Thursday, October 12, 1995 Page 4
Daily
Nebraskan
Editorial Board
University of Nebraska-Lincoln
J. Christopher Hain.Editor, 472-1766
Rainbow Rowell..Managing Editor
Mark Baldridge..Opinion Page Editor
DeDra Janssen.Associate News Editor
Doug Kouma.Arts & Entertainment Editor
JeffZeleny. Senior Reporter
Matt Woody.Senior Reporter
James Mehsling.Cartoonist
Bret Gottschall/DN
Danger lurks
Unsafe walks need attention
Overgrown trees, narrow sidewalks and dimly-lit areas are waiting
on City Campus. Waiting for prowlers. Waiting for would-be attack
ers. Waiting for sickos.
Many deep, dark crevices on campus are prime spots for suspicious
types to lurk and prey on their victims. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen
often. But it certainly could.
Tonight, police officers, students and university officials take the
annual Campus Safety walk. They will be looking for these not-so
safe spots, where potential tragedy awaits.
The Daily Nebraskan has identified the following potential danger
areas on campus:
• A diagonal walk from Avery Hall to Love Library after a night
class can be a frightening experience. Just before reaching Old Glory,
a pristine rock bed by day turns into a path with dungeon-1 ike darkness
at night.
The overgrown natural grasses and trees offer a perfect hiding
place. The rays of the nearest street light cannot even remotely be seen.
• Along the R Street sidewalk, south of the Wick Alumni Center,
long tree branches hang and cover nearby lights. This high-traffic area
near the union needs to be brightened for safety.
• Remote parking lots will likely always be unsafe. Very little can
be done about that. However, the lighting in a commuter lot south of
19th and R streets is practically non-existent. Straggling commuters
often face a pitch black lot, which is directly behind Day Watch.
Great strides have been made in recent years to promote campus
safety. Blue-light emergency phones now dot both campuses. It
appears that the novelty of the phones has worn off, which means
fewer prank calls.
Gone are the days of rickety emergency phones, which often had no
receivers. Gone are the days of dark, gravel residence hall parking lots.
But unfortunately, the days of a completely danger free campus are
not yet here.
But a few trimmed branches and a few new light bulbs would do a
world of good.
Editorial policy
Staff editorials represent the official
policy of the Fall 1995 Daily Nebras
kan. Policy is set by the Daily Nebras
kan Editorial Board. Editorials do not
necessarily reflect the views of the
university, its employees, the students
or the NU Board of Regents. Editorial
columns represent the opinion of the
author. The regents publish the Daily
Nebraskan. They establish the UNL
Publications Board to supervise the
daily production of the paper. Accord
ing to policy set by the regents, respon
sibility for the editorial content of the
newspaper lies solely in the hands of its
students.
Letter policy
The Daily Nebraskan welcomes brief letters to the
editor from all readers and interested others. Letters
will be selected for publication on the basis of clarity,
originality, timeliness and space available. The Daily
Nebraskan retains the right to edit or reject all material
submitted. Readers also are welco.ne to submit mate
rial as guest opinions. The editor decides whether
material should run as a guest opinion. Letters and
guest opinions sent to the newspaper become the
property of the Daily Nebraskan and cannot be re
turned. Anonymous submissions will not be pub
lished. Letters should include the author’s name, year
in school, major and group affiliation, if any. Re
quests to withhold names will not be granted. Submit
material to: Daily Nebraskan, 34 Nebraska Union,
1400 R St. Lincoln, Neb. 68588-0448.
N00 60.
I ~ •
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mi.
Fatherly advice
Dad’s opinion would be greatly appreciated
I’ve never been really close to
my dad.
I have though, like any good
son, asked him a question or two
about life. Really important things.
Like how to throw a curve ball,
how to turn a quick double play,
how to hit a golf ball 300 yards,
and how to drive a car.
But the funny thing is, my father
never played an inning of profes
sional baseball, not a round of
professional golf. He never drove a
car for money — he’s just spent his
life reporting, writing, and loving
it. Most of it.
