Volume 2 - Issue 3

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Volume two, number three I November 3, 1968

Eisenhower - Nixon: 1952 .

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21 The New Journal I November 3, 1968

Contents 3

4

David and Julie: a romance

by James Durchslag Faces of the revolution

by Walt Wagoner, Jr.

Columbia white paper

by Robert Schuh.inger I 5 Letters In Comment: Curtis LeMay marches to the beat of a different drummer, Yale is no Walden for graduate women, and civil disobedience and the theatre gets a thorough review.

12

Uber Wallace When I heard that General Curtis LeMay was speaking at the Forestry School, I immediately began preparations to write a first rate hatchet job. Indeed, I started to hone and polish every verbal axe in my linguistic tool box-from metaphor and pretentious allusion to irony and downright sarcasm. With a bow toward Thoreau, I would call my piece, "In Wildness is the Defoliation of the World," and I would fill it with pithy comments about the General's inability to see the forest for the trees. After having listened to LeMay, however, I am obliged to put my caustic metaphors back into mothballs and to de-escalate my irony. To my surpriseand that of most of the audience-LeMay was impressive and honest.

On the face of it, General LeMay's speech was simply a well reasoned and carefully documented plea for "war" against "the dissipation of our natural resources in this country, yes, even in the world." In language that was always articulate and sometimes ruggedly poetic, he complained that although Lake Erie was "dead" and the Hudson River "practically a sewage canal," Americans continued slowly to "commit suicide" by their "reckless waste of our resources." Indeed, he feared the "imminent collapse of our natural environment."

Conservation has been a major political issue for at least a hundred years, and it bas been important not merely because it related to the disposition of wealth but because it implied a vision of America as the bountiful "virgin land." Like Frederick Jackson Turner and so many others, LeMay saw both literal and symbolic relationship between the depletion of Nature's gifts and the declining quality of American life. In three hundred years, he said, we have replaced a "natural paradise" with smog-soaked cities. Moreover, we shall never achieve peace, security and racial justice so long as nations and individuals must "compete for a handful of food and a mouthful of water."

LeMay thinks (or rather feels) that there is something wrong with America, but his speech was not a sentimentalist's longing for his lost virgin land, nor was it a rant against smog-laden cities filled with "theoreticians" and "pointy-headed bureaucrats," to borrow his runningrnate's idiom. Unlike George Wallace, Curtis LeMay is a good soldier who defers with respect-sometimes with awe-to expert opinion. Indeed, although LeMay's "bomb 'em back to the Stone Age" military strategy may be unique, his political analysis of Vietnam is clearly culled from "expert" writings on containment by Kennan, Rostow, Rusk and other "liberal" intellectuals.

Although LeMay emphasized that government and administration should be as decentralized as possible, he advocated a federal "organization of competent people" to coordinate the salvation of the American environment. Because resource depletion is a problem "of such magnitude that it makes going to the moon look easy," this bureau would be " many times" the size of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Moreover, LeMay said that government control should begin "at once" to "force" an end to water and air pollution by private enterprise.

Shortly after World War II, LeMay turned down an appointment to a vacant Senate seat from Ohio because he didn't want to enter politics. In a sense, he still hasn't entered politics. George Wallace's candor has declined as his Gallup poll has risen, but Curtis LeMay still says what's on his mind, even if it contradicts his runningmate and even if it contradicts what was on his mind two sentences ago.

Certainly Wallace must shudder to think that some of the home folks might hear of LeMay's enthusiasm for birth control and his assertion that there are "many, many, many cases where legalized abortion is the proper thing to do and should be left up to the people concerned and the physician concerned." Certainly Wallace supporters who consider states' rights a sacred revelation would look askance at LeMay's willingness to use "big government" to purify biological ecosystems.

George Wallace has created a more or less consistent ideology, with a hero (himself), villains (Earl Warren, the "pseudointellectuals") and a theory of history (the trend toward "creeping socialism" at home and the external threat of Godless Communism). Curtis LeMay is like the disgusted cab driver or cop who will vote for the Wallace ticket, not out of sympathy for a specific political philosophy but because he feels in his guts that something is rotten. These men can't articulate their gripes, but their grievances are no less real.

Leo Ribuffo

Women They come to Yale, these people, to learn and to meet people. They come with varying degrees of self-awareness, but usually they see themselves as whole human beings: whole feminine human beings. And that is where the trouble begins; for these people are women in the Graduate School at Yale.

