On the Road to Rajneeshpuram
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On The Road To Rajneeshpuram By BECKY DODSON read the front-page headline which appeared and in the Times last summer. The article stated R A Y BORST that the Rajneeshees were often referred to as a “sex cult.” “Open displays of sexual fon 4 4 W T h a t a r e w e d o i n g h e r e ?” we dling seem to be taken for granted,” it said. \ i \ l groaned as we turned our rented To us, this surely meant rape. V ¥ green Oldsmobile off the desolate After traveling several more miles without central Oregon highway and onto the dirt seeing another car or even a cow, we came road. We were already two-and-a-half hours upon what resembled an old Bonanza set with from Portland, and 40 miles from the nearest a few ramshackled houses and dusty interstate. The sign pointing to the steep buildings. single lane path we followed read: “This is Antelope — the town they tried to “Rajneeshpuram, 28.” take over,” one of us observed. Sure enough, Looking through the haze at the ominous we soon saw what used to be the Antelope trees, tumbleweeds and hairpin turns, we General Store, but is now a vegetarian couldn’t help but wonder what we were get restaurant with “Zorba The Buddha” painted ting ourselves into. across the top of the building in bright red Armed with only a mandate from the Daily letters. Nexus and UCSB Religious Studies Professor We stopped to take a picture but became Walter Capps, we set out to investigate a aware of two men watching us from inside a controversial Oregon commune run by police car. When we drove by them, we / members of the Rajneesh religious “cult.” noticed the City of Rajneeshpuram seal on “You’ll be brainwashed, tortured or given a their door. The men wore red clothes and had snowjob,” our friends and families warned, fairly long hair and scraggly beards. while telling us we were crazy to go stay with “If they have police, they have jails t— that “those dangerous people.” At this point, we means they can keep us here as long as they thought so too. want,” we worried. Still, we continued to The day before, we had met with a Portland follow the arrows: “Rajneeshpuram, 20.” attorney for 1,000 Friends of Oregon, a group After making a few more narrow turns, we which is suing the Rajneeshees for violating saw another sign which read: “Soft shoulders. state land-use laws because of their “urban Blind curves. Steep Grade. Big Trucks. Good development on rural areas.” The attorney Lu ck !” and an article from the Los Angeles Times “Good Luck?” we yelled, almost convinced us that these people were up to no simultaneously. “That’s it, let’s turn around.” good. But, we convinced each other that we had “Flourishing Cult Startles Rural Oregon,” (Please turn to pg.4A, col.l) 2A Friday, April 6,1964 Daily Nexus “ Commemoration For 5,022” By PE TE R LEFEVRE he romance began one sultry summer afternoon nigh about dusk, when two thousand, five hundred T and eleven stalwart young Brahmins, members of the Bix Biederbeck Memorial Interstate Collegiate Mar ching Band, decided on jaunting downtown and snagging a couple of brewskis after the day’s grueling formation practice. The next day, of course, was to be the big Chatahoochee Valley-Sprunt Tech game, and the halftime show was to include a number of complex maneuvers, not the least difficult of which was the band’s celebrated spelling of “ Chatahoochee Valley” in cursive letters. Gamely stuffing themselves into five hundred assorted jalopies, they peeled out amidst a screen of dust from the grid-iron hoping to catch a happy hour or three, toss a few games of Red and Black, and generally enjoy the unique intimacy and kinship that permeated their teeming throng. It was a tad boggling to find a joint that would seat two thousand, but having selected what was to be the most influential dive of all of their days — a quaint little haunt called “ The Hellhole” — they sped off toward the destination rendering touching selections from the abridged Amish Folk Song catalogue. By what was to amount to a stroke of bewildering con-, junction, a coincidence that might leave the most cynical curmudgeon of us standing open-mouthed, agog, two- thousand and eleven young ladies, workers in the garment district all, had popped in at “ The Hellhole” for some daquiris and pleasant chat after a hard day’s dyeing and basting. A sense of ennui, of restlessness, of youth without direction seemed to be the predominant aura. Like so many