University of Virginia Library

Lopatkiewicz & Yates

New South
Activates

We've heard so much about
student activism lately, that we
decided we'd better get a first-hand
look at the typical, radical, southern
university.

Arriving hot and tired at the
school - we had to push the
Packard over the last mountain and
past two gas stations (the expense
account which our newspaper provided
us got us almost half-way
there) .. we decided to seek out the
nearest snack bar.

We asked for pastrami sandwiches
and, in reply, received a
curt, "Ain't got none, suh." The
waitress came back, however, with
the offer of a glazed doughnut,
pointing to six trays of them on the
radiator. "Only two days old and
still hot," she said.

When we insisted on something
more substantial, she compromised
and produced an onion sandwich
on crackers.

We paid the seventy-five cents
and selected two brightly-patched
vinyl armchairs. We had heard that
these food service establishments
were centers for student unrest, and
were not disappointed. Before we
could get one bite of our sandwiches
off, three students lunged at
us with petitions.

There was a sound of ripping
paper and one of the students drew
back in horror, a large, greasy bite
removed from his petition. "I'll
ever get those six signatures
back," he walled, brushing the
onions from the paper's shredded
edges, "Those guys were professional
petition signers from Los
Angeles and they're long gone!"

Shocked At Petition

As we gulped down our cracker
snacks (the petition was much
tastier) we tried to get a grasp on
one of the fluttering petitions to
read the demands. The students
were insistent, however, that we
sign first and read later.

Just at that moment, a full
professor from their department
passed through on his wheelchair
and created such a stir that we
managed to grab hold of two of the
documents. We had anticipated
extreme demands on the establishment,
but were shocked at how far
the students had actually dared to
go.

The first petition called on
professors to establish office hours.
The other asked that professors
answer pre-screened questions at
the end of class periods.

We decided the situation warranted
a closer look and asked the
students where their department
was located. As we made our way
down the maze of hallways, doors
on all sides slammed shut and locks
clicked. We even heard the screech
of a desk being pushed up against
one door.

The entrance to the department
office bore a sign which advised,
"Please Have Your Badges Ready."

It took the two of us to push
the door open a few inches and we
squeezed inside. "Shut the door,
please, it's getting cold in here," a
voice snapped.

A thin secretary with horn rimmed
glasses turned and caught
sight of us. She reached into her
leather dress and produced a luger,
which she pointed at us, asking,
"May I help you?"

"Is the department chairman
in?" we ventured.

"I'll ask the questions," she
replied. "And remember, anything
you say may go down on your
record. Student numbers?"

When we explained that we did
not attend this university, the
secretary returned the gun to its
niche. "Just a minute," she smiled.
She removed the ribbon from her
typewriter, lit a match to it, and
dropped it into a trashcan.

F that the atmosphere had
warmed somewhat, we asked who
the department chairman was. The
secretary looked doubtful. "The
chairman was elected just last
year," she replied. "And, although
you're not students, we don't want
that information to leak out."

When we asked if might have his
phone number, the secretary apologized
that Departmental Regulation
ZF-2154 prohibited the release of
any official phone numbers. This
was a rider, she explained, to the
recently-passed department criminal
statute which prohibited the
names of tenured professors to be
distinguished from those of their
colleagues in public directories.

A's Under J

When we asked if we could see
the chairman, she replied that she
would first have to ask him if he
were in. She stepped inside a
telephone booth and placed a

long-distance call. In a moment, she
reemerged in smiles and announced
the chairman would see us.

Removing a shoe and taking a
slip of paper out; the secretary
studied a series of numbers. Chewing
the paper up and swallowing it,
she went to work on the combination
lock on the chairman's door.

With a rusty creak, the door
swung open and the blanched face
of an elderly gentleman peered
from behind a well-worn typewriter.
"They look mighty young
to me," he remarked warily.

"They're all right," the secretary
chimed. "Do you want me to file
the Albinsky papers?"

"Yes," the chairman replied,
"The A's go under J this week."

As we sat down in the office's
gloom, we attempted to break the
ice by asking him what he felt
about the student rebellions. "Terrible,"
he snapped. "We're so
disappointed that the students are
using their minds, instead of just
accepting what we tell them."

We decided to change the
subject and asked him what the
subject of his latest article was.

"Current events," he croaked.
"But how do they expect me to
ever finish it if I always have to be
teaching and sitting on committees?"

We took the hint and backed
out the vaulted door of his office.
But before we could complete our
the chairman's voice called out
to us, "Oh, by the way, do you
know how to spell Coolidge?"