Volume 2 - Issue 7

21 The New Journal I February 23, 1969

Contents

3

5

8

A computer odyssey

by Paul Goldberger and Ray Erickson Rockin' Bacchants

by Larry Lasker Decent education

by Edgar Z. Friedenberg

10

Jimmy Miller Story

by George Kannar

12

True confessions

by Leo Ribuffo

15

Letters

Best Bet Recruiting for the C IA just ain't like it used to be. Why, just a few years, a few suppressed revolutions and a Vietnam War ago, a clean-cut, hard-working recruiter could put a few ads in the college paper, sit back and take it easy. But this is an idyllic picture of a paradise lost, for in an age of increasingly complex problems the C IA recruiter has not been left behind.

He wants to recruit students from college, and yet when he goes for a campus tour, he is besieged by protestors sitting in on him, demonstrating outside and generally giving him a hard time. What to do? Go underground, stupid, that's what you're all about anyway. If you can 't recruit secretly at Yale, how the hell arc you going to walk down Main Street in Peking without being noticed, right?

So C IA recruitment at Yale today is not unlike a secret society tapping prospective members. The recruiter quietly goes around collecting names and unobtrusively calls select students and asks them if they want to be spies.

But don't think that it's easier to get into the C IA than Skull and Bones, because after the tap you ain't there yet. First you have to take a test-sort of like spy boards.

It seems unfair, though, that only the select few who are tapped ever get to try their luck at the spy boards. Pity the poor aspiring spy who never gets that mysterious phone call, because he can never find out when and where to take the test.

F ear no longer. For a ll of you aspiring spies and the scads of you who just want to take a spy board, let us let you in on a little secret. The C IA is giving these examinations at Yale this Saturday, February 22, at 8:45AM at the Sterling Chemistry Laboratory.

It may be early in the morning, but ifs worth getting up for.

Jonathan Lear

Cosmic Hog When T om Wolfe came out a few months ago with The Electric Kool-Aid Acid T est, the slightly fictionalized account of Ken Kesey and his band of Merry Pranksters, Johnny Krown and some fellow Law School students got so turned on to the idea of "having fun·· that they decided to try br inging some to Yale. But last December Krown, who had helped create the Warmth Committee at Columbia a couple of years ago. obtained a store front on Chapel Street and a Prankster-style name for the new non-organization: Cosmic Laboratoriu, Inc., "a happenings agency for the Yale community." The first venture for the Labs was The Silence Test, a moderately successful (whatever

that means) event at wh ich people played with cardboard boxes and silly putty for three hours without saying a word.

For the past ten months, the Hog Farm, a large commune (fifty long-haired men, women and babies) organized about three years ago on a hog farm in the hills north of Los Angeles and headed by former Prankster Hugh Romney, has been traveling across America in wildly painted buses spreading the same word which spawned the Cosmic Labs: free fun. On Christmas Day Krown met Romney at The Electric Circus in New York and invited the Farm to try something at Yale.

Romney said they would. And last Friday and Saturday nights they d 'd.

"Most of these people h d never even seen a light show," said Krown of the Friday night "mixer" at the Law School.

"But everyone danced and took part in the circle games-including the secretaries and kitchen help. They loved it. At first they were afraid of the long-hairs invading the building with all their flags and electric equipment, but when they got to know them they really dug them. It was a fantastic coup."

The Hammond Metallurgical Laboratory, at the foot of Science Hill near the skating rink, has never looked quite so resplendently hip as it did Saturday night for the free Cosmic Mixer. American flags and white light-show sheets draped the gray warehouse walls, mylar lined the halls, and acres of long-haired and crewcut heads tossed and shook with the beat of the bands-the Hog Farm, New H aven's J im Ground and some unknown group ("You have heard of them," said Krown with obvious understatement) which may or may not have been the Grateful Dead. "I can't believe it,'' said one girl as she watched the people holding hands and dancing. " In New Haven! Well, yes I can. They are just people, after all.

Everyone needs this." On a balcony above the dancers, Romney, dressed in a jester's costume, told the people to freeze where they were. Five frogs were loose on the floor. A little girl, maybe three years old, rode through the panting people on the shoulders of a bearded man dressed in an Uncle Sam costume and collected the frogs as they were found. The dancing resumed.

On Sunday, most of the Hog Farm departed for New York and for a farm in western Pennsylvania, the commune's east-coast headquarters. In New York they plan to exhibit the film they have been making on their cross-country journey and will, perhaps, be joined by the Grateful Dead and Ken Kesey. "Our plans for the future are kind of vague," said Mrs. Romney as she leaned against a book-shelf in one of the departing buses (named Road Hog). "I think we'll do a trip through New England next, but who knows?" A Yale student waved at the bus from the street. "Come back!" he shouted.

"Yeah," said the driver of the bus. "Yeah, m aybe we will."

The future plans of Cosmic Laboratories, Inc., are vague as well. "There'll be some surprises," promised Krown. Since everything the Labs do is free, they depend on loans and contributions-not money, which is frowned upon, but food, equipment, sleeping bags and volunteers -to continue. A sign in their store window tells you what they need. It tells you. in addition, that "today is the first day in the rest of your life."

Larry Lasker

Berrigan

Volume two, number seven February 23, 1969

get up very late don't shave put on purple scarf & cross Branford quad h ave a cheeseburger

Editors: Jeffrey Pollock Jonathan Lear

answer questions find out where english 77 meets try to get out of classroom alive survive shoot a little pool have another cheeseburger & maybe a pepsi get directions to de basement admire the painted pipes get a beer & read some funny poems get another beer & read some sonnets escape shoot a little pool smoke with friends look over your works disappear J oe Brainard, a painter who once lived in a New York City storefront with Ted Berrigan, says that he thinks of Ted as a very large bear, although probably he's not more than average height. And he thinks of his beard as red. The beard is very full and very dark brown, with just the reddish glow that dark brown hair picks up in the sun. Ted Berrigan is about 6 feet tall. H e takes up a lot of space, with his long hair, his beard, h is plaid flannel shirt and his 3-inch-wide baby-blue-plastic authentic-American-I ndian-insignia belt between an imminent paunch and corduroy slacks.

"New H aven is very relaxing, after New York," he said . "A little like Iowa City.

Fine pool hall." In Iowa City, if you want to relax, you shoot pool. Iowa City is also the home of the University of Iowa, famous for its creative writing program, in which Ted Berrigan is teaching this year.

H e brings the gospel of the New York School in poetry to the graduate students in writing classes, but between classes apparently he shoots pool and writes poems in wh ich elephants parade down the m ain streets of Iowa City, bringing a new excitement to the plains.

H aving been invited to Yale as part of Branford's H all Seminar, he explained one d ay in class that his long poem, "Tambourine Life," was written, a page or two a day for months, about whatever happened or whatever struck his fancy at the moment. It started with a red, white and blue sign prominent in Tuli Kupferberg's bathroom and ended with the death of a Tulsa friend, Anne Kepler, who had gone to teach the flute to children in a Yonkers hospital the night that it was destroyed by a teenage arsonist.

The next day he began by explaining that he had started a prose narrative, " Looking for Chris," after a friend had related a dream to him. H e had included in its songs and phrases from the radio; he had tried to sound adolescent, even mawkish. Then, to avoid encouraging a false sense of continuity, he had taken scissors to his prose. Section by section, he cut his work into strips or phrases or single words.

He arranged it; typed the results; cut again; rearranged again. He tried for a rhythm in the prose that would compensate for the loss of sequence. H e didn't really expect that a nyone would be interested enough to read much of it, but he had learned from doing it things he could use in other works. continued on page 14

Business Manager: Jean-Pierre Jordan Executive Editor: Herman Hong Art Director:

Bruce M cintosh Associate Editor: Lawrence Lasker Advertising Manager: K . Eli a Georgiades Copy Editor: P aul Bennett Photography Editor: Robert Randolph Circulation Managers: John Adams Steve Thomas Contributing Editors: Susan Holahan William L. Kahrl Mopsy S. Kennedy Michael Lerner Leo Ribuffo Staff: Dennis Evans, P aul Goldberger, J oseph Fincke, Anna Fleck, K athy Grossman, Nita Kalish, Michael David Rose, Scott Simpson, Nancy Vickers, Warner Wada, Michael Waltuch THIRD CLASS PERMIT: Third Class postage PAID in New Haven, Conn. The New Journal is published by The New Journal, 3432 Yale Station, New Haven, Conn. 06520, and is printed at The Carl Purington Rollins Printing-Office of the Yale University Press in New Haven. Published bi-weekly during the academic year and distributed by qualified controlled circulation to the Yale Community. ·F or all others, subscriptions are $7.50 per year ($4.50 for students) and newsstand copies 50¢.

The New Journal © copyright 1969 by The New Journal at Yale, Inc., a non-profit corporation.

Letters welcome. Unsolicited manuscripts should be accompanied by a stamped, selfaddressed envelope. Opinions expressed in articles are not necessarily those of The New Journal.

Credits: H erm an Hong: page 10 Robert Randolph: Cover, pages 5, 6, 7 Michael David Rose: pages 12, 13

31 The New Journal! February 23, 1969

The Yale Computer Center is of growing importance. More and more undergraduates each year are exploring the applications of the computer to a wide variety of fields, including the social sciences and even the humanities. To keep pace with increasing student and faculty demand for computer time, the University is continually increasing the capacity and flexibility of its computer plant. The Computer Center now has one of the finest digital computing facilities of any university in the world, the core of which is an IBM 360-model 50 system.

