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(05/28/98 9:00am)
The lure was the challenge of joining the efforts begun by Managing Director of Public Safety Tom Seamon and Director of Police Operations Maureen Rush in responding to the 1996 crime wave. In addition, there was the formidable task of trying to minimize crime in a unique setting -- an Ivy League institution in an urban environment. The responses the managing director and the chief of police arrived at combined textbook solutions with several imaginative ideas necessary for issues indigenous to the campus and the surrounding area. Those responses included increasing the number of uniform police and detectives and, more importantly, elevating the hiring standards and improving in-service training and initiating a special response team and a bicycle patrol to increase mobility and visibility of uniform police officers in areas with the highest potential for crime. Physical and technological changes such as improved lighting, enhanced blue-light emergency phones and building access control improvements on campus, as well as the new police headquarters and a completely revamped communications center, will equip the department with cutting edge crime-fighting tools. Reaching out to the community through the special services division, a PAL center, the liaison between the college houses and the police and the University City District have helped as well. If I were to rattle these aggressive changes off in answer to a question on a police exam, it would be laughed at as an idealistic wish-list. But -- go figure -- it worked! Crime, especially violent crime, is down significantly. The word is definitely out in the criminal grapevine. (Yes, there really is a criminal grapevine!) Penn is no longer a target-rich environment. If you commit crime here, chances are you will be arrested on the spot, and, if not, the detective unit will probably identify and apprehend you later. However, all of these cutting-edge improvements are worthless if students, staff and faculty don't assume their share of personal responsibility -- ranging from not leaving items unattended and locking doors behind you to using common sense when walking about late at night. I have seen much improvement in these area, as well. But I was surprised to see how large a role alcohol plays in many student-related incidents. An overwhelming percentage of student-on-student violence this year involved alcohol abuse. Especially frightening were the number of serious hospital cases involving alcohol poisoning. We were fortunate no one died. Several times, alert and caring friends saved another student's life. In one instance in particular, a graduate fellow decided to have a student transported to the hospital after the lad nodded out several seconds after they spoke. The student was near death when admitted, and it is clear that the GF's concern saved the student's life. It is so important to watch your own intake as well as your mates'; the person who you think is just passing out may be approaching respiratory arrest. It's better to be safe than sorry. When in doubt, call the police. To make a long story longer, I haven't one regret. It has been an interesting and exciting year. I had the opportunity to plan for and meet Chinese President Jiang Zemin, First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton, Former President Jimmy Carter and Robert Redford. I have to admit that I miss working the street a little bit. Firearms trafficking investigation was exciting (sometimes a little too exciting) and, I felt, very important. I didn't know what to expect working at a college campus, but the adrenaline rush of a chase or an arrest has been replaced by additional responsibility and the enjoyment of meeting so many great people. I still get a buzz from walking around campus meeting the people at Penn -- students, faculty, staff and neighbors. It is the best part of my job. I especially enjoy attending those campus events that mark personal milestones for students, from Convocation through Commencement. The administration works tirelessly to plan and stage these events, and when done right they seem effortless. It's a lot of work, but the look of excitement in the eyes of participating students is invigorating and makes it all worthwhile. The idea of turning this area into a hub of activity is very exciting as well, with Sansom Common, new restaurants and bars, movie theaters, housing and schools. Since I have a background in education, I especially like the idea of improving the neighborhood schools to attract home-renters and owners. In addition to moving to the new Public Safety building, I look forward to working with the revamped communications center and obtaining additional crime-fighting tools such as a photo-imaging machine linking Penn with the city's criminal photo database and a system which will give us the capability to process paperwork here, and interview victims and witnesses on campus as well. It's a great time to be here experiencing a little bit of history. I am looking forward to next year already.
