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December 10, 1975 - Image 4

Resource type:
Michigan Daily, 1975-12-10

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-i I



ei 3frie3an pIaIn
Eighty-Six Years of Editorial Freedom
420 Maynard St., Ann Arbor, M1 48104

See me, feel me, touch me, clobber me

Wednesday, December 10, 1975

News Phone: 764-0552

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan

Judge Stevens lacks vision

JUDGE JOHN PAUL Stevens, Ford's
nominee to the Supreme Court, is
a man who abides by the strictest
letter of the law. His judicial record
shows that he tends more toward
legalistic minutiae than broad inter-
His recently voiced opinion on the
Equal Rights Amendment is a case
in point. He suggested that the ERA
might have only "symbolic" rather
than legal importance, and added
that he wasn't sure how much it
would accomplish beyond the Four-
teenth Amendment, which guaran-
tees due process of law.
News: Cheryl Pilate, Sara Rimer, Ann-
marie Schiavi, Stephen Selbst, Bill
Editorial Page: Bruce Braverman, Paul
Haskins, Tom Stevens
Arts Page: Jeff Sorensen
Photo Technician: Scott Eccker

Broad interpreters of the Constitu-
tion claim that discrimination was
legally done away with by the Four-
teenth Amendment and civil rights
legislation. But for the most part the
social libertarians among us haven't
been the ones sitting on the nation's
benches and telling us what the law
really means.
The true spirit of the nation's pre-
vious equal rights legislation has
been disfigured and diminished by
the judiciary to the point where a
new law - the ERA - is needed to
overcome their nearsightedness.
FOR ALL THE GOOD things Judge
Stevens may represent, his pre-
sence on the court promises to be a
stifling one in the area of civil rights.
What the court really needs is
person of vision, someone commit-
ted at least as much to the spirit of
the constitution as to strict interpre-
tation of laws not strictly conceived.'


Buy a fur, kill, an animal

a fairly peaceful kind of per-
son, a firm believer in the ad-
age of 'fight and run away -
live to fight another day.' But
again, money has always had
its appeal. So when I was of-
fered the job of being a se-
curity guard ("crowd control
specialist") with Sunshine Se-
curity out of Cleveland for The
Who concert held in Pontiac last
weekend, I figured I could kill
two birds with one stone: make
a lot of bucks ($4 an hour) and
see, for free, one of the most
kick-ass rock 'n roll bands
Before we go any further, I'll
have to define the job of a
"crowd control specialist":
keeping people in their place,
and away from certain areas
of the stadium. But now comes
the clincher - I was told to
use whatever means necessary.
Presumably that means kick-
ing, elbowing, punching and
throwing, anything to protect
the musicians.
My cohorts in combat includ-
ed some of the biggest, strong-
est human beings stalking the
earth: members of the Michi-
gan football team, including
quarterback Mark Elzinga and
tackle Bill Dufek among others.
I, standing a relatively short
six feet two inches and weigh-
ing a modest 160 pounds,
couldi't figure out how I was
goingrto stop some determined
fan from doing and/or going
wherever they wanted. But I
decided to give it a whirl, think-
ing that all I would end up do-
ing was standing around and
studying the high school girls.
THE DAY BEGAN at 11:30
when all of us - numbering
about 36 - went to the Union
to be picked up and taken, by
bus, to the stadium; the bus
was late, but we finally got
rolling about 2:00 that afternoon.
The minute we got moving,
there were crys of "let's pick
up a hippie, I want to get some
practice," with maniacal laugh-
ter as a response.
I was amazed. Shocked. These
people were supposed to be se-1
curity guards. That means de-
fense, not offense as most ofl
them thought. The few longhairs
on the gus began to fear, not
that the jocks would turn on
them, but rather they feared for
the kids who would be rowdy
and would be clobbered and
wouldn't realize what hit them
because they were so high.
And the nature of a Who con-
cert doesn't exactly foster pas-
sivity among the concert-goers.
It's been some time now since
they've smashed up their equip-
NOW THAT the courts are all
through with me, the whole
story can finally be told of the
night I spent as a guest of the
Ann Arbor Police.
I admit, my credentials as a
criminal are thin. I'm a con-
firmed undergraduate, good stu-
dent, only one traffic violation,
and a smattering of library
But on a fateful Saturday af-
ternoon, I fought the law, and
the law won.1
It all began as it probably
would for another 105,000 people;
it was the day of the Ohio State-

