This week's stories:
In Our Opinion John Glenn, the first man shot into space, reported recently that every time he travels by plane, security guards pat him down and search him with metal detectors. An American icon of such magnitude slips between the cracks and falls into the same suspicious pool as every normal citizen. He is no longer a name in the history books and patriarch of space exploration - he is a passenger, a seat number, a possible terrorist. The irony is crippling. This alone solidifies the fact that every American has been affected by what occurred nearly one year ago. You wouldn't have to talk to Captain Glenn to figure that out. When the buildings crumbled, a little piece of us all crumbled with them. As the physical damages have almost completely been repaired and erased from our memories, the damage to our minds, hearts and spirits remain. We are reminded of that day every time we step through that metal detector whether we are an average citizen, or a world-famous astronaut. Sept. 11 has put us all in the same, somber boat. The same goes for the SBU community. No member of this extended, collegiate family has not been affected. In a situation like this, it is easy to see SBU as a small model for the world. While the world has developed an endless list of programs, seminars, counciling sessions and of course, TV specials to help cope with the blow of Sept. 11, the Bonaventure world has fallen short of such things. The university has not ignored the pain its students and faculty have endured, but it has not done much to embrace it and, ultimately, help remedy it. We pride ourselves in our open-door, Franciscan view and there is no better time to exercise it. The university has proven its strength and faith many times in the past, pushing through devastating fires and threats of closing down. The helping hand St. Bonaventure is famous for lending is overdue as far as Sept. 11 goes. However, it is not too late. The one-year anniversary brings many emotions, most being that of sorrow and defeat, but it will also bring along the chance to redeem ourselves and do what we should have from the moment our lives changed that morning. We have wonderful counseling centers, peace organizations and many other things that are waiting to be put to use. St. Bonaventure has the goods, it is now time to wipe our eyes, ease our spirits and mend our hearts together.
The Castle Inn, a fixture of the Olean and Allegany communities for years, has become an official part of the university after being purchased for over $923,000. This purchase comes on the heels of the $990,000 grant the university received to renovate De LaRoche Hall. This money spent on the Castle could have been used toward fixing De LaRoche, an existing building, which houses the science and math departments, may be a more wise investment than a vacant hotel. Purchasing a property with no immediate use seems a bit unnecessary when renovations for an academic building need to be funded by more than The Department of Housing and Urban Development. The university reportedly has no immediate plans for the hallowed halls of the Castle Inn. The buildings may be demolished, giving the university an empty lot with a plethora of options available. Housing new students there instead of triples in Doyle Hall might be a feasible option. Perhaps more Town-houses or Garden Apartments could be erected for upperclassmen, giving seniors and juniors more of a chance to enjoy living on campus, albeit out of the residence halls. On an even larger scale, the Castle could be repaired, giving friends and family more places to stay during Family Weekend and graduation. It would be a great way to get a gradual return on what appears to be a frivolous purchase. Until something is done with the Castle property, an air of uncertainty will hang over what was once a Cattaraugus County landmark. Although the timing of this purchase is very questionable and no plans have been given, many things can be done with this property. Now that the university has taken on the burden of its former neighbor, it must do something positive to make spending close to a million dollars on a less than desirable lot a benefit to students.
Concerts damage ear drums, wallets
By Mike Trask To see Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, of The Rolling Stones get wheeled on stage at Gund Arena in Cleveland, tickets range from $50 to $300. To see Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band play HSBC Arena in Buffalo, it will put a $75 dent in your wallet, according to Ticketmaster.com. Even seeing Lil' Bow Wow in Buffalo, though I doubt anyone over the age of 12 would, costs $37.50. For Bow Wow and Bruce Springsteen, the ticket prices are not based on the seat. All tickets cost the same amount, with a first-come, first-serve policy. For people who would like to actually see the band, it probably involves camping outside a ticket outlet. No matter how you slice it, ticket prices have become too high. The argument that it may be the last chance for fans to see a Stones concert seems ridiculous. People have said that since the 1980s. Granted, the Stones have been one of the most influential rock bands in history, but $300 is still $300. Perhaps the prices reflect the target audience - over-the-hill rich people who can't remember seeing in The Stones 1971. Springsteen and his band, reunited for the first time in over 20 years, fall victim to the same problem. Springsteen, who has become the working man's icon, is charging more than most blue-collar workers can afford. Bow Wow, the teenage rap sensation, causes problems for a different generation. Most young people won't, or can't, spend nearly $40 to see an act, no matter how big a fan. Concerts at Darien Lake routinely cost over $30 for lawn seats. Acts such as The Allman Brothers, Lenny Kravitz and The Tragically Hip, who played Sunday, came to the venue this summer. Sure, people went. The public won't shell out this kind of money for a night of music forever. The rising prices of concerts do more than effect current fans who can't see their favorite performers. It changes the way future generations see music. Any kind of music, from classical to hip-hop, should be an expression of art that doesn't call for the taking out of another student loan to witness. Fans, especially young ones, will become disenchanted with music and turn to other venues. The music business thrives on the financial support of the high school and college audience. When these audiences have been alienated by high prices, the business will change. Small club shows will become the thing to do. Bands who play venues such as Showplace Theater in Buffalo and Waterstreet Music Hall in Rochester usually charge between $10 and $15, about a quarter of the cost of a big-arena show. Bands like The Juliana Theory, Snapcase and Reel Big Fish draw good crowds. The audience can nearly touch the artists, instead of guess who is who or watch the show on the big screen. Hopefully, smaller stages will preserve the feeling music gives people. There is nothing like a good concert when the crowd sings along, or a band plays the first notes of your favorite song. This makes people feel a variety of emotions that can't be experienced in other forms. Music makes us feel free, gives us something to relate to and, in some cases, changes our lives. Those moments are priceless. But, being there has too high of a price.
