Faulkner exemplifies victory
“Perfect 36,” despite its sexist
overtones, would bring smiles to the
faces of any women’s rights activist.
For this magic number signified
the grand total of liberated states
when Tennessee became the 36th
state in this country to allow women
the right to vote, llius winning the
two-thirds majority of states—
winning suffrage for the one-half
‘minority’ nationwide.
And this year marks the 75th
anniversary of the end of the
| suffragist movement.
While there has been a consider
able improvement in the lot of
women in the last 75 years, there is
still a lot to be done.
Anybody who questions this only
has to take a look at the Shannon
Faulkner case.
When I first heard of the 20-year
old who gained admission into the
all-male Citadel by asking that her 1
sex be omitted from her transcripts,
I was elated.
I closely followed the ensuing
controversy when The Citadel
withdrew her admission after
learning that she was indeed a
female. The courts subsequently
ruled that the state-funded institu
tion could not deny her admission.
Proponents of equal rights were
jubilant at the victory.
I was thrilled as well. But even
as I cheered Shannon Faulkner, I
feared. Feared for her safety,
feared she wouldn’t find friends,
that she would be unhappy in an
environment that had so vocally
demonstrated she was not wel
come.
This is not an isolated case. It is
the case of any woman who is out
on the frontier trying to break away
from, or through, social, political,
economic or ideological barriers.
Things are generally fine for an
average woman in an average job.
That is, if she does not ask for
too much — like promotions and
rewards for a job well-done.
Vennlla Ramalingam
‘7 bet no other cadet in
the history of Vie Citadel
ever was requ ired to
graduate with such
“honors!”
While such hostile, unfriendly —
or at the very least indifferent —
corporate work environments are the
exception rather than the rule, the
so-called ‘glass ceiling’ is very real
for many aspiring women.
But when you consider women
trying out for jobs that have been
totally male-dominated —as in the
police force or the military — then,
man, has she had it!
It is bad enough being the odd
one out. Add to it chagrin and
resentment from your colleagues—
and some mockery and meanness.
When it is all focused at you at
the same time, and coming from
every direction — then, man, have
you had it!
In order to perform and not
buckle down under such stressful
conditions, you need to be super
human. Or a woman!
It isn’t hard to imagine what
Faulkner felt when she was in The
Citadel, amid a thousand hostile
men.
But then, one might say, she went
in there of her own volition, that no
one was forcing her to stay.
In fact, one could go further and
say that she asked for it.
While she DID want to go to
school at The Citadel and benefit
from the experience that no woman
before her had ever had, she did not
ask to be harassed.
While she was willing to go
through the rigorous training and the
‘Hell Week’ that all cadets face, she
was not prepared to do so while
carrying an enormous cross of sheer
hostility and resentment. Or for
death threats against her and her
family.
1 biet no other cadet in the history
of The Citadel ever was required to
graduate with such “honors!”
Now that she has quit The
Citadel, her opponents are not
merely thrilled, they are victorious.
Victorious, in that they succeeded in
keeping The Citadel pure and
“unconlaminated.”
It was Faulkner’s personal
decision whether she wanted to
carry the cross and endure unbear
able hostility during her years at The
Citadel—all to make a political
statement—or walk out and ... still
make a political statement!
As Shannon quit The Citadel, a
lot of her ardent admirers and
supporters felt let down by her. But
I don’t think it was so bad that
Shannon quit.
In fact I am happy for her. Can’t
you see it? Women’s rights may
have lost a battle, but they will win
the war.
For even as the battle raged in
and out of the courtroom and The
Citadel, The Citadel received 20
more applications from the one-half
minority of this country — its
womenfolk.
Go girl Shannon! For you have
paved the way!
RamatlRgam Is a graduate student In
computer science and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist
Fighting Tyson worth the nsk
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking
in the past couple days, and I have
an important announcement to
make.
I’m going to fight Mike Tyson.
Not only am I going to fight him,
I’m going to kick his convict ass
right back to the Indiana Youth
Center. I predict two hits, me hittin’
him and him hittin’ the floor.
— Did I say that right, Mr. King?
What the hell, I need the money.
Sure I’m out of shape. Sure I’m
lazy. Sure my cholesterol level has
to be recorded in scientific notation.
