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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 19, 1967)
THE DAILY NEBRASKAN
Thursday October 19, 1967
The Daily Nebraskan endorses Steve
Abbott's plans to refuse induction into the
U.S. Army today.
Abbott has written to Rev. Hudson B.
Phillips, associate pastor of the United
Ministry for Higher Education, that he
plans to refuse to take the Army's in
duction oath on the grounds that he should
have been given conscientious objector
Abbott is scheduled to go before the
Atlanta, Ga. selective Service board to
day. When he refuses to take the oath,
he probably will be arrested and later
tried. If the court's verdict is against
him, intense, sincere Steve Abbott could
go to jail for three to five years.
Steve Abbott is a man of old fashioned,
honest-to-God integrity. It is hard to see
how any Selective Service Board could re
fuse him a former seminary student, no
A CO doesn't get out of anything in
the service with the exception of killing
people on a battlefield. Abbott could have
gone to Canada to avoid the draft, but ob
viously he felt it was his duty, to serve
his country in some way so he applied
for CO status.
It's hard to pin down why the Ne
braska Selective Service refused Abbott
CO classification. The only apparent rea
son seems to be that he is not a member
of a traditional "peace church." Abbott
could easily have walked to the nearest
Quaker congregation and signed on before
he applied for CO status, but this isn't
the way he does things.
The Nebraskan will be delighted to
see Abbott take this case and make a
fight of it. Others states don't limit CO
classifications strictly to members of the
"peace churches," nor should Nebraska if
. Conscientious objection is a state of
mind, and is not determined by a relig
If Abbott was not granted a CO classi
fication merely because of his religion, we
feel the Nebraska Selective Service needs
to reconsider the meaning of conscien
Our Man Hoppe
The Hawk And The Dove And I
It had been an excellent dinner and
we sat in the drawing room in front of
the fire sipping brandy the Hawk and
the Dove and I.
The ladies had gathered in a corner
to discuss children and schools and where
to ski during the coming winter.
The Hawk, short and intense, and the
Dove, lean and cool, had been politely
at it all through cocktails and dinner,
sometimes one scoring a point, sometimes
the other. Both talked in tough, realistic
terms in keeping with the tenor of the
times in this autumn of the year 1967.
"The bombing simply hasn't worked,"
the Dove was saying as he lit a cigar
ette. "It's supposed to stop them bring
ing in troops and supplies. And by our
own figures they're bringing in more
now than when we started."
"But it's obvious they could bring in
even more if we stopped the bombing,"
said the Hawk leaning forward in his
chair. "That's the point."
"Would anybody care for more cof
fee?" asked the gracious hostess.
And I tried to conceive what it was
like to be bombed. I tried and I couldn't.
Like many of my generation, I have
been bombed in wartime. But that was
long ago. I tried to feel again the way
your stomach clutches when the siren
goes, that panicky desire to do something,
that awful feeling of your own vulnerabil
ity, that terrible impotence that comes
with realizing you have no control over
whether you live or die. I tried to feel
again that fear. But I couldn't.
'Tor God's sake," the Hawk was
saying, "We're doing everything we can
to keep from bombing civilians. Maybe a
few get napalmed, but . . ."
"Some mints?" said our hostess, pass
ing a cut-crystal bowl. v
And I tried to conceive what it was
like to be napalmed. The shock of the
explosion, the very air aflame, the sear
ing of my lungs, the fiery jellied gasoline
sticking to my shoulder. If I pull it off,
the flesh comes too. I tried to feel the
pain. But I couldn't.
"But we simply aren't winning on the
ground," said the Hawk, sipping his bran
dy. "We move in, take a village and move
out. Most areas are insecure."
And I tried to conceive what it was
like to be insecure to wonder each day
if the Americans were coming with their
tanks and flame-throwers and bombs. And
to wonder each night if the Viet Cong
were coming with their executions and
reprisals and ... I tried to feel death.
But I couldn't.
"Cream and sugar?" asked the hostess.
So the Hawk and the Dove argued,
sometimes one scoring a point, sometimes
the other. And midnight came and we
left, thanking our hostess for a stimulat
ing and enjoyable evening in this autumn
of the year 1967.
And as I drove home through the
quiet streets I realized for the first time
that the reason any nation marches off
to war and the reason men can calmly
debate its strategy, its tactics and its
political goals is that war is quite literallyinconceivable.
