Briar Patch
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Rank or not, he may have a point. When the voters approved Amendment 7 last November by a lopsided majority, few paused to reflect on the implications of declaring sex equality to be part of our fundamental law. If a man can legally dance topless, it will tax the ingenuity of a city councilman to figure out a way to keep the pasties on the women without mentioning their gender in his statute. Perhaps we will see a spate of ordinances forbidding men to dance topless too; but then what about on the beach, or those naked-to-the-waist construction crews in the summer time? You never know where a liberated woman is going to turn up next. The public decency statutes may be in for a hard time.
But even if our lawmakers can somehow breast this onslaught of nipples and areolae, the grooming codes so dear to the heart of almost every Texas school board seem doomed beyond rescue. It's probably no exaggeration to say that every public school hair regulation went straight out the window with the adoption of Amendment 7. Who can force an unwilling high school boy to shear his shoulder-length locks, so long as the girls are permitted to keep theirs? The courts in several other states with "equal rights" amendments on their books have already declared that requiring shorter hair for males than females constitutes unlawful sex discrimination. Strange as this may sound to Texan ears, we voted for it, didn't we?
As the word rolls out to the provinces, look for a courageous school board (Midland? Pasadena? Borger?) to defend the honor of Texas manhood with the only means left: crewcuts for everyone. It'll be a whole new look in drum majorettes.
POLLUTION WARRIORS
IT IS NO SECRET THAT Texas Attorney General John Hill looks cordially on the idea of running for governor next year. He may have found the issue he needs in Houston's ever-worsening smog. There is a growing indication that Hill actually intends to use the long-dormant enforcement powers of his office against polluters. A Houstonian himself, he is said to feel that Harris County voters (who constitute nearly 25 per cent of the state's Democratic party electorate) are willing to see some industries shut down, if that is the price that must be paid for cleaner air. He is in a position to do it.
We paid a visit not long ago to Hill's regional office in the Bayou city, where two young lawyers (the first of a proposed staff of five) are brushing the dust off several dozen air pollution cases that have been lying around for as long as five years. The lawyers—former legislative aide Terence O'Rourke and former Assistant District Attorney Rod Gorman—are taking aim squarely at major companies like Armco Steel and Champion Paper, instead of following the traditional Houston policy of harassing garbage dump operators and other topwaters who lack political clout
It remains to be seen whether O'Rourke and Gorman will get very far. A federal pollution lawsuit against Armco was squelched during last year's presidential campaign, allegedly on direct White House orders. There is no doubt that the major polluters still rest fairly comfortably in their belief that well-placed campaign support carries more weight than public indignation about bad air. They probably have enjoyed an occasional chuckle at the thought of Hill's two-man staff toiling away at their desks across the hall from John's Beauty Parlor in a stodgy, unprepossessing old building on North Main. The striking white skyline of corporate Houston towers above it, and they helped build that skyline. Who is John Hill anyway?
O'Rourke seems confident that Hill intends to carry out a hard-line policy, however. One of the first cases will be against Armco, where he is seeking more than two million dollars in accumulated fines. He expects to win it. Sitting at his desk in front of the usual diplomas (including a Texas law degree and a Rice master's degree in geology), silently watched by a small portrait of Lorenzo de Medici, he conveys the impression of a man who sees more in his work than an eight-to-five job.
"This pollution thing has to be won, especially the air pollution," he says. "The air in this town is killing people, actually killing them. It's a question of whether we can keep Houston a place that's worth living and raising a family in. What does it mean for me to quit smoking cigarettes, if living in Houston is the same as smoking three packs a day?"
O'Rourke shakes his head over the sense of priorities which local pollution officials have often shown in past years...Just look at this list of cases referred by the City of Houston," he says. "Half of them are garbage dumps. Here's a dump; another dump; here's Robert's Dump. There was a suit in here a while back against one called Grandma's. Dump. I know you can't ignore these things, but we have to have some feeling for what's most important. So you do shut down Robert's Dump; he just moves somewhere else. What about the kind of pollution that comes from major industries—the heavy metals, the acids that etch people's lungs, the odors that can make a whole neighborhood vomit? We can't keep on ducking these and expect to have a place worth living in."
He clearly feels that the previous Attorney General, the late Crawford Martin, ducked the hard cases. "The Environmental Division tried exactly two air pollution cases in the whole state last year," he says indignantly. "One was a sheep feed lot in West Texas and the other one was a chicken rendering plant near Waco. They won on the feed lot, and they got a hung jury in Waco."
Gorman spent his tenure as an assistant to Carol Vance bringing misdemeanor pollution lawsuits throughout Harris County. He and O'Rourke have come up with at least one novel technique which hasn't been used before: advertising for evidence. Beginning February 1, both of the Houston dailies began carrying legal notices concerning a suit against U.S. Plywood-Champion Papers, Inc., for alleged odor pollution. The notices read:
"Citizens with facts regarding whether or not the paper mill involved in this case causes air pollution are requested to call the attorney general's special deputy at 524-0607. All information supplied will be kept in confidence."
If this approach induces the victims of pollution to step forward and make themselves heard, Hill's trial lawyers may start winning some significant victories. If that happens, Houstonians may find themselves in the middle of a vigorous debate about how far the state should go in shutting down polluters. And the 1974 gubernatorial race may develop its first issue.
JUST US BELLY FANCIERS
A SHORT TIME AGO WE attended the opening of Helena's School of Bellydancing. The school is in a converted home on Westheimer in Houston, up one flight from The Bacchanal, a Greek restaurant where Helena dances nightly.
Helena is a lovely dark-haired lady with eyelashes out to there and flesh of swirling satin. With pride and grace she showed us around the studio. She told us it had just been completed that afternoon. Flourishing long, deeply colored nails, Helena remarked that she still had dirt beneath them from working on the place.
There was champagne and Greek delicacies; dancing by young Greek apprentice-bellydancers; and afterwards complimentary drinks downstairs and a chance to see Helena perform. Of those who attended and were considering taking a course, none professed the desire to actually perform as a bellydancer—though several expressed interest in teaching it—except for one girl in high curled hair and stage make-up whose life's ambition it was. Few, in fact, were certain they would take the course at all, and for most, the hang-up was money. A ten week course of ten one-hour lessons is $100: $50 down, $50 halfway through (all major credit cards accepted). As most prospects seemed to be either young single working girls looking for something fun to do or suburban mothers interested in toning up midsections, it was a lot of money.
We all seemed to be checking out bellies and going at it about as slyly as conventioneers checking name tags. Few bellies looked promising. Helena's, of course, will likely dance her into heaven, but as for the others: Well, a person could only sympathize. After years of being maligned, constricted and flattened, those poor bellies were now faced with being asked to perform, to roll and shimmy and dance to the music. To be, above all, beautiful. It seemed a lot to ask, but nearly every belly did its best.
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