I’ll admit all these things, and more.
I’ve got no reach, no quickness,
no experience, and I have to stop in
the middle of a flight of stairs to
catch my breath. But, I’m hovering
around 200 pounds, which puts me
close to fighting weight, and I’m
willing to take on an Irish name and
talk trash at a few press conferences
if I have to. Better yet, I’m willing
to run around for 90 seconds and
take a punch or two before cashing
in, which makes me just as qualified
as Mike Tyson’s most recent
opponent, Peter McNeeley.
Like millions of others in “90
countries on six continents,” as the
ring announcer said, I watched
Saturday’s big fight. Like the others,
I was even dumb enough to pay for
it.
After seeing the fight, I don’t
know if Mike Tyson is .back in form,
I don’t know if there was a fix, I
don’t know if Peter McNeeley is
really as dumb as he looks and
sounds—I don’t really know much
at all.
I can say a couple things for sure,
though. Mike Tyson is alive, well
and a lot richer. Peter McNeeley is
too (although not quite as well or
rich as Tyson).
Unfortunately, the sport of
boxing is not in good shape at all.
For those of you who were
answering nature’s call when the
“fight” took place—or for those
who were smart enough not to pay
for three hours of Don “My Hair
Doug Peters
For a mere minute-and
a-half of work and two
nice bruises on his
proud Irish posterior;
McNeeley made more
than a half-million
dollars. ”
Defies Gravity” King promotional
followed by 90 seconds of second
rate theater—here’s what hap
pened:
After months of hype and an
endless litany of promotional babble
from promoter King, The Fight
finally happened Saturday night—
sort of.
Just 89 seconds into the most
anticipated boxing match of the
year, it was over. Actually, it never
really began.
Peter McNeeley’s jittery comer
man jumped into the ring after the
second knockdown of the “fight”
and disqualified his pugilist. Oddly,
McNeeley seemed ready to fight on.
Referee Mills Lane said he’d never
seen anything like it. Hmmmm.
Anger was McNeeley’s first
reaction. That lasted for about five
seconds (almost as long as the
match itself). Then, McNeeley could
be seen smiling and giving high-'
fives to friends and family members.
Why not? For a mere minute
and-a-half of work and two nice
bruises on his proud Irish posterior,
McNeeley made more than a halt
million dollars. And that’s what
boxing is all about, right? Money,
money and more money.
The average pay-per-viewer
dished out about 50 cents per
second, while the crowd of more
than 16,000 luminaries dropped a
whopping thousand dollars a minute
for the privilege of seeing exactly
what they expected—a first-round
knockout.
What they didn’t expect, was that
the match would have all the realism
of WWF professional rassling’s
“Summer Slam ’95.”
I would rather have watched the
evil Baron von Raschke do battle
with Jimmy “The Superfly” Snuka.
Sure, you know who’s supposed to
win, and you know the whole thing’s
just a show, but at least they drag it
out and give viewers a little action.
In other words, pro rassling cared
about the fans, which is more than I
can say for boxing’s over-commer
cialized, rigged-up money machine
— or for Don King, boxing’s
equivalent of Bobby “The Brain”
Heenan.
I m not saying we need to have
the Mafia types rig fights to last
longer, just that a little actual
fighting would be nice.
Boxing will learn a hard lesson:
When a sport comes to value dollars'
above all else, bad things happen.
Baseball learned, basketball and
hockey are in the process of
learning, and college football, if it’s
not careful, will learn (are you
listening, Bill Byrne?).
But for the time being, I might as
well take advantage of a financial
opportunity that’s ripe for the
picking.
So Mike Tyson, you big
babytalker you, if you’re reading
this (or if someone’s reading it to
you), bring it on.
If the price is right, you’ve got
yourself a new patsy—er, I mean
opponent.
Peters b a {radiate stadeat la Joaraal
tsm aad Daily Nebraska! coiamalst.
from the
Kids must grow up
Adria CMIcote
7 could make a really
good bum and live off oj
someone else. I could
live on the streets, go
where the wind blows
me. I could be totally
free. ”
I hate being the new kid. I hate
not knowing where to go and
having all these bigger, older,
more experienced people laugh at
my stupidness. And I hate having
to say to people, “Hi, my name is
Adria, what’s your name?” I
really feel stupid saying stuff like
that.
