Stories for Tuesday, 6/3/97
(c)1997 ASU Student Publications
Contents
GENERAL NEWS
"Jumpin' Joe" comes back for his degree after 30 years
By Kara Shire
State Press
Joe Caldwell's grin deepened the wrinkles on his face as he
recounted the famous dunk that earned him the tag "Jumpin' Joe."
"I would float through the air," the ex-ASU basketball star
said, diagramming his arched approach to the basket with a green
marble ashtray as his hoop and a book of matches as No. 32
Caldwell. "I'd get right in front of the basket with my back to it."
His demonstration ended with "Jumpin' Joe's" lanky arms
up over his head, his hands tucked back as if the ball had just left
his fingertips. "The fans went crazy," he said.
Caldwell and his teammates, known as "The Cardiac Kids,"
attracted record numbers of fans to the ASU gym in the early
1960s and generally are considered the Sun Devils' best basketball
team, said ex-ASU Coach Ned Wulk.
"Caldwell had a natural flair," Wulk said. "He had the type
of speed that was not seen under normal conditions."
Wulk added that "Jumpin' Joe" was one of the leaders in
what was then a move rarely seen in the game - dunking.
"It was later said he dunked the ball better than Wilt
Chamberlain," Wulk said. "He was in many respects ahead of his
time."
During Caldwell's three years on the varsity, the Devils
went 23-4, 26-3 and 16-11 while making three NCAA tournament
appearances. In the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo, Caldwell helped the
USA basketball team bring home a gold medal. He went on to a
successful career in professional basketball.
Caldwell now lives with his daughters and grandchildren in
a Tempe house he bought for his mother after his first professional
contract. In the carport are two reminders of Caldwell's brush with
the good life: a gray Mercedes-Benz covered with dust and cob
webs, and the car he still drives, a 1964 weathered green-gray
Lincoln Continental.
On a recent afternoon, Caldwell sat comfortably in an
oversized chair in his living room, taking an occasional drag off a
Marlboro Medium. He does not look his 55 years. His 6-foot-5-
inch frame is slender and strong; his balding head of graying curls
is hidden beneath a black baseball cap. His chocolate-brown eyes
sparkle when he tells stories of his crowd-pleasing antics.
But the ceiling-high shelves filled with thick law books and
case files remind him of what his life became after the applause
and accolades died.
Caldwell left ASU in 1964 after his athletic scholarship
expired, just one credit shy of a degree. His steady rise to the top of
the basketball world came to an unexpected end during the 1974-
75 season, creating a free-fall into despair over bankruptcy
proceedings, divorce and an antitrust suit. For the next 21 years
Caldwell would be in and out of court, in and out of business, in
and out of hope.
Despite his ordeals, he never lost sight of completing his
degree. On May 16, more than 33 years after he left ASU the first
time, "Jumpin' Joe" Caldwell earned his bachelor's degree in
physical education.
GROWING UP IN TEXAS
Caldwell grew up the ninth of 11 children in Texas City,
Texas, a racially segregated rural town on the coast of the Gulf of
Mexico.
"Everybody was a family," Caldwell said of his hometown.
"You ate at everybody's house. It was a real good community."
His father, Ernest, ruled the Caldwell house like a tyrant.
"My dad was a big man," Caldwell said. "He had big bones.
He was just huge. The lesson he taught me is what society now
calls child abuse. He would throw at you whatever he had in his
hand, and it hurt, but there was a lesson there.
"The lesson was if you do your job and do it the best you
can, you won't have anything to worry about."
At age 15, Caldwell followed his older brother and sister
west to the Los Angeles ghettos, where he spent his teen-age years.
In 1960, he was graduated from John C. Fremont High School with
a bright athletic future ahead of him and a free college education.
Caldwell drove across the desert to ASU in a rickety 1937
Ford pickup and a fascination with Al Capone.
"If it wasn't for professional sports I think I would have
been a gangster," Caldwell said, laughing hesitantly at the idea.
"For some reason I identified with Al Capone. I wanted to be Al
Capone.
"Everything Al Capone has, pro basketball has. It has the
money, it has the women, it has the glamour. I don't think there's
that big of a difference between Al Capone and pro basketball."
Culture shock, not glamour, is what he found in Tempe.
"It was a problem adjusting (to ASU)," he said. "When I
came here it was (from) a basketball team at Fremont that was all
black except for one. (ASU was) a totally white environment. I had
to constantly remind myself what I could say and do."
In those days, black basketball players at ASU were told
not to go outside of Tempe after 9:30 p.m., because people outside
the city were not accustomed to seeing black people, Caldwell
said. He also was warned about the women he dated.
"Coach said, 'You have to be careful of those biscuits,' and
I told him, 'Coach, I ain't datin' those white girls,'" Caldwell said,
laughing.
Caldwell remembered a time he had to spend the weekend
at Wulk's house to protect himself from a gun-yielding, jealous
man.
It was simply a misunderstanding, Caldwell said. The
hazel-eyed white woman's boyfriend thought she had been
unfaithful and threatened Caldwell's life for it. Fortunately, the
police caught up with the basketball star first.
"If he'd found me before the police did, neither of us would
be here today," Caldwell said.
He said that incident, along with the experience of being in
college with just a few black women, taught him something about
athletes and interracial dating.
"Athletes need black women counterparts," he said,
counting on his fingers the various types of women that black
athletes should have available to them. "Universities should recruit
three or four black women per athlete - one heavy, one thin, one
medium."
Caldwell said that in the end, it was his family that got him
through his college years. Though his brother lived in California,
he drove to Tempe for every game.
His family also kept his growing ego in check.
"The kind of excitement people bring to you as an athlete, it
destroys you," Caldwell said. "You really think you're something.