lonely people of today they longed for the companionship and love that only conjugal bliss could afford, but as they room in the tiny club was no mean feat. What eventually homes to such an awesome assemblage for the night. Yet were all so close, they could not bear the thought of any one transpired was an election in which a proposer and an all did their best and the most accommodating of the hosts of their sisters enduring life bereft of a soulmate with which accepter were nominated and the touching vows of eternal had the good fortune to have a Sousa march performed, to brave the golden years. From this arised their love were made through two 50 watt megaphones happily albeit awkwardly, in their very own living rooms. woebegone state, for where could they find two-thousand provided by the owner of the bar. Acres of kneeling men and eleven suitable beaus? Where, indeed. waited in divine, unbearable anticipation as the women, in Finally, the day approached. As conventional churches As car after car pulled into the Hellhole parking lot that unison, deliberated. This was merely coyness though, and didn’t have the dogmatic flexibility to perform the evening, it was as if those dreams were fulfilling them when the one girl broadcast her “ Y es!” , the whole place ceremony, they had to seek out a more progressive faith, selves. It was as if the singular prayer of the crowd had exploded in cheers. The next seven and a half hours were one that might not flinch at betrothing five-thousand and been answered. As each tubist, oboist, and Glockenspieler spent calling relatives from the two payphones near the twenty-two people simultaneously. They found such a exited from the pageant of autos, it was love at first sights. pool tables in the back. church, and twenty-six jewelers, forty tailors, half a ton Yet it wasn’t to be as easy as all that. While it was obvious Meeting the in-laws became a problem as there were over of rice and enough flowers to decorate a good sized portion to even the most rudimentary student of social dynamics ten-thousand of them spread over the globe from Baden- of the Rose parade later, they were brides and grooms. that each and all had found their true loves, positioning for Baden to Wagga-Wagga, and precious few could open their You may have seen the photos. Poetry, Prose Contest Editor, JONA THANALBURGER The Daily Nexus F R ID A Y magazine is still accepting UCSB student submissions of short poetry (one page limit per piece) and short fiction prose (five page limit per piece) for an upcoming issue. If you have always liked to dabble in Assistant, writing — or are just beginning to — then consider entering JANEMUSSER your original work written while at UCSB. A panel of campus judges will determine the “best” piece, and those winners will have their work printed in the FR ID A Y magazine. The deadline for submissions has been extended from Tuesday, Cover Photo courtesy of April 3 to Friday, April 13. Each submission for competition Rajnesh Foundation International must be double-space typed, with the author’s name printed AND signed, and a telephone number. fritlays a the pub "Santa, Barbara, Stlkscreeni The Pub and A.S. Program Board are proud to OUAUTY DESIGN & PRINTING . bring to UCSB, the finest in live and recorded jazz/blues in Santa Barbara. s^ eats T-Shirts Every Friday afternoon from 5-8 jazz/blues will fill the air during our happy hours. Come •NICK Hats ^ , down to The Pub and start your weekend off on r in , the upbeat. Watch The Nexus for live dates. f c e n c h C u t ^ is week:uesh hip Input Colf ShirtsVisors next friday: turn _• k e n n y 1 #.«## • M U s u lt a n yé W i Sty te I a t I'll a t 211 W. MISSION 682-1774 Daily Nexus Friday, April 6,1984 3A Tina Fesch *s T.V. Talk The Afternoon Addiction ByTINAFESCH idea. I mean, I am not a soap operas and their fans maniac about this or unsatisfactory. There is the could not believe what anything. If I missed an theory that people like to was happening in my episode or two a week I watch because their real-life Ihouse when I went to wouldn’t go out and do problems seem less in visit my family over spring something rash. But I really surmontable compared to break. Tadd had broken up do enjoy watching the show what the t.v.-life Brookes with Dottie and she was as often as possible, which in and Ericas, Toms and Gregs absolutely destitute about it. my two weeks’ back, has have to deal with. Another We were all pretty worried meant catching it every day.