The gamecock. (Columbia, S.C.) 1908-2006, August 03, 1978, Page Page 6, Image 6
I
The heat was stifling as I rushed
across campus trying to reach my
car before the dreaded Cushmanites.
There were only about 30
seconds left on my five-minute
meter, and I knew that these
nomads, USC's chosen people,
were about to raise their murderous
staffs over my helpless
Ford Maverick and make a curious
green slip appear between the
windshield and the wiper blade.
My morning statistics class was
already on its fifth parking meter
break, and fellow classmates were
also rushing to aid their vehicles. I
quickly stopped by change-stand
number four and obtained the
needed currency.
Mlf tlinn I" ' "
v.01 was in &igm now, ana 1
had just broken into a dead run for
it when the air was suddenly filled
with a multitude of screaming
sirens and horns. I stopped
abruptly on the curb, and gazed
with amazement at a strange
procession making its way up
Green Street.
LEADING THE pack were three
lire trucks, complete with
dalmations, followed by a dozen or
so police cars full of uniformed
officers. Then came four trucks of
SWAT teams and three black
limousines, whose doors bore the
inscription, 'Important Administration
Officials.' Bringing
up the rear were four Soviet-made
r* 1 -
isusnman lanxs. The noise was
almost unbearable as this
procession turned into the library
parking lot, tires screeching and
sirens blaring.
What an event, I thought to
myself. What could it be? A bomb
threat? Terrorists? A student
refusing to pay his overdue book
fines?
Disregarding my unfortunate
car, which had already been attacked
by Cushmanites, I ran up
the street and observed the scene
from across the reflecting dooI
Occupants of the vehicles were
jumping out and beginning to
surround the library. Many of the
enforcers were armed with pistols,
machine guns and flame throwers.
A rotund policeman embraced a
megaphone, his attention focused
on a lone figure perched on the 1
library roof.
CAREFULLY DODGING the J
Pnchmnn r? A- * "* '* 1
uudiuiiaii i 1-duhuj pairoiung tne '
reflecting pool, I rushed toward the 1
library to get a better view of the
Pf I
/ny Jon
situation, which had now drawi
several hundred spectators.
"What's going on?" I asked i
red-faced administration official
"My God. man. this is th<? ?*iH '
he cried. "Some student up then
on the roof has explosives wired U.
all of the parking meters anc
parking lots and is threatening tc
blow them to kingdom come,
unless . .
The rest of his sentence was
drowned out by the rotund officer,
who was now shouting into the
megaphone "Come on down
Johnny ? we've got you covered.
Give it up before it's too late."
I LOOKED toward the roof.
There stood a skinny, bespectacled
young man surrounded by what
must have be$p a few thousand
wires. He had the look of a wild
man as he yelled back, "You won't
get me, coppers.' You dirty rats,
you ticketed my brother!"
"Why is he so upset?" I asked
the sobbing administration official.
"I don't know," lamented the
frightened man. "He keeps saying
that he can't take it anymore."
With that statement, I realized that
with Johnny, the parking division
of USC was encountering its first
mental case.
An ally of all students was
perched on that rooftop. He had
decided to take matters into his
own hands. And even though the
means taken were rather
niltrflffpniic
kuv IIUIIU1CUS OI
students below were cheering him
on. You had to admire the guy ? he
had the university's financial
future in his hands. The burning
problem of higher education, 'Why
Johnny Can't Park," was going to
be examined here and now.
"LET ME GO up and talk to
him," I begged an officer. "I'm a
reporter and you know these guys
always want to talk to reporters. I
know what he's going through, and
I think I might be able to improve
your situation."
The officer hesitated for a
moment, then nodded his head and
spoke into the megaphone once
again. "Johnny, a reporter here
wants to talk to you. We're going to
send him up, O.K.?"
Johnny peered over the ledge at
me and then answered. "All right
coppers, send him up, but no funny
susiness or the meters and lots
50."
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UNIT n- COMMU7
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CONVERGE? HAND
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lTIRE BY BARRY J.GI
i edge of the building and a ladder
was positioned against the side oi
i the library. I ascended slowly and
finally pushed myself over the top.
' I was taken aback by what lay
: before me.
>
I THERE STOOD Johnny at the
> controls of a panel supplied with
, dozens of switches. Streaming out
of this console were thousands of
s wires, all running off the edge of
, the building. As I surveyed the
! campus from this high vantage
i _______
\ I I I J /
\ 55 /
\ <D /
V
:_4 * i j i?--i
iwiiu, i couiu see uiai irom the
library, the wires extended in
every direction as far as the eye
could see.
"Hello Johnny, what's all this?"
I asked and took a step forward.