By Dan Dickmeyer
Between bites of a beef sandwich on
French bread and sips of beer, a new
voice was coming through the smokey at-,
mosphere at Casey's. I was interviewing
Steve Abbott, but it was all I could do
to concentrate on this new voice with a
pin-ball machines ringing every five sec
onds. The new voice a combination of in
tellectualism, idealism and pragmatism
was what I would remember most about
Steve Abbott. It was reflected in every
thing he would ever do or say. But in
side me I couldn't help but feel that this
new language was being conveyed with
a genuine compassion and mutual inter
est in my well being.
We talked about Scrip the NU liter
ary magazine. As editor Steve brought
Scrip out of stagnation for a year, at
least. He made it bright and readable
and even carried through his plans to in
clude art photograph In it Later that
year, through bis effort! and with so
thanks to higher authorities, an Allen
Ginsberg supplement spoofing Nebraska
was included in Scrip.
I balked when Steve started talking
about the difficulties he had encountered
with censorship of the magazine. Naively,
I considered it as just so much "SDS
propaganda. " I secretly admired Steve's
radical views on campus and education
reform though it was not- until later that
I realized his sincerity.
The funny thing was that as the year
rolled on some of Steve's proposals that
I considered too radical, and idealistic,
began to become reality. The Bill of
Eights, Hyde Park, a truly working po
litical part system.
As time passed I began to know more
about Steve the Man than as Steve the
Radical. Parties, where he seldom drank
because he was too busy talking, were
where I realized that underlying all of
Steve's plans was a basic concern for his
fellow students and fellow man. More
than once I conjectured that if it hadn't
been for his not knowing the right people,
Steve could have been an Innocent or an
Outstanding Nebraskan. But I don't think
Steve would have liked that anyway.
Steve seldom talked about his reli
gion (Catholicism). But he seldom with
held his views on war and for a belief
of mind over force. Later I heard that
Steve desired escape from a system he
could not tolerate.
Make no mistake. This "new voice"
had long been on campus. But it took
people like Steve Abbott, coming at a
crucial time in the growth stage of the
University of Nebraska, too crystalize
The voice got louder and more rep
resentative as the year passed. One
spring night several students who were
part of the voice got together. People
like Randy Prior, Susie Phelps, Diane
Hicks and even a girl in cowboy boots
named Liz were there. Soon a political
party was born with the objective of pass
ing a Bill of Rights. Steve was amazed
when the objective changed to electing
him student body president. And perhaps
the student body was amazed when Steve
captured nearly c third of the vote. The
new voice wai a reality, despite bis defeat.
Vim STUOCKT UrAREST GftAUjS, WHCH PROTEST $&fMUtHX
4iHEis ifu. one course f action for, mws$et uflEAfiftfrs
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-SMOKE eWtecW ISSUES.
TO 4T 0T OF flAJUb.
AHO SO, ASTRIDE IS RWtR-PratfOOCi flQl 8dAW;
we sa Utf CAPfo crusa&o m act. okce acain, but
UUli D5S HSREAUSe-tfiAT S f.RHKMErtY, FREE.
&ftoet4T5 AWAITS 4t3 ftftftiWL. o cjmnNuet,.4
(A Comment on Some Ob
served Student Activities
Once upon a time there
was a little field mouse
named Peromyscus. He
was a beautiful little crea
ture, big brown eyes, silky
fur a special golden brown
with immaculate white feet,
and he was especially proud
of his fine ears as yet
unmarred by the nipping
and fighting indulged in by
his scrubby friends. He had
those brown eyes set on the
world, however, and so one
day he went to his mother
and said, "Mom, I want to
be a rat!"
And his mother, having
heard the same line from
his brothers before, replied,
"OK, Perry, we'll send you
up to the big brush pile
where you can learn to be a
Perry, ecstatic, stuck
some seeds in his cheeks
and hustled off. At the big
brush pile, he tossed his
seeds under a piece of
bark, wriggled around a
few times to mash the
grass down, and headed in
the direction of a grizzled
old rat surrounded by a
pulsating throng of prime
Perry's classes went well,
although some were not
quite what he had expected.
He went to most of them
and learned his rat lessons
fairly well, well , at least
some of them.
But after a while, Per
ry's wide place in the grass
became too confining; not
much room to bring a guest
in here, he thought, so he
and a couple of friends
started to squeak to their rat
teachers, and the rats, not
really caring much, said,
"OK, gays move out, wt
don't care if you live under
the bark, just come to
Perry and a couple of his
buddies moved a few yards
away under a tree stump.
