Morbid Curiosity’ a sign of the times

There is nothing in the world that ticks me off more than being backed up in heavy traffic on the interstate.

Dealing with construction and rush hour traffic is one thing. It is another when every time some poor soul gets into an accident, the entire world has to stop and see what happened.

Does the nation slow down to watch someone fix their stalled car on the side of the road with its emergency lights on? Do any Good Samaritans out there get out and help? (I don’t, but we’re not talking about me right now!!!) I believe nine out of ten times the answer is no.

That was my thinking Tuesday afternoon, Sept. 10, at 5:30 p.m., as I made my way down Interstate 635 headed towards Mesquite. Approaching the Lake June Road underpass, I noticed a line of cars and trucks piled up in all four lanes.

No doubt someone down the road was in an accident. If only I had stayed at The Suburban Tribune, the newspaper I work for in Balch Springs, about ten minutes longer, I would have heard the dispatchers on their police scanner say a “bad accident” had occurred off Military Parkway and 635 and the police were on route.

Had I known that I wouldn’t have gotten so irritable at the thought of having to prod along at a snail’s pace for 15 minutes.

I felt I had every reason to be mad because from Lake June Road, there was nothing to see. My assumption was that a car or truck had stalled on the road. But then as I got closer to the scene, I noticed a group of people standing around talking. My consensus was this was a massive pileup, and people were waiting for tow trucks to arrive.

Within moments, four Mesquite police cars had converged upon the area. As I finally came up to the trouble-spot causing the problem, I saw no wrecked cars. Other than the three paramedics speaking with a citizen and an ambulance, no one was injured. Until I came across a sight seen only by fire and police departments and doctors. We see it every day in pictures displayed in magazines, on the news, movies and television shows but I have never seen it up close.

It was a body covered with a white blanket. A hand was sticking out from under it and a pool of blood had formed. Obviously, there was nothing anyone could do.

I was so caught off guard by the grim scene that the journalist in me did not stop, pull over, and start asking questions on what happened to do a last-minute story for the paper. The Mesquite News reported two days later the individual was killed when he lost control of his motorcycle while speeding.

The image only phased me that night, as I wasn’t in the mood to watch any violent movies of people dying. I wonder how many of those onlookers who saw the same thing I did felt the same way.

Death is an everyday occurrence. So why are people still entranced by it whenever there is a grisly accident? It is because society is intrigued by scenes of death and destruction.

We don’t just see it on the news but through Hollywood, we view death as entertainment. Of all the films released every year, how many of them DON’T have a body count? We pay four to seven dollars to see people get sucked up by tornadoes and aliens incinerate cities. People die every week on “ER” and “NYPD Blue” and they are in the top ten Nielsen ratings.

Every year on Nov. 22, people go to Dealey Plaza to visit the site where JFK was assassinated. I have even heard about celebrity death tours on tabloid shows like “A Current Affair” and “Hard Copy.” For ten dollars, you can take a ride in a hearse as the tour guide points out various places where movie stars breathed their last.

A couple weeks ago, a coworker told me on the day after two employees he knew were murdered in a robbery two years ago, he went to the store to see what was going on. Why? He said he went out of “morbid curiosity.”

I don’t know the answer on why death fascinates people.

Seeing a dead body on the road does nothing for me except leave a sick, twisted knot in my stomach that lasts a short while. Perhaps it is just a warning to say this is what happens when you go racing down the highway.

I do know this. Because I had to cover a meeting for the newspaper an hour and a half later on Sept. 10th, I ended up passing by the accident again on my way home. The police were still there and only two lanes were open.

Had I had a map on hand, I would have taken a different route home, as I did not want to contend with the traffic again. I didn’t pass by the accident twice because I needed to satisfy my “morbid curiosity.”

©9/25/96

“Timeliness important to professors” - Teachers should keep schedule as students do

A virus is running rampant on campus. And not just among students.

In the journalism profession, they call it “failure to meet deadline.”

The issue is lateness. Why do people show up late? At the retail job I worked at for eight years, the reason was burnout.

