Salvation Army doesn't reach fundraising goal

This holiday season, like most before it, the masses bustled into stores with lists, and shuttled out clutching bags filled with presents. But on their way to their cars, they were confronted with a familiar sight and sound: Workers swallowed by coats, gloves, and scarves,their waists draped with red aprons,flailing and swinging bells up and down. The ringing and jingling called many to slip leftover change or dollar bills into red kettles.

The Douglas County Salvation Army reeled in about $72,000 during its Red Kettle Campaign this holiday season, but it fell short of its goal by $30,000. Associates attributed the falling snow and biting chill as reasons for the gulf. As a result, the Salvation Army reported it will probably have to cut some programs during the spring.

The Salvation Army is known for providing financial assistance, food and shelter to those in need. To many it is the timber keeping them afloat-- in a home and off the streets-- in a sea of poverty. It helps the financially unstable maintain basic utilities like electric and gas.
In the fall,it uses donations to distribute school supplies to families and children who can't afford them.
And when a natural disaster strikes, the Salvation Army offers a helping hand. Its workers and volunteers offer piping hot meals and basic necessities like blankets, deodorant and soap to victims.
The good the Salvation Army produces is significant, and we should try to keep it in our thoughts during the off season. It's easy to bury the idea of donating amongst the clutter of daily priorities once the bells stop ringing. But just because the jinging stops, doesn't mean the giving has to.
You can donate at the Salvation Army's Red Kettle Web site: www.onlineredkettle.com

Season's magic lingers, leaves hope for next year

The gig is up. With an 11-1 record, KU finally lost. And to Mizzou at that, sharpening the blow.

Still, the season WAS magical. Out of no where KU's football team, which hardly even fuels students with spirit, had people from all over flocking to the games. Everyone wanted in on the festivities, as the team earned win after win for the first time in over 100 years. During most regular seasons, many people forget KU even HAS a football team.

So, as the season unfolded, it sucked more and more people in. It even gained attention from the Wall Street Journal. Heck, it even gained my attention. I haven't watched a football game since, well, since I've never actually watched a football game.

Until Saturday.

Of course, I've been in the same room with football game broadcasting on TV, but I'm a professional at blocking it out. And I usually have no idea what's going on anyway.

But on Saturday, for the first time in my life, I intentionally flipped the TV to a football game -- the football game. I drilled my company with questions about the dynamics of the game, and watched, enthralled, for its duration. After the second half, I had delusions of grandeur. I thought maybe the Jayhawks would pull it off. But I tuned into the season a little too late.

However, this time next year, the magic might return. And I might give KU my attention at a swifter pace.

Mayor Hack doesn't disclose financial interest in Deciphera

Lawrence Mayor Sue Hack made an image-tarnishing blunder after neglecting to fill out a form.

According to the Lawrence Journal World, Hack didn't turn in a "substantial interest form" before Douglas County Commission approved giving $3 million for economic development to Deciphera Pharmacy -- a company Hack has financial interest in.

Hack has over $5,000 invested in the company, but didn't make it public, she said, because she didn't think she had to. She thought she was only required to expose financial interest if it reached 5 percent of the company's stock.

Hack hasn't disclosed her exact stake in the company. All that's known is her investment teeters between $5,000 and 5 percent of the company's total value-- whatever that is.

When the commission reviewed options for Deciphera, Hack participated in a closed-door executive session. Details about the meeting are murky.

District Attorney Charles Branson is investigating whether the closed-door session violated the Kansas Open Meetings Act.

Hack said she didn't say anything that would reveal her position on the issue, and she didn't write the contract, which gives Deciphera a cut on property taxes without having to go through the standard tax abatement process.

Commission also authorized giving Deciphera cash payments when certain job totals are reached.

It hasn't been determined whether Hack will be charged for not filing the form. Hack said it was a mistake, but she could still get in trouble. Members with financial interest in a company are supposed to stay clear of executive sessions and discussions that determine the amount of monetary assistance given to said company.

Douglas County Commissioner Bob Johnson also had stock --$8,200-- in Deciphera. But Johnson followed the rules, filled out the form and didn't attend the closed-door session.

Observers are left confused.