Unfortunately for me I’ve never
taken the time to ask him how to
write a good lead, or how to touch
a reader’s funnybone and heart in a
feature story — or even if I should
seek a career as a writer in the first
place. I guess I didn’t really care
what he said about that last one.
A corny as it may sound, I have
been thinking a lot lately how
lucky I would be to turn out just
like my dad.
Growing up, seeing all the cool
things he got to cover and the neat
people he got to meet; I had
becoming a writer on my mind
since the day I could... well...
write. It seemed like the only
career for me. And with a brother
in the field at the time too, it
seemed like my destiny as well.
And besides, I can get more than
one person to vouch for the fact
that I’m not too bright when it
comes to math, science, money or
computer programming.
It’s not like I ever thought I
would be disgracing the Taylor
name if I were to go into interior
design or something. I just loved to
write, found it somewhat easy and
thought it would be neat to keep
our little family thing going —
never mind the fact my brother
bowed out of our little triumvirate
of writers many moons ago. (He
had music to fall back on.)
But my dad had other ideas.
Whenever the topic of journal
ism comes up over dinner, my dad
keeps telling me it’s a dying
profession, and will fizzle out
someday.
But I never paid much attention
Ted Taylor
“If only he kneiv how
much more that hurt
me. Much more than it
would for him to sit
down in front of me,
read every word and tell
me flat out: 'Son, I think
your writing just sucks.
to him when he started talking
foolish like that. He probably
thought the same thing 27 years
ago when he still had hair, no
mustache, no me, and began his
career at the Omaha World-Herald.
I never really prodded him much
about his work when I was a kid.
Sure I bragged at school that my
dad had the coolest job and begged
and begged to go along on assign
ments — and was jealous as hell I
didn’t get to watch the Kentucky
Derby with Carl Yazstremski in the
Red Sox locker room with him —
but I realized my dad was doing a
job and he didn’t want a 5-year-old
hanging around pulling on his pants
leg asking what the little nobbie on
his tape recorder was for.
I wanted to be a journalist
because it seemed like you got to
do cool stuff. Is it a bad thing to
cover events and people and want
what you write to be read by the
masses each and every day? I don’t
think so. Especially when you’re
able to tell them something they
might not have already known. But
I never really saw my dad’s job that
way.
I didn’t see his extensive
knowledge of the business: the
deadlines, the editors he had to deal
with, the boring stories nobody
read. Yeah, those things were
overlooked.
They aren’t now though.
But he’s been at it a long time.
Me? About eight semesters. I
haven’t interviewed anyone famous
or written anything anyone would
readily call, “cool”, but I am
slowly and surely following in the
footsteps my dad has been dili
gently trying to cover up.
Even in my days as a high
school journalist, I thought the
words of my adviser to be gospel,
not those of my father, the experi
enced journalist. She was the
teacher after all!
I didn’t take criticism very well,
in those days, and my father knew
it. After only a couple forced
rewrites from dad, I stopped giving
him stories to read before publica
tion. Maybe that is why he still
refuses to read anything I write.
Even after it’s published.
I’ll bring four or five clips from
the month home for him to look at
now. I’ll wait until after he gets
home from work, takes the dog for
a walk and sits down with a beer,
then I’ll say, “Oh, here dad” and
give them to him with my 12-year
old “look at what I did at school
today daddy!” expression on my
face.
That little exchange is routinely
answered with a short glance while
taking a drink and then laying the
pages on the coffee table. He’ll say,
“that’s good,” in that, “I might read
them later” tone of voice and
continue to ask me about my
grades.
If only he knew how much
more that hurt me. Much more than
it would for him to sit down in
front of me, read every word and
tell me flat out: “Son, I think your
writing just sucks.”
At least then I could ask him
why, and he could teach me
another thing or two about life.
Taylor is a junior news-editorial maj or
and a Dally Nebraskan staff reporter.
