Going Greyhound changes life
It was a dark and stormy Grey
hound bus ride—when suddenly,
a passenger cried out.
Critical readers may argue that I
am being unfair, linking the begin
ning of a horror novel with Grey
hound bus rides.
But I can’t be silent any longer.
While people in so-called Third
World countries are still able to
travel by bus, “First World” nations
like the United States appear to no
longer be able to afford such
luxuries.
I remember a time, long, long
ago, when I could buy a bus ticket ,
and expect to arrive at my destina
tion. Now, when I arrive at the desk,
I tremble, praying to the Greyhound
gods that the bus has not broken
down.
However, my suffering has made
me stronger. I am a wiser and a
better person for having these
experiences. Traveling Greyhound
has, despite the hassle, improved my
reading skills and enriched my love,
life.
The inconvenience has been
worth it.
In my capacity as a Daily
Nebraskan columnist and Grey
hound connoisseur, I’d like to offer
my own travel tips and special
memories to help make your own
future Greyhound trips as memo
rable as mine.
The biggest challenge in travel
ing Greyhound in this budget
cutting era is actually boarding the
bus.
Provided that the driver and/or
the bus does not break down, or
arrive hours behind schedule, you
may actually make it on board.
Once you board the bus, life
becomes even more exciting,
depending upon your choice of
Greyhound Reading Material.
Many people might think that
your Bus Book is a trivial choice,
but that is simply not true. As a
Debra Cumberland
“A young, greasy,
middle-aged man with a
big belt buckle and a
small mind swaggered
down the aisle, twirling
his mustache. ”
veteran of many Greyhound trips, I
am here to tell you that the book you
take on board can determine the
quality of your trip, if not your love
life. (Yes, Greyhound is the hot new
singles scene.)
Last year, for instance,’when
traveling to Nashville, I brought
along Marion Zimmer Bradley’s
science fiction novel, “Thendara
House.”
A young, greasy, middle-aged
man with a big belt buckle and a
small mind swaggered down the
aisle, twirling his mustache. Seeing
that the seat next to me was vacant,
he plopped down, stretched out his
long, lean, cowboy-booted legs and
proceeded to tell me the gripping
blow-by-blow story of his life.
When I only grunted in reply, he
leaned forward and asked in a slow
twang what I was reading.
‘“Thendara House,’” I replied,
with a sweet smile. “It’s a feminist
utopia about a society of free
Amazons.”
The Greasy Man sat back in his
chair, drumming his fingers ner
vously. A moment later he was
gone, heading to the back of the bus.
It hurt to see him go.
Next year, I received two
marriage proposals on a trip from
Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to Lincoln.
I was reading “Journal of a
Solitude” at the time. I think they
saw it as a cry fra* help.
The first proposal came from a
distinguished looking Peruvian man
with an expiring visa, and while I
was tempted to take his millions and
run, I resisted.
The next came from a scruffy
young British chap who also had an
expiring visa. It seems to be a
common problem on Greyhound
buses.
“I say,” he said, plopping down
beside me. “I see you’re reading.”
“Yes,” I said, showing him the
cover. It was a bleak view of an
elderly woman sitting alone at a
desk, with the sun setting beside her.
I could tell he wondered why
anyone would read anything that
depressing looking.
“I say,” he said again, coughing
nervously. “Do you know anyone
who might marry a chap?” .
“No one I know,” I replied,
turning pages.
“Oh, but I say,” cried the British
chap. “You American girls are so
wonderful, and my fiancee just
kicked me out, and my visa’s
running out, you know. What do you
say?”
As a good student of Nancy
Reagan, I just said no.
So you see, reading—and public
transportation—really does have
the capacity to change your life.
I’m begging all of you out there.
Go Greyhound before it’s gone.
Camberlaad is a gradaate stadeat la
Eagllsh aad a Daily Nebrasltaa colamaist
Giving up yesterday’s glory
Tonight, a piece of America’s
glorious past will give way to the v
present.
This evening, Cal Ripken Jr. will
break one of sports’ most hallowed
marks as he surpasses Lou Gehrig’s
record of consecutive games played.