gish dollars are flowing smoothly. Con-
sumer activity is mounting, for 'tis the
season tospend.
One disturbing aspect of his peak sea-
son of sales is that a corresponding peak
in sales of wild animal products probably
occurs. With this in mind, I journeyed to
Briarwood to see what beautiful wild ani-
mals were available there to adorn our
already beautiful bodies.
One woman's clothing store offered a
selection of fur-collared coats. Present were
kit fox and guanaco (close relative of the
llama) from Argentina, possum from Aus-
tralia, fox from Norway, fox from Canada,
and badger, raccoon, coyote, and fox front
the United States. Each type of fur (except
guanaco) was for sale elsewhere in the
Additionally, a department store was
selling a large handbag made from snake
skin. I sporadically found wallets made
partly of cobra skin.
Bird feathers were the small fare of
a fabric store. Dyed marabou and ostrich
feathers hung from a wall.
mon material at Briarwood. Four out of
six jewelry stores sold small pieces of
ivory jewelry, and an exotic trinket shop
sold larger, ornately carved chunks of this
elephant product.
A saleswoman in the woman's clothing
store mentioned above said that the furs
were "really neat." To a person, soft,
exquisitely colored fur on a coat may
seem neat, but it's not so neat to the liv-
ing, breathing animal that gets zapped by
a gun or steel jaw trap.
The tail of one animal, the body of
another, and the head of a third comprised
one type of collar. I stared into the plas-
tic, beady eyes sewn onto the foxes face,
thought of the dark warm eyes that once

moved inside now empty sockets, and was,
plainly speaking, grossed out.
Neither do I enjoy the fate of elephants
whose great tusks are sawed off to pro-
duce mere baubles and trinketry. Accord-
ing to a television documentary I saw
two years ago about African poaching, half
of Africa's elephant population is killed
each year by hunters. The figure may be
overstated, but poaching nevertheless con-
GUNS AND POISONED projectiles fell
these intelligent, gregarious beasts. The ani-
mals do not aways die outright, for as the
television film showed, they can survive
with large, open sores in their bodies.
ly meat and hides for man is a dangerously
elitist attitude toward the natural world. It
has served as a basis for the extinction of
over 100 birds and mammals and the en-
dangering of over 800 more.
At present there are international agree-
ments limiting the trade in rare and en-
dangered animal species. Unfortunately, by
such a classification system the so-called
plentiful animals will be given compre-
hensive protection when they have become
sufficiently rare and endangered. Are we
left to the rationalization of words, defini-
tions, and laws in deciding what shall live
and what shall die?
As long as there is a demand for wild
animal products, conservation and protec-
tion can become extremely difficult, if not
impossible, to implement. An animal whose
population is plentiful now can quickly be
depleted if not carefully watched. The fate
of 60 million buffalo and hundreds of thou-
sands of blue whales will tell you that.
Thus, the consumer who buys a cobra
skin wallet can at best assume that an
international network of observations, com-
munications and agreements will protect
the cobra in its natural habitat. Since any
of these links can be faulty, the surest way
to promote the continuance of wild animal
life by the consumer is simple restraint.

ment, but their act is still of
the highest energy. And songs
about the frustrated teenage
adolescent wouldn't help either.
realized the instant I stepped
off the bus. There was a high
school-aged boy being escorted
to an ambulance by two Burns
Security people and he wasn't
just high-he was screwed up:
eyes as big as half dollars and
staring off into space. The
crowd that gathered was ready
to jump the guards at a mo-
ments notice. They were ready
for action, and the concert
hadn't even started.
Once inside the stadium, the
leaders (equipped with walkie-
talkies) assigned us to various
places, both inside and outside
the stadium, to "control" the
crowd. Some went to each of
the four entrances to keep peo-
ple from crashing the gate, some
went to the press box and oth-
ers went to strategic points
around the inside of the stadi-
um, including the front of the
My first job was to keep peo-
ple away from the section of

- "As a 'crowd control specialist', I was told to keep people in their places and away from certain areas of the
stadium. I was also told to use whatever means necessa ry, even if that meant kicking, elbowing, punching and
throwing-anything to protect the musicians."

