These places exist?
Small-town Nebraska offers sense of community that cities and the university lack
The substitutions are made and
the 95-pound weakling enters the
game. He bounds full force up and
down the court with the others, his
pencil-thin legs looking like they
could give out at any time.
Despite his blatant lack of athlet
ic ability, he is always right where
the action is, trying to rebound or
maybe even pass. But he rarely
touches the ball. And when he does,
it is never more than a few seconds
before it’s stolen away from him.
He doesn’t appear to be an asset
to the team. In fact, I can’t help but
wonder why the coach puts him in
the game at all. He is the worst bas
ketball player I have ever seen.
However, this doesn’t seem to
matter to the gym full of cheering
people, many of whom do not even
have a son playing in the game. They
shout support to our weakling just as
loudly as to the star player. They are
here to support their town, cheering
as though they were at the final game
of the World Series, not a Saturday
afternoon junior varsity basketball
game.
During halftime, the fans engage
in conversation, inquiring about the
well-being of wives and kids, ani
mals and automobiles. Just asking is
remarkable enough, but they seem to
be genuinely interested in the
answers.
Not only is this a place where
people support the team, regardless
of how badly it plays or how they
feel about the coach, but it is also a
place where the people truly support
each other.
They do not just wish for the suc
cess of those who were certain to
achieve it; in their eyes, everyone is
an important part of the community.
***
These are things I never really
thought about until my recent trip to
northeast Nebraska. I was going to
Norfolk (or Norfork, if you’re from
the area) to get out of the big city for
a few days. I was beginning to feel
claustrophobic from a constant bar
rage of buildings, billboards and
traffic. I was looking for quiet. What
I ended up finding was a sense of
understanding and community.
Driving north on state Highway
79,1 began to feel relaxed. I saw
trees and open spaces for the first
time in months. I was amazed to see
that there was much more plant life
than cement. It was nice to see that
there are still some places where
Mother Nature’s presence is stronger
than man’s.
Continuing north, I began to see
signs for towns that were in the area.
There were Pender, Rising City,
Albion and many other places I had
heard of but never actually seen. I
recognized many of these names as
the hometowns of the people I know.
As often as I had heard these
names, I don’t think I ever really
believed they existed. But there they
were; I wished I could stop in every
one to finally make the connection to
my friends.
As I passed the town of Morse
Bluff (population 200), I began to
see what I’d been missing all these
years. This handfiil of people has
something that most “city people”
think only exists in corny movies,
something that’s only in the minds of
old people who can still remember
the way things used to be.
From my outsider’s perspective,
Morse Bluff hardly looked like a
thriving metropolis. In fact, the small
part that can be seen from the high
way looked pretty run down. But I
could imagine the strong bond it
must take to keep the town together.
Everyone has to work for himself,
while at the same time working to
improve the community.
Growing up in the subdivided
section of south-central Millard, I
had few opportunities to see such an
example of a strong community. My
interaction was limited to the other
white, Anglo-Saxon, middle-class
children who lived in the nearby
cookie-cutter houses. We rarely won
dered or cared about what might be
happening outside of our little subur
ban paradise.
There was nothing in our neigh
borhood that resembled a sense of
unity. As we played games outside,
running from one perfectly mani
cured green lawn to another, it never
occurred to us that we might have
been part of a community. It was
quite clear that our area of concern
ended where our property line met
the neighbors’. The lines were clear
ly drawn, and we never would have
dared to cross them.
The strong community that is so
common in small-town Nebraska is
missing in the suburbs of Millard,
and it is missing from the University
of Nebraska-Lincoln.
If any group, team, committee,
greek house or other organization on
campus could find this type of unity,
it would build the foundation for
lasting success. We all could benefit
from the valuable lessons these
small, close communities have to
teach us.
By the way, the weakling’s bas
ketball team won the game. The
crowd cheered wildly and celebrated
its victory, but I had the distinct feel
ing that it would have been cheering
just as loudly if the team had lost.
The crowd was not cheering for the
win; it was cheering for its commu
nity.
Tony Cacioppo is a senior secondary English and Spanish education major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
Machine of paranoia
Vacation to Roswell leads to conspiracy theory enlightenment
What is it about best friends and
conspiracy theories? Maybe after you
feel their trust is completely in your
hands, then, and only then, you can
release all those pent-up government
secrets you’ve been harboring in your
head.
While vacationing this week in
New Mexico, my friend and I had an
itch to go to Roswell. Everything we’ve
heard about the aliens in 1947 is true.