(11/26/96 10:00am)
From Obinna Adibe From Obinna Adibe At 4 a.m. last Friday, I had finally finished preparing a presentation for class a few hours later. I could feel the effects of the coffee wearing off and sleep overpowering my quest for consciousness, yet my mind began to reflect on my three-and-a-half years at this fine institution, the University of Pennsylvania. That boy is older now, and he knows a little more. He remembers it was cold that night in front of DuBois College House. October 11, 1993 -- freshman year. "A fire drill this late?" he thought. "But I have Spanish in several hours. Naw, a bomb? Is this the nigger dorm? The nigger dorm?" I went outside that morning in my pajamas. It was cold and Mommy was scrubbing the word NIGGER off the house wall. I stared at the word until Mommy yelled at me, told me to go inside because it was cold. He screamed inside, that cold night -- what a loud scream, so loud it worked its way outside. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!!" He closed his eyes and saw his hands strangling a melanin-deficient, blood-gorged neck and bulging blue eyes. The he opened his eyes and walked toward the Quad. "He's there, I know he's there!" he thought. "No! Don't you see they want you to be angry? Don't let them have that power over you?" said a black man, a friend. "You're here to get your degree, don't let them stop you. That's what they want to do, that's what they want to do?" "But it's so hard, man!" he said. "Why does it still happen? Why?" The morning after that cold night outside, he woke up and went to class. On time. u His friend's words came back to him a few months later, on the way to a party. White boys started pissing on the house. He got so mad he yelled at them and approached them. They walked away. It was cold again that night and his hands, they were balled up into a fist. "They were pissing on the house," he thought. "My house?" Mommy was scrubbing the wall again. This time, it was dried-up eggs. It was cold, and they were stuck on the wall. I guess Mommy couldn't get out the NIGGER they wrote again, but this time on the concrete patio, 'cause it been there since Monday. Maybe she was tired. Mommy gets tired sometimes. "I am 21," I thought, "and I am tired." I popped KRS-ONE into my CD player and played that first track over and over again: "We will be here forever! Do you understand? Forever!"
(05/19/95 9:00am)
To the Editor: I was first introduced to Victim Support back in early April. It was just after my ex-boyfriend (we'll call him "George") had threatened to "hurt" me. Since last fall, I was in an abusive relationship. Much of the time, George verbally abused me. There were times when I when I believed my name was "bitch" or "whore." There were even times when I questioned whether I belonged at Penn because I was constantly hearing names like "stupid" or "dumb ass." For a while, I believed that I was mentally unstable and enrolled in therapy because George insisted I was a "crazy bitch." George had a tongue that cut deeper than any knife. I often felt threatened, and retaliated with throwing him out of my car or apartment. Sometimes, arguments escalated into fights; I am 5'5" and George is over 6 feet, 200 pounds. I never had a chance. The last fight ended when I woke up on the floor of his apartment. George often justified his abusive behavior by saying to me that I got what I deserved because I didn't know how to respect him. During this time, I had no one to talk to. I was embarrassed to talk to friends because as a nurse, I thought I should be able to assess and avoid an abuser. In addition, George and I had the same circle of peers, to which he told "she's fatal" or "I want to end this with her, but I'm afraid that crazy bitch can' t handle it." Even today, I get strange looks from those people. I was afraid to talk to my family because I came from a family where domestic violence was common, and no one likes to talk about it. I even went as far as to turn to George's mother for help, in hopes that I could get a clearer understanding of what made him tick. He too, came from an abusive family, and had a volatile relationship with his mother. Finally, as a black female, I was concerned about exposing my problems to anyone on campus for fear of perpetuating racial stereotyping and generalizations about black couples. And after having read Makes Me Wanna Holler by Nathan McCall, I certainly didn't want to be the cause of a black man's downfall. In desperation, I reached out and called Victim Support. I have attended several colleges and universities, but never have I seen a support system for victims like the one here at Penn. Chief Maureen Rush talked to me and made me feel supported. She gave me accurate information on domestic violence, and supported me in the decisions I made regarding my safety. The last fight George and I had was after I decided not to go near him again. Victim Support did not scold me for not following through on my initial decision; instead they continued to support me and advise me in making safe decisions. Jenelle Johnson quickly and courteously found help for me. Sgt. Tammy Watson sat up one night past midnight and talked to me, when she should have been in bed. Sgt. Watson made me realize that abuse is cyclical, and it can be stopped. I had begun to believe that I was crazy and out of control; she reminded me that George's behavior was not my fault. Sgt.Watson even went as far as making an appointment for me in Student Health to make sure my injuries weren't serious. In conclusion, I wanted to publicly thank Victim Support. I also wanted to alert women at Penn that we don't have to tolerate abuse from a partner. Abuse, in the form of name calling, belittling or physical harm, should not be a part of any relationship. Abuse must be combated by public awareness, women-focused therapy and support groups, and use of agencies like Victim Support. The ending