Now I’m the new kid all over
again. I’ve been a new kid a total
of nine times. This will be
number 10.1 think it gets worse
every time. Every year it seems
that there are more people I don’t
know, and they’re always getting
a lot meaner and much bigger.
It’s not all bad though. New
experiences are good. It is good
to meet new people. I guess it
wouldn’t hurt to actually leam
something.
It’s tough being the littlest one
in school. Everyone looks down
on you and makes fun of you.
You’re a part of this whole group
of people that the rest of the
school can ridicule. It’s a tradi
tion that will go on forever.
It wasn’t so bad in kindergar
ten; you just got bossed around at
recess. Then, after six years, you
were finally one of the big kids.
You could tell all the little kids
what to do. The little ones all
agreed that the older generation
knew a lot more about life than
they did.
The next year you were now a
stupid seventh grader. Your 12
year-old wisdom meant nothing.
Everyone else was a lot bigger,
meaner and knew more about life
than you. For the first few days
you were paranoid about running
into those ninth graders who
would slam you into a locker or
shove your head down a toilet.
5 By ninth grade you ruled the
school. You could trample on all
of those little seventh graders.
The whole cycle repeats when
your a sophomore. But this time
you’re in high school, so there’s a
little more dignity in it. Everyone
has supposedly gotten more
mature.
When you’re a senior, you do
know a lot about life. You’ve put
13 years of school in and now
you’re at the top. You’re bigger
than everyone. Heck, you can
even vote!
After graduation you can do
anything and go anywhere. You
have your diploma in hand. You
can move out of your parents’
home and into the “real world.”
You can get a job and some life
insurance and start your “real
life.” You can even get your very
own cat.
But instead, I’m starting
college. Why?
I’m not even sure why. Part of
me feels like I’m going for the
pure reason to gain knowledge.
Maybe I just want to know more
about a lot of stuff. Maybe I’m
going to have very stimulating
intellectual conversations with
other scholarly knowledge-filled
people.
Then again maybe I’m going
so I can get a degree. Then I can
get a better job and make more
money while I’m having those
stimulating conversations. And I
can feed my cat.
But maybe I’m going just
“because it’s there.”
It’s an option I’m supposed to
take. I’m not supposed to move
out and get some loser job and a
cat. I’m supposed to have a
respectable job and own some
property.
I think part of why I’m going
is so that I don’t have to grow up
too much, yet. Perhaps so I can
postpone some responsibility for
a few more years. I don’t want to
grow up anymore^ I don’t
understand why I wanted to in the
first place.
It’s so great being a kid. You
get recess, and no one expects too
much of you because you’re just a
kid.
But if I stayed a kid forever,
I’d miss out on all those cool
grown-up things. Like stimulating
conversations. I guess college
might be a good place to kind of
act like a grown-up, and still be a
kid at the same time.
So maybe I’m going for all of
those reasons. What matters is
that I am going. I will be new. I’m
going to be little all over again.
But I’m just going to go and get it
all over with.
t>ut I don i want to. l could
make a really good bum and live
off of someone else. I could live
on the streets, go where the wind
blows me. I could be totally free.
I don’t need stimulating intellec
tual conversations.
I could still have them as a
bum. 1 just wouldn’t know what 1
was talking about. 1 could stay a
kid and have as little responsibil
ity as possible.
But I suppose I can just force
myself to get up tomorrow
morning and go to class. I don’t
think I would be a very happy
bum because I don’t like too
much wind. And I would like to
be able to feed my cat. I can
survive being one of the little
ones again for a while.
Only Peter Pan and the lost
boys can stay kids forever.
Maybe I could replace Tinkerbell.
Chile ote U a freshmaa womea’f stad
lef major aad Daily Nebraskaa colam
alst
BE OUR GUEST
The Daily Nebraskan will present a guest columnist each Monday.
Writers from the university and community are welcome.
Must have strong writing skills and something to say.
Contact Maiic Baldridge c/o the Daily Nebraskan, 34 Nebraska
Union, 1400 R St., Lincoln, NE 68588.
Or by phone at (402)-472-1782.