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\i t 4 The Canadian Statesman, Bowmanville, November 6.1985 School Board Candidate Receives Unusual Gift E arrot. He's not sure if it will help his campaign, ut certainly it will be a treasured keepsake after- Board of Education candidate Peter Parrott in Ward II received an unusual gift from an unidentified supporter last week in the form of a the election is over, placecard, complete with brilliantly colored Catholic Women's League Donate Bazaar Receipts to Hospital Members of the Catholic Women's League have donated receipts from a recent fund-raising bazaar to the Memorial Hospital Foundation. The proceeds, in the amount of $1,000 will be used to help add to the Memorial Hospital building and renovation campaign. Here, Irene Payne, a con venor at the btozaar and Marilyn, Arsenault, president president of the organization,'present their cheque to Tom Cowan, chairman of the Memorial Hospital Foundation and Richard Elston, executive director director of Memorial Hospital Bowmanville. Our In Stock Wallpapers average about I/ft the comparable book price. CHECK IT OUT! 25% OFF' Wallpaper Book Orders 'Fabric not included *0ff the book price DEPENDABLE PAINTS Latex Eggshell or Latex Semi-gloss Reg. 24.95 M9 95 *22 95 Alk ^ ** emi '® loss Alkyd Eggshell Reg. 27.95 'Over 1000 colours • Some colours higher in price • Quality guaranteed ABERNETHY'S PAINT and WALLPAPER B9 55 King St. W. 623-5431 Bowmanville Jeff Gilhooly Writes About Campus Life From the London Free Press Jeff Gilhooly was a freshman at Peterborough's Trent University in the fall of 1968. He graduated three years later and eventually became a broadcast journalist. This fall, he quit his job as news director of CFPL AM and FM radio and returned to finish a master's degree at the University of Western Ontario. His account of the change in campus life follows. by Jeff Gilhooly Freelance writer I felt it for the first time in the fall of 1968. Thousands of freshmen trying to convince each other that the first few weeks are the worst. They're right. Standing in endless lineups and running in circles searching searching for help still makes you feel like a weak grounder to second. But returning to school at 36 brings a different perspective, and comparing the two experiences experiences is at times painful. It was not a good year, 1968. Despite the election of Pierre Trudeau as prime minister, it was American events which dominated the minds of young Canadians. Even before school started that September, Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were dead and we had watched on television the savagery of the Chicago police at the Democratic Party's convention. By the year's end, 14,000 Americans had been brought home from Vietnam in boxes and the new president was Richard Nixon. It was enough to make an 18-year-old join a radical political political group and take to the streets in protest. Many of us did. What was going on in the world seemed more important than what was going on in class. Today, almost the opposite is true. There are no radical political groups. No one even looks radical unless you count those who paint half their face purple before they go to the Mustang football games. One student told me he couldn't wait for this week- , end's homecoming game against the University of Guelph to refine a chant that began a year ago after the farm boys from Guelph knocked the Mustangs out of the playoffs. It goes like this: "It's all right, it's okay, because we're going to own your farm some day." That is the most radical statement I've hear^ since I arrived back on camsus. , : / Perhaps it ik for the better. It's certainty a lot easier to hit the books when the campus temperature is not at a steady political boil. Besides, who would want to demonstrate against free trade or tainted tuna? I couldn't help but notice last month when campus clubs were recruiting new members that booths for our three main political parties were side by side; , , There was a time when you couldn't even get them in the same room, together especially in the aftermath of the 1970 FLQ crisis. Concern over Quebec separatism had reached such hysterical proportions that conferences were held at a number of Ontario universities universities under' the bizarre heading "Is there an English- speaking Canada worth preserving?" : I watched professors and politicians of various stripes go at each other with four- letter words in front of a packed auditorium at Trent. I thought it would surely end in a brawl. So far this year the most controversial speaker to visit Western's campus has been a former speechwriter for Ronald Reagan. It says a lot about today's student when you discover Western's largest and most active club is the entrepreneurs' entrepreneurs' club. Its poster features a pair of Tom Cruise sunglasses sunglasses and the slogan "sometimes "sometimes you just gotta say what the--," a take-off on the movie Risky Business where a, student came up with a risque get-rich-quick scheme. Times change". Fifteen years ago, people who set out in business with the sole purpose of making money were capitalist pigs. Today, they're entrepreneurs. Fifteen years ago we may have tuned in, turned on and dropped out, but we weren't fooling anyone, least of all ourselves. We still knew that some day we'd have to go to work, That's the critical difference between the generations. We believed in the never-ending prosperity of our time. We believed there would always be a job when we wanted it. This allowed us to challenge the status quo and believe there was a chance to change theworld, The world still needs changing, but it doesn't seem as important when your back is up against the unemployment unemployment wall. But in those intervening years between my two campus lives, the most striking cultural change centres on a i campus bar called the Elbow Room. In the late '60's, the drinking age and attitudes toward drinking prohibited a full-time .pub on campus. It's not so much the bar that's new, it's what goes on inside. There has been an apparent evolutionary leap which allows today's student to carry on a meaningful conversation conversation at the same time as watching rock videos on a giant screen. I like doing both things, but I'm not biologically equipped to do them at the same time. Just once, I'd like to be beamed back to the '60's equivalent of the Elbow Room - a coffee house. They were usually full of smoke, people who looked like Che Guevara (only scruffier), the occasional poet and posters of Jim Morrison. But there Mire no scruffy people on campus today. No posters of contemporary idols on the walls, and heaven forbid that anyone should read poetry aloud. Perhaps that's part of the problem in finding my roots. I don't think I'll ever find them at the Elbow Room. For most of my life, I've been in love with books. I remember remember sitting in the aisle at the Trent bookstore reading the latest anthropological offering by Louis and Mary Leakey. I would be lost for hours. I remember watching a professor take a book from a shelf. He read it all the way to the cash register, out the door and half way down the street before realizing he had left his infant son in a baby carriage at the front of the store. This would be impossible at Western's bookstore. Here's how the process worked during the first week of September. There are two doors to the bookstore: one for entering and one for exiting. So far so good. You have to line up at the entrance and wait for the crowds inside to thin out. When security guards think enough people have left, more people are allowed in, but you have to leave your book bag on the floor outside the store. That's rather disconcerting when you have new and expensive books in the bag, but those are the rules. Once inside, you forget how great is used to be. It's wall to wall people, half the books you need are out of stock and you can't stop thinking that the books you left outside are being ripped off. You buy what you can and make your way back to the entrance door. Only then do you realize that 50 more people have crowded around that door and somewhere in the midst of that crowd constantly explaining that you're not trying to butt in. You reach among the ankles, find your bag and head for freedom. There is, however, one side of university life which remains unaltered through the years. It is the class jerk. Not even the Revenge Of The Nerds can save him. He's still sitting there, hand raised, pestering the professor with dumb questions and expounding at length on things he knows nothing about. There's one in every class. This pillar of post-secondary education poses a problem not only for students, but for professors as well. Professors know he will surface, but are reluctant to put him in his place for fear of • intimidating the rest of the students. If that happened, the professor would be forced to endure the sound of his own voice echoing off the walls for all 50 painful minutes. I'm convinced that if by some miracle the jerk was to be led. away after the first class, ; another would surface to- carry on the tradition. I'm equally convinced that if I return to university 15 years from now, he'll still be sitting there - hand raised. HEAL "ELEGANCE at-"UNREAL "PRICES i l 160.00 Treat yourself to fashion's newest treasures. This artful ensemble exquisitely designed with sparkling diamonds to highlight the beauty of genuine fiery opals, amethysts or garnets. 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