of my relationship with George was extremely difficult, and I don't think I will ever be the same. Nevertheless, the existence of Victim Support is a constant reminder that I will be OK . Kathleen Jennings Nursing Doctoral Candidate Helpless in Wharton To the Editor: It is fortunate that when Wharton was named the top business school in the country the undergraduate advising system was not one of the factors considered. I have always heard about students getting lost in the shuffle in a large university such as ours, but the incompetence of the Wharton undergraduate advising system is disgraceful. After problems with the advising system and advisors themselves all year, my conception was totally confirmed in my recent dealings with Eleni Litt, senior associate director of Undergraduate Advising. I met with her to try to resolve a problem that had been caused by another one of the associate directors. She clearly outlined my options and told me to petition the Executive Committee so that they could correct a previous mistake by one of their own. I followed all of her advice and waited for a response. After two weeks, I went to see her again. I was informed that I had been withdrawn from a class that I did not want to be withdrawn from in order for her to cover all of her previous mistakes. When I confronted her with all of her errors and contradictions, she suddenly had no answers and began to treat me like a small child. She did not have any answers as to why she had told me to petition the Executive Committee which ended up exacerbating my previous problem. She then told me that she had never told me to petition the Executive Committee. This is extremely strange since I am in possession of a letter and answering machine message from her in which she specifically tells me to take this course of action. It is bad enough that the undergraduate advisors do not know much about undergraduate academic policies, but it is even worse when they will not admit their mistakes and correct them. This is not an isolated incident. Many undergraduates are thoroughly disgusted with their advising and this recent experience of mine with the senior associate director is clear evidence of the pitiful state of Wharton undergraduate advising. I realize that the University is trying to save money with administrative cutbacks, but having incompetent advisors is not worth it. Jonathan Miller Wharton '98 Social Responsibility or Marketing? To the Editor: On Monday April 10, I went to Irvine Auditorium to hear Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream speak on social responsibility. What I heard there sickened me so much that I almost couldn't eat the free ice cream they were distributing at the door. Jerry began the presentation by telling the story of their success, how they started with $12,000 in a run down old building, took on Pillsbury's Haagen-Daz and became a large and successful company. This was very impressive. They have a great product. They have marketed it very well and they should be very proud of their achievements. Then Ben started talking about social responsibility at Ben and Jerry's -- also very impressive. They give a lot of money to charity and they have very effectively integrated social responsibility into their business practices. They should have stopped there. They didn't. Instead ice cream multi-millionaire Ben Cohen went on to attack corporate America as being completely devoid of social responsibility and of using its immense power to oppress those in need. He stated overtly that Ben and Jerry's was one of the only companies in America with any sense of responsibility to the community. I thought these claims deserved a little scrutiny, so I decided to look and see what other companies were doing. Then I thought, let's make this easy for Ben and Jerry. Let's not look at someone like the Nature Company. Let's find a big corporation that's really profit driven. How about a bank? How about PNC? Certainly if anyone is devoid of social responsibility, it should be big, bad, money hungry PNC, right? WRONG! Last year PNC gave $2.6 million to charitable causes. The PNC Foundation made gifts to over 150 organizations and matched PNC employee's charitable gifts dollar for dollar up to $2,500. PNC's support of the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia's 39th Street Primary Care Center helps ensure that much-needed primary care is provided to thousands of Philadelphia children and PNC encourages its employees to volunteer their time to the community through its PATHFINDERS program. This is not meant to diminish all that Ben and Jerry's has done. But it does show that Ben and Jerry aren't really doing that much more than many other companies. They're just exploiting it more in their marketing. Next Ben attacked the U.S. government. He claimed that the government was planning to balance the budget on the backs of the poor by cutting necessary social programs when it should be cutting the military because national defense makes up by far the largest part of the budget. This claim didn't seem quite right to me. So, I got on the Internet and found Bill Clinton's actual 1994 budget. Here are the numbers: Expenditures for national defense in 1994 totaled $282 billion and are scheduled to decline to $255 billion by 1998. Social Security, Medicare and entitlement programs had a total 1994 budget of $629 billion and are scheduled to grow to $776 billion by 1998. Hey Ben, has it ever occurred to you to do some research before you go spouting off around the country? It probably also never occurred to you that cutting the military would mean economic devastation to the many towns where the military is the primary employer and that military cuts would curtail missions such as Somalia and Haiti, both of which were designed to help impoverished people around the world. And I guess you've forgotten that it was the military that was sent in to