seats immediately to, the side
and back of the stage. There
was a storm fence erected on
either side of the stadium as
a hint, and nobody, but nobody
was to cross it.
THE GATES finally opened.
It was like a bursting dam: the
crowd - many of whom had
been waiting for two or more
days - clamored over each oth-
er for a chance at getting close
to the stage. The littlier ones
were jostled around and even
stepped on. Nobody cared. It
was chaos, but fortunately for
them, and for me, no one
crossed the fence.
After an hour or so of "guard-
ing" my section, one of the se-
curity captains told me to sit
on the edge of the stage and
keep people from climbing over
the five-foot-high wooden barri-
cade erected in front of it. I
was elated - I finally had my
chance to see The Who, and
from the best vantage point in
the entire stadium. I soon made
friends with those lucky and
tough enough to make it to the
front of the stadium, talking

a b
a f
to t

boozing land
chigan game, and I set out As the game progressed, so
the stadium at noon, "Hail did my buzz. By the second
the Victors" on my lips and quarter, I no longer stood up
ottle of Olde Bourbon ($4.48 with the crowd; I was mesmer-
ifth) in a brown paper bag. ized by the wave of standing
parted with my roommate people that spread out at each
en we reached the stadium, play.
ce he had good seats on the Next time I noticed, the little
yard line, and mine was in lights said it was the third quar-
hard-core Sophomore sec- ter, and I was blitzed. Luckily,
n, row 88. Foolishly, I took the people were jammed togeth-
tody of the bottle. er in their seats, so I was held
NYWAY, THERE I sat Piss. I had to piss. I lurched
tching the football game, tak- up out of my seat and ran down
an occasional nip from the the aisle. People shot me poiso-
tle, but passing it dutifully nous looks as I trampled on
the person next to me. Who- their feet. I didn't care.


ut how long they had wait-
and what they had had to
ik. It was almost high
)ol all over again.
.it my joy soon turned to
old, impersonal attitude for
e I had to watch. Once the
cert started they offered me
e, money and even sex to let
n stand on my side of the
ricade "for just one minute."
orters and photographers
d to step over, but I had
o my job, no matter how
h I wanted to oblige them.
kids called me names and
even spat on me when I
sed his offer. I -)lmost wish-
that they would have coor-
ited their efforts and rush-
the stage.
UT WE HAD eno'i h prob-
s without them rushing the
e. At one point or another
ing the concert, we had to
er rebuild or reinforce sec-
s of the entire barricade.
re must have been tons and
pressing against the bar-
, and each lurch of the
vd sent splinters flying. Peo-
were being squished and
of my hand in relief.
irding myself for the jour-
I pitched back in the direc-
of my seat. This time I
ted two feet above the aisle.
[teful to be back in my seat,
t the last quarter flow by me
looked around, a little per-
Who won?" I asked con-
We did," said the lady with
red and gray cap on.
eople were streaming away
n the stadium. I was sitting
i big canvas tent, on a fold-
rust stay right there," she
t soothingly. "We'll take care
ou, -don't worry." I noticed
- somebody had thrown up
over my coat. Bastard.
ext thing I knew, I was sit-
in a small, brightly lit
n, and a cop was asking me
my name, address and place
>irth. With some difficulty, I
him. He was writing pa-
tly; he'd seen the likes of
before, that was certain.
FTER THE interrogation
over, he pulled me out of
chair and shoved me into a
bare room. The door clang-
;hut, and I was on the inside,
:ing through a little window
red with bars. Wow. I didn't
w what to think. So I curled
on the cement and passed
vo hours later, I woke up
checked out the situation.
as still in a big bare room,
i a ruty, seatless toilet in
w there were three other
iks in the tank with me.
Nha'd they get you for?" one
iem asked me. I noticed that
he same time he was edging
y from me, eyeing my coat.
)h, I got loaded at the foot-
game," I said cheerfully.
w 'bout you?"
'he fuckers got me for
ak driving right in my own
away. I was home, man!"
omplained. I nodded sym-
ERE WAS a short, lost-
o man sitting opposite us,
d sattered on the collar of