--

So reads an extract from Yale College/ Introductory Information 1968-69, the prospective student's first source of information about Yale. The Admissions Office, which usually tells it like it is, has pulled a fast one this time, because not only is the Computer Center not continually increasing the capacity and flexibility of its computer plant, it is right now on the verge of getting rid of the IBM 360model 50, its pride and joy. It seems that "keeping pace with increasing demand" is proving a little too expensive, and serious consideration is being given to turning the 360 back to IBM, with no replacement system planned.

If the system goes, it will leave a void far larger than the space it occupied on Whitney A venue. For one part of the Introductory Information statement was very true: more and more students are using the computer facilities, and for a wider and wider range of projects. Student use now accounts for 25 percent of all computer time at Yale, and courses in the humanities and social sciences are competing heavily for use of the facilities with the science departments-who only a few years ago could almost call the computer exclusive property. Computer demand in education has been growing steadily and is reachrng unprecedented heights.

Yale's public recognition of this fact has been enthusiastic-witness the optimistic Admissions Office statementyet the University's private response to the computer boom has been almost nil. Yale now underwrites a mere 17.5 percent of the cost of computation on campus, as opposed to Princeton's over 50 percent and Stanford's 40 percent. The rest of the money to run the Yale Computing Center has come from the US government, which has of late begun to tighten its own purse strings. Yale is reluctant to make up the resulting deficit; thus, the current crisis.

The Computer Center was officially founded in 1957 when ten departments, representing the physical sciences, engineering, forestry, economics and psychology, banded themselves and their money together to support the cost of an IBM 650, a "first-generation" computer, almost primitive by today's standards.

The administration's attitude then was much the same as it is now: delight at the existence of such a facility but reluctance to offer any financial support.

Raymond Erickson, a graduate student in history of music, held the IBM Fellowship in the Humanities at Yale. Paul Goldberger, a freshman in Stiles College, is on the staff of The New Journal. His writing has appeared in the New York Times Magazine.

Then things began to grow. In 1960 the National Science Foundation set the precedent for government support with a one million dollar grant, earmarked for the purchase of a new IBM 709 computer.

Arthur K. Watson offered a building to house the 709; and Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, architects of the Beinecke Library, produced a slick glass house on Sachem Street that proved to all the world that the Computer Center had finally arrived. These quarters have since been outgrown, and the Center is now around the corner at 15 5 Whitney A venue.

Until1964, the few non-scientists who wanted to use the computers could do so only through the off-the-record generosity of the Computer Center. The University -until federal auditors put a sudden halt to the process-put NSF funds into an undesignated pool, then reapportioned them to include the few non-scientific projects, thus giving non-scientists computer time paid for by science grants. The amount was slight, however, and only a few game souls from the Art and Architecture and Drama Schools and the classics department were able to use this tactic.

The NSF grant of $700,000 spread over three years beginning in 1964 marked the first time a non-scientist could legally get h is foot in the computer door. The grant specified that computer time was to be made available to all departments, with the University underwriting the nonscience projects and the NSF money paying for computer use within the sciences.

Yale's share of the computer subsidy now amounts to $250,000 per year, but costs have risen so steeply that this year's donation is already gone and the balance of the current budget must be written in red ink. Yale's subsidy is not significantly larger than last year, although the NSF grant has now expired, and the University's failure to assume an increasing share of costs during the grant period makes renewal unlikely.

An unanticipated 25 percent across-theboard cut in Federal research grants has added to the crisis situation this year. Yale budget planners had expected some deficit in the Computer Center's operations this year, but the combination of less NSF money, less Federally supported research and the inevitable high cost of the new IBM 360 system have resulted in a current estimated deficit of roughly $300,000 -more than three times the anticipated amount. As plans now stand, student use of computer facilities will be bit hardest by budget cuts.

Yet it is precisely in the area of educational use that computers are "booming."

The 25 percent of Yale computer time that goes to class use is divided among an ever-increasing number of departments.

Music, history, linguistics and the social sciences are all taking advantage of the facilities as never before. Indeed, the science departments are losing ground in their percentage of total computer use.

The physics department, which once accounted for almost 30 percent of all computer usage, is now down to 12 percent, while the music department has used $15,000 of computer time so far this year alone and is one of the top ten users of the new 360 system.

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AT BERKELEY COLLEGE MARCH 6, 7 AND 8 "The Changeling is generally acknowledged to be the most subtle psychological tragedy in English outside of Shakespeare." Robert Brustein

Although humanities and social-science research and classwork have been taking an increasing share of computer time, these departments remain unrepresented on the Yale Computer Center Advisory Board, whose mandate will be necessary if the Computer Center is to receive the Yale support it needs to rescue itself from the current crisis. The Board- which should be the leading advocate of increased computer facilities in the University-is split between a strong-willed minority which sees no value in saving the IBM 360 and a majority which, while supporting theretention of the new 360, unfortunately represents fewer outs ide money interests.

The Board is made up of individuals from the physical sciences and medicine as well as from economics and psychology, areas which use computers primarily for the solution of numerical problems. It is these disciplines, of course, that have attracted the government money that has kept the Center functioning for several years and allowed Yale to regard the Center as a peripheral item in its overall budget.

So in one sense the current crisis breaks down to the time-worn story of the humanities and social sciences versus the physical sciences. Government support has come for physical sciences computer use, but in the area of humanities and social sciences, where the "boom" in computer education is taking place, the University must foot the bill itself. So far Yale has refused to give the non-sciences the vote of confidence they need to retain their "computer privileges."

No less tragic for the University would be the Joss of staff which would result from the planned cutback of operations.

Yale's Computer Center staff is recognized as one of the finest in the country, yet the University's persistent attitude toward the staff has been more like that of a master toward a servant than one characteristic of professional colleagues in education.

Some of the Computer Center staff heard of the proposed cutbacks by word of mouth, not through University channels.

The general reaction was one of disillusionment, not anger; for as one staff member said, "We had a misconception of what Yale really wanted" in the way of computing facilities. Most bad never realized how little, in the final analysis, the Computer Center figured in the University's policies.

What about the users of the Computer Center? By and large, they are aghast.

John McCarthy, an acting instructor in history and a frequent user of the computers for his research on the Reconstruction period, notes that Yale's attraction to students and faculty would be seriously dimmed if the 360 system is returned.

McCarthy, who regularly assigns his History 91 students computer problems involving quantitative historical data, adds that the earlier machines that would be left after the IBM 360's departure would be inadequate to handle the large amounts of data necessary for an adequate socialscience data bank. H e concludes: "I am appalled."

The view of the computer as a data bank is one which has begun to attract more and more proponents in the humanities and social-science fields. Among them is Rufus Hendon, Associate Professor of Southeast Asian Languages, who says that he uses the computer almost constantly but the library "only a dozen or so times in the last year." Robert G. Wheeler, Professor of Physics and Applied Sciences, disagrees and states that since under two thousand members of the Yale community actually use the computer system, it cannot be viewed as a basic resource center. Wheeler sees the only question to be whether Yale can afford to maintain its 360 system now, and his answer is no. Unfortunately, Wheeler is not just an outspoken faculty member; he is the chairman of the Yale Computer Center Advisory Board, and his words carry weight.

Wheeler fears the loss to the rest of the University from increased spending on computer operations. "I'm worried about the preservation of Yale as a first-rate institution," he says.

But so is everyone else in this battle of the booming computers. The University is obviously proud of its superb computer installations, or so it tells its prospective freshmen; but it remains unwilling to shoulder the financial burden of maintaining the advanced 360 system. Can Yale keep its pace without paying the price? Unfortunately, this is one question that the computer can't answer. :

S 1 The New Journal! February 23, 1969

Thewhole land will rock Thewhole land will jump

by Lawrence Lasker

Clear the streets-We'rehere.

Clear the streets-We'vecome ...

The whole land will rock The whole land will jump He stirs, yes, now he thrusts, yes now He blooms in you, the power Dionysus ...

Baccbae, dart!

Bacchae, run!

Bacchae, dance!

There are indications that a riot broke out in the theater when Euripides' The Bacchae was first staged, nearly 2500 years ago in Athens. Subsequent productions of the play, considered one of the most extreme and powerful tragedies ever written, have been somewhat anti-climactic; next month the Yale Repertory Theater will present a new translation and a new approach that should produce one of the more exciting Bacchae in recent theater history.

"The most incredible thing about this play," says Kenneth Cavander, who wrote the new translation, "is that through an almost unique coincidence of history, some sort of time warp, Euripides wrote a tragedy for his time that turned out to be the perfect tragedy for a later timeours. It's quite amazing, but we are going through the exact same thing now. The revival of a Dionysian style of life, the confrontation of ecstasy with Jaw and order, everything." Six years ago Cavander finished his new translation of The Bacchae, a translation he calls "absolutely theatrical," but until now be has been unable to get the play produced the way he thinks it should be done.

Last spring, the Drama School did a reading of Cavander's translation. The chorus bad a jug of wine up on stage and got progressively drunk as the play went on. Brustein liked it and decided to do the play full-scale. He was also inspired, he said, by the Pentagon confrontation-it reminded him of the Bacchae confronting a Greek palace.

"In almost every translation and production of Greek tragedy I have seen," says Cavander, "everyone has thought of it as a heavy, ritualistic, liturgical and consequently quite boring affair. Under the guise of reverence to the classics, people have set them up as so grand and so beautiful that we are not touched by them. By whatever means we use, the play should get to the audience. It should disturb them, make them feel they've been through something-not insulted, but spoken to.

"And now if Andre gets just half his ideas on stage, this will be years ahead of other Greek plays. He really wants to do it for real, not mess around with ancient Greek museum pieces."