Maybe this is why so many professors here at University of Texas at Arlington show up 5-15 minutes late every day.

Having come from a community college and another four-year university, whenever an instructor failed to show up within ten minutes of class, one of three things happened.

The students left. Or someone from the head office would tell us the teacher was not coming. Or a note would be on the blackboard saying, “No class today.”

The UTA tradition seems to be just the opposite. When professors do not show up within the first five minutes, students do not leave.

“Don’t worry, he’ll show up,” someone told me.

How many students have the patience to tolerate that?

In Spring ‘95, I knew a student was a little peeved.

“Oh, god,” said the woman next to me as our professor strolled in 15 minutes late.

“Problem?” I asked.

“I had this guy last semester, and he was late every day,” she said. I cringed!

The same thing happened on the first day of summer II this year. I showed up for class at 8 a.m. and all three of us waited for the instructor to show up.

At 8:15 a.m., he did show up, only to tell us what I already assumed. The class may not make its enrollment, and we may have to drop for a refund in the next couple of days.

Why is it mandatory to be on time for your job?

Until recently, I always knew it was a job requirement. It enhances responsibility. It proves to your employers that you want to work, even though deep down, you would rather be elsewhere.

As my boss once said, timeliness is going to play a key role in our evaluations this month.

Showing up on time, however, means something else.

“It’s a courtesy to your co-workers,” said my weekend IT support manager. “Remember, when you’re scheduled to be here, someone else is waiting to leave or go to lunch.”

I do not have a cure to make instructors show up to class on time. All I care about is passing the class so I can be closer to graduating.

The next time, however, I show up late for class and get counted as absent, and the instructor drops my grade five points, I am not going to waste my time contesting the matter. I will tell he or she they were late to class almost every day this semester. I was late twice and had good reasons for it.

“What’s your excuse,” I will ask.

©8/30/96

Oklahoma City: one year later

Baylee Almon - 1994-1995

This week marks the first anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing. On April 19, at 9:02 a.m. last year, a Ryder truck carrying 4,000 pounds of oil and fertilizer exploded in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building killing 149 men, women and 19 children. The first reports were sketchy.

Around 9:10 a.m., channel 4 news broke into regularly scheduled programming as I made my bed. The first image, taken from far away, showed black smoke billowing from a central area in Oklahoma City. The newscaster said there were reports of a possible gas explosion at a school. I expected this to be an unfortunate freak occurrence and had hoped no one died in the explosion.

I went through the usual morning routine getting ready for school. It would be another twenty minutes before I turned the TV on again to see if live coverage continued. The images to me and to everyone else across the nation were devastating. Hundreds of victims were covered in blood caused by the falling concrete and debris. Some were dazed. Others were crying as firefighters and ambulance crews rushed to tend the injured.

Of all the pictures taken, only one would come to symbolize the tragedy. A picture captured by an amateur photographer moments after the blast of fireman Chris Fields cradling the body of one year old Baylee Almon, whose birthday was the day before. Today, whenever I think about her smiling face plastered across newspapers and magazines, it still puts a lump in my throat.

For the rest of the week, the nation mourned. President Clinton declared that Sunday a National Day of Mourning. Church bells across the country rang at 3 p.m. And we wanted answers. What sick minded individual could commit such a horrendous act? Why did it have to happen in Oklahoma City? Is someone out there capable of this much hate?

As law enforcement officials issued an all-points bulletin describing the two suspects at a live press conference the next morning, agents scoured airports under the assumption it was a terrorist attack from abroad.

No one knew, however, that the perpetrator was already in jail in Perry, Oklahoma on the charge of carrying a concealed weapon. He was arrested an hour and twenty minutes after the bombing. For two days, law enforcement officials didn’t even give the prisoner a second thought until Friday afternoon as he was about to post bail. Took only moments for officials to realize the young man fit one of the FBI’s descriptions.