While the pharmacy might very well improve the Lawrence community, one can't help but wonder if other companies could do the same; companies that council members don't have stock in. Have council members adopted a "might as well" mentality,(as in the commission is going to authorize investing millions to ensure a successful launch for the company, so I might as well cash in) and does this mentality reflect the best interests of Lawrence, or the best interest of the mayor?

Until more information unfolds, I'm going to abstain from making a call. But you would think that the mayor would have a better hold on commission rules.

The horror of Halloween is in not taking part

Today the lady who counted my money at the bank had spiders in her hair. Her long, pointy, green nails scraped across the bottom of the bills as she flipped through my money.

On any other day this scene would ring inappropriate. The banker would be terminated, and perhaps driven to a psych ward. But on Halloween things are different. The rules are flung out the window, and left there until time ticks the last minute of the night away.

People popped up in costumes at a stream of places today. I saw a cluster of grim reapers and goblins in front of the hotel on Ames in Baldwin. My neighbor masqueraded as that creepy guy from V for Vendetta. And I had a class with Mario, as in the brother. It's nice to see people of all ages celebrating this fun event.

But not everyone is dressing up. Some aren't even handing out candy.

I asked a few students what type of candy they were going to give this year. I got doe eyes.

"Candy? Huh?"

You know... that milk chocolatey, gooey, yummy stuff that you try not to eat lest you have to upgrade your pants size? Oh, they knew what it was. They just don't hand it out. From what I've gathered, word around Baker indicates not many do.

I found this unsettling. Maybe I'm just a little too attached to the holiday. But think about it. A little over a decade ago students hauled bags filled with candy corn, Reeses Pieces, Hersheys and Snickers bars from door to door. Their eyes beamed when they saw a porch light, and shot with disappointment when they spotted an undecorated, dark house.

It wasn't that long ago when students felt the thrill of Halloween by receiving. So why aren't many eager to feel a similar thrill by giving?

Distributing Halloween candy enhances the community connection. It shows that you care. And it demonstrates that you know how to have fun.

In this technologically driven, impersonal world, a gesture as subtle as slipping a fun-size bag of M&Ms into a plastic bag can crack the invisible barrier that separates us. Or, if anything else, it can cause the lips of a couple of kids to crack into a smile. That's priceless. So next year, hustle to the grocery and lug a variety pack to the checkout, because no one remembers the places without lights. Or the bankers without green nails.

P. S. If you do heed my advice for next year, don't pass out tooth brushes. That's the parents' domain.

Laura Moriarty comes to Baker

Gripping my audio recorder like a weapon protecting me from the danger of my fallable memory, I poured every ounce of concentration onto the woman before me.

Slender, as erect as a statue, and wearing a black two-piece dress with tiny lemon cookie crumbs sprinkled on her blouse, Laura Moriarty, the author of "The Center of Everything" smiled sincerely at me, my shoulders slightly hunched, my extra large sweatshirt sleeves hanging past my wrists, and my hair drooping into my eyes, as I asked a lengthy string of questions in no apparent order.

Moriarty, a Lawrence resident, came to Baker last night to speak to students about her new book, "The Rest of Her Life," and the writing process. She was humble, intelligent, empathetic and beautiful. But all of that is no surprise when acquainted with Moriarty's writing voice.

Her first book, "The Center of Everything" (If you haven't read it yet, I recommend you do.) closely associates with human emotion and provides a compassionate look into the lives of fictional characters that appeal so real the reader is tricked into believing they are.

This reader was so thoroughly tricked that I finished the book in a day, and was painfully disturbed that it was over.

Moriarty stayed after to sign everyone's book and speak to students. I lingered longer and blasted her with questions. My eyes widened, and pathetically, my lower jaw hung open like a draw bridge. My mind raced, digesting all of her words.

Each answer inspired another question.

It would be quite easy for someone who has written a book as good as Moriarty's to resituate themselves onto an elevated plain, to develop an ego. But Morarty wasn't at all conceited. She was distinctly genuine, sincere and extremely patient.

She carefully supplied thoughtful answers to each of my questions, and she really understood what it meant to be a struggling writer.