Andre Gregory, who came to Yale from New York this year to direct The Bacchae, sat at a red-checkered table in the Yale Cabaret last week and talked about the play. The sounds of silverware clattering on lunch plates and the endless chatter of actors swarmed about the room. "The only way to do this play, which I think is the most difficult play to stage ever written, is to approach it the way we [himself and Stanley Rosenberg, the director of the chorus} are approaching it-a process of discovery without looking ahead. We've gone through a number of different stages in how we think the play should be presented. At one time I wanted to literally bring the ceiling down almost on top of the audience-! didn't want them to sit back and just observe, I wanted to assault them. Well of course, we couldn't do it.

The theater has all the limitations of real life."

One of the most important influences on G regory's handling of The Bacchae is the work of Jerzy Grotowski, a young Polish director with whom Gregory studied briefly in December. "Jerzy Grotowski is the most important theater revolutionary since I guess Stanislavski;" said Gregory. "He is returning mystery and danger-real mystery and danger-to the theater. You see, theater should not try to imitate films; it can't. So Grotowski, with his notion of the Poor Theater, has asked himself, Well, what is it that makes theater unique, what is essential? He has found that theater can do without makeup, without music, sets, costumes and lights. What is left? The actor, first of all, and the special relationship between the actor and his audience."

Grotowski differs with Julian Beck, Gregory explained, in his estimation of this relationship. Where Beck aims to destroy the barriers between the two, Grotowski feels that the spectator, while he can and should be active, must always remain a spectator. "If the spectator participates in the play, he is acting at participating, and so it's phony," said Gregory, shifting the little cap he wears over his long, thin hair.

"Anyway," he continued, "Grotowski has been working for the past nine years with a company of nine, and be has developed actors that can do what no other actors can do. They have a control over their bodies and their voices, and over their psyches, that is literally beyond the human. Rather than express the personal vision, they express the primordial reality.

And I believe that an actor must be able to perform what we can perform only in our dreams." Gregory stood up and smiled; he had to go to a rehearsal. "Ob, I could talk to you about Grotowski for four hours. But to get a feel for what he is doing, you should really see The Cat."

New from Yale

Pelikan

Development of Chrlatlan Doctrine Some Historical Prolegomena

by Jaroalav Pelikan The problem of change has assumed great prominence in much of the current ferment in theology, and many of the issues in question can best be interpreted as relating to the validity and limits of doctrinal development. Mr. Pelikan presents three case histories of the particular doctrines that have crucial points of division among Christians-Cyprian on Original Sin, Athanasius on the Virgin Mary, and Hilary on the Holy Spirit - demonstrating the interaction between the sacramental life of the church and the intellectual work of the theologian that consistently marked the development of doctrine by the early fathers. $6.00

Wright

China In Revolution: The Firat Phaaa, 1900-1913 edited, with an Introduction by Mary Clabaugh Wright "Great themes run through this book: local differentiation and societal integration, reform and revolution, innovation end renewal, conservatism and radicalism, tradition and m• dernity.

All relate to the fascinating dialectic of Chinese history." ..• G. William Skinner. "Will set a style for ten or twenty years hence, by posing problems that will have to be dealt with by all scholars of this subject." ... John K. Fairbank $15.00

Scher

Verbal Mualc In German Literature

by Steven Paul Scher This cogent study focuses on literary presentations of existing or fictiona l musical compositions, i.e. poetic textures which have particular pieces of music as their "themes." By means of comparative evaluation of passages from the works of W.H. Wackenroder, Lugwig Tieck, E.T.A. Hoffman, Heinrich Heine, and Thomas Mann, Mr. Scher defines "verbal music" as a literary phenomenon of great potential. $6.75 A New Yale Yale Unlveralty PreM Paperbound New Haven and London

Dahl

Po litical Oppoaltlona In Weatem Democ racies edited by Robert A . Dahl "This stately volume is distinguished by several unusual features. First, It straightforwardly focuses on a crucial issue of Comparative Politics without being vitiated by the familiar behaviorist semantics and jargon. Secondly, contrary to the ubiquitous trend In this country flooded by discussion on the emergent states, it centers on constitutional democracy in Western Europe, a region which for a decade or more had been badly neglected by the rampant computerizers. Thirdly, for the ten countries under discussion Professor Dahl was fortunate to enlist the services of genuine experts, the majority of whom are nationals of the country reviewed •.•. " Karl Loewenstein. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science. $2.95 A New Yale Paperbound

Scott

The Broken Center Studies In the Theological Horizon of Modern Literature

by Nathan A. Scott, Jr. "Underlying much of the most representative poetry, drama, and fiction of our period," Mr. Scott explains, "is a sense t hat the anchoring center of life is broken and that the world is therefore abandoned and adrift." It is this negatively theological character of modem literature that compels criticism itself to enter an essentially theological order of discourse and evaluation; and it is to this tradition that Mr. Scott's new book belongs. $1.75 ANewYale Pape•bound

J aspers

The Origin end Goat or History

by Karl Jaspers "We and the p resent in which we live are situated In the midst of history. This present of ours becomes null and void if it loses itself w ithin the narrow horizon of the day and degenerates into a mere present. The aim of this book is to assist In heightenIng our awareness of the present." ... from the author's Foreword . "One feels especially inclined to applaud an academician who still believes that philosophy's prope r function is to deal with the central problem s of the human predicament." ... Partisan Review . $1.95

... there are great things That must be brought to the day light, Made part of our waking and sleeping.

Calmly accept them, peacefully weave them Into your life-and it will be a good life, Dissolving and solving discords, Freeing you, Making you one with yourself, And with the world around you.

"At first I hated it," said one of the girls in the Bacchae chorus as she stood in a corner of the rehearsal room, "all the exercises and acrobatics-yech. One day I told Stanley I was going to quit. He told me to stick around one more time and, just like in the movies, I began to like it.

And it really has done a lot of good for me." A dozen drama students, barefoot and in tights, sat on the polished wood floor and waited for Stanley Rosenberg to arrive for the morning work-out.

Most of the students in the group began taking "physicalization" classes last October from Rosenberg, who came to Yale this year to introduce the new program.

Rosenberg, who is one of the few Americans to have studied with Grotowski for any length of time (he has taken part in Grotowski's workshop for the past two summers), is director of La Mama Plexus Theater in New York and leader of La Mama Plexus Workshop, a group of actors who support themselves with other jobs in order to work together. This January, when people started hunting actors for the Bacchae chorus, Rosenberg took the best students from his class and-presto--the wine-drinking, love-making Bacchae were born. Well, not quite. There were still months of training ahead, six days a week, before the group would be in the physical and emotional shape Rosenberg thought the chorus demanded. The most important exercise the students have worked with is the basic Grotowski exercise, The Cat. The students lay in a large circle on the · floor as Rosenberg watched from a window-seat. H e is a short man with a round black beard and quick, kind eyes.

"Try two variations this time, and explore vocal problems. Make sounds, the sounds of a cat maybe," he suggested. A girl in black tights was the first to move: slowly she raised herself on her arms and curled her spine back, hissing softly. Soon the others began to stir, stretch, and the room was defined by moans, h issing, wailing.

They arched their backs and began to th ump slowly about the floor in a series of somersaults and headstands. As you can watch someone while he talks and see, but not hear him consider and reject alternative phrases, so the actors' movements in The Cat spoke for their hesitations and uncertainties as they sought a direction to their movement. One girl ended her Cat standing before the window, head dropped back, her arms stretched out, trembling at the morning sun as she wailed in a loud, clear voice.

"The Cat is based mainly on yoga positions which Grotowski translated into a theatrical exercise," said Stanley Rosenberg, sitting on a couch in the apartment he and his young wife Susie, had just moved into a few days earlier. "It's used to explore an actor's objectives-what be wants to do, how be chooses to do itand to work out problems of voice, bala nce and movement.

71 The New Journal I February 23, 1969

Yale Film Society

"You see, I like talking about the actor experiencing things, living and finding things out for himself. Instead of saying to the actor, 'remember what it's like,' I give him an exercise that is an experience he can use later up on the stage. The Cat itself is not theatrical, but it does give the actor an experience he can then turn into something theatrical."

H e spoke of Grotowski. "He's quite plump, and he has these very thick glasses, and his sense of the theatrical leads him to wear black suits-most people see him as a great god, a great guru. He's extremely warm and patient, he'll listen to you talk, and then he'll talk, sometimes for hours on just what you said.

"He exercises his students strenuously -you know, to keep people from thinking too much, to keep it down in the body.

But he concentrates on individual people - he works with them on their ground, instead of trying to change them to his own style. That's the trouble, though, with talking about Grotowski. Everyone kind of has a piece of the pie; Peter Brook will say it's this, and Tom O'Horgan will say it's this, and it really isn't any one thing.

It's like the Bible: you can use it to say anything. Grotowski is the word. He has been known in Europe as the leading acting teacher for a few years now, but America only really turned on to him since his book, Towards a Poor Theater, and a tour which was cut short by the Czech invasion.

"The method I'm using in my classes is a combination of things taken not only from Grotowski but also from Brook, O'Horgan, Eugenio Barba, who I worked with in Europe, the Becks, Joe Chaikin of the Open Theater-all kinds of places.

Basically, I believe in the theory of acting that says you become afraid because you run, rather than you run because you're afraid. So I always begin with the physical before the mental or emotional; the ideal is finally to unite all three, which is pretty rare. Incidentally, the work done at the Esalen Institute is very similar to some of my relaxation exercises, and one girl who was in my workshop said the exercises we did were just like the Reich ian analysis she was going through at the time.

"A good example of something physical leading to something emotional is the scene we just finished blocking in The Bacchae, where the chorus starts to crush !he guards against the palace. The people 10 the chorus approach the guards really believing in their bodies that they are going to crush the guards, and the guards actually become frightened as they crouch beneath them. Of course, they aren't crushed-the action is in the extreme, but not carried through to the conclusion.

But the scene really bas dramatic impact.