help the victims of Hurricane Andrew and the Los Angeles earthquake. You're right Ben, who needs the military? Nobel prize winning economist Milton Friedman wrote that an action is not an act of social responsibility if it benefits the corporation. Ben and Jerry have argued that you can be socially responsible and still benefit your corporation. I agree with them and applaud Ben and Jerry's and all the other companies who support their communities. However, I believe that Ben and Jerry have mixed their acts of social responsibility with lies and propaganda in order to build a marketing appeal to their audience. In fact, I have to seriously question their motives. Do they really believe any of what they're saying or is it all marketing? Has marketing become the primary motive, with social responsibility being a by-product because it is less expensive than advertising? You decide. I have to go. My Haagen-Daz is melting. Barry Weisblatt Wharton graduate student
(01/18/95 10:00am)
From Ian Blake's "Church of the Poisoned Mind," Fall '95 The department store was packed, people were fussing and fighting over purchasing inanimate objects that were in all likelihood going to be returned in a few days anyway. It was Christmas Eve, and I was frantically searching for that "special gift" to give my girl. Okay, she wasn't my girl?yet! But, with the crumpled twenty some odd dollars I had scrapped together by rummaging through my apartments' sofa and "guilt tripping" my mother, that diamond necklace was as good as mine/her's. At first, I didn't pay much attention to the garbled message of the department store's public address system because I was concentrating on purchasing "the perfect gift." Of course, being a realist, the twenty dollars I possessed fell just a little out of the costumed jewelry price range. Cubic zirconias might as well be real diamonds when one has only a few dollars to spend, so I was off to a more choicer (read: cheaper) section of the store. I was rummaging through a few stylish purses in the Women's Accessories Department (actually, I was looking for one with a reasonable price tag), when this leather jacket clad, white male ambled along side me and began fondling the purses on the rack directly adjacent to mine. We made brief eye contact, then being the macho guys that we were, continued our separate tasks. Personally, I was embarrassed, being the man's man that I am. It wasn't easy for me to venture into the female section of the store, let alone purchase a woman's item. But, I was desperate, and my prospective wife deserved the best money could buy. So my machismo went on temporary hold as I jostled with other women for that perfect purse. At that moment, my leather clad companion did the unthinkable. He spoke to me. "Say, man, don't you think these prices are down right bogus? I got a good mind to just lift one of these suckers right on out of here without shellin' out a nickel!" As he finished this declaration, I turned, looked him up and down and cracked a slight smile from the outer rim of my face. I wasn't smiling because I was thinking about what he had said, I was smiling because this fellow shopper's walkie-talkie was peering out from just underneath his jacket. You guessed it-- I was talking to a member of the "department store fuzz." I looked up and down the aisle and realized that besides this store detective, I was the only other Mr. in the aisle. I also remembered the "see Mr. Brown in aisle seven" announcements. Sadly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The announcement had been a euphemism for, "suspected black male shoplifter in aisle seven." I surmised this in the span of 15 seconds and almost burst into a fit of melancholic laughter. This rent-a-cop was trying to cajole me into stealing. I say I almost laughed, but as the reality hit me, I was overcome with despair. The holiday spirit quickly left me. Now there was only one thought on my mind, VENGEANCE. The smile was still spray painted on my face as I slid over to him and said in the highest effeminate voice I could muster, "You know, my boyfriend has pretty blue eyes, but yours are prettier. You don't have to steal that purse, I'll buy it for you if you'd like." As I said this, I caressed his arm lovingly and rubbed his back. Picture this, a huge black man with a high pitched voice touching and making loud advances to a white leather clad male in the middle of Macy's. Pretty scary stuff, huh. The detective looked at me like he was going to throw-up. I probably spoke a little too loud, because people were beginning to stare. But I didn't care, my Macy's adventure had begun. The detective, abruptly rejected my offer, and beat a hasty retreat out of aisle seven, but "Mr. Brown" wasn't going to let this fish get away. I snatched up the purse I had decided to buy and bounded after my new boyfriend. "Hi my name is Toni, what's yours?" I said. Again, picture this, a huge black man switching up and down a department store making loud advances to a white man dressed in leather. I know, still pretty scary. Anyway, I skipped around the store with him for two minutes still offering to buy him the purse. I finally, tired of the charade, and as we passed a large group of onlookers, I loudly declared, "This gentleman wanted me to steal a purse for him, and he stole a radio that's hidden underneath his jacket, quick, SOMEBODY CALL SECURITY!" The store detective's face turned holiday festive red, then he shouted, "I am store security!" A thunderstorm was coming. The day was getting late, and it was time to go. My rhetorical civil rights lesson had been effectively taught. The warm rain felt good as it rolled down my face while I left the store laughing to myself. My Macy's performance had been so hilarious, God had been driven to tears. I wonder if I'll ever see my boyfriend again. It's probable, if not, there will always be "others" waiting for Mr. Brown in aisle seven.