But more than that, Moriarty knows what it means to be a struggling human. Her latest book focuses on a person's life after having accidently killed another in a car accident. The accident in question was provoked by a single moment of absent mindedness. The book centers on the emotional repercussions and impact on the driver and her family after such an event.

I haven't read the book yet, because I am so poor I'm on the Ramen noodle diet. But, Moriarty's writing is of such a high quality, I'm tempted to dodge the gas bill this month in order to invest in another day of excellent recreational reading.

Moriarty is a local writer, and I believe it's important that we support her. Afterall, her books are well worth it.

Don't burn the leaves, burn the ordinance

Baldwin City resident Dennis Waymire likes to take his 11-year-old daughter for walks in the evenings. But during the fall, the Waymires' walks aren't as pleasant because they have to tread through a thick wall of smoke. This is because it's been a longstanding tradition for Baldwin City residents to burn, instead of bag, their leaves. And in the fall, when the leaves tumble from the treetops, littering yards, people stuff them into barrels and light them on fire.

"There are some days that the smoke is overbearing," Waymire said. "And on those days it's definitely at a toxic level."

Last year, concerned for his daughter's, and his own, respiratory system, Waymire did a cursory google search and to his dismay, discovered that the toxins released when leaves are burned can be dangerous, aggravating asthma, and other respiratory problems. Some sites even suggest links to cancer. After digging deeper into his research, Waymire compiled a bunch of information on the dangers and presented it to the Baldwin City Council.

"I introduced it to the council last year, the reason being they are allowing the fires 365 days a year with no regulations," Waymire said. "If we're burning fall leaves, there's no reason to allow it all year."

It took a year for the safety committee to review the information, and on Oct. 4, Baldwin City Council passed an ordinance regulating leaf burning with a 4-1 vote. The new ordinance only allows people to burn leaves 10 times a year, and they have to attain a permit from the city to do so. If a person violates the oridnance, they will receive an open-ended fine from Baldwin City Municipal Court. The suggested amount for a first offense is $25. Oh, and only 25 people per day are allowed to burn at a time.

The problem is, how can the new regulations keep people from chucking garbage, lumber, or junk in with the leaves? And like Waymire pointed out, why should people be allowed to burn leaves all year when they only pose a problem in the fall?

"It's hard to regulate. Is it a leaf fire or construction debris?" Waymire asked.

Waymire said that he's seen kids cease playing outside because of the excessive smoke.

"The trees are so dense down here, if the wind is blowing real heavy the smoke just hangs down here," Waymire said. "There's like a wall of smoke, and that happens quite a bit."

It's pretty backwoodsy that people still burn leaves here. Smoke has been scientifically linked to harm humans. There's no value in a tradition that only serves to provide an easy way out. Burning leaves might not be as costly or labor intensive as bagging, but it produces harmful effects. Is the lazy alternative really worth the risk? The city council evidently thinks so.

"I gave the information to the city council and they've all read it so they all know," Waymire said. "I'm hoping that they do something about it. Now I think it should be banned 100 percent."

And so do I. Give it another year, and maybe they'll think about it.

Winfield Festival pulled people from all over- Even DC.

Winfield's 36th annual Walnut Valley Festival, which attracts about 15,000 people, has come and gone. The music festival is known as bluegrass, or simply Winfield, and it pulls people from all over- New Zealand, Australia, Canada, and, of course, Douglas County.
Though Winfield is a 150 miles from DC, many people take off work or school to drive to the campgrounds and sleep in tents.
Last year, Lawrence resident Dave Learned and his buddies purchased a bus, for $1,000 dollars on Ebay, to drive to the festival. The group took the bus again this year.
"We needed a large commercial vehicle and all the RV's we could afford were really crappy," Learned said. "So we got the bus instead."
At the festival, the smell of campfire filled the air. Tents sat side by side. Festival goers lounged and milled and mingled in the campgrounds, creating a temporary community where strangers became friends, and musicians strummed guitars and banjos at all hours of the night.
Bluegrass is host to a variety of musical performers, from the professional to the beginner. There are four main stages that musicians perform on. Shows are scheduled until midnight. But when the official stages close, artists meander down to Stage 5, the most popular, unofficial stage that campers started.
This year Split Lip Rayfield, a crowd favorite, played at Stage 5, on the last night of the festival. Kirk Rundstrom, former lead singer of Split Lip Rayfield died in February, so the band played in his memory. The performance attracted several hundred people, and even after the stage closed at 3 a.m., musicians sparked jam sessions with strangers well into the morning hours.