"Another thing I am trying to do in my workshop, and it's one of the hardest-! try to get rid of the actors' super-egos, and maybe even their egos. So many actors are on these incredible ego-trips; it comes from years of training and learning to criticize and evaluate each other. What I try to do is to get rid of the built-up tensions and inhibitions in an actor which stop him from doing something, rather than tell him what be should do."

Susie Rosenberg, who was pouring honey into the tea she had just brought from the kitchen, put down her cup and stood up. "So you see, with The Cat," she said through a Danish accent, "you can feel what you can't do. If you can't stand on your head, or what. And-" she stretched out on the carpet "-when you bend your back, you bend it until you can't make it go any further, so your lower spine, which is really the center of your physical energy, becomes really flexible.

It helps relieve tensions."

"The idea is to feel with the body and to feel the body itself," said Stanley.

"When I crouch down as far as I can go, I can really feel the weight pressing down on me. But if I'm standing and someone says, 'Don't you feel the pressure of modern society,' I don't really know what he is talking about."

"Tai Chi, which I've been using with the guards, helps you feel this too. It makes you feel how heavy your body really is and what an effort it is-" he stood up "-to stand up." He sat down and smiled.

"So I don't stand up so much any more."

Unfortunately, Rosenberg and Gregory have not had enough time-only six weeks-to work with the Bacchae chorus and principal actors; it is not unusual for a repertory company to work on a production for a whole year. Still, in spite of the rather frantic rush involved, people in the company are excited by wh at many think will be a good production, another attempt to take an ancient Greek museum piece outside the museum and put it into the theater, where it belongs. ::;

Friday, February 21 Luis Bunuel's, LOS OLVIDADOS (1950) One of Bunuel's major films. A savage and grotesque portrayal of the lower depths in Mexico.

Saturday, February 22 Nicholas Ray's REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (1956) James Dean, Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo, Jim Backus Brooding, intense, anti-social, Ray rhymes brutality and lucidity in his masterpieces of alienation.

Wednesday, February 26 John Ford's THE LAST HURRAH (1958) Spencer Tracy, Jeffrey Hunter The destruction of the old order in an aprocalyptic political campaign.

Showings at 7:00 and 9:30,101 L.C.

where ft~ at,llf1

Everybody knows where it's at. It's at HUNGRY CHARLEY'S where the campus turns on with giant roast beef, hamburger, or Hercules Hero sandwich-CHARLEY'S specialities. Large groups or campus cliques can sit in informal atmosphere and watch the scene over a cool frosty beer. Low prices, great food, and the incrowd all make HUNGRY CHARLEY'S the action spot at Yale. Open til 1 a.m.

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81The New Journal I February 23, 1969

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91 The New Journal I February 23, 1969

A much more ambitious proposal now : ,· •ng '' iddy con,rdcrcd is that ''holly i"'"lrdy 'upport~·d rc,idcnti;d schools he , '-Lthli,hcd, ~·,rwcially for ... wdenh whose i><>rm·s prll\ide neither the quiet and priv·"·' nor the basil.' nutrition and rest needed '''' 'tudy or. \dJa t i' more important. for c·.tlth and a decent life. T hi' is ;rtantaliz"'f! quc ...tion. T he drawback' ;trc wrious c·nnugh. F or one thing. this pn1posal as'"'lll''> that our society cannot or will not .II l.•ck its cconnmic problems r;tdically ''"'ugh to diminate the ~h1m' and provide ,,,.,-,·nt accomnHllbtion for the people 11 .•ppnl there -whether or not they fit n "''·i;d-workcr's Cl•nccption of a 'tahlc I ;,rnily unit. Still. this may he true: and if "'· snme children might he saved by atle'IHiing hoarding-,chool. They might also ''l' dc ... troyed: the possibilities for making ,·,lllc;ttion really totalitarian arc horrifyIll)!. School pt:'rsonncl, already convinced that they \\ere dl·aling with the "disad.-.llltagcd" or '\:ulturally dcpriwd." might """ trcatthl·sc students the wav the r.:achcrs and starT of the hoardi;1g schooh tltn hy the US Bureau of Indian Aff;~irs tre;tt the children otthc Oglalla Sioux.

I hcse schools,;"' the anthropologist and "'ciologist Murray and Rosalie \Va:'l. de"-rih..: them. may he the nH"I oppressive 111 the \\Orld: ;tlld the \Vaxcs th..:rn..,dvcs l'••int l>Ut th;ll wh;tt makes th~·m so is th..: prevaknce anwng their stall\ of attitude~ ''"' ;~rd Indians as dirty, shiftiest, and un,·,uth. and an cnthusi;~stic determination '" llLtkc them ckan. rcsponsi\C and 1111ddk-da". '' hid1 do.scly r.: ....·mhlcs th..: .illttudcs th;,t prevail alll•'n~ t..:a..:h.:rs in ,film sclH.lllls.

On the other hand. the very best schools I have observed arc boarding schools prinlarily for high-school students from "Jis·"h .mtageJ" h<'lllc-.: and although-or 1>,·~- .. th~·--thcy ;trc highly exceptional.

1he·rc is a great deal to he lcarlll·d from thl'm as to what the possibilitie-; arc. They ........ t..:mp,lrary stllnrncr programs. held for .~hnut ,c,·cn wcd.. s l>n the c;tlllJll"es of ,-,,Jiq.:cs and llnih·rsities. partiallv or "lh>lly lundnl h\ the Olli,;c of l'cqpomic Oppt>l tunil\·. "it h sl>mc a'si ... tancc from IPIItHiations. T hey arc intended to prepare 'rudent' fnr ~·ollcge "ho almost certainly "Ptrld IH>t othl'rwis~· get there. Tlwsc that I know at first hand--the PRf'J> progrnm ·''I r.lllklin ;tnd !\l.trshall <·,,Jkge in l~lll­ .. ISleT, l't:lllh\ lvania ..tnd rh ...• Yale Sumllle'l High SdltlOI held on thl' Divinity S,-IH'''' cunpus in New Haven- -have hcen ill'ld l•>r 'l'\..:r;,l year.., ..:t>n,c..:uti\·clv. \\hid1 '"·•l..es them rl'al pion,·crs in th ...· rapid!) "lt'11111g and ,,,m..:run..:' tncl..\ ,,;cnc of ,·dtr.·ati,mal st'r\ 1..:e to the ..:ultur;tll~ dqn" ed.

Amt>ng th..: lc"t>ns '''h. ·. lcarn~·d lrnm tlt,·rn ;~r..:: I. It j_,. f'••nihl<' to cut throu . :h th<' stulti'\ :1.':..: 11ld'\\ 4'1 \·cifl~t'-jUdl..!nlCIII.\ tf:atth·--

, u•nu!,itl· in rl:,· t, •nn ~ •.r ,zlzit:h ,.< Jro, ,f ,,.(~,,.,/and ttl, ntif\, rt'tlli\·,·. orr,·n dis., I!,·, lc ,/_ iru,·/!ll:<'nc ,. lllt•lonc·ath. The inkllvdu.d 'I' k t>t the·"· stud~·tlh '' rn•>r..: -<c~lc'"l\c'lil.llllh.tt

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They have bad academic records, hoth on disciplinary grounds and hccauo;c their aehievcm..:nt is so spotty. They arc likely to have hccn rut down as either "overachicvcp,'' or "llnderachicvcr-;," depending on whether their regular school was initially imprcs,cd hy their apparent bra..,hncss or their I() ..,core. To find them. therefore. one must learn to dis..:ount the academic record and turn to other sources ol appraisal: persons nominated hy the student himself as knowing what he is rl·ally lik..:: or mc:mhers of newer hurc;ttlnaeics. with 'aiUl.'-pattcrns drlfcr..:nt from those ot the: schll(ll, with whid1 he has had n111tact--OFO project dir..:ctors. for example. \Vhcnthis is done, recruitment is so successful in attracting promising pl·ople that ohc can only regret that the program i' dircct.:J toward college admisston r;tthcr than more di,·crsc and original educational purposes.

2. /lurcaucracy is prohahl\' as important a .1o11rn· of cdllcational stultification as it is tltou~:lttto he. The Yale and PREP programs han· he ...·n gifted with lcadcr ... hip th;tt hoth "dig,.. and respects undcrclass ~l>tllh. Butth..:rc arc people in the public 'l:hools who dn. too--they write very good hooks abnuttheir experiences there after they get fired. \Vhat saves the summer program ... is th~· Lu.:t that th..:y cannot eon..:ci\ ;thl} prtl\'ide !heir statfs with a car.:erline. fvl·rvhtld\' who teaches there has a "rca~· job Sl>nll'whcrc else which pays llllht of their living and defines th~·ir social llkntil\ and which the\' prohably do Wt>rse. Inth~· stllmnt:r in ... ttlut.:. rr.~·v arc rntrch trea "' ddinc th~·ir cducatinnal llll"ion ;md \lork directly at it; just as ll'rnpnran re"·arch tc;tm~ at Arthur D. I .illlc ''r SRI. unhampcr~·d hy departmental line' and permanent. huilt-in sLtttrs lad<lrs. t>ll~·n get nH>rc '>atisfaction and "''rk nll>rl' dli,·tentl\ than their acadcmi,· cnuntcrpart s . .1. 1/igh schoul.l'lculcnts .1·hould he paid.