"Stay back or it all goes," cried
the young man. "This," he said
with a proud gleam in his eye, "is
what I have been working on for
two years. From this point, I have
every meter wired with a stick of
? !_ A ?? ? -
dynamite. /\ii 01 tne parking lots
have a ton of dynamite under
them. This panel contains sensors
that tell me if anyone is trying to
cut the wiring. So if any one of
these lights goes on, I'll know, and
I'll blow every meter and lot from
here to kingdom come with the
flick of a switch. Pretty smart,
huh?"
"JOHNNY, WHY are you doing
this?" I asked.
"I couldn't stand it anymore," he
cried. "In my three years at this
university, my parking tickets
have always cost more than my
tuition. I tried evervthinc " .Tnhnnv
sat down and the tears began to
well up in his eyes as he continued.
"Eveiytime I would park would
mean a ticket. My first semester, I
/NOV
'N ds\j) I RID
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vENN
> used to drive on campus and would
eventually skip class because I
I couldn't find a parking place. But
my grades became so bad, 1 had to
Hn cnmofhino 6n f ofort<ul nnntry?M
uv uuiiivwiiiig. uv m. oral ivu pal ivillg.
"First it was the $10 tickets for
parking with an even-numbered
sticker in an odd-numbered lot.
1 Then the Cushmanites learned
what my car looked like and began
to ticket it for everything ?
parking beside a bottle, parking
without my emergency brake on. I
took cans of paint and tried to paint
the word 'reserved' on all my
spaces. Then last semester my
younger brother entered school,
^ and they began to ticket him too.
j "SO I resorted to this. I spent six
hours a night secretly rigging up
these explosives. Last night I
finished and climbed up here. And
now, if they don't meet my
demands and institute free
parking, nobody will be able to
park. Nothing else will work."
I reflected on what Johnny had
said. He was right ? nothing had
worked. The president's five-year
Carolina Plan to export student
vehicles to regional campuses had
nn( uinflro/l J A
iiv v n vi n^u? lUCCIll^f ^ SlUUt^IllS
would have been able to park their
cars at one of the regional campuses
and then take a bus to
Columbia.
But students standing around
waiting for buses and playing
Monopoly on Green Street had
resulted in 10 deaths alone, and the ,
fights to board the buses were so \
bloody that the plan was scrapped <
forthwith. ;
LAST YEAR'S parachute plan ,
ran into trouble because of student
inexperience. Students were
landing in bedrooms, stadiums and
chimneys. The administration
decided to scrap the plan because
"the students of Carolina seemed
to have no direction to their lives."
Commuting by horseback had '
uui wuiivcu eiuier. ine campus ,
soon resembled Dodge City, and
the Cushmanites began issuing
tickets to manure if it was left
standing for more than ten |
minutes.
"Johnny," I said in a serious
tone, "I admire what you are
doing, but it will never work. Both
of us know that this university
derives 95 percent of its revenue
from parking fines. If you blow up
everything, they'll just rebuild and
import more Cushmanites to
regulate the new meters and lots.
r thatsA fa" .^1
ICULOUSl J I xou SEE
?Kj-?^ \THt JETSJ
^ 0
I
Johnny, this isn't the '60s ?
3 ft irlnn fo (ii/vmU a ?
oiuuuiia wuu i uatR you on U11S.
They don't care. Give it up, O.K.?"
A COMMOTION from down
below drew our attention. An
anxious looking woman and a
priest were making their way to
the front of the throng.
"Ma!!" Johnny cried.
"Johnny, dear, please come on
down," the woman pleaded. "The
police have agreed to ease up on
restrictions and cut your fines in
half."
"Come on Johnny," I urged, and
we made our way toward the
ladder.
Suddenly there was a loud bleep,
and we turned around to see a light
flashing on the console. Johnny
shrieked and pointed at the
parking lot. "Look! Look! They're
ticketing my car!!!"
SURE ENOUGH, two Cushmanites
had moved in for the kill
on a 1971 Pinto.
"That's it. Goodbye world!"
Johnny screamed, and pushed me
across the roof. Just as I dived for
cover there was a tremendous
explosion.
After about 30 seconds I
cautiously looked up. All that was
left of Johnny was a pair of shoes
and about a hundred unpaid traffic
tickets which were slowly floating
to the ground in bits and pieces like
so much confetti.
Enraged, I climbed down and
accosted the vice president of
parking affairs. "You fooli" t
cried. "He was giving up. Why did
you have to ticket his car?"
THE CUSHMANITES were
becoming restless," he answered
calmly. "Besides, we needed the
revenue for a faculty cocktail
party being held in the ballroom
tonight. The university is saved."
And with that, he marched off.
I slipped away and headed for
my car. But it wasn't there. The
Cushmanites had discovered a new
form of warfare ? towing. Another
war had just begun.
gamecock
Founded 1908
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