His name was Timothy McVeigh, who according to Time, served in the army during the Gulf War and failed to qualify for the Armed Special Forces. He had reportedly been agitated over the way law enforcement officials handled the Branch Davidian Siege in Waco, Texas in 1993 and actually visited the site. He was also known to hold right wing politics and claimed the army had implanted a computer chip in his buttocks.

News quickly spread that the atrocious act was committed by one of our own. As the emotionless, stone-faced uncooperative suspect clad in an orange jumpsuit and leg and wrist irons was led outside by officials for a prison transfer, McVeigh was greeted by an angry mob.

“Baby killer,” they shouted. “Kill the creep.” But no one took a shot that day at Timothy McVeigh. Justice would have its day in court.

Two other individuals, Terry and James Nichols, were held in the case as well but only as material witnesses. James Nichols was later released while Terry, along with McVeigh, will stand trial this year in Denver, Colorado.

Whenever a tragedy of this magnitude occurs, it is one so shocking people don’t want to believe one person or persons could commit such an act. Instead, they point to possible conspiracy theories as people have often suggested with the JFK Assassination, Watergate, the O.J. Simpson murder trial and even the fiery end of the Branch Davidian Compound in Waco, Texas.

Conspiracy theories will no doubt play a major role as the trial of Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols nears. Who and where is John Doe number 2, the supposed individual witnesses say they saw at the federal building minutes before the blast? Did he die in the explosion? If not, whose leg was it that was buried with the body of a woman victim as reported in The Dallas Morning News last month. The defense will argue that McVeigh and Nichols were pawns in a much more sinister game. Was it the Michigan Militia, a military force that shares the same anti-sentiments towards law enforcement and the government as McVeigh does?

Last May, the charred skeleton that once was the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was demolished. The pictures seen in a feature article in the March 31 edition of The Dallas Morning News this year speak for themselves. All that remains is an open field blocked off by a chain link fence lined up with wooden crosses. Over dozens of buildings that surrounded the bombsite have yet to be repaired or are vacated.

On April 5 in Oklahoma City, the Clintons dedicated a site across the street from the disaster area that will be the new daycare center. Much has been discussed on what to put in place of where the Murrah Federal Building once stood.

Perhaps it will be a memorial park dedicated to the 168 men, women, and children who lost their lives in a matter of seconds that spring morning. A place for people to come and reflect on a senseless and unprecedented tragedy that happened a long time ago.

©4/17/96

Days of DC Comics’ “Star Trek” hit end of the road

"...and that concludes the final installment of DC's STAR TREK. Having had the knowledge of closing out these final issues' lettercols. I can't help feeling a twinge upon reading your mail, noting your enthusiasm, humor, and interest. "Amazing Grace" would be pretty appropriate now. I am heartened, though by the knowledge that Star Trek, now more than a force of nature than a saga, will continue in its various incarnations from generation to the next...and to the next...

The final words, as always, are best left to you readers and fans..."

- The editors of DC Comics' Star Trek

Feb. 1984 - Feb. 1996

Vol. 1 - 56 Issues - 3 Annuals

An era has ended.

Earlier this month, I stopped by the local comic bookstore to pick up the latest issue of “Star Trek” that features the original cast. I will always be a fan of the original series, but for the past year, I have not had time to read the monthly comics because of school and work.

I always knew at the beginning of every month there would be a new issue of Star Trek waiting for me at the store. The series would never end. It could not.

My usual routine was to first read the back page entitled “Hailing Frequencies Open” of each issue to see what the writers at DC Comics had in store next month for Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy. Even after reading the editorial note on the back page twice of Issue 80, it still did not register I was reading the final issue of the Star Trek series.

The note said “... and that concludes the final installment of DC’s “Star Trek.”

“What?!!” I exclaimed. “Great!! This is what I get for paying more attention to such important things like studying and working for a living.”

The news was as sudden as learning a relative or friend just died.

Vol. 2 - 80 Issues - 6 Annuals

The only question I could produce was why? My question was answered when I got home.

Rummaging through a pile of still un-filed comics I accumulated, I came across issue 79 which offered an explanation, however, vague.

