Writers’ works deserve notice
FOR WORKING FAMILIES ft
VI CREDIT
The “Academy Awards” were
wonderful, and I was there.
No, not the Oscars, but the
25th anniversary of the annual Con
ference of the Associated Writing
Programs at Norfolk, Va.
The three days of mingling with
literary celebrities was simflar to
Monday’s Oscar presentation from
Hollywood, except the conference
lacked tuxedos, evening gowns and
golden statues to be handed to the
deserving artists for their hard labors.
At the conference, the atmosphere
was much more relaxed and candid,
and writers were swarmed by col
leagues and fans asking for
autographed books, as if they were
Hollywood stars.
This is the second year I have gone
to the conference, and this time I felt
more relaxed and more at home among
all those incredible American writers.
But I still wonder why the conference
isn’t more elaborate or more formal.
Why weren’t thousands of photog
raphers lined up to take a picture of
such greats as the wild, white-haired
Robert Bly as he walked from table to
table at the book fair, talking to the
exhibitors, buying a book here and
there, or in the evening when he
boogied along to the old and new
tunes with people half his age?
Why weren’t there any camera
men to witness the ailing Donald Hall
and the tribute made to him by his
peers: Robert Bly, Galway Kinell,
Louis Simpson, his wife Jane Kenyon
(also a ooet), Gregory Orr and Liam
Rector? The staged reading of Hall’s
works by William Patrick, with music
performed by Old Dominion
University’s Wind Ensemble, was
pretty dose to the numbers performed
at the Oscars.
The conference couldn’t have cost
as much as one Oscar statuette, but
was worth a great deal more to many
of us who respect the hard work and
Let’s, face it, there
wouldn’t have been
any actors if there
weren’t great plays
and scripts written
by great writers.
There wouldn’t be
at) actor playing
Hamlet if there
hadn’t been
a Shakespeare.
the great art of writers.
This is the case in many countries
where the majority of citizens under
stand and respect the high value of
this art, which will never die and has
existed since the first human being
decided to write his or her thoughts
down in script form. Unfortunately,
this is obviously the country where
Hollywood rules the arts and gets
more money for it.
This is the country where actors
and movie producers rarely support
other arts, whose practitioners are
paid much less and struggle for atten
tion from the public. Only occasion
ally will a work like Norman
McLeans’ “A River Runs Through It”
be made into a movie.
Let’s face it, there wouldn’t have
been any actors if there weren’t great
plays and scripts written by great writ
ers. There wouldn’t be an actor play
ing Hamlet if there hadn’t been a
Shakespeare.
But the National Endowment for
the Arts wishes to reduce its funding
to writers. The NEA continues to limit
rights of creative writers and artists to
express themselves in this free, demo
cratic society, thus limiting the ex
pansion and invention of new ideas.
On the last day of the conference
someone said Ross Perot was at our
hotel, so like any other curious ob
server, I stood to shake his hand and
chat with him. I was surprised that he
was so nice. I told him who I was and
where I was from, Yugoslavia,and he
said he was very glad I was here and
not there. He said he couldn’t detect
an accent from me. He asked me if I
was attending the writers’ conference.
He also asked if I could sing and said
my tone and voice were beautiful.
I told Ross I wrote poetry. He said
he wished he could have someone like
me to coach him with his speeches
and his diction. Then he shook my
hand again, just as I was about to
accept his offer for a couple million
dollars, which I could give to the
starving poets who write so beauti
fully and enunciate what life is really
about.
Ross, you don’t need any charts,
you need good writers. These writers
would better help their people under
stand this country, its culture and
themselves, not limit their education
or the value of American English.
Unfortunately, today, English is re
duced to computer language, not the
creative human experience that stands
out of the norm and craves to be
different and unique.
Obradovic b a graduate student In cre
ative writing-poetry and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist
Exclusive club accepts plain folks
I don’t want to brag, but I must.