Now we're really learning
to be rats, Perry thought,
and his little heart pounded
with pride at his newly
Perry and his, buddies
worked hard fixing up the
stump, and before long they
were pleasantly surprised
when the head rat told
them he thought they were
tough enough to go out in
the world and be real rats.
Well, Perry already had
his seeds packed, sort of
hated to leave his stump,
but then that's life, so he
picked up his peanut shell
with his grades on it,
crossed a dried steam, and
ducked into a rotten fallen
tree full of rats.
The first thing he noticed
was that all the rats had
much nicer ' little places
than his stump had been,
and when he asked about
the neat holes, and all the
cool string and pop-top can
tops, the rats gave him sort
of a stupid, non-comprehending
"Oh, that stuff. We pick
it up down at the ditch,"
Perry went to work for
the colony right away, and
on his first day brought in
a nice load of wheat. The
only trouble was, the dead
tree was near a corn field,
and a couple of the older
rats asked suspiciously,
"Didn't you learn to gather
grain up at the brush pile?
This stuff's poison! (and
they chucked Perry's
wheat) Let's see your pea
nut shell!" Perry handed
over his shell (rather smug
ly) with "A" beside "Grain
"Who taught you to gath
"Did you ever ask him
any questions, like where he
got his information?"
"Did everyone get an
"No. some flunked."
"Didn't they squeak, or
wonder about how he made
"Well, if you're going to
gather poison grain, get
moving, besides that you've
got a 'D in Hawk-Dodging."
"I didn't deserve that
'D.' That new rat gave me
the purple shaft!"
"That's not what it says
on your peanut; pack your
stuff and get out!" And they
all snarled some very nas
ty, drooly, snarls.
Perry got his seeds, a
nice piece of string, and a
new top off a beer can and
started off across the corn
Suddenly a shadow passed
over him and in a reflex
response he slipped under a
corn stalk. He saw from the
corner of his eye the dark
talons dig into the dirt
where he had been and felt
the hot rush of air as crash
ing wings lifted the killer
back into the sky. He was
a pretty self-satisfied little
Later on that evening,
still wondering how the rats
could have been so stupid
as to kick him out, he stop
ped to eat some oats he had
found. A few yards later he
came upon another dead
tree stump, much larger
than the one he lived in at
school. He suddenly seemed
quite sleepy (probably from
all the exercise).
In the enveloping dark
ness that came over him he
wondered at the rat's com
placent attitudes about their
apartments, and then came
some vague thoughts about
oats in a cornfield. . .
I'm not the type to complain loud and long over
spilled milk or even trampled tulips, but now I've been
caught in a much less favorable predicament.
Some practical j-ker (I might say a rather crude
and none-too-funny one) lifted ALL my books, notes and
notebooks from the lounge area in the last day or so.
Had he lifted maybe only one or two books, I could have
simply contended he was hard put. But all of them?
Come on, fellas.
If the culprit is reading this, could you (Mr. Culprit)
find it in you to send (by mail, of course, for I don't
expect you to show yourself) to me no less than my
notes? They do come in handy for exams you know. Send
them co the Daily Nebraskan, Rm. 51, Nebraska Union.
Probably I can dig up $50 more for replacements
but I hardly expected to buy the same books twice in
one semester. I'm no millionaire (yet) but, too, I'm not
a "book lifter."
Bob Van Derslee
(The Nebraskan reserves the right to condense letters.
Unsigned letters will not be printed. )
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" Kdltor Brora Clio: Manaalns Rdltor Jack Toddi Ntwt Editor Chrrrl TrIUs
Mahl Nam Editor Alan Pluuiman: Editorial Paae Aimntirtt Jail Morris! gporta
Editor Mark Rotdon. AaMatant Kporu Editor Charlie DavM: Analitant Nlaht
Nawa Editor. Rmndir i:ry. Stall Writers. Daw Buataln, Andy Corriaaa, Gary
C.iMea. Ed Icenoflr. Dan Looker. Mirk Law, gharry MKiama, Jan Parks. Tool
Victors Nawa Aaalntant Kandra Newland; Senior Copy Kdltor, Dlrtt Teatrnelarj
Cony Rdllara, Lyna Oottackaik, Batay retilmora, ilm Cvtifar, Jasa JteyasMsi
Phatogrspflars Mike Haymeji and Baa Laaley.
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Riht of Left
by A. C. E.
The AWS Constitutional Convention could aptly r
termed the "American Way of Death".