The reason for the cancellation was not due to low revenues as I suspected; a major factor that contributed to Marvel Comics’ cancellation of “Star Wars” in 1986 after a nine-year run. The reason was because Margaret Clark, DC editor for both “Star Trek” and “Star Trek: The Next Generation” comics, was leaving to edit the franchise’s paperbacks and calendars at Pocket Books.

Along with that was the news The Next Generation comic would also be suspended.

Issue 80 of that series arrived in stores last week.

And so, it is officially over. Captains Kirk, Picard, and their respective crews are boldly going to an area they have explored once before in their television series. Cancellation.

I shed no tears, however, for The Next Generation. Their adventures will continue in motion pictures. As far as the original cast was concerned, I knew it was over for them in movies with “Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country” in 1991.

At least I still had the monthly comic book to look forward to. Until now.

In the Beginning

1995 Miniseries
6 Issues

It was a lengthy and enjoyable run while it lasted.

“The human adventure is only beginning,” was the sentence at the end of “Star Trek: The Motion Picture” when it premiered in 1979. Since the original TV series ended its run in 1969, there was always talk of bringing the cast back in a new television series. The comic book adventures began in 1980 when Marvel Comics adapted the original series. There was, however, some uncertainty about it. The publication had no idea where they wanted to go with the characters and as a result, the series lasted only 18 issues. It was not until “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan” (1982) was released that the popularity of the franchise exploded. All Trekkies ever talked about was how Spock would be brought back to life in the third film.

DC Comics was not going to wait for the answer and began publishing a comic book series of their own in February 1984; three months before the premiere of “Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.” DC’s writers not only produced several new creative storylines, but they retained all the action, drama and humor of the original series and brought a few guest characters back. Spock and McCoy never failed to have their philosophical arguments.

Oct. 1989 - Feb. 1996
Vol. 2 - 80 Issues - 6 Annuals

I am astounded at how Trekkies are today by The Next Generation. I remember a friend of mine could not believe it when he saw the new Enterprise’s saucer section in Generation’s 1987 pilot, “Encounter at Farpoint”, separate from the stardrive. DC first pulled that stunt off three years before “The Next Generation” came to TV with the Mirror Universe storyline from the original series.

It did not take long, however, for the series’ studio, Paramount Pictures, to realize it had a hit on its hands. The first series went on a brief hiatus in 1988 while DC’s writers and Paramount’s executives negotiated their future.

Just as “Star Trek V: The Final Frontier” was released in theaters in the summer of 1989, “Star Trek: The Next Generation” comic was born.

The idea “Star Trek” has explored is unity. That was creator Gene Roddenberry’s reasoning for having an African American (Uhura), a Russian (Chekov), an Asian American (Sulu), an Englishman (Scotty), a Vulcan (Spock), and two Americans (Kirk and McCoy) serving on the Enterprise.

And now

Today, Paramount Pictures is interested more in making money marketing the Star Trek franchise than producing better storylines.

Perhaps it was best DC Comics quit while they were ahead. Better to go out knowing you had high sales than to go out knowing you had none.

I just wish the publication could have given the original cast a first-class sendoff. I would rather remember them seeking out “new life and new civilizations” than to be retired.

Although their adventures will continue in a variety of hard and soft cover books, this is the end for the comics.

However, with 79 original episodes (80 if you consider “The Menagerie” was a two part episode), six feature films, 150 plus comic books, annuals, specials, movie adaptations, and 50 plus hard and soft cover novels and counting, there’s more than enough adventures for me to look back upon.

Farewell Captain Kirk and the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-A.

Live long and prosper.

©2/7/96

My Personal Worst Films: Showgirls (1995)

Showgirls ½«
NC-17, 131m. 1995

Cast & Credits: Elizabeth Berkley (Nomi Malone), Gina Gershon (Crystal Connors), Kyle MacLachlan (Zack Carey), Glenn Plummer (James Smith), Alan Rachins (Tony Moss), Robert Davi (Al Torres), Gina Rivera (Molly Abrams), Al Ruscio (Mr. Karlman). Screenplay by Joe Eszterhas. Directed by Paul Verhoeven.