were literally gasping for air.
Others were vomiting. Peter
Townsend (The Who guitarist)
wasn't kidding when he urged
his audience to move back be-
cause "there's a lot of blood
and guts spilling out down
Soon, we were forced to pull
people out of the crowd in front
of the stage to lessen the squeeze
and perhaps to save their lives.
We were firm, but gentle -
some of them had passed-out,
others were too high to know
what was happening. Still oth-
ers, however, were violent and
wouldn't leave once they were
over the barricade. They, need-
less to say, weren't treated as
The concert ended, the fans
staggered out. I had done my
"job." But a distinct sour taste
was left in my mouth as a re-
silt of seeing what happened to
seemingly 'normal' people in a
situation of such intensity and
Rob Meachum is a Daily
Night Editor.
0 0l
I jumped up and stalked over
to the door of the cell. Shit, I
thought, I'm in jail! How did
this happen?
"Hey, you ASSHOLES!" I
bellowed. Now I meant business.
I started beating the metal door
with my foot, creating a splen-
did racket. The other guys look-
ed at me admiringly.
Soon a cop appeared and
glared at me through the little
window. "You the one that's
been pounding on the door?" he
growled at me.
"WELL, QUIT it, or I'll come
in there and quiet you down my-
I sat down.
"Don't I get one telephone
call?" I asked meekly. Sud-
denly I didn't feel so frisky.
He went over to confer with
his cronies, and I waited hope-
fully. Suddenly the door opened,
and I stepped out into the hall-
way. Freedom.
I went over to a pay phone at
the end of the hall and called
my roommate. Three or four
cops stood around, smirking at

ever he was, he soon became
v e r y friendly, though, and
shared his carmel corn with me.

SOMEHOW, I found the john.
Aaah. The empty bottle dropped

Letters to The Daily


To The Daily:
IN RESPONSE to Ms. Nash's
editorial on detente (Dec. 5) I
would like to point out the many
inconsistencies and fallacies
brought about by her omission
of facts. First of all the Soviet
Union is the best example of
imperialism in modern day his-
tory. In the space of 35 years,
14 free and autonomous na-
tions were forcefully "liberated"
against their will and incorpor-
ated into the Communist state.
(Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania,
Ukraine, White Russia, Georgia,
Azerbeidzan, Armenia, Turke-
man,vUzbek,dKirgiz, Kazakh,
Moldavia, Tadzhik, plus part of
Multinational corporations and
oil fields are pretty poor ex-
amples of imperialism as com-
pared to the mass deportations
and liquidations (10 per cent of
Latvia's population 1944-49) and
artificial famines (5 million,
Ukrainians starved in 1933) used
in the process of subjugating
these countries.
Secondly, her premise that
Soviet "liberated" countries run
their existences without Soviet
influence is doubtful as shown
by her own example Cuba. With
one million dollars of Soviet aid
daily their economy is quite de-

thermore they are violating
Nash's own definition of detente
- "that neither revolution nor
counter-revolution be exported."
I suggest that in the future
Ms. Nash acquaint herself with
a bit of history before accept-
ing the comments of a Soviet
client state at face value.
Andris Freivalds
December 9
canned audience
To The Daily:
I WAS GREATLY dismayed
by a most puerile response by
Saturday night's audience to
Eugene O'Neill's "Long Days
Journey into Night." Through-

out the play, the solemn and
tragic was grossly misinterpret-
ed and the spell of quiet des-
peration cast by the players was
irrevocably marred by the fre-
quent, inappropriate and highly
fatuous laughter of the audi-
It is unfortunate when an
audience cannot discriminate
between the tragic and the com-
ic or is incapable of sober re-
flection upon matters of the
heart and soul. Perhaps, it is,
however, not at all surprising
in a world of canned laughter,
programmed responses and
flashing applause signs.
Ellen Graber
December 7

Next thing I knew, I
was sitting in a small,
brightly lit room, and
a cop was asking for
my name, address and

place of birth.


purr.}" S:Ydi i'i>::"::{:"i}'"?iXti}:":':":":v:"Y: S:":"5}b:":ti;:;:}{.e". ..y

Contact -your


some difficulty I told
I told him I was in jail.
"WHAT? Come on, where are
you really?" he said incredul-
I told him again and he be-
gan laughing hysterically.
"You're in jail? I don't believe
it!" he cried. I wasn't laughing.
BUT HE CAME and balled
me out, and led me home. I
was happy to be on the outside.
When I asked him about the
game, all he could do was to
groan. I didn't press the matter.

Sen. Phillip Hart (Dem), 253 Russell Bldg., Capitol
Washington, D.C. 20515.


Sen. Robert Griffin (Rep), 353 Russell Bldg., Capitol Bill,
Washington, D.C. 20515.
Rep. Marvin Esch (Rep), 2353 Rayburn Bldg., Capitol hill,

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