But when you have a family like I did and you come in and say,
'I'm tough,' my brother would say, 'Let's go outside.'
"When you're good, you don't have to tell people you're
good. They'll tell you."
Leaving Tempe - the city his sister Hazel referred to as
"Little South Africa" - brought about new dilemmas for Caldwell.
"When I left ASU and went to the pros it was a totally
different environment," he said. "How do I stay sane? How do I
help myself and my family? How do you fit all that into a 21-year-
old mind?"
THE BIG LIFE OF A PRO
Caldwell left ASU for Tokyo to play on the 1964 Olympic
basketball team, bringing home a gold medal and what would be
his only championship.
"I only won one championship in my whole life and I
thought it was the greatest thing," he said.
His ex-coach, Wulk, who is now 76 and coached at ASU
from 1958-1982 with a combined record of 393-272, remembered
that two weeks after the Olympics, Caldwell knocked on his door
late one night.
"'Coach, what do you think of this?'" Wulk said Caldwell
asked him. The player was standing in Wulk's doorway, gold
medal in hand.
After winning gold as the second-leading scorer on the
Olympic team, Caldwell was the second draft pick by the Detroit
Pistons in the 1964 NBA draft. He earned the nickname "Pogo Joe"
soon after, for having once jumped over a parked car.
Midway through the 1965 season, the Pistons traded
Caldwell to the then-St. Louis Hawks. His scoring average
improved from 12.7 to 16.4 points per game during three seasons
in St. Louis.
He moved along with the Hawks to Atlanta for the 1968-69
season. After two All-Star years in Atlanta, he was not satisfied
with his contract so he moved to the Carolina Cougars of the
American Basketball Association.
Caldwell was on top of the world.
He earned a spot on the ABA All-Star team that 1970-71
season. He also had a five-year, $1.1 million contract -
considered at the time to be the best in pro sports.
The contract provided a pension, beginning at age 55, of
$600 per month for each year he played professional basketball.
The more years he played, the bigger his pension.
It was the pension agreement that led to his demise,
Caldwell said.
The following year, the Cougars' principal owner, Tedd
Munchak, sued Caldwell over a misunderstanding regarding the
pension plan, said Caldwell. Munchak, who died in 1996, told The
Arizona Republic in 1993 that Caldwell's pension clause was a
typographical error, although it was written in numbers and typed
out in letters. It should have read $60 a month, which was the
standard NBA pension clause, Munchak reportedly said.
The Cougars moved to St. Louis before the 1974-75 season,
becoming the Spirits of St. Louis. By this time, Caldwell was
president of the ABA Players Association. His union connections
as well as his fat contract did not endear him to management.
When one of Caldwell's teammates, Marvin "Bad News"
Barnes, left the team, the Spirits suspended Caldwell and accused
him of advising Barnes to temporarily walk out as a contract
negotiating tactic.
In December 1974 Caldwell was told he would never play
another game of professional basketball.
"I thought (management) was lying to me when (they) said
that," Caldwell said. "I said, 'You got to be kidding me.' I thought it
was a joke.
"How does a man who's, say, 32 years old, deal with it
when they say 'you cannot play another game of basketball.' To
have that shut down at that time was very disturbing. This stuff
could really have hindered my life, probably even taken my life.
"When I figured out it was nothing I had done, it gave me
the strength to go on. I am not angry. People don't want to know
the truth. If I can stay around long enough, I'll watch the NBA fall.
I'm just watching and waiting."
THE TUMBLE CONTINUED
In 1975, Caldwell's career wasn't the only thing to fall
apart. His marriage to the woman he met in Detroit in 1964,
Sharon Caldwell, was over as well.
"She claimed she had no identity," Caldwell said, adding
that the Women's Movement of the 1970s was partly to blame for
her desire to be independent. "Well, you married an athlete, what
do you expect? My only criteria was she have 10 babies. Her job
was to feed me, take care of me and take care of the kids."
Caldwell's ex-wife and two daughters, Tiffany and Tracy,
moved back to Detroit, leaving him alone in a situation that would
only get worse.
His contract called for an annual salary of $150,000 to be
paid Jan. 15 each year. His habit was to buy on credit, then pay off
his debts when his paycheck came through.
But Jan. 15, 1975, there was no paycheck. In 1976, a North
Carolina bank forced Caldwell into involuntary bankruptcy, where
he stayed for 14 years. According to media reports at the time,
Caldwell owed $120,000.
As part of the bankruptcy filing, the bank resolved the
Munchak dispute with a negotiated pension payment of $79,000 a
year, Caldwell said.
He added that he began receiving the money after turning
55 in November.
After his suspension in December 1974, Caldwell filed an
antitrust lawsuit against the ABA, the Spirits and the team's
owners, accusing them of conspiring to keep him from playing
basketball. His lawsuit was placed on hold for 18 years while he
was in bankruptcy proceedings.
Caldwell moved back to Greensboro, N.C., the home of his
former team the Carolina Cougars. He worked as a stock clerk in a
women's apparel store showroom for $3 an hour, later moving to
advertising for a 50-cent raise.
He returned to the Valley in 1980 and worked for his
brother at an auto repair shop in Chandler. A friend and former
ASU teammate, Tony Cerkvenik, hired Caldwell to run a branch of
his travel agency dealing with corporate travel.
When that didn't work out, Caldwell tried opening his own
Tempe travel agency with the financial backing of his friends and a
sister. Three months later, the agency was added to Caldwell's long
list of failed business ventures. There was also a small carpet
company. Then a record company, Jump Off Entertainment, which
consumed $80,000.
While researching his case in 1983, Caldwell met John P.