(01/18/95 10:00am)
From Ian Blake's "Church of the Poisoned Mind," Fall '95 From Ian Blake's "Church of the Poisoned Mind," Fall '95 Security, see Mr. Brown in aisle 7, see Mr. Brown in aisle seven. The department store was packed, people were fussing and fighting over purchasing inanimate objects that were in all likelihood going to be returned in a few days anyway. It was Christmas Eve, and I had been frantically searching for that "special gift" to give my girl. Okay, she wasn't my girl?yet! But, with the crumpled twenty some odd dollars I had scrapped together by rummaging through my apartment's sofa, and "guilt tripping" my mother, that diamond necklace was as good as mine/her's. I was rummaging through a few stylish purses in the Women's Accessories Department, (actually, I was looking at tthe price tags) when this leather jacket clad, white male ambled along side me and began fondling the purses on the rack directly adjacent to mine. We made brief eye contact, then being the macho guys that we were continued our separate tasks. Personally, I was embarrassed being the man's man that I am. It wasn't easy for me to venture into the female section of the store, let alone purchase a woman's item. But, I was desperate, and my prospective wife deserved the best money could buy, so my machismo went on temporary hold as I jostled with other women for that perfect purse. At that moment, my leather clad companion did the unthinkable. He began an informal chit-chat with me. "Say, man, don't you think these prices are down right bogus. I got a good mind to just lift one of these sucker's right on out of here without shellin' oul a nickel!" As he finished this declaration, I turned and looked him up and down and a slight smile cracked the outer rim of my face. I wasn't smiling because I was thinking about what he had said, I was smiling because this fellow shopper's walkie-talkie was peering out from just underneath his jacket. You guessed it, I was talking to a member of the department store fuzz. I looked up and down the aisle and realized that besides this store detective, I was the only other Mr. in the aisle. I also, remembered the, "see Mr. Brown in aisle seven" announcement. Sadly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The announcement had been a euphemism for, "suspected black male shoplifter in aisle seven." I surmised this in the span 15 seconds, and I almost burst into a fit of melancholic laughter. This rent-a-cop was trying to cajole me inlo stealing. I almost laughed, then anger overtook me and the holiday spirit quickly left me. Now there was only one thought on my mind, REVENGE. The smile was still spray painted on my face as I slid over to him and said in the highest effeminate voice I could muster, "You know, my boyfriend has pretty blue eyes, but yours are prettier. You don't have to steal that purse, I'll buy it for you if you'd like." As I said this, I caressed his arm lovingly and rubbed his back. Picture this, a huge black man with a high pitched voice touching and making loud advances to a white leather clad male in the middle of Macy's. Pretty scary stuff, huh. The detective looked at me like he was going to throw-up. I spoke a little too loud, because more people were beginning to stare. I didn't care, my Macy's adventure had begun. The detective, abruptly rejected my offer, and beat a hasty retreat out of aisle seven, bul "Mr. Brown" wasn't going to let this fish get away. I snatched up the purse I had decided to buy and bounded after my new boyfriend. "Hi my name is Toni, what's yours?" I said. Again, picture this, a huge black man switching up and down a department store making loud advances to a white man dressed in leather, still pretty scary. Anyway, I skipped around the store with him for two minules still offering to buy him a gift. I finally, tired of the charade and as we passed another group of onlookers, I loudly declared, "This gentleman wanted me to steal this purse for him, and he stole a radio that is hidden underneath his jacket, SOMEBODY CALL SECURITY!" The store detective's face turned holiday festive red, then he shouted, "I am store security!" A thunderstorm was coming, the day was getting late, and it was time to go. My rhetorical civil rights lesson had been taught. The warm rain felt good rolling down my face as I left the store laughing to myself. My Macy's performance had been so funny, God was driven to tears. I wonder if I'll ever see my boyfriend again. It's probable, if not, there will always be "others" waiting for Mr. Brown in aisle seven.
