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I‘m a sentimentalist at the best of times but I‘m afraid that during the Christmas season this condition worsens. Therefore I was more than pleased to take part in this 600â€"yearâ€"old tradition. behind me in a desperate attempt to serve their guests as quickly as possible. o â€" _ Within six minutes and 40 seconds of being seated, 380 of us had been served our meal â€" and a hearty meal it was too! Where is this fine dining establishment where they pride themselves on such fast service? Try WLU‘"s Theatre Auditorium during the 28th annual Boar‘s Head Dinner. _ Before I go into the events of the evening, let me tell you a bit of the history exactly as it was told to me. Although the tradition began back in the fourteenth century, the story goes that at that time, a philosophy student, Capcot, who was attending Queen‘s College at Oxford University in England, had escaped into the forest in order to study for an upcoming philosophy Christmas exam. Surrounded by the serenity of naâ€" ture (so he thought) while absorbed in his Aristotle text, which he had neglected all term, a wild boar became interested in him, and procgeded to attack him. On becoming aware of the situation, and having only the book of Aristotle with him, Capcot, thinking quickly, as one might have to when being charged by a wild boar, shoved the text down the boar‘s throat causing him to choke on Aristotle, as many students do, and to die forthwith. Capcot returned to the Uniâ€" I‘ve sat in many a drafty restaurant but never beâ€" fore has this draft been caused by waiters running Chap wants to do a television shortie about me. I hae me doots about agreeing. I have deep suspicions about that particular medium, and a very low regard for the vast majority engaged in its machinations. First of all, TV is one of the most pernicious influenâ€" ces on the imaginations and vocabularies of the young. to whom I am trying to teach the subtleties and beauties and clarities of the English language. There is almost nothing to stretch the mind, to tiâ€" tillate the senses, to improve the language. Most teleâ€" vision drama is oneâ€"dimensional. It‘s laid out flatly before you. The language is brutalized. Suspense is childish. Acting is insensitive. And if, once in a blue moon, there is an intelligent. suspenseful, sensitive and imaginative piece of work on the screen, the mood is constantly shattered by noisy beer ads. or distasteful commercials about ring around the collar or underarm deodorant. It‘s a pity. Television, in the right hands, could beâ€" come the most warming, enlightening. enlarging exâ€" perience in the lives of many people, aside from their personal experience with other human beings. It‘s amazing the philosophical advice you would lay on your kids that you wouldn‘t be caught dead saying to a fellow adult. These fertile little minds pass through the formaâ€" tive years listening to one instructor cautioning of the importance to "look before you leap." and shortly after hearing some other sage senior come up with the who hesitates is lost." Anvone who is familiar with the author‘s work will realize that Aesop had a different fable in mind to cover each of the two conflicting points of view. Hoâ€" wever. unless you happen to stumble upon the same tacky problem as the characters in the fable. you must admit that having a choice of two sound soluâ€" tions recommended by such a renowned philosopher is perplexing. to say the very least The problems of life are very difficult and imporâ€" tant to children. In most cases it is the first time the dilemma has surfaced and. unlike most of us who have made the wrong decision in these cireumstances at least once. they seem to need a firm hand to surâ€" vive the hazard. It is usually at this point that I imitaâ€" te my bank manager and warn the young fellow that "it‘s better to be safe than sorry. _ If he takes my adâ€" vice and it doesn‘t work . I can always give him a According to Hoile Terry James versity, with the boar‘s head, a great hero. That evening a great feast followed the triumphant procession proclaiming the victory of knowledge over the wild beast. Whether or not Capcot passed his phiâ€" losophy exam is not known. However, the tradition of the Boar‘s Head Procession and Dinner has conâ€" tinued. WLU, in addition to the traditional grand procession similar to that conducted in the Queen‘s College Great Hall six hundred years ago, and the feast, has added a few traditions of its own. The waiters serving the meal must race against the clock, each year striving for a new record. Being a former student of this fine institution, I had heard numerous stories about this event. So it was that I entered the hall this particular evening with visions of years gone by. I had been told about the court jester who flipped and cartwheeled about the room;, that the boar‘s head was real (thank heavens it wasn‘t); that I should don my scruffiest apparel beâ€" cause I was bound to be wearing mashed potatoes and gravy before the night was over and to watch my step when leaving, for fear I stepped on one of millions of pieces of broken china and food littering the floor. Following the serving of the head table (whom, much to my disappointment, were served very graâ€" ciously compared to the rest of us) the fun began. You know, when television began, it had a good many flaws, but most of them were technical. At the same time it had a vitality and reality that swept all before them. . Now let me tell you what really happened. The lights went out and a procession entered the room bearing the artificial boar‘s head. This was closely followed by the WLU choir who carried candles and sang the traditional boar carol. Drama was done live, and we had such great plays as Paddy Chayefsky‘s Marty. Compare that reality and pathos with the slobbering, sugarâ€"encrusted stuff like The Waltons. Compare