Morris, an ASU law professor, who offered Caldwell something he
had never found outside of his family: belief.
"I've only had two 'lawyer' people in my life who have done
the right thing," Caldwell said. "Everybody else I had were crooks
or thieves - what you call unethical."
Initially, Morris showed no interest in involving himself
with Caldwell's legal battle. It was Wayne Ranks, a basketball fan
and ASU alumni, and lawyer Richard Brandes, of the Phoenix firm
Brandes, Lane and Joffe, that came to Caldwell's aid, providing
him with legal representation and a job researching his own case.
The efforts of Brandes and Ranks were not much help, said
Caldwell.
"I spent four years explaining this stuff to them," he said.
"They screwed the case up. They wanted to attack it from the point
of, 'I'm a black athlete being destroyed by my own means or
personal vendetta.'"
Ranks, who said he and Brandes were making house
payments for Caldwell while they worked on his case, said
Caldwell was his own worse enemy.
"He would get so wrapped up in how he had been
wronged," the Mesa insurance agent said. "He didn't come across
as bitter, but it was almost like a thing in the background. Kind of
an eerie thing lurking behind him. He just couldn't focus on
anything else. It was an obsession. The haunting devil of what had
happened to him wouldn't let him go."
Brandes said he understood Caldwell's paranoia, adding
that Caldwell's case was the worst injustice he'd ever seen.
"I can't tell you how great a man he would have been had
his life been normal," Brandes said. "He was black-listed so
completely. He was one of the greatest players who ever lived and
people don't remember him."
While working with Brandes, Caldwell continued to update
Morris about his legal problems. Eventually, Caldwell said Morris
offered him a deal. He would help him out of his legal mess if
Caldwell would go back to school. Morris, who died in 1994, did
not see Caldwell's appeal make it to the U.S. Supreme Court in
July of 1996. The Court shot down his appeal without comment.
Caldwell said losing Morris was one of the most painful
experiences of his life.
"If there's ever a time when someone's anger and fear and
paranoia reach a boiling point, it would be then. I was never so
hurt."
BACK AS A SUN DEVIL
The memories of "Pogo Joe" are now confined to a worn
leather scrapbook filled with fan letters, autographed photos and
countless articles glued to yellowing construction paper. He
admitted that he rarely plays the game he loves anymore.
"He does the ASU Alumni games and he's hilarious," said
Tracy Caldwell, 30, Caldwell's "baby" daughter. "I tease him from
the stands and yell at him to aim for the basket like he used to do to
me when I played in high school."
Caldwell returned to ASU in 1995 after a 32-year hiatus,
now more than 49 credits short of a degree, to fulfill his end of the
deal he made with Morris.
"I did it for a promise and I did it for me, too," Caldwell
said. "I could have made the promise and not went back, but that's
not me. Two years I toyed with it. He's probably up there saying,
'Don't forget you promised me.'"
Computer animation is Caldwell's new love and ticket to
the future.
"Dr. (Benjamin) Kinard introduced me (to computer
animation), waltzed with me and danced with me and made me
understand how important computer animation is," Caldwell said,
adding that the importance of understanding future technological
advancements will be enough to keep him busy.
"To try and stay on track with that is what I'm going to try
to do when I retire," he said. "If I get a job offer I probably will
take it, but I'm not looking."
His interest in technology began with a basic course in
computer literacy.
"Joe had literally no knowledge of computer systems and
he was a little apprehensive," said Kinard, an assistant professor in
educational media and computers at ASU. "He went from not
knowing anything to being very comfortable. He went above and
beyond his assignments."
His next step was a graphics and animation course, which,
Kinard said, was "more technology than he was used to."
Caldwell caught on quickly.
"My future plan is to do something creative," he said. "Now
that I've graduated, my whole thing is to deal with computer
animation."
Caldwell also has a tentative job offer to coach basketball
for the University of Tromso in Norway and said he dreams of
taking the team to the Olympics to play against the United States.
Kinard has gained from his relationship with Caldwell as
well, shaping his entire spring semester graphics and animation
course around the ex-ASU basketball star. He decided to have his
class produce an on-line documentary on Caldwell.
Caldwell hasn't seen the website yet, but said he is excited
about the project. The site is located at
www.public.asu.edu/~zaida.
"As an athlete we do everything we think as being the right
thing," he said. "To have done all those things on the basketball
court and come back 30 years later and have a professor say, 'I
want to do a web page on you' - it was a real highlight in my life.
It means a lot that someone still cares."
Evolution not the only theory regents want taught
By Kara Shire
State Press
ASU is preparing a report outlining the number of courses
the school offers that examine alternative theories of man's origins
to comply with an Arizona Board of Regents stipulation.
The report is due to be completed in August.
In April, ABOR approved moving the noted Institute of
Human Origins from California to ASU with the condition that an
equal commitment is given to course offerings and research in
alternate theories.
"Evolution has not been conclusively proven," Regent Kurt
Davis said. "Like any other science there are numerous debates and
people should be given access to make up their own minds."
Confusion over the exact meaning of "alternative theories
of evolution" may make it difficult to determine exactly how to
fulfill ABOR's mandate, officials said.
"I don't think (Davis) stipulated that there will be any chance,"
said ASU Provost Milton Glick. "He's asked for information.
Whether he'll be satisfied at the end, I don't know."
Davis said he believes debate is important to the university
setting and no one theory should ever dominate instruction.
"I'm just concerned we don't ever say 'OK, this is the
prevailing theory, so everything else goes away,'" he said. "If we're
going to have a class on evolutionary theory, part of the class
should be a study of alternative theories. I'm not looking for a class
on Kurt's creation theory."
"Kurt's creation theory" is a blended evolutionary theory
Davis said he believes in.
