University of Kansas - Jayhawker Yearbook (Lawrence, KS)

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Ecology . . Or How To Save A World By Really Trying In the fall of 1970, Steve Emerson, then a Topeka junior, introduced a bill to the Student Senate which, if it had been accepted, would have banned all vending machines from campus. From this humble beginning the University of Kan- sas 'iWhomper was born. The Reclamation Center was the brainchild of the Coca Cola Company and the Union vending service. Because the banning of vending machines would have meant tremen- dous losses of revenue to both companies and because both were environmentally concerned, they agreed to finance the project. The Coca Cola Company agreed to loan the ma- chine to KU indefinitely, and the vending service financed the installation of the Whomper in Memorial Stadium. The electrical installation which provides power for operation cost S1,500. Both companies continue to provide support for the Reclamation Center. Coca Cola's Kansas City manager arranged for a firm to pick up crushed glass from Lawrence each time the center accumulated 60 barrels of glass . All funding for operations comes from outside the Univer- sity with the exception of Student Senate support for pick-up service and for a reclamation director. Cary Jacobs, Prairie Village sophomore, was recently selected as director, fol- lowing Bill Ebert, former KU graduate student, and Molly Laflin, St. Louis senior, and student body vice-president. The new director serves as a public relations man to gain community support, the center's major problem. Although the Lawrence city government condones the Reclamation Center, it has not provided any assistance. Most of the support - in the form of sorted trash - comes from a few organized living groups, residence halls and tav- ems. But to be financially successful, The Whomper must have a broader base of community support, from individuals as well as businesses. The shipping of crushed glass is another big problem - none of the barrels shipped has been returned from the recy- cling process in St. Louis. The Reclamation Center had lost nearly 300 barrels, and the lack of a barrel supply is hinder- ing operation. Football season also created a serious prob- lem. The large crowds make it necessary to store all the re- fuse that is to be recycled inside during the game. Since there isn't enough room to hold all the trash, pick-up serv- ices have to be cut back on home-game weekends. This is a big concern to Molly Laflin. We made all this effort to get the community involved over the summer. Now we have to cut back on volume because our site isn't large enough. We're trying to find a larger placef, The center has consid- ered a site southeast of 'SON zone for the future home of the Whomper. 22

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Bicycles . . And More Bicycles I watched enviously as the girl raced down Fourteenth Street towards us, her hair streaming behind her as she hunched jockey-style on her orange Schwinn Varsity. The whirl of the spinning tire filled the air as she swooped down the hill, deftly dodging Coors cans in the street. The slight wind which hit me as she streaked by recalled the heavy September heat more greatly after it died, but I continued to struggle up the hill, pushing my bike towards the art museum. I could feel my face grow flushed from the exertion, and I wondered how my companion could march up the street, one hand on the bike, in the noon sun. We did not speak to each other, except to wish breathlessly that the cool autumn weather would arrive. My 10-speed bike was worthless to me, climbing that hill, because of my weak thighs. I won- dered if it was really worth the effort. Pushing that bike up that same hill each day, and hating it more each day, until I had almost ceased to ride for pleasure in this hill-centered city. But I had no choice now except to climb. Once we reached Jayhawk Boulevard, I forgot the disillu- 24 sionments of the previous moments in the cooling breeze that greeted us as we pedaled effortlessly down the street. There were many cyclists on the hill, and we darted in and out among them like cowpunchers on a cattle drive. I wished that I could spend the afternoon sailing down the streets and enjoying all the freedoms which such rides brought. But the whistle blew, and I reluctantly stopped to chain my bicycle to a No Parkingi' sign. I hated to relinquish the aftemoon's vitality by going in- side, so I leaned against the cyclone fence to watch the cycl- ists speeding by. A deep-rooted pleasure ebbed over me, knowing that I was one of them. The same sort of pleasure that I got from singing the Star-Spangled Bannern or marching in a moratorium parade or watching Armstrong step on to the moon. It was, perhaps, the pleasure of a fad, but I did not experience that feeling often in these pessimis- tic, realistic days. And I treasured it. I treasured it even though I knew that in a year or two the bicycles would be gone, would have disappeared like hoola-hoops and skate boards.