Studcnr... in thl'sc summa pr,>grams r.:~·ei\e stip..:nd' of lh'e or tl'n dPIIars a \\cck as '~ell ;ts. ''' ,;,>llrse. r<hllll ;tnd hll;trd. It rs l'SSt'nti;tl. f,>r re.tst>ns th;tt ;tpph '''high~chonl ''"d,·nts gencr;tlh. l\t,>nc\· is euphoric. P'\dk·ekli~· and ;tddi..:ti\e. tlwugh the addi,·tiPn is nl>l reg;~rded ;"an otfcnC(' under l;m. It'' th..: nwst ne;trh uni,er..,aiiY hcm••red ~·l.,imt•' at k;~Stlllininul drgrlll) rn '"'r ... ,.._.•,.,,. It P''" Ilks genuine indep..:nd~·rKt' ·\t a d ...·q>,·r lc\ d. hcing pard Wt>uld .1 fl<>rd ... rucknts ">me pn)l e..:llllll fr<>llllhl' "'ht>(>ls' ,,fll'ncliiiLtgl'<'U' nhlral prell'llslt>ns. ~- Slticlc·nt {'•••tic ipation in the·'-'' 'l',·rfl~lllc

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Persons who accept a ~purious involvement in the authority that governs them must ultimately face the hitter fact that hy doing so they have legitimated that autlwrity and made themselves weaker rather than ..,trongcr with respect to it. For this rca ... on. it seems to me especially fortllnate that ... tudcnts now think in terms of p,m l'r rather than authority and attempt, when they arc aggrieved. to counter a u thority with power-real power to affect the ope rat ion of the schools to which they haw so long hccn subject. Negotiation. to he 'urc. is preferable to hostile confrontation: hut no real negotiation takes place if either party to it is convinced that his ;tdVl'rsary has no power to rebuke his intransigcm.:c. T he question is not whether student' should he permitted a voice in~ appointments. curriculum design. relations between school and community. and other major issues in the operation of schools and universities. but whether the entire process of cduc;~tion is not becoming more decent and more relevant hecause it i... no longer possible to deny them a voice in m;ttters that affect them so profoundly. Whether they should be given it I do not know-for then it might not really he theirs-hut I am quite sure that they -.;lwuld take it if they arc J!Ot. for their own ,;,!.....:and for that of the institution.

That they arc doing so is. in my judgment, the most hopeful indication that educati,m mny becom'c more decent as the dccadl· passes. I take thi~ position not hccau"c I impute to students wisdom superior to th;,t of the faculty 0r ~!dministr:tti,,n n,1r hcc.~u ... c I hclicvc them to be in gc:neral nobler and kss sdf-"·cl..ing-though. at times. bt>lh these con~·lu,ions do indeed seem ju ... tilicd. But that is not the rea-.;,>n: ..:ven if !thought student... largely f,Hlls and knaves. I \\lltrld ... till" illll them to have r..:;d P•'wer Ill intlu,·nce the course of tht:ir nwn liv,'s. \\'hat is ml>st r..:pellent .thnut education in America and elsewhere is dirc,·rly attri,!'utahle to the fact th;rt the in'tituti<Hl has so far heen a hie to count ,,n sc>~·i;d pr'·"urc and kg;d C•>ercion to prt>' ide 11 "tlh a capti,·..: dicntdc and a nun,bt.: to train th;~t ..:lientde in ~en rlrl\.

'-.;,>thing"' P''i"ons a ,,,~·il'IY as the pr''' .1kn...:~· \1 ithin it of a pet tv and resentful ~·iti/cnn "hich has been made to r,·Jint.JUish thr.>ugh force or guile-and tht• ,~·h, ,, •I' h.t ve used hoth-- -its sense ,,f mor .11 aurh,>ril\ '"cr its l)Wn lik. Educati,>n ,;.,nntll he improved e:\..:ept in a socidv lh;tt r'''Jll'~·ts the ynung: and ours rl'spe~·ts 11<' ,,,c,;d gr,>up that is p<Hverlcss and with''111 r,·">urc~·'- Yet American society h." r.llhc-r ,-,,n'''tl'ntly worked in such ;t w;ty ·" 1,, nL•I..·· '' l'''"ihl..:- -Jitncult. but P'"srhk f,,r e;tdl sue,;.._•..._ive discriminated gr•'''l' It> ~a111 enough r..:al power to cnmlll;llld r,•,pe..:r and some of the clements. ;~t k;~,t. ,,, .• dc·~·cnt Iill'. \\'ith the cxcepti<>n '''the lnd1.111'. "ht>lhtllll!ht the:..- O\\ ned the pl .• ce·. 1~11' has h,·en t~~c expe"rico,;,• ,,, ;dl- <.'\c'n. ;~1 lt>ng l;t-;r. ,,f hlack peopk. It .tnd ••nl\ 11 it i-; ;tl'<llh..: c:'l.perien~·l· t>t \t>uth 111 Am,·rict. sdlt>t>ls will hect>llle mc>rc dc~·crll. k" r1g1d .tnd "''"'total in rh~·•r '<'l!r,·:.:.••••'lllr•'lll ·'"" •mmunin• t,, rh,· ,k"~·"':!, ,,f •>rd111.cf\ l•t,·. Then. ·thl·re lll.t\ ,·,,rn~· .1 IIlli..: \\ ~h'll \t>Uc.tn't C:\l'lll,·ll ~._·'"h: . .:.olh'fl

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10 I The New Journal I February 23, 1969

"lRe air was unusually heavy and warm ltor early New England summer as Jimmy Miller began to close up one of several beauty shops he owned in and around Milford, Connecticut. Suddenly nine federal agents and state policemen entered his shop and arrested him as a member of the nation's largest heroin ring, a ring which had imported an estimated 150 million dollars worth of heroin in a period of two months. The narcotics agents charged Miller with receiving two shipments of heroin the previous summer, in August of J 963.

Jimmy Miller was brought to trial in May, 1966. The primary evidence against him was the eyewitness testimony of a convicted heroin smuggler who claimed to have seen Miller for fifteen minutes, almost three years earlier. Miller was convicted on the basis of this testimony and was sentenced to twelve years in prison without possibility of parole. Before and during the trial Miller repeatedly claimed that he was innocent, and he still says so today.

Steven Duke, professor of criminal law at the Yale Law School, was approached to write a brief for Miller's appeal in 1966.

In the course of his investigations, Duke found evidence that the government h ad denied Miller a fair trial. Yet the appeal, on the basis of his new evidence, was denied; and Professor Duke, convinced of Miller's evidence, has devoted the last twoand-a-half years to prove the government's mistake and win Miller a new trial.

Duke believes thereat criminal to be a small-time Mafia hireling named Mario Natalizio. According to Duke, Natalizio was involved in the smuggling deal because he had graciously provided cover for two known fugitive gunmen, Anthony " Bootsie" DePasqua and Rosario Ippolito, in his Miami apartment. His reward was to go to Bridgeport and receive two heroin shipments for a cut of five thousand dollars each. Duke's private investigators have four confessions from Natalizio admitting that it was he, not Miller, who received the shipment; but when the federal government called Natalizio before a grand jury, he disowned the confessions, insisting that he had been forced to sign one of them at gunpoint, and made the others as a joke.

Beyond Natalizio's grand jury testimony, which Duke dismisses as being totally untrue, other evidence has appeared which the lawyer feels can prove Miller's innocence. Nevertheless, he has been unable to get the federal courts to re-open the case.

Among the new evidence, Professor Duke has a statement by the admitted head of the narcotics ring, Lucien Rivard, a French Canadian now serving a term at the federal prison in Lewisberg, Pennsylvania. Rivard maintains that he had never heard of Miller and that the eyewitness whose testimony convicted Miller was simply not telling the truth. That one eyewitness was Michel Caron, another convicted heroin smuggler, who was picked up in Texas on October of 1963.

Caught returning from Mexico with a car full of heroin, Caron immediately turned state's evidence and began rattling off the names of other members of the ring. Jimmy Miller's name was not among those he named. But Caron did give a

George Kannar, a member of the staff of the Yale Daily News, is a junior in Calhoun College.

description of the pick-up man at Bridgeport, whom he knew only as "Frank," a description which did not fit Miller at all, but which fit Natalizio almost perfectly.

Books full of photographs were sent to Texas so that Caron could try to pick out the Bridgeport contact; he initially chose a picture of a man named Anthony Mancuso, but later he changed his mind and picked Miller's picture. According to Miller and Duke, from that point on the government officials never allowed Caron to doubt his choices. Caron went to the trial and testified against Miller, picking him out without hesitation and convincing the jury, which then convicted Miller.

Duke completely discredits Caron's testimony on the basic legal question of Caron's "eyewitness" testimony. Not only is Caron a convicted heroin smuggler, but Duke discovered that he had been hypnotized inexpertly and illegally before the trial by a United States Attorney in Texas.

Duke contends this hypnosis influenced the witness's judgment, persuading him that Miller was the one the officials wanted him to identify, and made him believe it so firmly that even after he came out of the trance he "knew" that Miller was the one.

Duke's theory is supported by several prominent psychiatrists. Nevertheless, The United States Federal Court decided

not to grant a new trial on the basis of the psychiatric evidence against the testimony of the chief witness.

According to Professor Duke, the hypnosis is considered new evidence because the government did not disclose it prior to or during the trial. In fact the chief prosecutor, Jon Newman, seemingly did not even know about it at the time of the trial, and has since expressed some doubt about Miller's guilt. It was not discovered, says Duke, until two years after the trial.

"We asked Caron to submit to a psychiatric examination. He said he would but only if we agreed to pay him five hundred dollars. We agreed. When he came to the examination the doctor said 'Relax, we're going to hypnotize you.' He asked him if he knew what 'hypnotize' meant. Being a French Canadian who spoke little English, he said he didn't know what they meant.

The doctor began to explain, and suddenly Caron exclaimed, 'Oh sure. Mr. (United States Attorney) Butler did that to me in jail in Texas.' Well I almost had a fit.''

According to Duke, the government possibly has an emotional commitment to Jimmy Miller's guilt and conviction.

