1988_05 The Daily Collegian May 1988

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Mistreatment
Dear Editor,
As the president of the Alpha Gamma
Rho fraternity. I find the recent mistreat¬
ment of the Greek system unfair.
Additionally, your lack of coverage of
the Sweepstakes Award for Vintage Days
is an epitome of your one-sided journal¬
istic ineptitude. Must we resort to letter
writing in order to get the results pub¬
lished?
Alpha Gamma"Rho has won this event
for the 8th straight year. This event is
open to all students at Fresno State. Over
30 teams participated in the Vintathlon
competition. Our achievement was due to
hard work and dedication of our bothers
and little sisters. Moreover, AGR spon¬
sored and officiated the most organized
event in the Vintathlon—Wrist Wrest¬
ling.
Furthermore, AGR sponsored a bee
petting zoo for children a die Crafts
Fane. This was the most popular booth
at Vintage Days. It was further proof that
not all f ratem i ties should be subjected to ,
"Roileroall." Obviously the professional
news entities thought this was news¬
worthy as it was shown on Saturday's
evening news and Monday's Fresno Bee.
Perhaps some of your student writers
should pull their heads out of the sand,
clean up thou misconceptions about
fraternities and begin to write mare pro¬
fessionally.
Mike Way,
President
Alpha Gamma Rho
Foot in mouth
Dm Editor,
So Kyle Nicholas feels "oppressed" by
the decision to ban the drinking of alco¬
holic beverages during graduating cere¬
monies- Ranks right up there with con¬
centration camps, segregated lunchrooms
and sweat shops, does it?
At the no doubt considerable risk of
being called an old fogy or—even
worse—a party pooper, it looks to me as
though Mr. Nicholas has put his "left
foot" not forward but in his mouth.
It sure is a shame that a relatively few
noisy students every year find it im¬
possible to wait two hours (in the morn¬
ing, yet!) to begin that time-honored prac¬
tice of getting loaded upon graduation.
Oh, but it's so hot out under that summer
sun. Why not abolish those dark, heat-
absorbing robes and have everyone come
in bathing suits? Of course that would
make hiding bottles and cans a bit more
difficult, but I' m sure student ingenuity
could overcome that problem.
I attended virtually every every gradu¬
ation ceremony for nearly thirty years (I
missed one when down with the 'flu and
several others when on leave) and did so
to honor and personally give recognition
to the accomplishments of our graduates.
That all came to a screeching halt a
couple of years ago when it became
obvious many of those I was honoring
couldn't care less. Beach balls bounced
from section to section, champagne corks
flew and firecrackers went off—all during
the ceremony. Students being especially
honored (dean's medalists as an example >
were ignored, not to mention the presi¬
dent, vice president and guests, some of
whom were being given awards for ser¬
vice to this institution, the community or
the nation.
Graduation used to be, not all that
many years ago, a time of prideful cele¬
bration. Parents, teachers and students a-
like saw it as a culmination of long ef¬
fort, a certification of achievement. There
was even some feeling that, having
passed this way successfully, the individu-
Please see LETTERS, page 3
Taking the power
into his own hand
Left Foot Forward |
By Kyle Nicholas
"In the streets the children screamed,
the lovers wept, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken."
—Don McClean
Mark looked down at it, lying there.
Even before he uncovered it it had
seemed full of life. It seemed to beckon
for his touch.
He admired the shape of it. Long,
slender, with the roundish knob protrud-
ing at the end like the club of some
ancient wanrior.
He loved it
Mark took a deep breath and reached his
band down toward il His long, thin
white fingers grazed the surface of the
shaft. His pulse leaped.
God, even a slight touch could sull
make him so excited.
Outside he could hear their voices, the
people weren't happy. He could hear them
shouting, some of them using his name.
But Mark didn't mind, he was in his own
world now.
As he moved his hand along the strong
underside, he wondered about the beauty
of it. It was made for him, of course, to
be used at his discretion, for his pleasure.
He moved his hand along the length of it
with more purpose now, Irjieading it to
life.
Mark reached up to loosen his tie, his
breathing coming harder now, then shifted
his gaze back downward.
He watched his own hand move along
ilie base of the hard, heavy shaft from the
root to the bulbous knob. He marveled at
his own hand, perfectly formed to fit it
His hand, pliable enough to wrap around
it yet strong enough to tug to life when
the time was right.
Outside the voices were getting louder,
they buzzed in Mark's head, growing less
defined as his blood pressure began to
rise. Who the hell were they anyway.
trying to spoil this moment for him?
Beads of sweat were forming on Mark's
upper lip now as he polished the source
of all his pleasure. He flicked his thumb
over the knob and had to bite his lip to
keep from letting out a yelp.
How long had he been doing this? How
long had he wanted to, afraid that once be
started he wouldn't be able to stop
himself?
There were, of course, the people in the
other room. Maybe they'd like to touch it
now, he smirked. He knew at least nine
who wanted it, would do anything for it.
Maybe, someday he'd let them touch it,
rub their hand along its length, squeeze
it In his ecstasy, he knew they'd do
anything for the orjportunity to hold it,
just once. He had been able to influence
all of them, just on the off chance that
they would one day hold it, caress it in
their palms, feel its power.
His breath hissed through his clenched
teeth as his hand convulsed around the
thick of it-
He threw his head back and closed his
eyes, blocking out the strident voices
clamoring in the next room, blocking out
everything except the feel of it, rough-
smooth against his sweating palm. No
one could ever do it this good. No one
could make it come alive, surge, quiver
with life the way he could It was the one
thing in life Mark treasured and no one,
not the angry young students in the next
room, not the thousands of others muling
about outside the walls of his office,
could ever make him relinquish his hold
on it before he was ready.
And he was almost ready now.
He felt his muscles lighten, the
warmth rushing up from the base of his
spine like a hot, red fluid flooding
through his vital organs and catching the
trip wires of his nerves setting them off
like a million tiny land mines.
It was lime, oh God, it was time—he
felt it coming as he lightened his grip.
Reaching up with his other hand to
straighten his tie, Mark clutched the
wooden shaft tight in his hand, flung
open the door, marched into the room and
slammed the gavel down.  DEATH TO
THE COLLEGIAN.
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