(09/20/93 9:00am)
From Jennie Rosenbaum's "That Would Be Telling," Fall '93 For a couple of months I've been dreaming about sitting at my computer, typing furiously. I'm writing a column. Suddenly a black woman comes up behind me and says, "It's 'African-American,' not 'black.' " She ties my hands behind my back. I kick off my shoes and try to type with my feet, but a Chinese man comes up and says, "It's 'Asian,' not 'Oriental' " and ties my feet over my head. As I try to type with my nose, a man in a wheelchair says, "It's 'physically challenged,' not 'handicapped' " and pulls the keyboard out from under me. I give up on writing and decide to scream my column to whoever can hear me. But before I can get past the title, Marlee Matlin stands in front of me and signs, "That's not fair, now your column isn't available to the hearing impaired. And don't even think about calling us 'deaf.' " She tapes my mouth shut. And then my acting teacher says, "No emotion!" and whacks me over the head with a copy of the Constitution. I wake up in a sweat. Censoring a writer is like denying insulin to a diabetic. Nothing's worse than having someone say, "You can't print this. It's not right." Now, I'm usually a pretty sensitive person. If someone is offended by something I write or say, I apologize if I think an apology is in order. I don't want to make people feel bad for no reason. But when I am told I can't say something that is perfectly true, just because it might offend some people who are looking for an argument, I get angry. For a while I also used to fear for my life and say nothing. See, I would never say "All blacks are stupid" because it isn't true. But the best reason not to say it is because I might suddenly find myself the recipient of telephoned death threats. It's happened to columnists who've said things that weren't half as bad. But suppose I wanted to say something more truthful. When I wrote my column about what to do with the Theta Xi house next year, I mentioned that a Jew from Brooklyn would not feel very comfortable in the Chinese Students' Association. This is true. Kenny, my editor, then asked me, "How about adding, 'or in the BSL'?" I declined. "They don't need another columnist to hate," I said. It would have been a truth, sure, but I wimped out and chose not to include it because I feared the consequences. Well, screw the consequences. If I let society dictate what I write, I may as well not write at all. Society doesn't have the right to censor me. I let my editor suggest things, but in the end only I have the power to decide what is, and is not, appropriate for me to say. Censorship probably bothers me more than it bothers you. See, I plan to write for a living. The more things I'm prohibited from writing about, the fewer subjects I can write about. So I write less than I normally would, and I get paid less. And not as many people read what I write. That doesn't work for me. I think about literary works that have been banned from school libraries in the past – Huckleberry Finn, To Kill a Mockinbird, and The Diary of Anne Frank, to name a few – and I get chills. What did Anne write about that was so terrible? Kissing. I wonder what kind of reception the play I'm currently working on will receive. It's about Jewish bisexual demons. I'm not trying to see how many groups I can piss off. That's just the subject I want to write about. Lots of people won't like it. Tipper Gore would have conniptions. Some viewers may even be offended. But that's not going to stop me from writing it and having it produced. If I were to go to the National Endowment for the Arts (not to be confused with the NEH – Hackney can't hurt me now) and try to get government funding for this project, however, I would be turned down flat. Too controversial. I have a feeling that in 50 years or so, the only subject that will be "okay" to write about is flowers. Just don't mention lotuses or poppies. Writers have to write. Speakers have to speak. Everyone must make their statements, in an appropriate arena (no shouting out a window at 2AM, please), or we'll all burst. People will always say things that other people don't like, but the speakers have this right and the offended people must respect that. I hereby give license to those who want to say that the Holocaust never happened, or that Martin Luther King Jr. was a plagarist, or whatever. Do it. And if you don't like something you hear, turn away. Or state your point. If you read something you don't agree with, turn the page or write a letter to the editor. But don't try to cut off my means of communication. Do not tell me what I can and cannot say. Or one day all you'll find on page six is blank space. Jennie Rosenbaum is a senior Theater Arts and Comparative Literature major from Forest Hills, New York. That Would Be Telling will appear alternate Mondays.
