University of Virginia Library

Letters To The Editor

'Our Suite' Had A Very Fine Fixture

It was with great interest that I
read of the "Bath Tub Mess" in
Courtenay House in Thursday's
Cavalier Daily Last year a
different type of bathroom fixture
graced the first floor suite in Lile
House that I happened to live in.

Early in the school year, we in
the suite acquired a toilet, complete
with seat, but minus the flush
mechanism and miscellaneous
plumbing. After placing the toilet
under the twin shower sprays and
dousing it liberally with Tide to
clean it off, we deemed it
respectable enough to occupy a
position of honor in Our Suite.

Fearful that some inebriated
soul might actually try to use the
toilet for its normal purpose on a
big weekend, Our Suite decided to
place a plant of some sort in its
great, cavernous bowl. An
excursion was made to Woolco,
where a well-proportioned split leaf
plant and two bags of plant
food-enriched soil were purchased.
The soil was put into the toilet, and
the plant into the soil. And it was
made good. And in honor of our
honorable Acting Director of
Housing (at that time), the plant
was named ..... Ralph.

Ralph became an integral part of
the suite, and played an important
part in our lives. He was watered
regularly, with all suite members
gladly giving Him His weekly
feeding. When the ubiquitous
Charlottesville dust coated His
leaves, we bathed Him. A bit of
suite rowdiness resulted in a badly
cut leaf once, but Gene dutifully
applied a bandage to the wound.

Sacrifices were made to the
Great Ralph—holey socks, assorted
gourds, a discarded Halloween
mask, a broken exhaust pipe and
muffler, a toy dinosaur, an
emergency hitch-hiking sign, one of
Joe Smith's expectorated tobacco
chaws, and many other offerings
were placed at His feet.

Maids, janitors, housing
inspectors, and guests all came to
know and love Ralph. And never
were we told that Ralph and His
accouterments constituted an
"unsuitable piece of furniture," or
an appliance, or any other sort of
hazard.

The Olde Suite has now split up,
and Ralph is gone. But He lives on
in our hearts. And thanks to the
kind people at Corks & Curls,
Ralph will be remembered by the
entire University Community, for a
picture of Ralph occupies a
position of Honor on pages
250-251 of the 1970 Corks & Curls.

No Such Burger

I must take issue with the
opening statement made by Fred
Heblich in his November 20
column.

"Nothing," he writes, "so
represents the changing life styles
of the American people than the 15
cent hamburger. The 15 cent burger
began to gain prominence in the
early 1960's . . . it has carried over
into this decade with no end in
sight."

Tain't so. I'd like to ask Mr.
Heblich when he last saw a 15 cent
hamburger. Was it four years ago,
or perhaps six? Although the burger
culture described by Mr. Heblich
began with 15 cents worth of
euphoria in a bun, things have
escalated in that sphere of the
economy, as everywhere else.

Mr. Heblich would have been
much better advised to write about
the 20 cent or the 22 cent
hamburger. Or, since he concludes
by nothing that a new era of bliss is
just around the corner for
Charlottesville (McDonald's is
coming), he might have taken note
of a coming phenomenon: in the
not too distant future, we will
probably be able to but four
burgers for a dollar.

Plus sales tax.

'Flippancy'

Permit me to make a few
observations regarding Mr.
Gillmore's column, "Obscene
Affluence: Rebirth Of The Gilded
Age." I am not unused to
encountering self-conscious
"Liberalism" in serious journalists
(and Mr. Gillmore is serious—look at
his headshot, with Brinkleyesque
wince, loosened tie, ruffled
hair—this is a young man in a
hurry). That which strikes me as
curious is the progression of his
ideas: Who reads Playboy? He is
often a "greedy and selfish" young
executive who "lusts for"
(correctly, lusts after) "cars, booze,
lotsa clothes and all the rest."
Where does one find such crass
"cold-eyed" Playboy readers? Why,
at the Nixon-Agnew Presidential
campaign headquarters. Why there?
Because these are men who are
"out to get theirs," and as everyone
knows such materialists are, to a
man, conservatives (shudder,
shudder!) QED.

Now I am quite willing to
concede Mr. Gillmore a wider
knowledge of political sociology,
and all that. But I must observe
that I was not aware that Playboy's
clientele is so exclusive. Ah, but
this is the sort of man who reads
the magazine: far be it from Mr.
Gillmore to make an
undocumented generalization
Moreover, Mr. Gillmore does say
that "many" (not all) "of the men
who read Playboy are determined
to play the magazine's role to their
last dollar." Breath a sigh of relief,
fellow reader, Mr. Gillmore is not
speaking about you. He is placing
the odium where it belongs: with
them folks what has and aim to
keep it. After all, Mr. Gillmore
must have noticed that one or two
Humphrey supporters, a few
students (I have known some
myself), and even an occasional
liberal, read Playboy.

One can dismiss Mr. Gillmore
with such flippancy—but at the
core, there is something more
sinister in his writing. Oh, Mr.
Gillmore is too sophisticated to
criticize "the sex of the
debauchery, or the big boobs." But
notice the latent revivalism, not to
mention populism, in his appeal.
Not a trace of lightness in Mr.
Gillmore's Jeremiad—but then one
does not expect humor from a
young man in a hurry. Mr.
Gillmore, it seems, desires a place
among the Seraphim of journalism:
others (such as Drew Pearson)
attained that exalted status through
gushy moralism, illogical
implication, and "a lotta heart"
(not to mention attacking only the
right targets), why not Mr.
Gillmore?

I must confess that I do not
understand the tortuous discussion
of Consciousness I,II, and III,
which is the peroration of Mr.
Gillmore's sermon. Pitiably, I am
too naive to grasp the similarity of
Ronald Reagan, "some of the Ohio
National Guard, "Andrew Carnegie,
Wendell Willkie, and "many of the
citizens of Kent, Ohio." I do not
know that it helps to observe that
Playboy Magazine rated Kent (two
years ago) the second-most-lively
college town in America. It was not
made so by citizens, or Guardsmen
but (gasp!) Playboy reading
students!!! Something wrong,
there—college students are not on
Mr. Gillmore's list of eligible evils.
So runs Mr. Gillmore's column,
after the fashion of
stream-of-unconsciousness; some
few of us, neglected in Mr.
Gillmore's set of categories, are
consigned to a limbo of tradition,
humor, hip-flask, and decadent
manners. We wish Mr. Gillmore the
success that his earnest moralism
deserves, for he is an honorable
man; so are they all, all honorable
men.