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eminex
"Concordia" Is the Latin
word for harmony. Anything but
harmony has existed for most of
the student body and faculty at
St. Louis' Concordi3 Seminary,
however, since its president was
ousted. The charge: teaching
false doctrine and malfeasance
(wrongful conduct) in office..
The crimes, according to one
report, actually were considered
heresy.
1 It seems that conservative
members of the three million
member. L u t h e r a n
Church-Missouri Synod was
unhappy over some of the liberal
instruction at Concordia, a
450-student institution. When its
president, the Rev. Dr. John H.
Tletjen, was fired, most of the
students and about 45 of 50
professors abandoned the
campus,, marching out en masse
in a symbolic journey into
theological exile.
: It's interesting that one of the
two sites at which they relocated
b the St. Louis University School
of Divinity, a Roman Catholic
School. In the 16th Century,
Martin Luther criticized and later
defected from the Catholic
Church, charging it with false
doctrine, amoncj other things.
And now it's the Catholic
institution that in effect
embraces the dissenters now
unhappy that charges of false
doctrine and repression stem
from their own fold.
It would be foolish to
speculate on which side is in the
right But both the students and
their professors exhibited bravery
in their decision to express their
discontent so dramatically.
Although the students will
receive the same training as
before at Seminex, the new name
fcr the seminary in exile, some
church officials say their chances
of being placed in pastorates
after graduation are
imperiled-although other
officials claim the dissidents will
be placed, evidence that a split in
the denomination is possible.
Thus does a church-school
show that dissent has a price as
well as place, but that the
Establishment, the System can
be bucked effectively. Hopefully
the fracas will yield no martyrs.
Mary Voboril
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News item: Kissinger offers to share U.S. fuel with allies.
Blues
, belongs
in
bottle
A week ago Tuesday night was when it all happened:
Freddie King, Willie Dixon, the Megatones) Pershing
Auditorium, explosions, violence, truth, beauty, all of it.
Practically everyone missed the thing, the media ignored it,
and those of us who were there had a ball.
1!J0t 0 Ite"311 the .showwjth 3 .set, pi the jjtiythm
f.weekends. It taJf5,a lot of nerve, when you re a bunch. of ,gj)ys
from Lincoln, to play in front of a group of wild eyed blues
freaks waiting for Freddie King.
But then Charlie Burton has a lot of nerve. He gets exactly
what he wants from his men, coaxing primeval wails and
delicate shrieks from Bill Dye's guitar, punctuating it all with
his own harmonica. The Megatones were just right at that
' ' concert, building to a climax at the very moment they had to.
And then Dixon. Willie Dixon is one of the grand old men
of blues, a composer and an artist of the first order. His big
fiddle is so solid an audience leans against it and feels, in a way
that must be heard, the blues.
Dixon's harp man, Carrie Bell Harrington, is probably
brilliant. He'd have stolen the show from lesser men; he may
have anyway. . ', . ' - , ' ;
Our second half pint was gone and Dixon had thumped
down one last solo when some woman, came out to announce
that Freddie King, by God, was next. That half pint reminds
me of something. '
There is music that calls for sunshine, like folk music. There
is music that needs decorum, like Bach. There is music for
light shows, vacant eyes, altered consciousness: that's rock.
Heir looks gift horse in mouth,
But blues belongs in a bottle and I challenge anyone to dispute
rt
It isn't that you need gin or cheap bourbon to hear the
biues: you need it to feel the blues. It's drinking music, born
in cheap dives in New Orleans and come up the river to
x.pbjcgo, .where it lives, still, in South "Side bars. Any good
"musician can run down the chprds of the blues, they're simple',
' ".enoughl ' but it takes ,Jhe sahdfcM tste of Gordon's Gin to
produce the ache the sheet music leaves out. Let's get bo6i&
into Pershing or let's get the blues out.
People had known Freddie King was coming to Lincoln for
a month before the concert and as the talk blossomed, a few
of us became a little nervous. He can't be that good, can he?
