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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Aug. 31, 1995)
THURSDAY; iuitiBi I mm in imiiiMHWHHh nun run n»n th fintttitt-fffr-** WEATHER: Today - Sunny and cooler. North wind 5 to 10 mph. Tonight - Clear. Low around 60. _August 31, 1995_ Travis Hsying/DN Ken Kramer, Save Herbie Foundation president, hands a list of signatures to NU Athletic Director Bill Byrne. The signatures were those of people who don’t warn to see Herbie Husker removed as the mascot. The confrontation between the two took place in the players lounge of South Stadium Wednesday. Mascot supporters give Byrne petition By John Fulwider Staff Reporter They didn’t come in droves. Seven people drove from Omaha Wednesday afternoon to present a petition to save Herbie Husker to Nebraska Athletic Director Bill Byrne. And they got a cool and very quick reception. Waving Herbie flags and chanting “We want Herbie” for the benefit of the 14 reporters who came to cover the event, they were hustled into a conference room. While they waited, the Herbie support ers discussed their favorite mascot. “Herbie took us to number one in 1994,” said Charlin Bochek of Omaha. “So let’s have him take us to number one in 1995.” Kenneth Kramer, president of the Save Herbie Foundation, read letters of support he had collected. He showed reporters a petition he had received from young Brian Ortmeier of Dodge. Signatures surrounded a crayon drawing of Herbie. “I collected these signatures,” the third grader wrote. “I even got a person from Oklahoma to sign.” After a 20-minute wait, Byrne arrived. “Thank you very much for coming down,” he said. “Where’s the petition?” Byrne shook Kramer’s hand and took the petitions, which Kramer said contained more than 2,500 signatures. Byrne repeatedly thanked Kramer and the other Herbie supporters for coming. “I’m getting an awful lot of support from the other side,” Byrne said, “so it’ll be an interesting debate.” Kramer asked to see the poll that Byrne had said he conducted to get opinions about Herbie. Byrne said “OK,” then left and did not return. Chris Anderson, director of Nebraska Sports Information, then came in to answer questions. She said the athletic department’s research had found that Herbie appealed mostly tOtChildren. Herbie will continue to make appearances off the field, she said. She said the survey conducted over the summer had found that farmers are insulted by Herbie’s bib overalls and rotund appear ance. Kramer, raising his voice, repeatedly asked to see the survey. Anderson said “I’m sorry,” then left. Kramer said he was disappointed by the brevity of the meeting, but that his point had gotten across. He said the final test of Herbie’s popu larity would be the Huskers’ first home game Sept. 16. “Eighty thousand people. Are they go ing to say we want Herbie, or not?” Memories of Otey fresh in family’s mind By Matt Woody Senior Reporter Every night at 8:15, Judy Eisley remem bers. It’s nearly been a year since his death, but Harold Lamont “Wili” Otey is fresh in her mind. Otey would call Eisley and her family every night; you stay in touch with those you love. “Wili just considered us to be his family,” Eisley said. Eisley first met Otey more than five years ago, after her oldest daughter, Tiffany, wrote a story about him for a college class. Soon after that, Eisley, and then her other children, forged a special bond with Otey. That connection was shattered Sept. 2,1994, at 12:23 a.m. by four 2,400-volt surges of electricity. Otey was executed by the state of Nebraska for the 1977 murder of Jane McManus. It was the first execution in Nebraska since Charles Starkweather was executed in 1959. But to the Eisleys, it wasn’t the execution of a convicted murderer. It was the death of a friend. Eisley said she didn’t know Otey when he was arrested and tried for McManus’ murder, but she knew him the last 4 1/2 years of his life. “I know the Wili Otey I knew was not capable of killing anyone,” Eisley said. And she insisted that Otey’s death was a senseless one. “He had changed his life, and that’s what the program at the penitentiary is supposed to be.” The Eisleys used to visit Otey every Thurs day at the Nebraska State Penitentiary. But today, as with 51 Thursdays before, they won’t make the trip. “I hope somehow, someday, people will realize it did no good,” she said. The last day of Otey’s life was a Thursday. It was a nightmare for the Eisleys. Nebraska’s first execution in 35 years was more spectacle than legal proceeding, she said. Pro- and anti-death penalty forces showed up that night to marie a day in history. Some showed up with cruelty and hatred, Eisley said. People threw beer bottles, she said, and shouted racial epithets and other things. “They say there is no racism in Nebraska. If you were out there that night, you’d know there is racism in Nebraska.” Eisley visited Otey twice that day. Otey made her promise to return later with her daughter Brittany, now 8 years old. “He hugged her and kissed her and said goodbye,” Eisley said. The last two poems Otey wrote were for See OTEY on 9 Agriculture dean makes plans for the future Editor’s note: This is the third story in a four day series on UNL’s changing university and college administration. By Paula Lavigne Senior Reporter The Midwest has given Don Woodbum a warm welcome — literally. “It’s been about 110 degrees every day since I’ve been here,” he said from his office in central Nebraska. Woodbum has been sweating it out for the past two months as the first full-time dean at the Nebraska College of Technical Agricul ture in Curtis. The college, located south of North Platte, was restructured earlier this year. It was previously a part of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln College of Agricultural Sci ences and Natural Resources. In 1987, when the incoming freshman class dropped to zero, there was talk of abolishing the program. But the NU Board of Regents kept the college and on July l, made it the responsibil mzzuzzmil] ity of the NU Institute of Agricultural and Natural -- Resources. in Before the change, the associate dean of the UNL |. college, Bill Siminoe, over 10 I ||%# saw the Curtis campus. He 1 II jf retired after 27 years in the P ^ U#V position. For 1995, enrollment is - up to 270 students and Woodbum is ready to dedicate his lifetime of agricultural experience to the college’s future. Although he was raised on a ranch in New Mexico and just came from an agricultural consultant job in Susanville, Calif., the Mid west is an old friend. Woodbum attended college at Panhandle State University in Goodwell, Okla., and was the director of the College of Agriculture in Colby, Kan., just 100 miles south of Curtis. Nebraska’s aggressiveness lured Woodbum back to the Midwest. “They try to do things right,” he said. “I noticed that from afar.” Woodbum’s return gives him a chance to start programs that will continue into the 21st century. “If you stop to consider the ramifications of meeting the nutritional needs of these people in the next 30 years, agriculture better have its act together.” That goal starts with educating agriculture’s youth, he said, and getting there starts with planning. With $50,000 from the Legislature, the college will start a two-year planning pro cess to chart its direction. Woodbum’s vision and full-time position helped Nebraska to view the college in a new light, said Irv Omtvedt, vice chancellor for the NU Institute of Agriculture and Natural Re sources. Several reviews have been administered to determine the validity and goals of die pro gram, he said. “All of these have come back very posi tive,” he said. “There is a definite role and mission for that college, and it should remain.” A full-time dean will provide stronger on campus leadership, he said, and make the college more autonomous. “I won’t be here in the year 2025,” he said, “but the planning process that we come up with will be here in the year 2025.”