There was no weather balloon - it was
an alien spaceship.
And die ship looked more like a
giant Pontiac Grand Prix than a stereo
typical spaceship. And the aliens did
have weather balloons. (They love to
watch them float around without a care
in the world.) But they also had anal
probes and deadly tasers.
Aboard the ’47 Pontiac Spacecraft,
big oval-bodied beings with perfectly
round melons (which we realized were
their heads) kept feeding us Fruit
Loops and horse tranquilizers. Let me
tell you, we weren’t complaining.
inais wnere it au startea.
We had been lost and searching for
water (until we remembered our back
pack full of agua) when the aliens
scooped us up.
They not only succeeded in making
us their slaves, but they also made us
dinner. They had a machine that let us
discover hidden secrets about the world
that had been festering, locked inside
our brains never to be released for fear
that the government would turn Big
Brother on our asses and murder us in
our sleep.
Or die government would force us
to join the military, send us out on a
secret mission and tell our families that
we took a “permanent vacation.” Either
way, it’s a bit sketchy.
The secret machine gave us insight
into the legends and theories that we
only guessed about before. (
After the abduction, I felt com
pelled to compile a list of conspiracies
for your reading pleasure. Be prepared
to be blown away - by a government
nuke.
Conspiracy #1
The long-distance companies are
simply out to screw you - and it ain’t
the good kind, neither. Look on your
next phone bill. Look closely. If you
have a fairly good memory like me,
you’ll notice there are a couple of num
bers on your bill that no one in your
house dialed.
I have the MCI plan, and they
always insist that I call my friend in
Minneapolis and dial her number
wrong every time. The comparison
between the real number and the MCI
generated one are similar, and often
contain the same digits, but who’s fool
ing who here? It only costs about 15
cents each month, but every person in
the world adds up. They then give this
money to the government for top-secrel
plans involving the telephone compa
nies “wiring the govern
ment to space ana
beyond.”
I just want the
phone companies
to know that we’re
all hip to their little
joke. It’s almost
embarrassing for
them, trying to
sneak in a few
numbers here and
there. Man, you
could think they
were a little more
intelligent than try
ing to pull a fast
one on customers
every month *
Why not just
try raising the
phone bill every
month, and then at
the bottom have a
note that says, “We
will kill your
father unless you
pay the extra tab.”
Ominous? Yes.
Effective? Well,
only if you really
love your father.
Conspiracy
#2
The white
sands of White
Sands National
Park weren’t
formed 10 million
years ago by gyp
sum deposits at
Shawn Ballarin/ DN
the bottom of a shallow sea that cov
ered the area. They were really formed
from the government’s nuclear testing
in the ’30s and ’40s. (Have you ever
noticed how New Mexico has a large
portion of 18-legged children with
beaks? Yep. Due to the missile sites.)
Conspiracy #3
This next thought is a bit shady,
especially because I can’t find anyone
who agrees with me, but here goes.
Ben Stein, the highly annoying monot
one monster, is Deep Throat. You know,
Nixon’s good buddy. No one ever talks
about him, or fingered him in
Watergate. He’s the perfect target, if
you ask me. After all, Ben was a slimy
lawyer. I’m just waiting for that one
brilliant contestant on the “Win Ben
Stein’s Money” show to blurt this theo
ry out - and get killed shortly after.
Basically, it’s no secret that the gov
ernment controls the media, and then,
in turn, our knowledge of what really
happens in the world, especially during
times of war.
But I say, enough of that!
The government should let every
one in on its many cover-ups and lies.
Soon, after we realize that the world is
controlled for no reason at all, we will
become bored with the shenanigans.
This is where the Christians can
enter the conversation with their ethere
al piece of mind about all this. They
don’t need to worry. Have you ever
seen the Christians worry about the
government?
Before you answer that yourself, I
will for
you' r>^L7
No. And why? Because God will
end the world as soon as it all gets out
of control. So play on, Mr. President
and all your men.
Hey, I just made an argument to
convince myself to be a Christian.
Hmm, it’s probably because of those
microchips the CIA planted into my
brain when I was bom.
Don’t let your doctor take your
newborn child out of your sight for
even a second!
By the by, Deena and I are going to
stay with the aliens. We love them too
much, and they can’t talk back to us
since they don’t understand Earth talk.
Besides, I think the short one is sort of
cute. He kind of looks like Richard
Nixon.
Karen Brown is a senior English and film studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.