"I believe there was a God creation," he said. "But I believe
things evolve from that. I believe there might have been human-
like species. But I believe God chose a time to give humans a soul.
Did or did not Lucy have a soul?"
Davis' proposal was approved because of a sense of
collegiality that exists on the board, said Regent Eddie Basha.
Basha added that he wasn't aware of any progress made by
ASU to fulfill the condition.
ASU officials are probably hesitant to move forward
because no one is sure how to bridge the gap between evolutionary
theory and creationism, Basha said.
Davis said there are numerous alternative theories to
evolution, citing the creation-evolution and Hindu theories as
examples. He said he is simply looking to provide a place to
challenge existing theories.
"The University is the one place we should always be
vigilant about protecting debate," he said. "I want evolution taught
in college. It is an acceptable theory within the realm of scientific
theory.
"There's no hidden agenda here and I'm not trying to trash
evolution research or study," Davis added. "The Institute of Human
Origins is great for ASU and it's great for Arizona."
Student athletes failing to make class may find scholarship check held
under suggested policy
By Chris Passamano
State Press
Student athletes who stop going to class could find themselves without
a scholarship check under a proposed policy to improve on student-athlete
graduation rates.
Withholding checks was just one of a number of recommendations recently
suggested by an ASU task force trying to raise the student athlete graduation
rates.
Kevin White, ASU director of athletics, put the group together in an
effort to boost the rate from 53 percent in 1996 to 70 percent.
Athlete graduation rates remain higher than the general student population,
on the average. A 1996 National Collegiate Athletics Association report
listed ASU student-athletes at a graduation rate of 53 percent, while the
general student rate was 45 percent for the same time period.
The Intercollegiate Athletic task force consists of 16 assorted faculty,
coaches, and school administrators. Besides withholding scholarship checks,
some of the other recommendations include:
- Helping athletes feel more comfortable in their academic homes.
- Encouraging faculty to let student athletes make up tests and assignments
without penalty if they miss class because of participation in a scheduled
event.
- Separate the ICA's academic services and support services divisions.
- Redshirt all freshmen in football and men's and women's basketball so
they can focus on academics-but only if other universities do the same.
- Require coaches to become more selective in their recruiting.
The NCAA calculates graduation rate in three categories.
The number that gets the most notoriety is the number of athletes who
enter a university as freshmen and graduate within six years. Of the lost
students, 31 percent transfer to a different institution and 26 percent
leave for academic reasons. After that, 19 percent leave for personal reasons,
16 percent go pro, 1 percent leave for other reasons, and 7 percent leave
for unknown reasons, according to an ICA task force report.
"A graduation rate of 70 percent for the incoming class of 1997
is the goal" of the ICA task force, said Jill DeMichele, the Assistant
Director of Athletics for Academic Services. DeMichele, who is part of the
academic task force, expressed hope the implementation of these new ideas
will do the job. "Ten years ago the graduation rate was 26 percent.
Now it's 53 percent but we aren't satisfied. We think we will be able to
jump from 53 percent to 60 percent in the next few years," she said.
Charli Turner Thorne, the women's head basketball coach and task force
member, concurred with DeMichele's feelings. "I really feel good about
this," said Turner Thorne Of the recommendations, Turner Thorne felt
that recruiting was one of the most important. "Recruiting - that one
is huge depending on the person you bring here. We need to bring people
who want to be here. They don't have to be in the top 5 percent of their
class, but they have to be people who want a degree and an education. We
really have to do the homework on the recruits. We can't say 'come here
and we'll get you through,' we need to be more selective than that."
Another important recommendation is getting some leniency from the faculty,
she added. "Nobody is asking for special treatment, but if athletes
are involved in institutional events then they should be able to miss class,"
Turner Thorne said. "This is not saying that they should be allowed
to if they oversleep or something. (In that case), they should be punished.
"This is the only institution that I have ever been at that doesn't
have a policy that prevents a professor from holding (a missed class) against
athletes. Ninety-nine percent of the professors are awesome, it's just that
one percent that hurts."
Process to get in-state tuition not always clear cut
By Chris Passamano
State Press
Hundreds of out-of-state students are looking forward to
saving $6,500 in tuition a year by being declared a state resident, a
process some say can often be arbitrary.
Applicants for residency are supposed to meet a group of
standard requirements that are set by the Board of Regents.
According to policy, one thing that should prevent residency status
is if the applicant is on a parent's health insurance plan.
But Heather Burzinski, a 23-year-old microbiology major,
said she qualified for residency on her first try, despite this rule.
Bruzinski said she is covered on her father's health
insurance until she is 26 years old, but when she applied for
residency, it was overlooked.
"The lady told me that if that is the only thing then that's
fine," she said.
Diana Hinds, ASU's residency classification coordinator,
said she could not comment on Bruzinski's or any other
individual's case due to privacy rules.
David VanPatten, a 23-year-old broadcasting major, said he
was angry nobody was willing to bend the rules for him.
One of the key criteria to gain residency is to prove
financial independence, which means earning at least $7,000 plus
the cost of out-of-state tuition, for a total of about $15,000.
VanPatten said he was denied residency status last week
because a portion of his $15,000 came from a cash gift he received
from his mother after graduating from high school. A policy
prohibits such a gift as counting toward independence.
"I work a full-time job when I go to school - I have for
four years," he said. "I have worked on campus, lived on campus,
done everything that they have asked, but since my parents helped
me with tuition (residency officials) say I'm not self-supporting,
and that is not the case."
VanPatten, who said he has been through the application
and appeals process six times, had no kind words for the regents
and their policies.