It does not take long for the campus to become familiar to them; but, at the same time, they remain aware of something strange. In the natural loneliness of the first few weeks it is hard to distinguish feelings, but soon the disease becomes apparent. They are becoming bods--bods to be stared at, bods to be evaluated, bods to be fantasized about, bods for the YaJies to visually screw. For some, for a while, it is exciting to be so appreciated. For others, right away, it is repulsive. For all, sooner or later, it is dehumanizing, desexualizing and a drag. No matter what they may be like as people, at Yale they stand out. The averted eyes or the grilling stare make them aware that somehow they don't really belong.

As they sit through their seminars, they experience a different strain. The first few times it isn't clear why they are so often put down. The more they talk knowledgeably or perceptively, the clearer it be-

comes. They are becoming impersonalized female minds-minds to be tested, minds to be dissected, minds to be proved inferior, minds for the graduate men to mentally rape. For some, for a while, it is challenging and stimulating. For others, right away, it is demoralizing. For all, sooner or later, it is dehumanizing, desexualizing and a drag.

To be criticized, as they are by graduate men, for being unfeminine and frigid is brutal when they are being prodded to be hard-nosed, competitive minds in class.

Kenneth Kenniston, a professor of psychiatry at Yale, says: "Yale is a magnet for men who don't really want to be around women. Put these men in the same school as women who resent the renunciation that graduate school involves anyway, and you have a pretty tense situation."

The damned-if-you-are, damned-if-you'renot atmosphere in the Graduate School makes women aware that somehow they do not really belong.

They begin their academic program with the faculty. After several sessions of discussing ideas, they become aware of a different tension. Gradually they begin to understand that they are becoming precocious psyches-psyches to be patronized, to be dominated, to be professionalized-psyches for the faculty to prostitute. For a while it is an ego trip.

Ultimately it is a down.

They are expected to prove their competence as scholars while assuming that this has no relation to their personalities or lives as women. The more they conform to the grad-grind syndrome, the easier the tensions become. But if they are spirited, involved or not career oriented, they become aware that, somehow, they do not realy belong. After a couple of years, many of them (60%) drop out.

But the real question is: Why are women so disruptive? Why should they be so raptly attended as bodies, minds and careers and so consistently ignored as persons? Why must they constantly prove themselves competent sexually, mentally and professionally? Haven't they declared time and again that this is a good thing?

Maybe all these women are just paranoid. Yet is it paranoid to cringe when you walk into Hungry Charley's on a Saturday night only to be asked if you are enjoying the mixer? Is it paranoid to go to an art film and be nauseated by the whistles, hisses, ooo's and woo's of the Yalies when a woman's body is exposed?

Is it paranoid to wonder at the overwhelming admisison of single graduate males that they never even considered how many women would be at Yale when they applied? Is it paranoid to feel that Yale is hypocritical when they allow women into their school while classifying gynecological problems as "special" medical problems?

And is it paranoid to be dismayed when a professor asks if you are sure you want to go through with your degree because you expressed a concern about the academic, personal and social problems at Yale and in New Haven?

The women who come to Yale are not just male minds in female bodies. They are not unfeminine intellects trying to make it in a man's world. They are women in all that makes women different and unique.

For all the talk that is going around about feminine mystiques it is amazing that all the difference Yale acknowledges between men and women is the sexual one.

It might be worth while to consider some of the differences in modes of thinkcontinued on page 14

Volume two, number three November 3, 1968 Editors: Jeffrey Pollock Jonathan Lear Business Manager: Jean-Pierre Jordan Executive Editor: Herman Hong Designer: Bruce Mcintosh Associate Editor: Lawrence Lasker Advertising Manager: K. Elia Georgiades Copy Editor: Paul Bennett Circulation Managers: John Adams Steve Thomas Contributing Editors: Jonathan Aaron Susan Holahan Mopsy S. Kennedy Michael Lerner Leo Ribuffo Staff: Peter M. C. Choy, Dennis Evans, Marty Davis, Joseph Fincke, Ann Fleck, Kathy Grossman, John Hull, Rodger Kamenetz, Laurie Overby, Bob Randolph, Barney Rubin, 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. 06S20, and is printed at The Carl Purington Rollins Printing-Office of the Yale Unjversity Press in New Haven. Published bi-weekly during the academic year and distributed by qualified controlled circulation to the Yale Community.

For all others, subscriptions are $7 .SO per year ($4.SO for students) and newsstand copies SO¢.

