daily nebraskan
thursday, february 15, 1979
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Winter wonderland turns into endless days of ennui
page 4
DDAldtoD'OI
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If, as T.S. Eliot said, "April is the
crudest month," January, February
and March must be the most boring.
These cold, gray winter days seem
to have been cloned from one master
day, the coldest, grayest one to be
found. The parade of identical days
seems to have been marching by for
ever and the end is not yet on the
horizon.
Snow that fell over a month ago is
still on the ground. It is every color
but white. Temperatures have been
such that there hasn't been as much
as a thin trickle of water in the
streets.
This kind of weather preys on the
mind after a while. Spirits sink, im
munities lower and the flu finds easy
access to vulnerable bodies. This
kind of winter causes all kinds of ir
ritating ailments: aching shoulders
from the daily burden of heavy
coats; rashes from the ever-present
wool scarf; tender, red noses from
continuous blowing and sniffling.
It is a time of impatience. Tem
pers are quick. Crying comes easier
for the sentimental. Laughing comes
harder for the jolly.
Spring and summer become vague
concepts. Even the most recent ones
seem like hazy dreams upon retro
spection. There are people who pray
for flowers. There are people who
make rash promises for just a glimpse
of something green. There are some
who would kill for a robin.
We are halfway through the
ordeal. If we're lucky, in a couple of
weeks the snow will begin to melt. A
few more weeks after that the buds
will start appearing. From there it's
all downhill.
But until then we'll have to be
content to just stay inside, staring at
the golf clubs in the corner or the
fishing rods on the wall, dreaming
of something that seems 100 years
away.
Gypsy thief heals Ophelia's personal power outage
Marianne had a personal power outage
earlier in the week. She clung to her bed
like it was the last bit of her broken boat,
tossing and turning on the open sea with
no land in sight.
When the fever dreams set in late Tues
day, she couldn't tell the difference be
tween the waking static and the dead air
that was her sleep. She looked through this
dirty window at her own inability to cope,
her fecklessness and her desire just to ex
pire and sunk deeper into her pillow. The
end was not in sight.
He slipped in shortly before midnight
with cigarettes, coffee and sympathy.
Looking down at the crumpled figure on
the bed, he fought a wave of his own wear
iness and gently woke her. Finding no
words adequate, he silently took her to the
shower and washed her hair, and then pat
ted her dry. For a brief second he thought
he saw someone he recognized. They ex
changed a smile and a hug and he tossed
her a robe.
duddsudhu sangari
She sat opposite him in the desk chair.
At her feet was the collected debris of the
previous week. With her foot she moved a
side several sketches, a rose here, and ab
stract here, several pages of prose scratched
out or crumpled, an empty package of cig
arettes, a dog-eared copy of a book and her
journal. With some effort she looked up as
if searching for something and, not finding
it at her feet, looked around the room. Her
eyes rested on the window, the frost dis
persing the lamplight from the street.
"Hey Ophelia," he said softly.
She recognized the comment for what it
was, not subtle but not unkind.
"That makes you Hamlet, right?" she
countered.
Caught in his own move he blushed.
"No," he said, "that doesn't make me
Hamlet."
Heavy silence
He made her clean up the apartment,
and together they did the dishes.
Afterward the silence became oppressive,
and he felt the need to leave.
"I'll give you a wake-up call in the
morning," he said. "You know what you're
going to have to do to keep it together this
week. You've done it enough for other
people, you can do it for yourself."
"You can always stay and wake me up,"
she said quietly.
He smiled and sadly shook his head.
"No," he said, "I don't think that's
such a good idea."
Taking his hand she turned it over and
with a wet pen drew an impressionistic rose
on his palm. She shaded it and kissed him
on the cheek.
Turning toward the bed again she
"I'm not crazy."
"I know," he said. Finding no other
words he said, "Be well," like it would heal
some invisible wounds. He slipped out the
door the same way he came in, one more
thin gypsy thief.
Student finds postal system root of French strike woes
Despite my view of this country's ten
dency to be on strike constantly, there is
also a serious side to the issue.