Writes Ben Walker of the
Associated Press: “Gehrig’s record
has been a treasured piece of history
once thought to be so untouchable
that his plaque at Yankee Stadium,
placed more than 50 years ago,
praises him as a man ‘whose
amazing record... should stand for
all time.’”
Yet, by tonight’s end, Gehrig’s
long-time record will have become
just another one of professional
baseball’s many statistics, overshad
owed by Ripken’s more impressive,
more modem figure.
But giving up yesterday’s glory,
isn’t always easy for some.
Ripken has reported that he has
received death threats throughout
these last days in which the record
has belonged to Gehrig. The
situation isn’t unique.
Hank Aaron, the great Braves
slugger, endured death threats as he
approached Babe Ruth’s seemingly
unreachable record of 715 career
home runs. So vicious, so numerous
were the threats that by the time he
hit his 700th, Aaron needed body
guards in the dugout and at his
home.
Pete Rose also received threats -
on his life as he closed in an Ty
Cobb’s career hit record.
As sad as it seems, these threats
occur for a reason.
Baseball, unlike any other sport,
is a ghostly game—a game of
nostalgia. Players of today are
constantly compared with those who
have gone before them.
hi baseball, those who close in on
age-old records of past players are
oftentimes seen as imposters,
villains threatening to replace the
heroes of another generation’s
childhood.
Gehrig would be a hard one to
replace.
Gehrig’s now infamous streak
Jamie Kail
“Let us remember,
tonight, when the ‘Iron
Bird’ walks onto the
diamond, that the art of
living lies in a fine
mingling of holding on
and letting go. ”
began in 1925, in his third year with
the New York Yankees. In the first
few seasons of the string, the “Pride
of the Yankees” was hardly taken
seriously. ' \ .
Even his old pal and teammate,
Ruth, said Gehrig should forget
about his silly streak. Yet, he
refused to quit.
By the time an incurable disease,
which now carries his name, forced
him to retire, Gehrig had played
every game in the seasons from
1925 through 1938.
Overshadowed his entire career
by teammates like Ruth and
DiMaggio, Gehrig was proud of his
streak. Even as he stood in the midst
of a filled Yankee Stadium on July
4,1939, to officially announce he
was leaving the game he loved,
Gehrig humbly proclaimed: “Today,
I consider myself the luckiest man
(Mi the face of the earth.”
By 1941, the “Iron Horse” had
earned Gehrig the reputation of
being the most durable man ever to -
wear a major league uniform.
Then along came Cal Ripken Jr.
The fans who don’t want to see
Gehrig’s record broken are good
baseball fans who love the game and
its romantic, nostalgic qualities.
Gehrig, a modest, painfully shy
man, symbolizeda drive so typical
of the America he lived in. He
represented the spirit of determina
tion, which said that with a little
hard work, anything can be done.
Some say, that along with
Gehrig, those days are gone forever.
But Ripken proves that spirit is
still alive and well.
Gehrig played in a day when
baseball was strictly fun—one of
life’s essentials. Today, it has an
image tarred by greed and profit.
When Gehrig played, players
came to the park early to chat with
fans over low-cut fences as swarms
of children gathered around them.
Today, fans are greeted with middle
fingers from pitchers coming off the
mound or pokes in the eye from
batters in the on-deck circle.
Yet, Cal Ripken Jr, is one of the
last remaining hopes of the great
national pastime.
Bom and raised in Baltimore,
Ripken has played his entire career
for the Orioles. His fans have
watched him grow from a 20-year
old rookie who played for his father
to a futureflrst-ballot Hall of Famer.
Yet all along, he claims to have just
been doing his job.
In a day when critics say there
are no more heroes, Ripken stands
out from the crowd.
Those fans who are sad to see
Gehrig’s record go need to see Cal
Ripken in the right light. Ripken is
Gehrig’s second chance—his next
effort, if you will.
Let us remember, tonight, when
the “Iron Bird” walks onto the
diamond, that the art of living lies in
a fine minglihg of holding on and '
letting go.
Surely Gehrig is somewhere
hoping we will do both.
Kart b a scalar aews-edltorial major
aad .the Dafly Nebraska! wire editor aad
colamalst.
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