"Showgirls" is a film that delivers plenty of breasts and skin with enough overtones of bisexuality, lesbianism, and sadomasochism equivalent to a pornographic movie, hence the NC-17 rating it’s been given (no one under 17 admitted). It is not, however, sexually stimulating like some hardcore X-rated movies are and is completely devoid of a compelling storyline, which is exactly what all hardcore X-rated movies exhibit.

Not only is this $40 million production filled with some horrendous performances and laughably, unbelievable dialogue, it is a cheap slap-in-the-face to more gifted directors like John Schlesinger ("Midnight Cowboy" - 1969), Philip Kaufman ("Henry & June" - 1990), and Bernardo Bertolucci ("Last Tango nn Paris" - 1972) whose critically acclaimed films over the past two decades were stigmatized by the Motion Picture Association of America and theatrical owners for their adult content.

"Showgirls," with its huge mass market distribution in over 1,300 movie screens nationwide in September 1995 and NC-17 ads appearing on network television, was enough to make presidential Republican Candidate Bob Dole cringe. The irony was the film arrived quietly on video store shelves a mere three months after its box office run.

Video Store magazine revealed the movie’s distributor, MGM/United Artists, went solo on the film’s promotional video tour because its sister company, Warner Home Video, wouldn’t back NC-17 films. And the nation’s top video retailer, Blockbuster Video, was also not going to carry the NC-17 or unrated versions of the film.

"Showgirls" is the latest collaboration from director Paul Verhoeven and screenwriter Joe Eszterhas who gave audiences the confusing but erotic "Basic Instinct" (1992). If their names weren’t on the credits, one might think this film was put together by amateurs.

The word which best describes the picture is “half-assed.” Seems neither Verhoeven or Eszterhas gave a damn about what it was they were making. Their only goal here was to stir up some controversy.

The story revolves around Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley); a young loner with a sordid past who hitchhikes to Las Vegas with big dreams of becoming a stripper.

Excuse me while I correct myself. Nomi isn’t a stripper.

“I’m a dancer,” she vehemently tells her boss (Robert Davi) early on in the film.

The movie traces her rise as a stripper doing nude lap dances in a sleazy nightclub known as the Stardust who graduates to the flashy, high class dance theater in downtown Vegas called the Chateau.

There is not a single line of dialogue said in the film that can be taken seriously. In fact, a majority of what is seen on screen can be played for laughs. The most pathetic character is Alan Rachins as the Chateau manager who is a combination of Anthony Perkins’ psychotic looks from his days playing Norman Bates in the Psycho movies with the voice of Saturday Night Live’s Phil Hartman.

In one scene, Rachins puts some ice on Nomi’s breasts in order to make them firm. After a few seconds, he lets out an exhaustive almost sexually fulfilling sigh and says, “I’m erect. Why aren’t you?” It sounds like something Perkins’ demented street preacher character from director Ken Russell’s "Crimes of Passion" (1984) would say.

Other inane sequences offer a phony dose of sentimentality. When Nomi tells her co-workers she is quitting the Stardust, a heavy-set dancer; whose entertainment gift to the male audience is when she raises her arms, her brassiere drops with a honking sound revealing her large breasts, tells Nomi, “You're the only one who can get my tits poppin' right!”

Believe it or not, there are a couple decent performances that deserve better had Eszterhas turned in a note-worthy script. Glenn Plummer does a credible turn as an exotic dancer who is addicted to sex. Unfortunately, Gina Ravera as Nomi’s friend and confidante is wasted. Ravera’s part is only set up for the brutal and unnecessary rape scene near the film’s climax that seems to have been written in for shock value.

The best scene in the entire movie is a clever dance audition in which a lot of the half clothed female dancers attempt to prove they are talented. The sequence bears some resemblance to Broadway’s A Chorus Line but the scene is wrecked once the characters speak.