shouting, leering Laverne and Shirley, or the late unlamented Maude with the great comics of the early days: Art Carney and Jackie Gleason, Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. You can‘t. But 90 per cent of it is garbage, aimed at the inâ€" telligence of a slow sixâ€"yearâ€"old. The tinny, artificial ‘‘applause."" The everâ€"increasing sexual innuendo. The constant shouting of soâ€"called comedians. The dull and derivative dance routines. The blatting and snarling of rock groups. And perhaps worst of all, those insane, greedy game shows. It is literal fact that I can scarce refrain from throwing up when I come across one of those, with the bellowing master of ceremonies, the fawning contestants, and the idiotic audiences. One of my old reliables is the one about the Scottish general who was consistently taking his lumps against an opposing clan until, one night. he drew sufficient inspiration from the overtime activities of a spider weaving a web in his tent that he coined the expresâ€" sion "if at first you don‘t succeed. try. try again.‘ Great advice. It worked for him. He won his next battle. But if you jot that one down as part of today‘s game plan, you had better also include "don‘t beat your head against a stone wall,"" just in case the boss gets tired of listening to the story of your disastrous financial position. I used to advise against flogging a dead horse, but there are a lot of people who get very hostile if they think I‘m advocating doing the same thing to a live one Usually around the dinner table the children are apprised that silence is golden. I think that‘s an upâ€" date of that Victorian gem "children should be seen and not heard."" By the time most kids are old enough to trade four baseball cards for a Batman comic book they have already learned their own version of Tit‘s the squeaking wheel that gets the grease." second choice with "always remember. son, nothing ventured. nothing gained." Anybody who follows baseball. and recalls when the Bill Smiley By Geoff Hoile I know. that kind of advice is in conflict with the basic philosophy of every religious leader from Buddâ€" ha to the Pope. The wording changes slightly from one religion to another. but the idea of doing unto the other guy the way you‘d like him to treat you is pretty well universal. I guess all the poor kids can do is try a little harder and hope somebody fires the coach I have decided to jettison the balance of my list of sage advice on the grounds that all this conflicting philosophy is taking me back to square one anyway. I could call on my past experience, but I‘d rather not. Maybe I‘ll stay quiet and let the little people sort out their own problems as they go along The remainder of the evening progressed at a norâ€" mal pace with the serving of coffee and desert. Don Cullen and Nancy White, the entertainment for the evening, left their audience in better spirits than beâ€" fore, if that was in fact possible. Dodgers were back in Brooklyn where they belong. will remember Leo Durocher. Now there was a guy who knew his way around. But what a situation to be in. Here you are, trying to coach a team of peewee baseball players and get them fired up to win the penâ€" nant this year. and what have you got? A bunch of kids that are polite as hell. but no drive. No desire. They‘re not busting up double plays with a flying dropâ€"kick into second base or scoring runs bowling over opposâ€" ing catchers. None of that. What can you say. except maybe give them those imortal words of Leo the Lip. ‘*nice guys finish last!‘" Having attended this renowned event once would I venture out to attend it on a cold winter night in the fuâ€" ture? You can bet I will. I can almost guarantee I‘ll be one of the first people to pick up my ticket. The forks, spoons, knives and hands clapped in time to the organ music. All too soon it was over. Everyone had been served in six minutes and 40 seconds as comâ€" pared to last year‘s eight minutes. It was incredible, or dissappointing, depending on how one chose to look at it. Not a spot of potato or gravy had landed on the floor. And how did the evening end? Why with the singing of traditional Christmas carols of course. s The waiters were nearing our table. In a matter of seconds they were making their way up to where I sat. This is it! Mashed potatoes a la lap! I elosed my eyes. I heard a rustling in my right ear. I opened my eyes. There was my dinner. Not a spot of gravy had been spilled. I fought back a feeling of disappointment. Approximately 12 waiters, (I was too excited to get an exact count) came running out of the kitchen bearing plates in hand. Organ music accompanied them and as the pace quickened so did everyone‘s spirits. I watched the time clock on the far wall ticking off the minutes. Or was it? Nothing seemed to be happenâ€" ing. The lights went dead. It was broken. Talented people in show business will appear on the screen with an ape or an alligator., and allow themselâ€" ves to be insulted by a lateâ€"nightâ€"show MC, just to get in the picture. And those appearing on television respond like fawning puppets. Hockey players get into needless fights so that they can display the big macho on the sereen. Football players don‘t just score a touchdown anymore, and leave it at that. They do a dance. or they bounce the ball hard off the ground and run around with their arms up in selfâ€"congratulation. Learned and intelligent professors allow themselâ€" ves to be made ridiculous by rhetorical questions from ignorant interviewers. Politicians allow themâ€" selves to be chivvied by churlish reporters, just to get their images on the boob tube. There is no comparison. Perhaps it‘s because the big poobahs of television have treated their massive audiences with more conâ€" tempt than any other medium has ever done, includâ€" ing the Hollywood of the big studios. . December 6, 1078 : ?age:? (Continued on page 10)