Miller says newspapermen and photographers were on the scene at the time of the arrest, indicating they had been tipped off by publicity-hungry govern-

your hairdresser

owsforsure

by George Kannar

ment officials. The announcement of Miller's arrest came from the office of Attorney General Robert Kennedy, and according to the New York Daily News, which ran the arrest as front page news, Miller was clearly part of "World Dope Ring No. 1." In what Duke insists is an amazingly biased and inaccurate account, the News claimed that Miller was in fact the " Frankie" to whom Caron had delivered the heroin in Bridgeport. The story went further, declaring that Jimmy Miller's real name was "Frank Coppola," disregarding his birth certificate, marriage license and driver's license.

Duke complains that "Coppola" sounds better than " Miller" when Cosa Nostra cases are being covered; apparently the United States agreed, for it tried MiJier as "Frank James Coppola, also known as J.ames Miller." The Coppola incident is just one example of the "tactics" which the government has employed in convicting Miller. Duke insists, "The law enforcement machinery of this country is such that once the government zeroes in on someone, that is it. The machinery is incapable of taking a fresh look at the situation; once the government indicted Jimmy Miller, it had locked itself in."

Miller is understandably more forceful in the condemnation of what he calls "Mr. Government": "With the tactics they have used against me they could have convicted General Eisenhower of smuggling narcotics.'' For in addition to the hypnosis question, Miller complains of the behavior of federal agents investigating the case. He says that at one point the agents found out that the wife of a business associate was seeing another man.

"The agents said they'd see that she made front-page news unless she cooperated with them. They even threatened to take away her daughter. So she gave in and said she'd cooperate.

"The agents told her to deny her husband bedroom privileges," Miller continues, " keeping him awake with the story of how she saw this Cosa Nostra narcotics smuggler in the beauty shop. Then after about a week of this harassment the agents were going to show up at the bouse, show her husband a picture of the man, and she was going to say to her husband, 'See, that's the one I asked you about. Remember?' And what could the guy do? He would have to say yes. Fortunately, I happened to drop in one afternoon, and she panicked and admitted it all."

"We complained about that, and all they said was the agent was a little 'overzealous.' 'Overzealous!' Why, if defense counsel ever used those tactics, he'd find himself in jail. And the government did not even remove the agent from the case. Since the arrest his salary has increased from nine thousand to seventeen thousand dollars. He gets all the promotions, all the credit. He's still on the case today."

Martin Abramson, author of The Barney R oss Story and The AI Jolson Story , has written a movie scenario based on the Miller case, adding a happy ending, in anticipation of the justice he thinks must ultimately come. But Jimmy Miller's whole story is unfortunately like anumber of movie scenarios that came out of Hollywood during the depression years.

Miler was an orphan who, according to Duke, grew up as much in the gutter as in the orphanage. He was something of a street fighter, later did some prize fighting; and in the army he was battalion boxing champion. "As soon as I was old enough,

11 I The New Journal ! February 23, 1969

I signed up for the service to go over and fight. I was gung-ho, my country right or wrong. When I used to read the paper about some guy getting arrested by the federal government, I guess I reacted just like everyone else. I figured the government would never a rrest someone unless he was guilty. Even in my case, I saw the government as just making a mistake. The prosecutor isn't to blame, and I don't think this is in any way a frame. It's just that so many careers are committed to my guilt."

Back in 1948 Miller was arrested for a misdemeanor. He was twenty-two years old and just out of the Navy; and when the policeman asked him his name, he said, "Here's my driver's license." The license was that of his friend, Frank Coppola, a member of the New Haven Fire Department. Miller was booked under the name "Frank Coppola" at the time, and when federal officials heard that Caron was looking for a man named "Frank" they naturally sent along Miller's photograph to Texas.

But there were other reasons for sending Miller's photo through. Miller was known to hang out with a few minor underworld figures in the Bridgeport area, mostly gamblers and bookies. Miller admits to having "played the horses," and to having a bit of reputation as a successful crap shooter.

As far as his underworld friends are concerned, Miller says: "I don't condone the things they do, but in some cases I can sympathize with them. One of my biggest hang-ups is the 'There but for the grace of God go I' thing. I grew up with these people, and even though I've managed to escape that environment I've never been able to look down on those who didn't. But I can't sympathize with narcotics peddlers and their sort; I just can't stand people who live off the misery of others. ¡ "And that's another thing that has me mad about my case. By convicting me and considering the case closed the government has given the actual narcotics ring a free license to go ahead and continue their trade. I'm enough of a business man to guess their trade hasn't declined in the last four years. If anything, it has probably grown, and the government isn't doing anything about it.

"But I'm just not going to turn my back on the kind of people I grew up with.

Before my son was born six years ago, I used to go down to New Haven every Thanksgiving and Christmas, pick up all the derelicts I could find and take them home for a good meal and some clean clothes. Then I'd give each of them a couple of bucks and take them home.

Even today I always spend Christmas Eve over at the Highland Heights orphanage.

If anything, my case is one of guilt by association, but I am just not going to turn my back on those people."

When Miller was discharged from the service with his "share of medals and all," he attended hairdresser's school under the GI bill. He met his wife there, and after graduation they opened up their first beauty shop, consisting of one chair and two dryers. Total investment: four hundred dollars. Today things are a lot better.

Miller now has seventeen people working for him and bas formed, in partnership with his employees, small corporations to manage half a dozen branch shops.

Miller is an artist, and his shops are decorated with his paintings, which range

from an impressionistic seascape to a . pointillist approach to the United Nations Building in New York. "You know, it's the strangest thing. At one point when I thought of being a professional painter, I couldn't sell a thing; as soon as I opened my shop and hung my paintings in it, the customers started making bids. I've al- ¡ ways thought I could do a good painting of a courtroom. I'd do everything in black and grey. I guess that's because of the way I feel about all that sort of thing now."

In the first years after Miller's arrest his business fell off by seventy-five percent. ¡Only now, after four years, has it recovered. Yet Miller cannot go into his own shops during the day because it upsets his customers; he says they know he isn't guilty, but they would rather not see him.

Since he can't go into the shops during the daytime, Miller goes in at night and teaches his employees business administration courses so they can eventually manage their own shops. During the day he sits at home thinking up new angles on the case and preparing his lessons for the nighttime classes. For two and a half years he kept a journal in which he wrote down all his comings and goings minute by minute in case he was ever called upon to account for them. Even today he never travels alone; when he visits Duke at the Law School, he has a friend follow him as a witness.

Jimmy Miller has a lot of friends. At one point he was called upon to post a two hundred thousand dollar bond, and twenty-eight of his friends put up their homes as collateral. Miller himself has had to sell his home, move in with his motherin-law and sell his car to help cover expenses. Miller's son Jimmy, a six-year-old, has trouble in school and emotional problems at home because schoolmates say, "Your daddy sells pills that kill people."

And Miller's wife is under a doctor's care.

Steven Duke occupies a smaJJ office on the second floor of the Sterling Law Building, his secretary hidden somewhere far down the hall. Duke's desk is buried under an avalanche of documents on the Miller case; the transcript of the first trial fills one entire shelf along the wall, and clippings from newspapers fill several drawers.

Although the Miller case has occupied much of his time for the past thirty months, Duke tries to keep it separate from his classes in criminal law and the adversary system. "I've used some students for investigators and researchers," he admits, "but I've tried to keep it out of the classroom. Most of the fifteen students who have done work on the case at one point or another have just stopped by my office and offered to help."

The professor's involvement with the case, involving long hours and considerable expense, has also come without promise or expectation of reward. He estimates that he has traveled at least fifty thousand miles to turn up new evidence in the case; for example, be has flown to Miami (a prime Costa Nostra hangout these days) nearly a dozen times, seeking clues to help him identify the real smuggler, and has frequently been followed while he is there. According to Miller, who says, "You just wouldn't believe how brave the guy is," Duke just walks up to mob types and says, "Hey, I'm Jimmy Miller's lawyer. He's taking a bum rap.

Are you going to let an innocent mao go to prison?" continued on page 14

crown final week starts Feb. 25

romeo and juliet tony richardson's the charge of the light brigade

lincoln final days coming

jules dauin's up-tight harold plnter's the birthda y party

Confessions of a graduate student who is fed up with other graduate students

by Leo Ribuffo

Like the fluffy schmoo in AI Capp's c.,toons, the graduate student is among the most docile of creatures. He passively endures levels of boredom and aggression which justly infuriate waitresses, bar· keeps or assistant professors. Indeed, like the schmoo, the graduate student often appreciates abuse--particularly when offered by superiors--as a sign of affection. Given these circumstances, I •m delighted that the Yale Daily News has devoted a weekend supplement to a kind of post-graduate kvetch-schrift.

Doug Lackey, • philosophy student, discussed "Life and Death in the Graduate School"; William A. Henry, Ill, suggested "What's Wrong in the Drama School"; Jim Swiss dissected Art and Architecture; and Jeffrey Romoff explained the " ' Nice' Revolution in Political Science." These four pieces explored important problems, and they offered useful proposals for institutional adjustments. Nevertheless, each of the articles is u significant for its omissions as for its deliberate recommendations. Lackey, Henry, Swiss and Romoff do not examine the basic problem-the student himself and his unimaginative approach to "graduate training." leo Ribuffo, a graduate student in American studies, is a contributing editor of The New Journal.

Before I offer my dissenting opinion, let me em· phasize that I am not a scab, that I am not in the pay of Dean Onat and that I do not oppose revolutions-nice or otherwise-in graduate education. Rather, I believe that post-college programs in humanities and social sciences are about as essential to the development of learning as the moss crawling up Sterling Library; it would have been a small loss, as Edmund Wilson has suggested, if the Ph.D. had been abolished as a Germanic barbarism during those patriotic years when erudite men shunned st~uerkraut and ate " liberty cabbage." Indeed, if colleagues ever hoist the black flag over HGS, I shall happily donate my copies of Summerhill and Growing Up Absurd to the revolutionary library.