Gina Gershon, however, as the star dancer of the Chateau looks as though she is having fun with her role. Throughout the film, Gershon plays sort of a competitive cat-and-mouse love game with Nomi using the same flirtatious attractions Sharon Stone used on Michael Douglas in Basic Instinct.

Now there is where the movie could have worked had Berkley’s Nomi been someone the audience could have gotten to know and care about. The problem is her character, armed with a switchblade, three layers of make-up, and a no-nonsense attitude, is so standoffish towards the other people in the film I couldn’t decide if I should be for or against her.

Berkley, whose only other acting stint was as the valedictorian on NBC’s "Saved by the Bell" (1989-1993), plays her role here in such an awkward uneven manner that the only thing Nomi is really good at is painting her fingernails.

"Showgirls" may be the year’s worst publicity stunt, but the film is unique in the fact it’s not the critics who have the last word. It is the director himself.

When asked to comment by the Associated Press on Berkley’s dismal performance, the damning reviews, and the film’s box office take of $21 million, Verhoeven said, “I simply made a bad movie.”

Well, for that I have to give Verhoeven credit. At least he is being honest.

©9/22/95

Appreciation: Howard McGinnis

A couple friends of mine and I had an idea for a half-hour sitcom. The comedy would take place at a retail outlet and the characters would be less than a handful of employees and customers.

Unfortunately, we never got any farther than deciding who the characters would be.

If we could not agree on anything else, the idea of having a few customers as characters in the show came from “Cheers” (1982-1993). In that show, audiences came to know and love Norm Peterson, Cliff Clavin, and Frazier Crane.

At the Blockbuster Video I have been working at for almost four years now, one person reminded me of Norm Peterson only in the sense he frequented the place the most. His name was Howard McGinnis.

In “Cheers”, audiences knew Norm Peterson as the lazy do nothing lug who would rather be nursing a beer than be at home with his wife, Vera.

Howard was just the opposite. He was married 33 years, had two daughters and a son who ran an automotive shop in Mesquite and had his own personal business on the side.

Norm’s routine for eleven seasons was he would walk in the bar and everyone would say, “Norm!!!” Woody (Woody Harrelson) or someone would ask him what is up, and Norm would respond, “My ideal height if I were ten feet tall.”

Whenever Howard or “Big H” as one coworker called him, came in the usual response was the same. You would ask him what is up, and he would say, “Nothing until you’ve rented me something (a movie) I haven’t seen yet.”

The response was justified. Howard had accumulated close to 3,000 movie rentals since he became a member in 1991.

I assist at least twenty-five customers a day at Blockbuster Video. The regular ones I do see come in once every two or three weeks or so. I always knew, however, when Howard would make an appearance.

He would come in at least three times a week, mostly Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they were new release days. Howard would go directly to the new releases, put on his reading glasses, and look over the dozen films which had just come out on video that week.

Before his visit was over, Howard would leave with at least half. Hardly was there ever a time where he would walk out with nothing; something management hates seeing with any customer.

Howard was more than just a good customer. He would spend about twenty or thirty minutes in the store. He would not be just browsing around. Howard would chat with a couple of employees and managers.

I remember talking to him about my ‘82 Oldsmobile that had seen its better days. I cannot speak for anyone else, but I knew Howard was always the first to help.

When my car’s automatic window on the passenger side would not close, Howard took out a business card to his son’s automotive shop and said, “Tell my son that Howard sent you and you’ll be taken care of.”

The trip saved me the $250 the dealer was going to charge to dismantle the door and replace the part.

It is and was people like Howard and a couple of other customers I have come to know well who have made my job not as tedious as it often can be.

I still see those familiar faces today except Howard. He died Aug. 25 after a brief but courageous battle with cancer.

The job is still routine but life at the video store is not the same.

Then again, if I know Howard chances are he is doing exactly what the priest at the funeral said he would do.

“When Howard walks into those pearly gates, he is going to ask St. Peter, ‘Where is the nearest Blockbuster?’”

Chances are Howard is in a much better place doing just that. This time, he is watching movies free of charge.

©9/13/95