But Bluegrass is over and many are adjusting back to reality. The swift shift is as sharp as a dagger. It's hard to fight the mental tug toward the week of drunken stupidity, great music and fun. To sooth the sting, many are reconnecting to artists saw and friends made through social networks like Myspace.

People have used the site to assemble pages in honor of stages, campsites, and musicians. Learned and the bus crews' campsite has its own page, as does Stage 7, (the newest unoffical stage) and a plethora of bluegrass musicians. The festival itself even has a page called "Winfield" with over 1,500 friends.

Now that the Internet supplies easy access to bluegrass artists and friends, maybe the next 50 weeks will pass by much more smoothly.

Baker stands chance of losing Violence Against Women Program

The mental scenery is always the same: I was visiting my parents for a post-Christmas celebration. Instead of snow, we got rain. It drummed down for days.
The perpetual pitter-patter supplied the perfect background noise for napping. I slid into the covers, situated to slumber, and the phone rang.
It was my editor, nervous and stammering. He asked me to call the parents of a missing college freshman. Her name, Jodi Sanderholm, is one I'll never forget.
No one in the news room wanted to touch the story because of its sensitive nature. I covered it for four days, hoping for Jodi's magical return.
And then I learned the brutal truth. Jodi had been kidnapped, raped, murdered, buried under brush and left for the coyotes to chomp on.
Murder in the Midwest.
At first I viewed the event as anomoly; a crime so graphic that it only occured in larger places. But then, a 14-year-old girl was abducted and raped in my home town: Sedan. The town's most rampant crime is underaged drinking. The sidewalks roll-up at 8 p.m. and the town's activity is extinguished like a candle flame. Nothing happens there.
Or I so I thought. Events like these have enhanced my perception of danger. For some unexplainable reason, people kill, rape and mutilate other people. Its the most mysterious, grisly occurence in this world, but it happens. According to the U.S. Dept. of Justice a woman in America is raped every two minutes.
That's just America folks. If you googlenews "murder" or "rape" the search engine will generate a plethora of stories, many with mugshots of a suspect, who appear normal, and some with pictures of young women murdered in their prime.
Fortunately, there are programs and institutions designed to reduce the likelihood of such an event. One of these programs is Baker's Women's Programs and Initiatives, which might be phased out next year because its grant will expire.
The program was sparked by a two-year grant produced by the Violence Against Women's Act. Its purpose is to offer resources for women in abusive relationships, to enhance communication on campus, and strengthen campus safety.
Tracy Williams, coordinator of women's programs and initiatives, has been in charge of the program since its inception in March of 2006.
"It's intended to create community and campus awareness about sexual and dating violence," Williams said. "Just because Baker is a small campus does not mean it is immune to violence."
Williams said the program has applied for a three-year contract renewal, but only 15 out of 120 applicants will be selected.
"Two years is not enough time to make social change," Williams said. "I certainly hope that we get a grant renewal."
In its two years, the program has increased the amount of lighting in dark campus areas, offered one-on-one counsel for abused women, and held presentations designed to show how alcohol increases women objectification, as well as shared advice on safety practices.
Sophomore Emily Beye is a peer educator for the program and she has facilitated many presentations articulated to increase campus awareness of violence against women, and offered consolement to the abused.
"The purpose is that people will have a student to talk to, as opposed to an adult," Beye said.
Beye believes that the program has significantly impacted campus and she also hopes for a grant renewal.
And so do I. The troubling fact is that even if Baker is selected, 87.5 percent of schools will not be. That is a chilling number.
I hope it doesn't result in another phone call from an editor.

Sofa King weird of a campaign....

Pay Less Furniture in Lawrence, Kan., has recently punched out an unusual sales campaign that makes eyebrows raise, heads turn and cars crash.