Furthermore, let me repeat with gusto the frequent, futile grad-student complaints about Yale. For all the Newsweek hoopla about this university's bold experimentation (e.g., Afro-American Studies), Yale is anachronistic in many ways-an Edith Wht~rton institution in a Saul Bellow world. Decades of inbreeding have infected Yale with a kind of intellectual hemophilia, complicated by • myopic incapacity to perceive its own ills. Within this depressing overall situation, the grad student is a second class citizen, and Mr. Lackey et. al. rightly demand the familiar institutional reforms. Clearly, Yt~le University-not only the grad school-needs more women, and everyone could use a student union. Lackey correctly asks for degree requirements which make some sense and are ad· ministered with some humanity. Moreover, grad students should be encouraged to teach, and they should be paid decently for their instruction; with care and imagination, the appointment of more teaching fellows in Yale College could in fact raise the level of instruction.

Women, financial grants, student unions and teaching jobs are nice things to have, and I endorse proposals which make all of them available. The presence or absence of these things, however, does not define "life and death in the graduate school." After all, graduate work is much the same mora~s at Northwestern, where buxom honeys abound. Nor is the situation less gloomy at Cornell, despite seven-count the m, seven-student centers. The fundamental problem, one which cannot be alleviated by institutional tinkering, is that most graduate students ac· cept-.and sometimes evangelize-the stuffier mores of the academic marketplace and the more preten· tious cant of the professorial pecking order.

Notwithstanding the fears of Senatorial investi· gators, academic folks are not likely revolutionaries.

The professor who writes a letter to the Times de· manding "I mmediate Cessation of the Immoral War in Vietnam," will explain to his students that the creation of a new course is a complex matter, requir· ing time and study, committees and leaves of ab· sence. The professor who signs a petition calling the President a monster and the Congress a bevy of morons, is less able to discern that his dean is a bungler of the first magnitude. The professor who writes monographs about George Wallace and working-class authorit•rianism will complain that he must talk to undergraduates nine hours each week--a conception of toil which might astonish the mechanic who greases his car or the janitor who sweeps his office. Simply put, my point is that professors, like most mortals, are not especially aware of their im· plicit assumptions about their own roles, occupations or privileged institutions. Nor are they particularly interested in re.examining those assumptions; our generation, after all, has witnessed distinguished scholars at Columbia whose analysis of their univer· sity's troubles consisted of misplaced analogies to the Weimar Republic.

13 I The New Journal I February 23, 1969

The apprentice professors in grad school, like the more established folk who teach them, live by their unexamined values. More often than not, the graduate student's assumptions indicate levels of timidity, smugness and pedantry that would amaze his instructors. After Bonnie McGregor had written her famous comment on women at Yale (NJ Nov. 3, '68), a half do:z:en grad students told me that since "you work for the New Journa I, you must know this McGregor person and what's wrong with her anyway?" For these questioners, my reply that nothing was wrong with her only implied that something was wrong with me too.

The basic principle of the grad-student faith is a pious respect for the academic pecking order. There are "good graduate schools" and "bad graduate schools," and students at a good place, like Yale, are better than people at those other places. There are also "good colleges" and " bad colleges," with lots of "undistinguished colleges" wallowing between. One attends a "good graduate school" to secure a teaching appointment at a "good college." American academics stretches out like a medieval Great Chain of Being, and it's all quite simple except in years when a good job is hard to find . After visiting the American Historical Association convention, I reported to some of my peers that this year a job at the University of Maryland was considered a choice position. Although they knew little about Maryland's history department, my colleagues were incredulous at the thought of teaching in it: the main complaint seemed to be that the undergraduates at Maryland enjoyed themselves.

In another instance, I have tried to explain that the American historian whom I most admire, William Appleman Williams, has left the University of Wisconsin to teach at Oregon State. This removal, however, only convinced these scholars that Williams is as cra:z:y as Oscar Handlin says he is.

Doug Lackey complains that faculty members ue obsessed with the notion that "Standards are to be Maintained in the Field," but graduate students ue no less concerned about the purity of their disciplines.

There are few creatures more wrathful than the Ph.D. candidate who loses a place in seminar to an M.A.T.; after all, he is going to extend the boundaries of knowledge while she will only teach a bunch of kids.

A bright and liberal grad student once explained to me that because I belonged to the American Studies Department, I wasn't a real historian, but somebody who "sits around and reads novels." No ¡one is more concerned about Maintaining Standards than the typical teaching fellow; not only is he cheap with "honors," but he incessantly mutters that the Yalies don't live the "life of the mind" like they did at Alma Mater.

Contentious and lively B. A.s who enter grad school are acculturated very rapidly. Student influence is at least as important as the faculty's. The tweed jackets and the clickclickclick of attache cases does something to you. Graduate students soon forget that people who aren't professors sometimes do worthwhile things. When a good student leaves in disgust or despair, everyone asks, "But what will he do?" lt doesn't seem possible that an intelligent person could fill teeth, practice law, write novels, compose music, play the trumpet or search out forest fires.

Leaving graduate school, one falls off the edge of the life of the mind, thence to be devoured by cops, cab drivers and Iowa State pom-pom girls.

The saddest aspect of grad students is their lack of whimsy. Out of perversity I have sometimes treated my seminars to eccentric historical or literary interpretations. I wanted to provoke something. My colleagues merely frown at these weird ideas--then write them down, in case they represent some new historiographic school which might come up on orals.

While discussing the " ' Nice' Revolution," Jeffrey Romoff tells us that the grad students formed a committee "to solicit and collate new ideas and approaches in political science." The goal is worthy, but the method sounds so somber. I wonder if Bentham and Mill ever thought to solicit Adam Smith and Ricardo? Did Marx solicit and Engels collate the Young Hegelians?

Richard Hofstadter--no radical he--has suggested that the intellectual is both pious and playful in his response to ideas. The intellectual greatly values ideas for their innate worth, but he possesses "something to prevent [piety] from being exercised in an excessively rigid way;" he feels "sheer delight in intellectual activity." Unfortunately, with all that piety and very little play, graduate students may well become dull boys and stilted intellects. :

141 The New Journal I February 23, 1969

Hairdresser continued from page 11 Duke knows of no other case in history in which hypnosis was secretly used by the prosecution on its witness; Miller talks about brainwashing and hypnosis as if they were the same, but according to the psychiatrist, there is a "slight" difference in this case. Legally, Duke regards the whole affair as bizarre. "When and if the facts are ever acknowledged, this case could rank with Sacco and Vanzetti, or Sam Shephard, with two signal differences: (1) There is no apparent reason why the United States Government should want to gang up on Jimmy Miller; (2) the evidence of innocence here is positively overwhelming."

Duke has written letters to the Solicitor General, who replied by form letter, and to Attorney General Ramsey Clark, who didn't reply at all. He has had Miller take polygraph and truth serum tests, both of which Miller passed.

MilJer has more than one lawyer working on his case. A public affairs group in Milford named itself the Committee for Justice after Miller's conviction. It has helped pay his legal expenses as well as the cost of hiring private investigators to track Natalizio. For the first trial, Miller hired well-known trial lawyer Percy Forman, who had a hand in Jack Ruby's defense and who also successfully defended Candy Mossier. Forman charged Miller only seven thousand five hundred dollars, although rumor had the price at fifty thousand. Duke estimates that Miller has spent between seventy and eighty thousand dollars in his own defense.

Steven Duke was approached by the Committee to write a scholarly brief for the first appeal, but he says, "The more I learned about the case, the more I became convinced that it was a question of mistaken identity. I got involved and I started from scratch." Duke is no financial burden on Miller since he works without a fee.

"Maybe I just don't like to give up on a fight, but I know the guy is innocent. And I have never had an innocent client who was not ultimately acquitted.

"This case gives the lie to the argument that the criminally accused gets all the breaks. The courts reverse one decision in fifty, and if the 'Organized Crime' label is attached, they reverse one in a hundred.

"In the courts today, the cards are still stacked very much against the defendent.

Basically it is because the government has the resources and because the trial is a matter of surprise; the defense doesn't know what the prosecution is going to present, and often the jurors tend to assume the defendant is guilty. And if the government wants to convict someone, it will, no matter how long it takes- look at Jimmy Hoffa."

Duke maintains that if the Miller case had been one of robbery or murder, the Natalizio confession and the questions raised in the procedure of Miller's trial would have been sufficient to gain a retrial.

"The problem centers on the fact that the federal government doesn't usually make a mistake in a narcotics case, especially in the massive research necessary to get at 'Organized Crime.' When they spend a quarter of a million dollars, the investment is too great to let the whole case go down the drain.

"The second factor is the extraordinary publicity that pressured the government from the beginning. The newspapers were told that the top narcotics smuggler in the

country had been apprehended and that Miller was the central figure in the biggest international dope conspiracy ever uncovered.

"Even though the evidence showed that whoever was guilty was only part of a small-time operation, the government had committed itself. And it is so difficult to convict the big racketeers in general that the government was emotionally and psychologically committed to making any conviction stick."

The big publicity splash had committed everyone from Attorney General Robert Kennedy's office on down. Duke explains that the more mistakes that are uncovered in a conviction, the more the higher courts feel "that there must have been a reason for getting this guy." And the appeal courts generally try to keep their hands off narcotics conspiracy cases, anyway. " In a case labeled 'Organized Crime,' with all the publicity of Mafia influence in politics and government, the rumors of mob influence and bribery run wild. The people who believe Miller is innocent accuse the federal agents and judges of yielding to pressure; the people who are sympathetic to Miller are accused of being on the mob payroll. In fact, people say the Cosa Nostra is paying me to get Miller off, which is absurd."