To prove financial independence, applicants must obtain
two years of tax forms. These can be obtained at the Internal
Revenue Service building located at 40 W. Baseline Road in
Tempe.
Hinds also said that although cash gifts won't work,
applicants can include financial aid and loans from the school as
well as loans from a bank to come up with the necessary $15,000.
Inheritances, stock dividends, established trust funds,
accident settlements, or just about anything else that is taxed cash
earnings can be used to help, according to residency office
literature.
All money must be reported for tax purposes to be claimed
by the applicant. For this reason, applicants who work off the
books for cash can't claim it as earnings.
Besides proving financial independence, applicants have to
prove physical presence in the state, as well as prove the intent to
establish a domicile, or permanent residence.
Proving the applicant has been in the state for 12 months is
fairly easy, Hinds said. School enrollment and proof of in-state
employment are two ways to do this.
The domicile criteria include home or apartment lease
agreements that continue after the time of gaining residency. Hinds
said this is not usually a problem for most students, either.
There were about 11,000 out-of-state students attending
ASU in the spring semester and about 1,000 apply for residency
each year. Of those, Hinds said about 800 meet the necessary
requirements to be declared a resident.
That adds up to more than a $5,000,000 reduction in tuition
to the University, at current tuition rates.
When applications are received they are reviewed by Hinds
or another residency specialist.
"Most students don't apply unless they feel they have a
good chance," Hinds said.
Those applicants who are not accepted have a few options.
Hinds said the students can wait until the following semester and
apply again, or they can find out what the grounds were for their
denial and have an appeals hearing.
At the appeals hearing, an applicant has the opportunity to
present a case and provide additional information that may solidify
their application. The panel, made up of three to five members of
an 18 member group, then discusses and decides whether to
overturn the denial. This group include students, faculty as well as
support staff.
"About 25 to 33 percent of the denials are reversed," Hinds
said.
Making a copy of a budget for the committee to show how
applicants might financially survive without making all of the
$7,000 might help win an appeal, she said. Talking to people in
the residency office to clarify any questions is a good idea, she
added.
Applying early can also help. The review process takes
about three weeks and tuition is due Aug. 3 for the fall semester.
The residency application deadline is Aug. 29.
Hinds had an explanation as to why Burzinski could be
accepted and VanPatten couldn't.
"Each situation is reviewed by different individuals. Some
things to one evaluator might look different to another. If there are
five cases, one of those five may be looked at different by different
evaluators, but through conversation and individual judgments, a
case may be accepted if the situation is borderline," Hinds said.
"Although, I feel we have to be able to justify why a
decision was made," she added. "This is also why we have an
appeals process. Each case is an individual case and no two cases
are the same."
Items left behind at semester's end make great picks for needy people
Lori Cain/State Press
Annete Clark (folding clothes0 volunteers her time to help sort
the donated clothes at the Free Store, which is affiliated with
the Gentle Strength Co-op on University in downtown Tempe.
By David Woodhill
State Press
ASU students are providing dumpster divers and other
entrepreneurs with a hoard of merchandise at the end of each
semester, much of it in good condition.
At the end of the year, when students are packing up and
leaving for home, they typically throw away or abandon large
amounts of household appliances, furniture, and even bags full of
clothing.
Paul Bonnano, who manages the Free Store near Gentle
Strength Cooperative at 234 W. University Drive, knows about this
phenemena first-hand. He and other volunteers collect large
volumes of unwanted leftovers at the end of each semester -
especially before summer break. Customers can then take anything
they want from his collection for free.
"A lot of students have enough money and they don't want
to bother with boxing (items) up and taking it with them," Bonnano
said. "They throw away or abandon a lot of things and that is when
I start getting calls from the dorms to come and pick them up."
Sherry Ellman, a 10-year volunteer of the Free Store, said
about half of the donations they receive are from ASU students.
Sarah Sudak, assistant director of Residential Life, said
there are several charities that residence hall officials call when
unwanted items start piling up. Representatives of the charities
then usually drive out to pick up the items.
Students living off campus at apartment complexes are also
known to leave "valuable" stuff out by the trash at the beginning of
summer, said one local dumpster diver who did wish to be
identified.
"I found 11 bicycles - some had to be fixed," the man said.
"I found a whole computer, some scooters, mixers, exercise
equipment, and a TV and VCR - both in working order."
A homeless man who also did not want to give his name
said he also was able to find a many nice things in garbage
dumpsters around the University.
Jenny Mattson, a staff member of ASU's Residential Hall
Association, said students end up acquiring things throughout the
school year they don't feel is worth keeping. Because there are a lot
out-of-state students who fly home for the summer, many things
are abandoned, she added.
Mattson also said students are easily frustrated with the
moving process and would rather leave things behind than deal
with moving them.
ASU construction hammers away
By Christiana Moore
State Press
If the inescapable sound of jackhammers reverberating is
any indication, summer improvements around campus are well
underway.
At McClintock Hall, which houses ASU's Honors college,
Facilities Planning and Construction officials are working on a
$631,000 remodeling project ranging from room renovations to the
replacement of its roof.
Gammage has also been benefiting from renovations. The
stage expansion alone is priced at $1,625,200.
Wayne Derx, manager of planning and construction
administrative support, said the band shell, which wraps around
part of the stage and enhances the acoustics, was limiting the size
of the stage productions.
When it is completed, the renovations will expand the
functions of the building while preserving the quality of sound
acoustics for symphony orchestras.
Parts of Murdock Hall will also be receiving a facelift, and
a technological one at that for $775,000.
"We are going into the classrooms and adding more audio-
visual equipment," said Derx.
Many of the projects ASU students will witness this
summer are ongoing, some having begun back in February.
One such project involves adapting ASU campus facilities
for physically challenged persons.
