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PaeGTuesday, July 27, 1982 The Michigan Daily
The Michigan Daily
Vol. XCII, No. 48-S
Ninety-two Years of Editorial Freedom
Edited and managed by students
at the University of Michigan
Oil barons win
IN ONE FELL swoop Interior Secretary
James Watt unleashed a tidal wave of oil
barons to plunder nearly all of the nation's
coastlines in search of oil and gas. He has
promised "stringent environmental safeguar-
ds." Sadly, for the wildlife and the industries
that live off the waters of the continental shelf,
he cannot possibly deliver on that promise.
The sheer size of the area to be open for
leasing-nearly one billion acres or roughly the
entire outer U.S. continental shelf-suggests
that the Interior Department cannot possibly
safeguard the nation's fragile coastline from
calamitous oil spills.
For Mr. Watt, the issue is simple: The United
States needs the oil. For environmentalists and
those who depend on this nation's coastal
waters for their livelihood, the issue is much
more complex. It involves many fisheries in
delicate ecosystems over an area 20 times as
large as what the department now manages.
At issue is not only Watt's ridiculous asser-
tion that his department could safeguard such
important and delicate ecosystems, but
whether he has put the nation's interest behind
that of the oil industry. If his sale of coal on
federal lands-of which 1.6 billion tons was sold
in the midst of a coal glut for less than a fair
market price-is any indication, the United
States is about to be taken. And what is good for
Exxon is not necessarily good for the nation.
There remains hope that both he ses of
Congress will enact resolutions to nullify ,att's
unmanageable leasing plan. If they do not,
what Americans will be left with is both an en-
dangered coastline and an endangered
economic principle: Goods-even those owned
by the government-should be sold at fair
market value.
d-
Sinclair
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Reagan 's next movie
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Coming! This fall! From
Steven Spielberg, the man who
petrified you with Poltergeist,.
prepare for:
POLLSTERGHOST!
They were a typical American.
family, living in an average
Washington neighborhood, in a
run-of-the-mill mansion at 1600
Pennsylvania Boulevard. Until
one normal morning when:
"Mommy, there's something
strange going on around here."
"Why, Ronnie, whatever
makes you say that?"
"well, pooh-bear and I came
down for milk and cookies last
night and I heard voices coming
out of the TV set."
"It was just that nasty
Nightline, dear."
Not Funny
By D.,B. Christy
But the TV wasn't turned on,
Mommy."
"Ted Koppel gives me night-
mares, too, my dear."
At first the spirits are playful:
"Ronnie? Have you been in the
dining room?"
"No, Mommy, I've been in the
Oval Office playing President."
"That's nice, dear, but
someone's been in here
rearranging my china. But who?
There's not a soul around . "
But then the haunting beings in
earnest as a ghostly interview
snatches little Davie Stockman
from the security of his daven-
port.
The wraithlike media impale
Ray Donovan on a razor-sharp
Mafia sidebar.
James Watt is strangled by
tendrils of protoplasmic slander.
And a special Al Haig tears his
own head off.
Then, one horrible night:
"Mommy, Mommy! Come quick,
come quick!"
"Mommy's here, Ronnie,
what's wrong?"
"It's missing! My mandate is
missing-! It was sleeping right
there, and allwofsa sudden it got
sucked into the recession in the
closet."
"We'd better get the White
Rouse exorcised, Ronnie."
"It's always been a flabby ad-
ministration, Mommy. Exorcise
won't help."
"Oh, grow up, will you? We've
got to try parapsypolitics."
So Ronnie calls in his con-
sultants. They are smooth,
reasssuring. "Don't worry, Ron-
nie," says Meese. "we'll find
your mandate for you."
"Don't worry even if we can't,"
Deaver adds. "You didn't really
need it anyway."
"Sure, take it from me,"
Laxalt says dismissively, "man-
dates are like dames-if you miss
the first bus, there'll be another
one along in a minute."
"And you don't need to talk
to Howard Baker about this,
either, Ronnie," Meese cautions.
"We'll handle it."
"Why don't you want me to talk
to Howard, Ed?" Ronnie asks
suspiciouslyand suddenly strides
purposefully to his limo.
"If he takes it to Baker, he'll find
out everything," moans Deaver.
Laxalt nods grimly.
"Howard, what the hell's hap-
pening around here?"
"Not now, Ronnie, I haven't got
the time. We're shout to be
buried in November."
"Buried? What do you mean,
buried? It's ten o'clock,
Howard-do you know where our
mandate is?"
Baker glares at him balefully,
eyes narrowed in hate.
"It died, didn't it, Howard?
You haven't told anybody, have
you? Where did you hide the
body, Howard?" He looks a
Baker's muddy Dingoes, at the
muddy bootprints tracked up from
the Senate sub-basement stair-
well. "My God, Roward, not the
polls!" Ronnie screams, "What
have you done with the polls?"
Meese, Deaver, and Laxalt
pace glumly in the Blue Room as
Ronnie walks wearily. in. They
pass a guilty glance amongst
themselves.
"How many, Ed?" Ronnie asks
tiredly. "How many of my ap-
proval ratings did you plant down
there, Mike? Why did you build
my administration over a Gallup
poll cemetery, Paul, and not even
move the corpses? Now they've
come back from the dead to
claim their mandate."
"We had to do it, Ronnie,"
Meese explains. "The polls went
right through the floor when they
died and the cellar was the han-
diest place to bury them."
Christy's Not Funny ap-
pears every Tuesday.
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