Showdown with Allen spawns wisdom
Columnist: Dull Nebraska equals dull person
There’s iust something about these
mornings during the first week of fall
classes. You can almost smell the leaves
getting ready to turn colors, the apples
waiting to be eaten and the books waiting
to be read. The air is cool, crisp and
refreshing after a long, hot Nebraska
summer. When the wind messes up your
hair as you ride your bike to campus you
can’t help but feel a tremendous sense of
freedom and passion for living.
It’s a time to be excited for all the
possibilities offered by the semester
ahead.
It’s a time for confusion and new expe
riences.
It’s also an easy time to become reflec
tive and thankful for all the good things in
life...
He was a man of contrasts. His red,
cu rly ha ir hung off his collar, but his beard
was always short and neatly trimmed. I lis
sense of humor was dry and thoughtful,
but he laughed a warm, hearty Fred
l lintstone laugh. He was strong, always
first pick at Daily Nebraskan football and
basketball games, yet sensitive, charming
his way into the hearts of everyone his life
touched. 1 lis personality was somewhere
between Winnie-the-Pooh and Tom
Sawyer. We read poetry together and
took long walks into the night to climb
fire-escapes and talk about literature, vi
sions and girls.
— 11- ' J
His name is Bill Allen. He was, and still
is, an inspiration to me (to do what I’m not
sure can be printed). He gave me the
opportunity to write. He challenged me.
He taught me.
One particularly memorable night, Bill
and some friends and I were listening to
Jimmy Buffet, drinking shots of whiskey
and playing cards Bill’s hazel eyes had
that familiar twinkle, which, more often
than not, meant he was feeling mischie
vous.
Mick, he said while leaning up from
his chair to the sturdy old wood table,
clearing a space from the loose papers,
cards and empty bottles in front of him
with the gentle sweep of one ha.id He
carefully placed his elbows on the table
then folded his hands and rested his chin
on them. Everything in the room had
stopped, only the strains of “Son of a
Sailor,” could be heard. All attention was
on Bill and me. Everyone knew there was
going to be a showdown.
"Is Nebraska dull?” he asked. Suddenly
we were facing each other under the hot
afternoon sun in the dry town square of
an early Nebraskan settlement. His ques
tion shot at me like a deadly round from a
Colt six-shooter.
I slowly moved the toothpick in my
mouth from one side to the other. Every
one else looking on began to breath
again, seeing that it was only a warning
shot. I was still on my feet. 1 drew and shot.
“Well Bill,” I .said, pausing for empha
sis, "the way 1 see it, a place isn’t dull,
places can’t be dull, they’re just there.
People are dull."
The shot struck the ground between
his feet, creating a dust c loud that partially
obscured his vision. He shot again.
“But can’t certain environments stimu
late a person to experience more bore
dom than other environments," he said.
His shot missed its mark, hitting the
bell in the town square behind me, the
sound being carried across the prairie by
the wind. 1 fired again.
"That’s just part of the illusion that fools
most people," 1 said. “You see what you
want to see and you hear what you want
to hear, so, if you find Nebraska dull,
you’re dull.”
I don’t know if I hit Bill’s gun or not, but
it was on the ground behind him. Bill and
I looked at each other long and hard. I
threw my gun away. We both began to
smile as we realized we had come to an
agreement. Everyone was cheering from
the boardwalks.
We slowly drifted back into reality
feeling a little bit closer and a little bit
wiser for it. Together, we drank a shot in
the name of truth and had fun seeing who
was better at cheating at cards.
Bill has since left school and Nebraska
to see the world and seek his fortune.
There was a rumor going around last
spring, as rumors usually do about people
who suddenly disappear, that Bill had
been shot by a Paraguayan firing squad.
But there are still letters and phone calls
late at night. At any rate, no matter where
he is, I’ll bet he’s not letting himself get
bored there. The story of Bill Allen illus
trates an important, yet often over-looked
perspective for the optimum enjoyment
of life — if you think Nebraska is dull,
chances are you’re just a dull person in
general.
c
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