(09/25/92 9:00am)
From Jonathan Steinmetz's "Taking the Long Way Home," Fall '92 I wasn't sure what kind of car I wanted or how much I was going to spend, so I just headed down to the strip where all the car dealers are located and figured I'd stop at each one. First stop: George Bush Honda. I was greeted by an older gentleman in a blue sports jacket. "It's so nice to meet you. My name is George. What can we do to help you today." "Well, George, I was thinking about maybe an Accord." "That is a great family car. You know, the family is disappearing in this country. No, you don't find a mother and a father and two children anymore. We don't even think that a nice family car like the Accord will be around twenty years from now." "George, what kind of financing is available on that car?" "Well, this happens to be your lucky day. For the last twelve years we've run this nifty little program where you put $99 down and defer the rest of your payments so long that you actually pass them down to your children. "That's right, your ears aren't malfunctioning. You can buy the car and have your children pay for it. It's been the most successful program in the car business for the last twelve years." Then, all of the sudden, George's face turned a pale white color, and his head tilted back. His eyes bulged wide, and his head heaved forward at close to the speed of sound. Gobs of vomit landed all over my face. George apologized profusely, but in my eyes he already had one strike against him. His assistant, Dan, came out to pinch hit while George cleaned himself off. Dan quickly shoved a business card in my face. J. Danforthe Quail Hondah Sails Reprasentetive This Dan guy was really getting on my nerves because all he wanted to talk about was how I went to Penn and Murphy Brown went to Penn, and how that was just so neat and did I know she never graduated and that he did so that made him smarter than her? He even told me someday he hopes to open up his own dealership. I told Dan to enjoy it while he could, because in November the dealership might have a sudden downturn in business. I left the dealership without so much as a test drive. My next stop was Bill Clinton Chevrolet-Geo. The moment I entered the showroom, a slick young salesman dressed in a gray suit approached me. This guy looked like a natural-born car salesman "Hi, my name's Willie. What can I do to help you today," he said cheerfully, extending his arm. "Nice to meet you Willie, my name's Jon," I said. "I'm not real sure what kind of car I want. What do you recommend?" "I think you look like you might want a well-built reliable vehicle." "To tell you the truth, Willie, I was looking for a lemon, but now that you mention it, well-built and reliable might be kind of nice." "What do you think of the Corvette Convertible? Sportiest car on the road. I'd drive one myself, you know, but I have a wife and daughter and I really prefer a car with a big backseat. But your young, and single I assume, so this might be the perfect car for you. Unless of course you need that backseat for other kinds of activities." "Nah, Willie, that's what beds are for. The price is a little steep for me. Why don't we try a Lumina and go for a test drive?" "You know, that's an excellent choice. Practical, safe, reliable. Those sports cars are very dangerous. You struck me as a logical kind of guy the moment you walked through the door." Willie and I hopped in the car. I started her up and proceeded to drive around the block while Willie spouted off the attributes of the car. I offered Willie a cigarette, but he declined. He said he tried to smoke once and couldn't get the hang of it. We went back to the dealership and Willie introduced me to his assistant Al. Willie informed me that Al's wife Tipper, and his wife Hillary, helped out at the dealership sometimes. Al then told me how environmentally safe the vehicle was. Having more interest in the stereo system, I turned the nob to drown out Al and Willie. Guns 'N Roses began blaring out of the speakers. Suddenly, Al's face turned beat red. "Al, what's wrong?" Willie asked. "Just thank God, Willie. Thank God my wife wasn't around to see that I had that Guns 'N Roses tape in the car. I don't know what would have happened. I would have paid the price for weeks." "Don't worry Al, if she ever shuts you out, just come to Uncle Willie, I'll give you the number of this great girl I know. Just bring her some flowers and she's yours for years." "Thanks Willie. Hey, Willie, you might want to take those condoms out of the glove box of that Lumina. And that picture of your daughter blown up to 24 x 36 that's on the wall of your office. Neither one is helping us sell any more cars. " Al, I'm going to England next week. I want you to take over. Things could get rough. Auditors are coming to check out our records, and I figure I might as well be out of the country