The slogan is "Our prices are Sofa-King Low," and the mascot is Ridic (shown on the left). He's a 50-something fellow dressed as a king. He carries a plunger as a scepter, and he wears a robe and crown.

Ridic's eyes are crossed. His teeth have been ground down so much that only slivers of white remain, revealing red, fleshy gums.

Everyday, an employee from PLF hauls a life-size mannequin of Ridic in his throne out to the grass median in front of the store at 2800 Iowa St. According to PLF owner Bob Fife, six cars have crashed in close proximity to the site since the launch of the campaign.

There are also television comercials and photo ads.

Fife and a friend came up with part of the slogan one night about four years ago. The ad is kind of Fife's way of defying the nation's politically correct standard.

Fife said that when he was a kid he and his sister used to mimic the sound of mentally challenged people's voices for fun.

"People would walk by and say 'that poor boy'," Fife said.

Fife also recounted a time when he and his sister drew a stick figure, and sent it to a kids show that aired children's art. They signed the picture 'Dicky Reeves of Wakefield.' Reeves was a local 30-year-old epileptic and mentally challenged man. All the kids had a lot of laughs, Fife said. Back then, when someone did something stupid the kids called it "pulling a Dicky special."

To Fife it's all in good fun, but to many he's swiping a fist at the defenseless.

"So many people complain," Fife said. "They say 'you're poking fun at the retarded."

Fife's original slogan was "Our prices are sofa king wetawded," but the Lawrence Journal World and 92.9 censored it because of its offensive nature.

"Things have gotten so twisted around that if it hurts someone's feelings you can't do it," Fife said. "Who is it literally hurting?"

Ridic, the Sofa King, is actually played by Fife himself.

I can't say that I'm hurt by the ad, but I can imagine that some people are. At least emotionally. Like the mothers and fathers of mentally challenged children. The fact that biological anomalies that produce mentally retarded people exist is a sad thing. Retardation is not something that can be cured or changed, and it's not a humorous event. But in no way do I think that Fife's ad campaign should be suppressed.


It reflects insensitivity and bad taste, but it's undoubtedly successful. When I interviewed Fife, at least 10 people came into the store and purchased furniture. Fife said the ads especially appeal to the younger kids.

"Even though they've been brainwashed into swallowing that PC crap, they still think it's funny," Fife said. "Customer traffic is strong. This stuff works."

However, Fife estimates that the Lawrence City Council will try to shut the campaign down soon because of the increase in car wrecks.

What do you think of it all? Offensive? Funny? Creepy?

Just what we need, another Wal-Mart. It makes no CENTS

Just what we need, another Wal-Mart. ☺

Wal-Mart is assembling another one of its Big-Box businesses in Lawrence, Kan., despite the fact that there already is one on the south side of town that people can drive to within a few minutes.

I'm not a big fan of Wal-Mart. I go there if I have to, but it's never on impulse like it is for a lot of people.

A friend of mine once suggested that Wal-Mart is such an intrusive part of our day to day lives that we might as well just slap a roof onto a community and allow Wal-Mart to supply it with everything: electricity, water, housing, health care.

Wal-Mart has a Stepford Wives quality to it. It stamps out that trendy top you like a million times, so not only can you wear it, so can everyone else.

Wal-Mart's reputation is based on its low prices, but at what cost do those prices come?

First off, Wal-Mart provides poorly packaged health care plans for its workers by maintaining strict restrictions on who can qualify.

Some people suggest that this isn't such a big deal because a lot of Wal-Mart's workers are college students who haven't established themselves professionally. But what about the other workers, like the single mothers paying for rent and daycare?

They're paying for the low prices that Wal-Mart offers.

Worth $18 billion, the Walton family’s wallet keeps getting fatter and fatter. They own Boardwalk and Park Place, as well as the green, yellow, red and orange properties, while the rest of us can barely afford to rent Baltic Avenue.

But life, unlike Monopoly, is not a random game of chance. We don't have to roll the dice to determine whom to do business with. We get to decide. But as long as people plunk down their credit cards and dish out the dollars, Wal-Mart will keep growing. And growing.

And growing.

Where does it stop? For me, it stops right here as I decide to just stop shopping there. What do you think?