Maybe he won't show. The sound system will fail, the police
' will be obnoxious. Something will go wrong. Besides, he can't ;
be that good. '
He is, he is, he is, he is. Freddie King doesn't fool around
with the edges of an audience, he goes straight for its soul. He
sounds like he's playing six guitars, all of them loud, ail of
them magnificent
"I don't play my guitar, it plays me," he told a dear friend
of mine backstage, and that's as good a way to put itfas any...
And if Freddie King's guitar plays him, he played us, that
night. The two of them, he and his instrument,' turned
Pershing into a madhouse and Pershing loved.it. u ' ',
The concert lost a lot of money for the promoters, Travis
Grey and J. J. Plant, $0 the music that can't be adequately
written of probably won't be heard again in Lincoln for a
while. That, my friends, is sad.
finds teeth
Editor's note: Arthur Hoppe's "Innocent
Bystander" will be published in the Daily Nebraskan
twice e week for the rest of the semester. Previously
it was published only on Friday,
Woofie Tweeter, the young stockbroker, looked
up from the letter he was reading. "Listen to this," he
said. "My Uncle Twombley died and left me $1000."
"Oh, , Woof ie," said his wife, Liss, putting down
her macrame, "are you soory he's passed on?"
"Hs was a rich, worthless old coot who never did a
Sick of work in his life," said Woofie. "But I'm sorry
he passed on that $1000. What am I going to do with
it?"
"Do with it?" said Liss.
"Well, I suppose I could pay off what we owe on
the VW and my hi-fi set' laid Woofie thoughtfully,
"But I'd still have a couple of hundred left over."
"You could put it in th? bank," said Liss.
"What I And fuel the fiames of recession?" said
W'jof'ei "This country's In terrible economic trouble,
Lhs. People ore getting too rich."
"i hadn't noticed," said Liss. "Can I j?t ou
anything ii the kitchen?"
"Now sit down, Lirs," said Woofie, frowning. "I
know ycu. don't wndvrrtsnd economics, but this is
impof tsn?. Do you renlre tt at the national savings
rate has fcsped from 5.7 to 7.3 of spendable
income?"
"No."
"Well, it has. And as a Commerce Dept. spokesman
economist pointed out the other day, people save
finite Ml 0 lCW&ivrel wr unf vMfwi
9
aithur hoppe
P
i a
i i
they're afraid they'll lose their jobs. But when they
save more, they buy lets. And that causes the
recession they fear. So if I swa my money, I'll lose
my job."
"Maybe you'd better spend it them,", said Liss.
"You coiild qui that $200 amplifier you've always
wanted,"
"What I And fuel the flames of inflation?" said
Woofie. "Do you rHize the inflation rate is now
8.8 and still climbing? We've all got to do our part
and stop buying things, Liss, in order to curb the
vicious inflationary spiral."
"Well, at least if you spent your money, you'd
have what you wanted," said Liss.
"Temporarily," said Woofie, nodding. "But if we
spend our money buying the things wa want, prices
ujSII Mt mn ttintt w vunn't h mMm tf thHnrii in Kan tHm
0- - - - - . - - -
things we want with the money we already spent So
we'll be poor. Do you seer' '
"Oh, sure," said Liss, yawning,
Woofie frowned. "On the other hand, I'nl hot
certain I should even pay off what we owe. After all,
it's consumer credit that keeps the economy
humming. Let me explain that."
"My," said Liss, glancing at her funky Mickey
Mouse wrist watch. "I think it's time for bed."
' "But what am I going to do with the money?" said
Woofie desperately. "It's a tough decision."
"It seems simple enough to me," said Liss, firing.
"Either you spend it, bocome poor end can't afford
the things you want. Or you put it in the bank
become rich and can't afford the things you want."
"Go?"
"So, if we can't afford the things we want
anyway," said Liss triumphantly, "I'd rather be rich."
"I guess you're right," said Woofie with a sigh.
"But I hate knowing I'm going to wind up (ike Uncle
Twombley."
"How's that?" asked Liss.
"Rich," ssid Woofie glumly, "and unempidyed."
(Copyright Chrpnlcl Publishing Co. 1974) '
psgs 4
daily nebraskan
Wednesday, february 27, 1974