By Jim Miller A year ago next week, we awoke expecting to see the first autumn leaves drifting lazily downward. Instead, we were confronted with towers plunging to the ground and hijacked planes plummeting out of the sky. A year ago next week, Americans saw their ordered world shattered. The sleeping giant was again awakened, for good or for ill. A year ago next week, we asked why and could find no satisfying answer. On that impossibly sunny day, the world changed. And we changed with it. The Rev. Jud Weiksnar, O.F.M., hopes that the first anniversary of the attacks will serve as a spur ŗfor nations and individuals to be instruments of peace ... It (the Sept. 11 attacks) made the world more suspicious, more cautious and more pessimistic, but it also made some of the world much more reflective," he said. He remembers the day well, especially watching the images on the big-screen TV in the Robinson/Falconio hall lounge as the first tower of the World Trade Center fell. Father Jud also remembers learning of the death of the Rev. Mychal Judge, O.F.M., š57, the fire department chaplain who was the first official fatality of the attacks. Father Jud was scheduled to celebrate the 5 p.m. Mass that day, when he learned of the death of Father Mychal — whom he remembers as a friend and mentor — at 4:58 p.m. "It had a strong impact on me and the way I celebrated that Mass," he added. Still, Father Jud wishes that the United States had not moved so quickly after the attacks, both in its efforts to secure vengeance abroad and in the passage of what he sees as restrictive laws, like the "Patriot Act," at home. "Išm grateful to my mentors for teaching me that grief and anger can be channeled into responses other than a desire for violence," he said, explaining that the attacks never caused him to question his commitment to nonviolence. Sophomore Kelly Wright visited New York City and Ground Zero in the months after Sept. 11. She saw the memorial towers of light, the beacons jutting upward like silver shadows of the silver towers that once straddled the skyline, and said she was struck by the emptiness of the large patch of sky where the World Trade Center once towered. What struck her the most, though, were the impromptu memorials around the city that featured images of those who died on Sept. 11. She said it made her realize that those who had died were actual people — not just a collection of names scrolling endlessly across a TV screen. Kelly is concerned that the first anniversary of the attacks might be the occasion for more terrorism. She said shešs more nervous, she said, about being away from home than she was before the attacks. "I think (Sept. 11) made us all a little more aware of what can happen and the kind of evil thatšs out there," she said. For me, the events of Sept. 11, 2001, were summed up in a picture of a man published a few days later in The New York Times. The man just stands there, with one arm resting on a piece of twisted metal and another held above his head — perhaps a gesture of despair, perhaps an effort to ward off falling debris. He's not running (maybe he has nowhere to run) and while the photographer may have caught him in mid-scream, he seems strangely calm. Hešs surrounded by twisted metal, billowing smoke and, in all probability, broken bodies. Yet he just stands there, perhaps like the rest of us, watching that morning, unable to believe what has happened around him. It really wouldnšt be a remarkable photo — just one of so many images taken of scared souls that day — except for the location of the man. He stands at the bottom edge of one of the holes ripped into the upper floors of the World Trade Center. The man just stands there, and somehow he must be thinking, he has survived. That man must be dead now. Sometimes there are no fitting words. Sometimes all we can do is ponder and pray and wonder why. Sometimes there is no why. There are always the pictures, though. There are always the images, and the images of Sept. 11 are seared into our brains forever.
