Bellevue’s a suburb, nvah, nvah
As a native of Grand Island, I
had to laugh as I read the
newspaper this weekend. It’s
not a law that people from Grand
Island have to laugh as they read the
paper or anything, it’s just that I saw
something very amusing.
The Omaha World-Herald report
ed Bellevue residents still haven’t
given up their pipe dream to become
Nebraska’s third-largest city.
“We’re coming up,” City Admin
istrator S.P. Benson was quoted as
saying. Laugh, I did, and heartily at
that.
Bellevue officials estimate they’re
about 1,000 people behind Grand Is
land and moving up fast. Pshhhh.
In the 1990 census, Bellevue re
corded around 32,000 residents.
Grand Island’s total was 39,300. Folks
in Bellevue say 7,000 people have
been added to the city’s tally since
1990, bringing them within striking
range of the Islanders.
Of course, everyone knows it will
never happen because Bellevue is
simply too stupid to make it as Ne
braska’s Third City. It’s not an easy
job. Growing up in Grand Island, we
learn from an early age how much
depends on us.
You can’t just wake up and de
cide you don’t FEEL like being the
Third City that day. You know that
as a resident of Grand Island, you
have to carry on, lest Nebraska be
forced to skip from second to fourth.
Besides that obvious matter, it
would be a big hassle if Grand Island
wasn’t No. 3 anymore. There are a
lot of businesses and places in Grand
Island named with the population fig
ures in mind: Third City this. Third
City that.
If Grand Island were ever to lose
that third city status, I think some
people might take it kind of hard. I
don’t want to say the Islanders would
resort to violence, but if I were a
Bellevue sissy, I might think twice
about this whole deal.
After all, it would be especially
bitter for Islanders to give up third
^ ms ^ w
I don’t want to say the Islanders
would resort to violence, but if I
were a Bellevue sissy, I might
think twice about this whole deal.
citincss for the likes a hamlet that
wouldn’t be more than a speck on the
map if it weren’t next door to Oma
ha.
I believe Bellevue boosters are
deluding themselves. You can even
sec it in City Administrator S.P.
Benson’s title. He doesn’t adminis
trate a city. He looks after a suburb.
I lived in Omaha over the sum
mer. and 1 saw Bellevue every once
in a while when I was forced to drive
through it. There’s Omaha, there’s a
highway, there’s the air base and
that’s it. Except for the lame mall.
That’s Bellevue.
It will be a big day when they get
around to opening that new freeway
connecting Bellevue residents with
their jobs in Omaha. Then Bellevue
will have two highways to be proud
of.
Just looking at a map of Bellevue
makes the blood of an Islander boil.
The gerrymandering city limits of
Bellevue, snaking around the south
of Omaha like some hungry serpent,
reminds me of the Antichrist him
self. That evil suburb is slowly wrap
ping its tentacles around all the poor
Omahans caught south of the Dou
glas County line.
I like to think of Bellevue as that
creature in “The Blob.” Well, that’s
not quite true — 1 don’t like to think
of Bellevue at all. I suppose I might
like to think of it as far away.
I’m always surprised when I learn
someone is from Bellevue. First I’m
surprised they would admit it. Then I
wonder how they appear so normal.
like your average human. 1 might
poke them with a pencil or look close
ly to sec if they really swallow their
food instead of pretending.
Bellevue had its chance at Ne
braska greatness. It was actually one
of the first settlements in the state,
but the people there apparently didn’t
notice when Omaha sprang up next
door.
Some people in Bellevue still can’t
seem to read the writing on the wall,
or the writing at the top of the
Woodmen Tower. They cling to the
belief that they live in an actual city
rather than a Big “O” bedroom.
Instead of trying to join the ranks
of the real world by stealing away
what belongs to others, Bellevue
should be content to play with its
friends Papillion and Ralston. Run
along, children, run along.