when the shit hits the fan." The next dealership on the strip was Ross Perot Ford. I walked up to the front of a dormant looking dealership, and read the sign. "Ross Perot Ford is temporarily closed. We could open up at any moment, so please wait outside. A volunteer will be glad to serve you some lemonade while you wait." Just as I finished reading the sign, the doors opened. Out popped this short gentleman wearing a suit, and sporting an ear-to-ear grin. "Howdy, muh nayme's Ross Perot. We have just reopened for business. Now I don't run this place -- you as my customer, and these fine volunteers, run the show. Just tell me what you want. "If you want a used car or truck from Ross Perot Ford then you'll get one. If you don't buy one, then we'll have to shut back down. "That's alright with me though. I'm not in the car business for myself. "I'm in it for the American people. Thirteen years ago, somebody stole one of my customer's cars and took it to Iran. That's right, a brand new Ford Escort. So what did I do? I went over to Iran and rescued that car. "I make that same guarantee to you. If your car is stolen and taken to Iran, I'll go over there and personally get it back for you." This Ross guy was just too unbelievable for me, so I took my tired, weary body back to my dorm room. I just didn't have the strength to go to Buchanan-Duke Mercedes, Audi, BMW. Jonathan Steinmetz is a Wharton sophomore from West Palm Beach, Florida. "Taking the Long Way Home" appears alternate Fridays.
(10/07/91 9:00am)
You won't find the University's Department of Ophthamology on campus. To find it, try the Presbyterian Medical Center. The Department of Ophthamology was founded in 1874, making it the second oldest department in the country. But years later, when Chairman Harold Scheie decided that the University needed an eye institute, he negotiated with Presbyterian Medical Center to set up the Scheie Eye Institute on 39th and Market Street. In January 1991, Stuart Fine was appointed Professor and Chairman of the Department of Ophthamology and Director of the Scheie Eye Institute. Prior to his University appointment, Fine worked at Johns Hopkins University for 18 years. Fine said that he enjoys his new job and he described the University as a "great institution." "I especially like having the Med School on the same campus as the rest of the University," said Fine. "I walk through campus and I don't only see doctors and nurses." Fine said that he doesn't mind that the institute is located off campus, noting that its location is not much further from the center of campus than other places on campus. But he is looking forward to next year when the Ophthamology Department will occupy a floor in Penn Tower. Opthamology doctors at the University see patients, teach Medical School students, train residents and fellows and do laboratory and clinical research. They also fit patients for glasses and contacts and do eye examinations. "We have state-of-the-art equipment including high-tech photography, lasers and ultrasound," Fine said. Fine said he has three main goals for the future, starting with the construction of a new facility for clinical work and research. Fine said he also hopes to begin an aging eye center which would provide "comprehensive eye care for those older people with impaired vision." The center would also provide social services for the elderly. According to Fine, the main focus for the next five years will be in molecular ophthamology. The institute will work to apply molecular biology principles to inherited retinal diseases. It may be possible to find the genes which cause these diseases and then replace them via gene splicing and recombinant DNA. "We are right in the process of recruiting for a new center," he said. "Our goal is to maintain what we have and to expand to the Penn campus." The Scheie Eye Institute recently received a $50,000 grant from Research to Prevent Blindness. Each year, the New York-based organization awards grants to 64 medical schools across the U.S. The grant will be used to investigate possible causes and treatment of diseases such as glaucoma, diabetic retinopathy and age-related masscular degeneration. Fine is the study chairman for two nationwide programs which receive funding from the National Eye Institute, a division of the National Institutes of Health. Since 1978, the mascular photocoagulation study has evaluated laser treatment in patients at 16 clinical centers across the country. "The laser has been shown to be very helpful in preventing vision loss," said Fine. The other multicentered program which Fine directs is called the Collaborative Occular Melanoma Study. This is the seventh year of a 15-year study to compare two treatments of melanoma. One method involves enucleation -- the removal of the eye -- to prevent the spread of cancer and the other process utilizes radiation treatment.