By Torre Catalano "Do you want some water or something?" That's what flight attendants say when you tell them you're not a good flyer. As if they couldn't tell my hands gripped the arm rests tighter than the metal bolts holding the plane together. I'll admit I'm a nutcase when I fly. Over Easter Break, I flew to New York City with the family. A mere 55 minutes of flight time and I still freaked out. It wouldn't matter if it was five minutes or five hours. I'd react the same. My hands tingle as my heart beats out of my chest. After 10 years participating in sports ranging from crew to hockey, and everything in between, I found I sweat more sitting in a window seat. My face got numb this time. Usually, just my hands lose feeling, but if I get worked up enough, the face will tingle. That is an odd feeling. If my mind has enough power to take the feeling out of my hands and face, imagine what it could do if I put it to positive use - I might be able to levitate things. Hotels don't have a 13th floor. Some planes don't have a 13th row. Jet Blue Airlines have television sets for every passenger with a channel 13. Out of the 24 channels, there is one dedicated to the flight progress. This channel displays the altitude, speed of the aircraft and maps how far you've flown. This is channel 13. I'm not a particularly superstitious person, but if you're going to establish 13 as the dreaded number, please don't make it the channel where I check the speed and height of my plane. I've been flying since I was one year old. I've flown to Europe twice, California three times, and Florida more times than I can count. It doesn't get any easier. I can't believe more people don't freak out like me. I look around during turbulence and people sit reading the paper and doing crossword puzzles. Hello? We're in a metal bullet traveling at 500 miles per hour, 30,000 feet above the earth. I watched a guy sleep through takeoff. I can sleep through a number of things, such as classes and lectures. I cannot sleep through takeoff. In fact, I can't sleep at all on planes. I can't do much but panic. On the way back from New York I had a break through and put on headphones: I still didn't put my tray table down. That's the next step. Sept. 11 doesn't help the anxiety. Besides the technical malfunction threat stinging the back of my head, now there's a terrorist threat. When we took off for Buffalo, channel 13 showed the plane faced west. I thought for sure terrorists had infiltrated the cockpit and were going to fly us straight into the Atlantic. I watch too many movies, or maybe just too much CNN. The only conclusion I have found that justifies my problem stems from how I label my anxiety. I'm sure everyone gets those butterflies in their stomachs, but they assume it's just excitement about the trip and go back to their crossword puzzles. I label the butterflies as fear of the plane crashing and suddenly butterflies in my stomach have become bats rattling around in my ribcage. My face goes numb. Poet Dylan Thomas once said, "Somebody's boring me, I think it's me." That pretty much sums up how I feel about my plane anxiety. I have grown so used to panicking on planes it has become boring. While I try to deal with my fear of heights and flying, I urge all Americans to overcome their fear of terrorism. Soon we will all get bored of worrying about terrorist threat and the big question won't be "are we going to be highjacked," but, "chicken or fish for the in-flight meal."
SGA's policies well meaning, unrealistic
By Jessica Galasso A proposal by Student Government Association administration threatens to deduct 10 percent of individual organization budgets if all of a groupšs leaders do not participate in community service each semester. Senators must vote against this proposal. There has been no effort on behalf of the 2002-2003 SGA administration to get organization leaders, nor any other students, involved in community service before resorting to pressure. This proposal undermines motives for people to serve in their community; service should be voluntary, not forced. SGAšs proposal is a blatant threat to paralyze campus organizations if leaders do not participate. SGAšs administration should organize a day or two each semester to go to the Warming House, the local SPCA shelter, or even get involved in an Adopt-a-Highway program and rally students to help out. With heavy publicity and some effort on behalf of SGA it is possible to get St. Bonaventurešs students involved and caring for the surrounding community. In addition, leaders on St. Bonaventurešs campus serve to make St. Bonaventure a better place for everyone to live and grow as individuals. Organization leaders are already committed, if not over-committed, to their community. It is understandable that SGA wants to do well for the surrounding neighborhood but each organization already produces something for the entire campus to enjoy. Is it really necessary to threaten those already dedicated individuals who contribute so much to our local Bonaventure community? This proposal insults every campus organizationšs administrationšs motives and assumes that no one would participate without a detrimental consequence. The SGA administration needs to rethink its approach in attempting to get organization leaders on their feet and helping in the surrounding area in addition to the time they already offer to the St. Bonaventure community. Give campus leaders a chance to illustrate that they want to serve in the surrounding community rather than intimidating them into "service."
By Matt Buckley Okay, would you like me to describe the feeling I get when I leave my second class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10:50 a.m.? HUNGRY. However, with two more classes at 11:30 a.m., I only have a half hour to eat all that I can in one sitting. The Hickey Dining Hall is obviously my first choice to fill up my beer belly with the essential half-cooked hot dogs and the crunchy, lovable pasta. To my dissatisfaction, the food has vanished. "Where's the food?" I asked the employee. The woman answered, "We're preparing for lunch." Instantly a bunch of random thoughts entered my mind. Oh, so you mean that you use the same trays over and over again and have no extra trays in the back, which you could use to `prepare' your food? I am hungry. Feed me. Well, I guess I could wait until 11:30 a.m. when the official lunch starts. No, I have a class at 11:30 a.m., and after that class, I have another at 1 p.m. So, I have to wait until then to eat lunch. But WAIT; there's a `light lunch' from 1:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. Translation: there isn't any food in the Hickey except the salad bar. Sorry, I'm not a little girl who will eat `salad.' I'm a man who wants a real meal. When can I eat? I'm hungry at 10:50 a.m., and I don't want to wait until 4:30 p.m. to fatten myself. The smoke really rose out of my ears when I saw some food in the Hickey, barricaded. A Sodexho employee said, "Wait until 11:30." Doesn't he know that I have a class then? And it's 11:28 a.m. Why can't he just let me have some of the lunch food to go? The hours at the Hickey Dining Hall are absurd. The breakfast and dinner hours seem convenient, but I find the lunch times are inconvenient. There shouldn't be a `light lunch.' There should always be food available in the afternoon at the Hickey whenever you want it.
Send questions and comments to The Bona Venture. |