This has been a systematic undertaking, done on a building
by building basis, Derx said.
"Each (building) is assessed and examined. We then make
necessary changes which comply to the standards established by
the American Disabilities Act which ensures all Americans have
equal program accessibility," he said.
Other summer projects include a $166,340 overhaul of the
Engineering building's mechanical laboratory, $81,000 for building
improvements at the Art Complex, $87,000 for fire sprinklers at
410 Adelphi Drive, and $43,000 for parking structure repairs.
Guns confiscated, youth charged after fight on Mill Ave
Lori Cain/State Press
A youth lies on the sidewalk after being knocked to the ground in a fight
that broke out early Saturday morning outside the Harkins Theatre in downtown
Tempe. One youth was charged with disorderly conduct and two handguns were
confiscated.
By Lori Cain
State Press
A 17-year-old boy was charged with disorderly conduct
early Saturday morning after a fight broke out in front of the
Harkins Theatre in downtown Tempe.
No one was injured, but one youth was knocked to the
ground. Police confiscated two handguns after the fight, which
occurred at about 12:15 a.m.
Police said the teenager who was charged with disorderly
conduct was carrying one of the guns in his pants. He was not
charged under Tempe's anti-gun ordinance because it only applies
when there is a special event downtown, police said.
The fight started after a group of youths were arguing in
front of the theater. One teenager picked a fight after accusing
another of shouting an obscenity at his girlfriend and slapping her.
The youth who was arrested got involved in the fight, but
ran toward a parking garage west of the theater when police
arrived. They chased him down and arrested him and another youth
who ran with him. The second teen was not charged.
Paulk charged with assault in Empire bar fight
By Cadonna Peyton
State Press
Jeff Paulk, dubbed "Jurassic Paulk" by his fellow football
teammates, will stand before a judge June 13 on a Class One
misdemeanor assault charge, a Phoenix Municipal Court official
said Friday.
If found guilty, Paulk could be sentenced to a possible
$2,500 fine, a maximum of six months in jail and/or three years
probation.
Paulk allegedly entered a bathroom May 15 at the Empire
nightclub in Phoenix and cut in front of everyone who was waiting
in line to use the urinal, according to the police report.
After club patron Steven Knotts confronted him, Paulk
allegedly pushed Knotts to the floor and continued to strike him on
or about the face with closed fists.
The police report stated that Paulk had "a large class ring
on his right hand," and the abrasions and bruises on Knotts face
included "a deep laceration" under his right eye.
After the case was reviewed by the Maricopa County
Attorney's office, which handles felonies, it was sent back to the
Phoenix city attorney's office.
"We reviewed the case and decided it was a misdemeanor,"
said Bill FitzGerald, public information officer for the County
Attorney's office.
In order to be classified as an aggravated assault - a
felony - a person must cause serious physical injuries to another
or involve the use of a deadly weapon, FitzGerald said.
"We decided the guy was not seriously injured. He refused
medical treatment," he said.
FitzGerald also said Paulk's class ring could have been
considered a potential weapon, but the attorney's office decided "it
was not a weapon, it just happened to be on his finger."
As an ASU football player, Paulk may be subject to other
problems over the alleged incident.
There are disciplinary actions for athletes who get in trouble with
the law, said Doug Tammaro, assistant director for media relations.
"If found guilty, he could be suspended for one game or one year.
I don't know," he said. "We won't do anything until the judicial
process runs its course."
Tammaro said he doesn't think this one incident will hurt
the recruiting or reputation of the team, but he knows "nothing like
this helps.
"There are 450 student athletes. You're going to have some
bad apples along with the good ones," he said.
Letters to the Editor
Letter: Anthropology professors wary of mixing beliefs with theories
We read with much interest (and some confusion)
the State Press article on April 28 reporting on the Arizona Board
of Regents' decision to approve the move of the Institute of Human
Origins (IHO) to ASU. The source of our confusion was comments
by regent Kurt Davis and his stipulation that ASU provide an equal
commitment to research and course offerings on "alternative
theories of human origins and evolution." He expressed concerns
that "we will expend tax dollars to continue research and create
debate from only one perspective."
If Davis' comments were reported correctly, then we can
say he has nothing to fear.
The anthropology department, with which IHO will be
closely associated, has an excellent track record on fairly
representing alternative theories in its courses and research (a
theory being a scientific explanation for phenomena that has been
sufficiently tested and supported by scientific evidence). In spite of
the prestige of Johanson and IHO, we will continue to present the
alternative models proposed by such researchers as Richard
Leakey and Tim White - even though they disagree with
Johanson.
Several years ago, we held a series of public lectures on
modern human origins, in which the strongly differing views of
such notables as Christopher Stringer and Milford Wolpoff were
discussed, along with those of our own internationally recognized
faculty such as Christy Turner and G.A. Clark.
With our long-term commitment to excellence in scientific
research and teaching, we welcome the addition of IHO members
to ASU's scientific community. However, this should not be taken
to mean that we will only teach IHO's interpretation of our origins.
Unfortunately, Davis' remarks could lead to some
confusion. Some may think that he was referring to devoting
research and classroom effort to alternative beliefs about human
origins. We are well aware of the wide variety of beliefs about
ourselves and our place in nature that exist among the world's
myriad of societies.
We regularly offer classes in comparative religions,
shamanism, and belief systems, for example. Of course, we would
not confuse these with scientific theories about human origins.
We should not forget that many people in the world believe
the earth is a disk supported on the backs of four elephants
standing on the back of a giant tortoise. This would have to be
taught along with plate tectonics in our geology classes as an
alternative explanation for earthquakes and other geological
phenomena.