But no. Rather than fit in with the
other kids, the Bellevue annexistas
have to strut around, full of pomp
and puffery, talking big all the while.
Sorry folks, but some of us sec
through that charade.
It takes more than tidy middle
class developments full of identical
homes to be the Third City. It takes
more than a fancy-dancy French
name. I think Bellevue officials have
been drinking too much of that Mis
souri River water.
You gel a Skagway, come and
talk. Until then, see you in fourth
place.
Phelps is a senior news-editorial major, a
Daily Nebraskan senior reporter and a col
umnist.
Lone tree won’t let town forget
It’s the tree that bothers me. I
don’t know why. It just both
ers me.
So this is the place.
It’s a quiet place, at one time it
was just a grassy space between two
milo fields.
Now it is more than that.
Her photo showed her standing
next to another tree, smiling. It was
her senior picture. A photograph of a
smiling, innocent girl with the rest of
her life ahead of her.
She ended up under this tree. Her
life ended under this tree.
Standing on the gravel road, I lis
ten to the sounds of this place. A
crow squawks. A combine harvests
off in the distance. The breeze flows
through the stand of trees across the
road. Shotgun blasts echo from afar,
reminding me that it’s hunting sea
son.
This place has a quiet, somber
feel to it. It feels sad.
So this is where it all happened.
This is the place.
It’s that tree, it docs something to
this place. That tree that stands alone.
It’s a tall, black ugly thing, reaching
to the sky. Half of it is dead, scarred
white.
A few empty beer cans litter the
side of the road. A crushed soda can
lies where it was thrown. People used
to come here to drink and maybe
party a little.
That tree stares down at the spot
where it all happened. A red flag
marks the spot. At least I think that’s
wh ’* there.
is the place.
The tree, a kind of gravestone.
Grass covers the place now.
This is where they found her. We
knew her as Candi. Another victim.
When I lived in Dallas, this kind
At one time, this tree gave this
place shade, plenty of it. Now it
stands as a kind of monument,
telling us that something terri
ble happened here.
of thing happened all the time. But
this is Lincoln. This stuff doesn’t
happen here. I want my children to
be raised here. It’s supposed to be
safe here. This isn’t Dallas or New
York, this is Lincoln. That kind of
thing doesn’t happen here.
We’ve all seen this place before.
A snow-covered field, a big green
tent next to the tree. Police officials
examining the place.
Wc now know what happened at
this place. The trial is nearing com
pletion, we are hearing the grim de
tails of what happened at this place.
At one time, this tree gave this
place shade, plenty of it. Now it stands
as a kind of monument, telling us
that something terrible happened here.
Why did she have to die here? She
didn’t deserve that. No one docs.
I wonder what went through her
mind, her killers’ minds. I feel a dread
come over me as I walk around this
place. What went through her par
ents’ minds?
How do you say goodbye to your
child?
A car drives by, leaving a dusty
wake behind.
How many other cars drove by
this place while she lied here? How
many people have seen that tree, and
wondered why it stands alone?
So this is the place.
Since it happened, we all have
changed. No one is safe. We all fear
the unknown. It could have been any
one.
Why her? Why did they do that?
What kind of person could do that?
Some day, that tree will fall. It’s
half dead already. It won’t be missed.
She is missed everyday by those
who loved her.
In a way, we all miss her. It was
her that was taken away. When she
was taken, we all felt it.
That kind of thing doesn’t happen
here.
She is gone. The accused stands
trial. Guilt or innocence will be de
termined. Sentence imposed.
That tree still stands.
Why this place? Why that tree?
That tree stands, a memory ot
where her life ended. And, when the
tree falls, the grassy area plowed up,
maybe, just maybe the story of Candi
Harms and her killers and what hap
pened at this place will become an
other chapter in Lincoln’s history.
A chapter many of us will want to
forget. But we won’t be able to, ever.
I’ll always remember that tree and
that place.
Wright ii a graduate student in Journal
ism and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
It Works Wonders.
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