Opinion
Tuesday, September 20,1994 Page 4
Nebraskan
Editorial Board
University of Nebraska-Lincoln
Je ff Zelenv.Editor, 472- / 766
Kara Morrison_'...Opinion Page Editor
Angie Hrunkow.Managing Editor
Jeffrey Robb..Associate News Editor
Rainbow Rowell..Columnist/Associate News Editor
Kilev Christian......Photography Director
Mike Lewis.Copy Desk Chief
James Mehsling.Cartoonist
Final sentence
At last, Bjorklund will learn his fate
Twenty-four months ago, a news story that captivated UNL and
the state of Nebraska slowly began to develop.
Candice Harms, an 18-ycar-old University of Nebraska-Lincoln
student, was reported missing. Speculation ran wild as new leads
developed daily.
Initially, some speculated that Harms simply ran away on her
own, but when her 1987 blue Chevy Corsica was found north of
Lincoln, that hope was dispelled.
Soon, Harms' young face became known to much of Lincoln
and southeast Nebraska. It appeared on the front page of newspa
pers, on television news and soon showed up on billboards
throughout the city.
Twelve weeks later, her killers were arrested and have since
become household names.
Today, Lancaster County District Judge Donald Endacott is
scheduled to sentence Roger Bjorklund — one of Harms' killers.
After a lengthy trial in 1993, and a hundreds of rare legal
maneuvers, it appears this case could finally be turning into its
final chapter.
It is time for this case to move forward. Bjorklund has been
granted due process to the full extent of the law.
We find it ironic that Bjorklund finally will learn if he will
spend life in prison or be sentenced to death in the electric chair
exactly two years after he and accomplice Scott Barney raped,
tortured and murdered Harms.
Peace. Right, Bill?
Clinton should recall Vietnam protest
In light of Jimmy Carter's blundered negotiations in North
Korea earlier this year, Americans held their breath Sunday as the
former president assisted last-minute negotiations with Haitian
military leaders.
U S. military operations to restore democratically elected
president Jcan-Bertrand Aristide to power already had begun
Sunday evening when the White House was notified that an
agreement had been reached.
The accord came after 61 planes with Army paratroopers were
airborne to begin an invasion.
Raoul Cedras has agreed to leave power by Oct. 15, paving the
way Ansiiac s return.
The invasion would not have been a walk in the park.
Lives undoubtedly would have been lost, including those of
U S. troops and innocent Haitian civilians
This time, it seemed President Clinton's threat of military
invasion worked. But at what cost if it had not?
It seems ironic that a president who publicly declared his
disapproval of the Vietnam War would condemn U.S. troops and
Haitian civilians to perhaps a similar fate for a similar cause,
despite the American public's widespread disapproval of a Haitian
invasion.
Although Americans would have supported its military men
and women if they had gone through with the invasion. Clinton, in
his hasty threats, should take note of the lesson:
We ought to negotiate full-force with words before we resort to
weapons.
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Canning reawakens memories
I put up 12 pints of tomatoes
Saturday night. I probably should
have been studying, or pursuing a
social life, but putting up tomatoes
was more important. It reminded me
of a previous life.
I was a farm wife, living in a
small, rented house in a pasture of
sage and yucca. Spike and I had to
have the biggest organic garden in
Dundy County. We filled the
basement with squash, potatoes and
braids of onions.
Spike taught me to garden. I had
learned the skill as a child, but by
the time I met Spike. I had lost it. I
had lost nearly everything before I
met him, including my life.
Suicide is sometimes called an
easy way out, but I could never get
the hang of it. People who commit
suicide must lose all instinct to
survive. I was almost to that point,
but not quite. The scars from most
of my suicide gestures are on my
liver and lungs.
I was spared more visible scars
by a state patrolman who grabbed
the hem of my coat as I lunged from
his car. I remember watching the
pavement flying by, a couple of
inches from my nose. The stunt got
me a ticket to Ward 34 at the
Hastings Regional Center, where I
spent two weeks under suicide
watch. I was 19.
1 knew how I got there. I’d had a
lifetime of preparation.
All my life. I’d heard I was
stupid, ugly and worthless. Today,
we understand that for children
words can be tantamount to vio
lence. but that wasn’t altogether
clear in the ’60s. My father didn’t
realize the power of his words. He
also didn’t realize that someone else
was having sex with me about the
time I was learning to read.
No one else in Cozad, Neb.,
knew it either, and even if they did.
they looked the other way. Before I
r~
Working the earth healed my soul. I
grew stronger with time, and a
passion for life overpowered my
desire to die. lhat passion was
always there, but it had beeti
obscured by trauma.
graduated from high school, 1 was
drinking hard and sleeping around.
People thought I was reckless and
irresponsible for the sheer fun of it.
My classmates voted me “Best
Sense of Humor” of the Class of
79.
I knew I desperately needed
help. I found a psychiatrist when I
was 17.1 told him I drank Scotch
and slept with strangers. He charged
me SO bucks and told me to medi
tate.
I soon meditated my way onto
Ward 34, where 1 wrote a letter to
Spike, whom I’d recently met.
When he got the letter, he called to
say he would get me out of there if
it took all the lawyers alive.
He’d been waiting to save
someone, and I’d been waiting for
someone to save me. We spent the
next nine years together, creating
jungles in barren front yards.
Working the earth healed my soul. I
grew stronger with time, and a
passion for life overpowered my
desire to die. That passion was
always there, but it had been
obscured by trauma.
Trauma requires us to go inside
of ourselves. I had to analyze my
emotions one by one and take
responsibility for them. It was very
distracting. I only vaguely noticed
the rest of the world.
When 1 emerged from those
years of introspection, everything
was new. I was driven by curiosity,
and my dream of going to college
was reawakened.
That dream didn’t sit well with
Spike, although he tried to be
supportive. I only took one class at
a time, but it took more of my
attention than he was comfortable
sharing. We struggled hard before
we said goodbye.
1 left my canning jars, my food
dehydrator and the bedspread and
curtains I had made. I left the
flowers I’d planted and the dogs I
had loved. I left the man who
helped me save my life. I would
eventually leave the lives of my
family and many of my friends in
an effort to put a little girl’s
nightmares behind me.
I became a full-time student
nearly two years ago. It was an
ultimate act of faith in myself. 1 had
to believe I could really change my
life. It took every ounce of energy I
possessed.
I was too terrified of failure to let
my former life mingle with the one
I was trying to build. I had to avoid
all of my memories, not just the bad
ones. I had given up everything to
go to school. It was impossible for
me to admit that some of the things
in my former life were not so bad.
A sack of tomatoes changed that
last Saturday night.
McAdams Is a Junior news-editorial ma
jor and a DaUy Nebraskan columnist.
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