The significant pressure on Steven Duke is one of time and energy. The total involvement in the Miller case has been both a financial and professional burden.

"Part of the problem," Duke explains, "is that my classroom preparation has suffered. 1 haven't had any time to absorb all the implications, the theoretical considerations that we usually talk about in the classroom.

"I try to keep the case as a case out of my courses; but the things that I have learned and tries to express in class are important. All of my direct experience as a criminal lawyer has been in defending indigents, the run-of-the-mill criminal case. This is the staple problem for scholars and teachers, although it hasn't been adequately dealt with in the classroom by any means. But the Miller case h as the whole new perspective of big Justice Department politics, of 'Organized Crime' and of big courtroom publicity. And the lesson learned is that the rules of the game, the rules the Supreme Court lays down, have almost no impact on a decision."

Duke relates his courtroom-academic conflict to the larger questions of purpose being raised in the Law School. Some students and faculty maintain that the social obligations are more important than the the academic responsibilities. A more traditional viewpoint asserts that the Law School, as such, has no obligation to solve specific problems in a direct way.

"The 'enlightened' view now is that the Law School should involve itself in current problems only to the extent that that is the best way to convey to students the skills they need. But it is really difficult, from my own experience, to get involved and then pull out and gain an academic perspective.

"The encouraging thing is that students go out and work on cases like this and then bring the information and insight into the classroom. If they form the bridge with the outside, then there is Jess reason for the professor to do it; and he can then synthesize, can present an academic overview.

"This is the first time, as far as I know, that a law professor has taken up the defense in a case involving organized crime.

Usually, they just handle cases of indigents or cases involving some legal principle.

But I guess a legal principle is involved here, too: the principle that you don't send an innocent man to prison.":

Berrigan continued from page 2 At a reading the next day, pushing for the last time against the questions about what he wants the reader to get from his work, he said that, for him, the poem lies as much on the surface of the page as does the paint in an abstract expressionist painting. The poet brings to his composition what depth of understanding and experience he commands, and the reader brings his own resources to the reading of it. But poet and reader do not meet in universal experience: the experiences they take away from the poem remain as different as their responsibilities to it.

Ted Berrigan published The Sonnets with Grove Press in 1967. Many poems in the collection are made of phrases selected and rearranged from earlier sonnets, then rearranged again and again later in the sequence. Phrases, lines and words change their meanings as their places change.

Each sonnet seems a separate manifestation of a very private world where no person or thing can be sure of direct connection with any other person or thing. This month Corinth Books, in New York, is publishing a new collection of Berrigan's poetry, Many Happy Returns, with a cover by Joe Brainard. Along with "Personal Poems" and others, it contains the long poems "Bean Spasms," "Tambourine Life" and "Many Happy Returns"-three versions of what might be the same work, because all of it makes up the poet's working life. If The Sonnets were sustained by the unity of their language, the new collection reveals what critics usually call a voice. It is the sound of a man writing, making life into poetry. Many happy returns, Ted. Susan Holahan

Movies Two years ago, Andrew Sarris, film critic for the Village Voice and the leading propounder of what Fran~ois Truffaut calls "La politique des auteurs" (usually rendered the "auteur theory" of film), spoke at a Yale Flm Society showing of Samuel Fuller's Shock Corridor. Foran Sarris said about film as "the director's medium" and of Samuel Fuller as a great director, the audience appreciated Sarris' performance much more than what he had to say about film art and enjoyed both more than the Fuller movie that was shown.

But a new generation of film enthusiasts has arrived, across the country and at Yale, and Sarris' theory of the American film director, which originally appeared in print in the spring 1963 issue of Film Culture has been seriously received by film enthusiasts. The American Cinema: Directors and Directions,J929-1968 follows the plan of the Film Culture article in discussing films by their director and in ranking the directors in more or less fanciful categories: Pantheon, Expressive Esoterica, Strained Seriousness, Less Than Meets the Eye, etc. The book also contains a "Directorial Chronology" for each year, really just an excuse for Sarris to epater le bourgeois by giving his favorites for each year.

The rankings will be familiar to anyone

who has ever seen a Yale Film Society program, although they will outrage many self-appointed film experts. Thus Hawk's ElDorado, Ford's Seven Women and Sirk's imitation of Life are among his favorites, while many idols of the popular press, e.g. Huston and Zinneman, are given short shrift.

Yet the substance of the book lies not in the rankings and other little games Sarris is playing with his readers but rather in the essays on each director and the new essay he has written for the introduction, a detailed discussion of some of the principles of the "auteur theory." Sarris is too discursive and insufficiently rigorous to be a great theoretician; the closest he ever gets to a definition of the "auteur theory" is a few phrases scattered through the introduction." ... The worst film of a great director may be more interesting though less successful than the best film of a fair to middling director." He could have changed the "may be" to "is"; after all, isn't that the definition of a great artist?

Two Gentlemen of Verona is more interesting than anything by Marston, and The Stranger (Welles, not Visconti) is more interesting than anything by William Wyler.

Sarris says in his introduction that in the making of a film, "Ideally the strongest personality should be the director, and it is when the director dominates the film that the cinema comes closest to reflecting the personality of a single artist. A film history could reasonably limit itself to a history of film directors." And finally, and perhaps most accurately, he notes, 'The director is both the least necessary and most important component of filmmaking."

But Sarris does not stop there. He is interested in the whole of film-making and perhaps as deeply in the world of film distribution. He discusses some of the economic problems in film-making, but he is especially interested in the present and past position in America of critics and reviewers, insisting on the distinction between the two. "Reviewing is thus a consumer report for the uninitiated; criticism a conversation with one's equals."

As he points out, it was reviewers who destroyed the careers of Griffith, von Sternberg, Stroheim and Welles long before the studios did. Reviewers know their readers would rather read a good pan than a good rave. This may sound sanctimonious until Sarris points out, "The last thing an auteur critic desires is to keep a reader from seeing a movie." This statement will surprise none of his regular readers. His reviews in the Village Voice are rarely complete pans. He always finds something interesting about any film.

It is his essays on individual directors that linger in the mind. He can be devastatingly accurate in a pan. "Burt Topper has been discovered by Cahiers du Cinema as one of its little jokes on American film scholarship.... The joke is wearing thin at a time when American films are constantly reviled in the pages of Cahiers aJI the better to sing the praises of the New Albanian Cinema." But he is at his best with directors he loves.

His essay on Ford is richly suggestive, and his best phrases have an evocative power not unlike some scenes by his subject: "How Green Was My Valley is notable for introducing Ford's visual treatment of the past as a luminous memory more real than the present and presumably more than the heroic future. His style has evolved almost miraculously into a double

~

15 I The New J ou rnal! February 23, 1969

vision of an event in all its vital immediacy and yet almost in its ultimate memory image on the horizon of history."

The Ford essay is perh aps the best, carefully controlled with Sarris's supple sense of language. Occasionally he falters.

Describing Hitchcock as "the supreme tech nician of the American cinema" does not seem to be much of an improvement over the usual sobriquet, "master of suspense." And too often Sarris is content with assertion of greatness. Sec for example h is essay on Sirk, which is not likely to convince any not already of the devil's part.

But finally the book is much more than the balance of its virtues and defects. As the first "weigh ted critical evaluation" of the American Cinema with any claims to be taken seriously, it is not the end of American film criticism. But it may be the end of the beginning.

T om R ussell

Letters To the Editor: What is a scientist? We used to know what he was and wh at he did. He was a loner, a thinker, a man who changed the face of modern society. But society has changed in o ther ways in the last few years, and the scientist has in many ways been left behind. "Big Science" is now the order of the day; the scope of the individual researcher h as been reduced to the point where he can no longer keep in view the goal toward which he is working. His research priorities are no longer his decision alone, and o ften he cannot find out from whence the decisions come. The day of the lone researcher is of necessity gone forever, but we are not at all sure what has replaced it.

An opportunity is long overdue for scientists to examine their role in American society. At Yale, as well as at several other universities, this opportunity will come on Tuesday, March 4. As a demonstration of their concern, scientists and scholars will meet in the Yale Law School Auditorium to talk about the nature of modern science, relations with the military and America's social goals, the economics of science, and other topics which have made them apprehensive in recent years.

"T he Scientist and Society: a day of reflection" will tentatively be bu ilt around two panel d iscussions, on "Science and the Military" and "Science and the D irection of American Society." Among the participants will be A rthur W . Galston, P rofessor of Bio logy at Yale and an expert on defoliation, especially its uses in warfa re; D r. Robert L ifton, Professor of Psychiatry at the Ya le Medical School wh o has studied the effects of the atomic bo mb on the population of H iroshima; Seymour Melman, P rofessor of Industrial Engineering at Columbia Un iversity and an expert on disarmament; Steven Weinberg, P rofessor of Physics at M IT and a consultan t on defense matters; Kenneth Keniston, Associate P rofessor of Psychology at Yale, who is a well known writer o n the student radical and the alienation of youth; J oh n Morton Blum, Farn um Professor of H istory at Yale; H arry M agdoff, P rofessor of Econom ics at the New School for Social Research who is curre ntly conducting a sem inar on imperialism at T imo thy Dwight College; and Gerald F einberg, Professor of Physics at Columbia University a nd recently auth or of "The Prometheus Project." The emphasis of the d ay's activities will be on

free and open d iscussion rather than lectures; it will clearly not be free from controversy.

No one knows what the outcome of the day will be. Perhaps it will be a n ice polite discussion which everyone will soon forget. But maybe we will all learn a little about how things really are and get some ideas about how we would like things to be. Perhaps it will be the start of a continuing forum. We have heard too often of how science deals with utopias; it is h igh time to talk about the realities of science.

AlanS. Kay Matt Borenstein

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