Strikes have riddled this country's ser
vices long before this American arrived to
complain about them. I imagine complaints
about the strikes have been just as predom
inant, but the problems still exist. Since I
have arrived in France, I have been exposed
to mail strikes, train strikes, student strikes
and even museum guard strikes.
GMj pifzl
The first week of classes at the Univer
sity of Bordeaux was marred (or blessed,
if you wish) by a teacher strike. Students
were encouraged to strike the day the edu
cation minister -visited Bordeaux. They
were urged to turn out for a mass demon
stration in the center city, but from all in
dications that effort struck out.
Threatened education
The girl down the hall moved into the
dorm for the start of the school year in
late October, but almost moved home
when a total teacher strike in her area of
study threatened to drag on without end.
The teachers finally decided to go back to
work, starting classes about a month and a
half helnpd schedule.
The University of Bordeaux campus for
merly was located in the center city, but
moved to a more spacious suburb when en
rollment surpassed existing capacities.
Some Bordelaise maintain that the campus
was moved to the boonies to take the
steam out of the frequent student demon
strations that often complicated smooth
functioning downtown.
At first the frequent strikes and demon
strations fascinated me-a sign of the
strong French spirit of independence and
determination not to compromise goals, I
thought. But several months of living midst
sporadic strikes has shown me that the
French are indeed strong, but in their abil
ity to ignore almost completely what
ever strike is going on. As for my initial
impression of the "uncompromising
spirit," that applies much more appropri
ately to their attitude not to compromise
what they are doing simply because a
service is on strike than to their determina
tion to reach a 100 percent settlement.
Way of life
The French have apparently learned to
live with the strike as a way of life. A few
months ago the dorm and student restaurant
were plunged into darkness just after sun
set. Why? The immediate explanation was
a "strike," although the real reason was
overlooked electrical circuit!. When the
same conditions caused the Paris subway
to come to an abrupt halt, commuters
initially thought it was simply a "surprise
strike."
Strikes happen in this country as easily
as the weather changes in Nebraska, or so
it seems.
The largest union in France called a
"National Day of Action" a while back to
protest the government's social security
reforms. It encouraged all work to stop
from one to 24 hours and urged public
demonstrations. Post offices, factories and
train stations complied. Considering it was
the holiday season, the train system did
not close down lor an entire day but desig
nated hours when the workers would leave
their posts to strike. And the daily news
papers, from which I learned the union's
intentions, ceased publication for one day
comply itli the strike.
Postal at fault
The demon of this strike phenomenon
is without doubt the postal system. Their
strikes, which average one even two or
three weeks, have ranged from total shut
downs to "rotating strikes" wherein one
service per day is suppressed
Why this constant state of strike? Ob
viously employees are not content with
their current conditions, be it salary, work
ing hours or some other aspect of manage
ment's policy. In many cases "manage
ment is the national government.
However, of all the strikes I've wit
nessed. I've yet to see a setdement. The
post office strikes for a day, then resumes
work as usual. Their protest made, they
continue work without seeing any change
in the conditions for which they strike.
In the United States, a strike ends with
some sort of agreement between manage
ment and labor. The strike may last several
weeks, even months, suffocating services
and blocking smooth functioning. But the
strikes eventually end and some semblance
of normal order returns.
Public protest
In France, it seems that strikes are used
more as a means of public protest than as
an indefinite holdout until demands are
met.
The French equivalent of teacher as
sistant posts were cut back this fall.
Teachers went on strike to show compas
sion for their comrades. A week later tea
chers were back in the classrooms, but the
T.A. cutback remained.
Postal employees are enraged that some
of their posts have been replaced by ma
chines, and even more angry that these
machines malfunction. To protest, they
call a strike. But within a day or so
employees are back to work as normal. So
are the machines, functioning as normally
as they can.
Sporadic strike, elusive settlement. The
French society has learned to function
within these haphazard conditions.
Strikes do not provoke a feeling of deep
fear in these hardy souls for they know
that, if they only wait a day or so, services
will return as normal. Even if this "normal
ity" lasts a few days until the next strike.