Following this line of reasoning, our nursing curricula
should include courses in the healing power of crystals. Certainly
classes in the transmutation of lead into gold, offered by the
chemistry department, would be especially attractive to our
financially strapped student body.
Of course, such an interpretation of Davis' remarks would
make ASU open to ridicule, not to mention legal action. This
would be especially unfortunate given the university's recent and
very laudable achievement of the much coveted 'Research One"
status. Davis' suggestions also would be next to impossible to
implement in a fair and equitable manner.
Thank goodness Davis must have been referring to the first
interpretation discussed here and not the second. There could be no
other reason why the remaining ABOR members voted to approve
his stipulation.
Michael Barton
Leanne Nash
K.A. Spielmann
Margaret C. Nelson
G.A. Clark
Ben A. Nelson
Department of Anthropology
Letter: Dorms offer more than drugs, alcohol
I am writing in response to your May 1 article about
"Drugs, booze, vandals ..." in the residence halls. I have been a
Resident Assistant (RA) in Manzanita Hall for two years and was
recently elected Director of the Residence Hall Association (RHA).
I would like to begin by saying, yes, there are crimes committed in
the residence halls on campus. Anytime you have more than 900
students living in one area (i.e. Manzanita Hall), there is bound to
be an energy that can be used for positive or negative actions.
RAs are required to do numerous programs each semester
promoting different facets of the campus other than drinking or
drugs, such as movie nights, guest speakers from the Department
of Public Safety and weekend fun. These programs provide
alternatives to illegal activities happening around ASU.
Your article stated that Residential Life denied a State Press
photographer to accompany RAs while they were on duty. Would
you appreciate a photographer taking pictures of you crying when
you found out a family member has died? Or maybe you would
like the public to know if you had an eating disorder, and your
roommate just found out about it? RAs are trained to handle these
situations, and they happen very regularly.
The people that are living and working in each residence
hall are not trying to construct a facade of peace and perfection for
outsiders, while also creating a deviant collegiate paradise for
students. RAs are not permitted to divulge information about
situations because it is their ethical responsibility to maintain
students confidentiality.
Every floor in each hall is different based on the student
population living there. Some halls are all freshmen, others house
graduate students, some have developed specific campus
communities for the residents. To base an entire article on an
anonymous source is difficult because of the diversity of the halls.
Please do not limit your viewing to one voice, but rather the more
than 4,000 students who live on campus.
The RAs, professional staff, the RHA and individual hall
councils are committed to improving residents' lives in the halls.
For every negative aspect of some people's behavior in the halls,
there is a tenfold reaction by these dedicated individuals to
educate.
Brody Vancers
RHA Director (1997-98)
Junior
English
Entertainment
Laura Love
Octoroon
three stars out of five
Octoroon casts a beam of light on being a person of mixed racial heritage
- and much more.
Bassist and vocalist Laura Love weds African/Caribbean rhythms and traditional
acoustic instruments into a form she calls "Afro/Celtic" on her
new CD.
When you hear that, you'd expect deep bass lines and percussion
mixed with the harmonic wailing a-la Dolores O'Riordan of the Cranberries.
What you get is a sound remarkably like Cajun music, especially with the
accordion.
It makes me wonder how much mixing of genre musicians can do
before unwittingly making a U-turn. Love's vocals shine on "Can't Understand,"
"Amazing Grace" and "Simple," although she occasionally
sings through her nose.
This trait leads her to have a Southern - almost
Irish - accent. Love shows her profoundness with songwriting on "Can't
Understand." With lyrics like "I have not always been all that
I would like to be, I have not always been true and kind, but the failing
was mine," she has clearly done tremendous soul-searching. Even though
Love wrote many of the songs, she covers Kurt Cobain's "Come As You
Are." Instead of Cobain's mumbling and grumbling rendition, Love takes
it a step further in vocals, making it comprehensible.
For those of you who garbled the words, the lyrics go: "Take the time, very young, the
choice is yours, don't be late, take the risk as a friend, as our own memory."
However, Love rushes the title song "Octoroon" (that is a person
of one-eighth African ancestry). "You will bring a high price and the
man will treat you nice ... nice soft brown hair will bring you trouble,
you could be his daughter's double." She zips through these words as
though it's a speed reading contest. The tempo is too fast for lyrics of
this caliber. It should be a ballad, not another angst rock song.
Despite all that, Love offers an album full of depth and harmony, a delicacy for
the eardrums. - Jonathan Inge
Movies
The Lost World, Jurassic Park
three stars out of five
Most people would think that with all the commercial hype
surrounding the long-awaited sequel to Jurassic Park, moviegoers
would at least be entitled to some grand, unexpected revelation as
opposed to the typical BOO! film.
Instead we are spoon-fed just what we expected.
Yes, enthusiastic fans, the sequel to "Jurassic Park" has
arrived, and The Lost World, Steven Spielberg's Memorial Day
weekend blockbuster was, well, prosaic.
There's no question that the real stars of the movie are the
dinosaurs, although Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum) and his
paleontologist girlfriend Sarah Harding (Julianne Moore) do a
decent job acting terrified.
If you've already seen Jurassic Park, then nothing new or
exciting is offered in the bland story line of the sequel. That is,
there is no scientific breakthrough such as the cloning of dinosaurs
from fossilized DNA.
Bottom line of the plot - it seems that a second island was
created where the dinos were born and bred, then transferred to the
more "touristy" island Nublar, which we were made familiar with
in Jurassic Park.. Needless to say, that island was destroyed.
Dinos, however, have survived and thrived on the second
island, so a research team is sent to gather additional information
about their untainted environment. Alas, let the screaming and
running begin.
