column appears
weekly in The Collegian.