I belong to a club.
With my Sam’s Club mem
bership card, I have authorization to
enter the new Sam’s Wholesale Store
on North 27th Street, which postures
itself as a “members wily” joint. It
says soon the outside of the building.
I haven’t quite decided if the mem
ber bit is just a gimmick, but it seems
pretty close to one. Nevertheless, I
can smugly take out my blue I.D.
card and proclaim, “I belong!"
At least it’s something, and per
haps it’s better than a country club,
where one has to carry golf chibs and
pretenses around to fit in properly.
I can walk in Sam’s place and hot
even have to worry about a strict dress
code, as long as I am prepared to buy
some products.
The rarefied feeling of member
ship is now within reach of the masses.
What a concept *
Even a working stiff can feel like
he belongs. Modesty and thriftiness
are now in fashion.
Perhaps there should be a country
song about this place, this clubby
atmosphere for the humble folks. I
can almost hear the words to it now.
But I’ll spare you from my lyrics.
Still.Sam ’sClubdoesn’t let a newly
initiated member get too big a head.
Greeters are posted at the door. I
guess they’re supposed to confirm
that one is indeed a member. And
worse, on the way out, the greeters—
or perhaps they are benign guards —
check out a member’s receipt against
his cargo to make sure he hasn * t stolen
anything.
It would be hard to duplicate that
warm, secure feeling of belonging to
a place that doesn’t even trust its own
members.
A member isn’t even given the
basic assumption that he is worthy of
the honor. Club membersarechecked,
monitored and admonished to be sure
they stay on theupand up. Big Brother
goes retail.
A member isn’t
even given the basic
assumption that he is
worthy of the honor.
Club members are
checked, monitored
and admonished to
be sure they stay on
the up and up. Big
Brother goes retail.
There arc strategically placed video
cameras scoping the member's every
potentially furtive move. A sip by
the bodes wrapped in plastic warns
that if you take the packaging off of
the precious products, your member
ship may be revoked. Heavens no.
$• '■ can’t be so.
membership game puts the
customer right where the company
wants him: in a position to be con
trolled.
Unfortunately, I’m beginning to
realize that the prestige of being a
Sam’s Club member may not quite
match thecachetof driving a Mercedes
or belonging to a country club, but
yo< vhat you pay for, after all.
are resiric lion s as to who can
apply and be accepted, but it can’t be
too strict, because I got in. Also, as
immense as the warehouse store is, it
was fairly filled with people, presum
ably all members.
Stores are getting bigger and big
ger in our consumer-driven society.
Legend has it that we once had neigh
borhood grocery stores, where the
owner might have even known your
name. Now, little stores are not com
petitive.
And the products come bigger,
often in bulk size. But through all this,
we consumers are led to believe we
are saving money because the net
prices are supposed to be smaller.
Secretly, though, someone ait there
has to be making money for this sys
tem to work.
But I can’t help wondering that
with the economies of scale, technol
ogy and dehumanization being real
ized, there are more and more people
who are forced to turn to low-wage,
low-status employment, if they can
get jobs at all.
i ecnnoiogy ana progress are strip
ping us poor saps out of our jobs, all in
an effort to better serve us.
If consumers only concern them
selves with the elusive goal of saving
money, and workers fit in the equa
tion primarily as another expense to
be trimmed down, then where are we
going?
If people are left out, marginalized
by increasing pressure for companies
to produce profit, then who will have
the money to buy the products and
services?
Indeed, the elite in this price-wor
shiping system may simply be those
relative few who are fortunate to have
well-paying, full-time jobs with ben
efits.
In his life, company founder Sam
Walton drove a pickup around to show
that, although a billionaire, he was
(me of us. How charmingly quaint.
In turn, he allowed us just plain
folks to join his exclusive dub.
I hope it’s not a trap, for even
progress has its price. {
Burger is a Junior philosophy major and
a Dally Nebraskan columnist.
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