The plot of the movie goes on and on, but the attack scenes
are its saving grace. A few heart-stopping, teeth-baring dinosaurs
provide The Lost World with its only "wow" moments.
Well, unless you want to rate the screaming ability of the
actors. I give Camilla Belle, the dino's first of many hors d'oeuvres,
a 10. Too bad the little girl is only in the movie for about 3 minutes
before she's mauled.
Of course, most people will not be convinced of the movie's
failure to provide a truly earth-shattering experience, and will insist
on wasting their time to see it for themselves. If so, at least try
catching a matinee.
- Christiana Moore
Addicted to Love
three stars out of five
Before I viewed Addicted to Love, I had already made the
usual stereotypes about this alleged "romantic comedy" - a sappy,
mushy date movie showing the trials and tribulations of love in the
'90s.
However, this "girl film" turned out to be the ultimate anti-
drama romance: a man and woman, who are both heartbroken over
their ex-lover's brewing affair, decide to conspire a destruction of
their ex's happy lives.
Sam (Matthew Broderick) plays an astronomer who is
suddenly dumped by his schoolteacher fiancee, Linda (Kelly
Preston), after she spends two months in New York City for a
teachers' convention. He goes to The Big Apple to find Linda, and
learns that she has been seduced by French restaurateur Anton
(Tcheky Karyo).
Sam begins camping out in an abandoned building across
from his ex's loft, projecting his ex-lover's room in his own den
with a makeshift hidden camera.
Later on, Sam meets Maggie (Meg Ryan) a cheap-looking
aspiring artist complete with rebel motorcycle, raccoon eye-
makeup and leopard skin T-shirt.
It turns out that Anton was her man before Linda came into
the picture. Now she plans to plot the annihilation of her ex's fairy
tale and manages to recruit Sam to help her.
Broderick has a boyish charm, (even though he is in his
mid-30s), reminiscent of his character in Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
He plays the common nice guy - compassionate, caring and
gentle, but lacking the qualities that his ex truly desires - power,
wealth and ambition.
Ryan's character is a far cry from her When Harry Met
Sally and Sleepless in Seattle days. Gone are the stuffy attitude,
high-maintenance mannerisms and cutie-pie looks. Her tough-edge
style sometimes comes off as being cold and harsh, but deep inside
we know she has a heart of gold.
One part of the film that needed more elaboration is the
contrast of Sam's pattern notetaking with Maggie's abstract
artwork. Although we see her constantly working on the project,
we never see the completed form.
Addicted to Love is the most unconventional romantic
comedy I've ever seen. With its trendy New York setting and
voyeuristic plot, the film attempts to explain how the emotionally
unstable try to move on. Sam and Maggie must realize that you
can't just choose to love someone - it must happen naturally.
- David Ruffulo
Nightmare series packs no fright
Disney animated films and cartoons are known the
world over for their artistry and imagination. So it's no surprise that
the company choose to put its new animated series Nightmare Ned
under its Buena Vista subsidiary.
The show asserts that "nightmares teach us to fear the
forces of darkness and to laugh at our fears."
After watching this show, the only thing you will fear is
watching another episode and laughing at pointless jokes.
The cartoon centers on a worry-prone 8-year-old named
Ned Needlemeyer "whose overactive imagination turns ordinary
events of his day into wildly surreal nightmares."
Ned suffers from a lack of characterization. We are rushed
into a conflict and rushed into a nightmare - which don't always
occur at bedtime.
The show attempts to mesh the overactive imagination of
Calvin Hobbes, the new trend in children's horror and politically
correct, lets-hold-hands morals. It succeeds well in presenting
morals, rivaling Leave It to Beaver-style obviousness.
Being called Nightmare Ned, you would expect frights and
scares. You'd expect it, but you ain't getting any. There are no deep
dark shadows or things that go bump in the night. True, not all
nightmares involve monsters. But when you do not feel for the
characters, you do not feel for their plight.
In one nightmare, a Godzilla-like Ned terrorizes the city
simply because "the other kids would laugh at him."
The moral of the story: "If other kids laugh at you, you
should laugh along too. That way you show how much bigger you
are than they."
I received and followed similar advice when I was 8 years
old. The other kids thought I was a nut.
Another nightmare has Ned and his father shrink and fall
into an ant ranch. Ned's father, in the course of trying to escape,
lusts after the ant queen. (Can all you out there in kiddie-land spell
"bestiality?" I knew that you could).
Moral of the story: don't have extra-marital affairs with
ants.
Not surpringly, the style of the animation complements the
1950s and 1960s throwback trend of the 1990s. It apes cartoons
like Ren Stimpy, Two Stupid Dogs and Dexter's Laboratory.
However, "Ned" lacks true imagination and comic timing. But it
does reek of predictability and political correctness.
"Producers shouldn't follow trends," said Tom Werner,
producer of TV hits like Roseanne and The Cosby Show.
Why watch a copycat when you can have the show that
started the trend?
I suggest that Ned's creators follow that advice.
- Jonathan Inge
Police Report
Tempe police reported
the following incidents last week: - A man was arrested near 500 W. Grove
Parkway for stealing lumber from a construction site. - A man was arrested
near 700 W. Grove Parkway when caught stealing wood, giving false information,
and having stolen plates on his car. - A man was arrested for forgery at
the Bank of America on 3232 S. Mill Ave. when he attempted to forge another
persons signature on a savings withdrawal slip for $200. - A woman was
arrested for shoplifting at 2700 W. Baseline Road when she was seen trying
to shove seven bottles of shampoo down her shirt from a store display rack.
- A man was arrested on West Fifth Street for aggravated assault when he
fired one to two shots from a 9 mm handgun at a resident. No motive was
given. Compiled by State Press reporter David Woodfill
Announcements
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