AWS has sent the call loud and wide throughout the
campus bidding coeds to revamp their constitution in a
last ditch measure to save an organization that was out
dated years ago.
To insure complete objectivity AWS officers, board
members, and representatives are taking no part in the
rewriting of the constitution, according to the current
In reality these people may attend committee meet
ings and make suggestions for the delegates to consider.
Fanfare aside, the fact still remains that the conven
tion delegates are a poor lot.
Although the houses had no difficulty finding dele
gates most of the dorm residents expressed their usual
interest with a firm volley of "no" when asked to volun
teer for the "task", but upon scouring the halls a few
representatives were found.
Comments such as "I hope this is short and sweet"
and "When is this going to be over?" were prevalent
during the first general session.
With such displays of wild enthusiasm how can Uni
versity women expect any change, progressive or reac
tionary, unless it is instigated at the top.
And although AWS has in the last year demonstrated
liberal tendencies undreamed of in the past such as the
key system, it is still quite obvious that the power struc
ture of AWS is unwilling to forego its position as the
ultimate governing body of University women, a position
which is unacceptable to most University students.
Their present play for continued power and status is
not unexpected: wounded animals are the hardest to kill,
and AWS is wounded.
It began last semester with the growing discontent
over archaic curfews and an outmoded court system and
culiminated when Diane Hicks resigned from the organi
zation. The death cry of AWS as an effective governing body
was sounded long ago and the constitutional convention as
it appears now will be but the last effort of a dying ani
mal unless something is done and done fast.
The delegates now assembled have the opportunity
to give AWS a new identity. The delegates now have the
power to transform an outmoded organization into an ef
fective regulatory body for today's coed.
The question foremost in my mind is WILL THEY?
For years coeds have been dissatisfied with our all
encompassing octopus and at last the higher echelon of
the organization has given the coed the means for an
effective change within the AWS structuie.
The most important aspect that the delegates have
under consideration is the scope and power of AWS. Now
is the time for all good anarchists to come forward and
make their opinions known because this may be the last
effective opportunity in a long time.
Other matters of importance under investigation in
clude the expansion of the pilot court system and the
legislative powers of the boards as opposed to those of
the House of Representatives, important steps to the de
centralization of AWS.
These three areas alone if handled in a liberal man
ner could revolutionize AWS, but again the question aris
es: WILL THEY?
The time has come for delegates to evaluate their
situation and to decide whether they are qualified and
willing to work for the improvement of an organization
that is a vital part of the lives of every University woman.
f by George Kaufman
I was standing on the side of "0" St. last week
watching the parade when this kid came up and asked
me what was going on.
"It's a parade, kid."
"What's it for?" he asked.
"Well," I replied, trying to phrase it right, "It's a
bunch of people welcoming home a hero."
"A man named William Galbraith. He was elected
head of the American Legion for the whole United States
,:What do the American Legions do?" he kept on.
"Well . . . they don't really do anything." I groped
for some blanket term. "They sponsor baseball games for
kids like you when you get a little older."
"But how come all the soldiers are around? Don't the
people like the American Legions?" he asked.
"No, kid, the soldiers aren't here to protect them.
They are sort of their friends, cause if the soldiers get
into a war they can get into the American Legion, too,
later on if they live to be a veteran."
"But what do they do?" he pursued, evidently not
satisfied with my answer.
"Look, I already told you, kid. They sort of just stand
for peace and democracy and all that stuff." A thought
came to me of how to communicate with him.
Look, I said, "Do you watch "Combat" on TV?"
"Well these guys are Captain Saunders or whatever
his name is after they get out of the war and come back
.oiV'wti-th?ught yo? .said they W8r fr Peace?" he
said, looking at me suspiciously.
;;They are," I replied, getting irritated.
n But you said they had to get Into a war to get into
iriri "Si J!? X?" Wa oU naa& 10 understand yt,
they re back . . ." I had lost my train of thought.
1Z T. o k k"uW r"16 truth- rlht- The American Le
fXh tn i I"" f verer Boy Scouts who are too
nprtPi nMhrpleiorguet that they once dil w"
" and . What they mainly d0 is et tofieth'
lo,tTrlev iidmrlarteAdf,cryi,!g' and 1 felt ashamed to have
?r2A,&r" Si!in' 1 had once kid with
good thought! and all that ...
kidrfThw;. J urmufed apologetically, "I was just
kidding. They re really a bunch of real nice guys . . ."
nJX1? walked H the street S a mk
b!fcS : k!y. W8Dt P4st playin Th. Ttamderer terrl-
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