The New Journal Šcopyright 1968 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: Charles Bethel: page 3 Frank Mouris: pages 12, 13 Walt Wagoner: pages 4, 6, 8, 10, 14

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It lies serenely between the Berkshire hiJls in the heart of Massachusetts, this weatherbeaten valley, this preserve of all that is old and good in the history of New England ways. And wending its way through the heart of the valley, with the huge, raw New E ngland sky hovering always above, is Route 9. Route 9, which spans the seven miles between two schools as if it is a personal learning experience itself: travelling along this road one senses that here all of the aspects of the worthy life have been deliberately set out for display in a religious-pastoral pattern ... the trees and meadows, the small red schoolhouses and humble private homes, owner-operated businesses and large chain stores, the feeling ... as if, somehow, it had all been preordained. Our story concerns two people who managed to use this road, who saw it not just as the road between Smith and Amherst but as something-greater: David Eisenhower and Julie Nixon, who, even before the public became aware of their collective presence, were bridging the gap and making the connection.

As all relationships must start, so did this one: the two future mates barely aware of each other's existence. Perhaps David knew from the start that Julie Nixon, the girl he hadn't seen for eight years andremembered only as a pesty little brat who hung around the White House (of course, h~ didn't care much for girls at that time), was a freshman at Smith, but he thought little of it. He was too worried about doing well at Amherst and meeting new friends.

The boys in his dorm remember how he used to introduce himself as "David," avoiding the addition of his last name from embarrassment or the feeling that everyone knew already, so that there was no point in overdoing it. Occasionally he would complain to some sympathetic listener about the administration's attempt to protect him by stocking his entry with seventy percent prep-school alumni, giving him more a feeling of frustration than comfort. At any rate, these opening weeks were an unsteady time for him, when he was unsure what course his future would take. He had just been chairman of Exeter's Liberal Party and bad considered himself a liberal, but now these leanings were, well . . . . He would sometimes try out a new position in discussions on such neutral topics as the merits of Barry Goldwater, started by still-nervous freshmen who needed some safe subject to tear apart. From the right comer of the room, a quiet voice (David's): "Well, I don't think Goldwater was so bad."

The same process of adjustment must have been occurring at Julie's end of the road. Everyone knew she was coming to Smith, so they were understandably nervous, worried she wouldn't like them. Her destined freshman roommate was almost frantic, coming from Oregon and knowing little of those slick Eastern ways. But all were pleasantly surprised. Well, Julie did display this thin facade, a kind of pseudosophistication that was bard to take at first; and she had such marvelously welltailored clothes in perfect style-:-tbe skirts always reaching exactly to the knee--and she was already so . . . Smith. However, they soon realized her genuine sweetness and sincerity and her real interest in everybody's activities. Maybe some of the Baldwin House girls couldn't become too close because they were afraid of upsetting Julie by disagreeing with her father's political views, but the others readily accepted her into their close-knit group. The spirit of Smith found a roost in her so easily that anyone who didn't realize who she was would have sworn she bad attended Smith for years.

Still the two continued oblivious of each other, dating other people, until one fateful day a Republican Organization Wornlam~s Durchslag,

the author of this articl~, is a junior in Yale College taking an int~n­ sive major in English.

an, little realizing herself to be the pawn of some divine agency, called David and suggested he take Julie out for publicity reasons. David talked to Julie, but was wary at first. "I just spoke to Julie Nixon, and boy did she sound obnoxious." He asked some of his acquaintances if they wanted to date her; but finding no suitable substitute and feeling some sense of commitment, he asked her out. Even then his first impression was not entirely eradicated, but he was starting to waver. Her benign, cleansing influence was uprooting his fears, soothing his harried soul. For Julie liked David from the start.

After that first phone call she reported to friends his deep, humble voice and generally amenable nature. She knew that he was different from the unsatisfactory dates she had experienced thus far and hoped that he would understand and second the views that other boys scoffed at. But she must have known he would, for behind the sweet smile that covered her face lay the thought: "Daddy will be so pleased!"

Love does not grow as easily as Lit~

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Daddy agreed- the ideal David aPproached. So by the International Debutante Ball in December-when Julie reigned as the American representative, gliding down the aisle while the tones of "America the Beautiful" filled the Waldorf Astoria ballroom and David attentively followed as her official civilian escortthey were inseparable.

They became the Siamese twins, a couple of grafted destinies: David looking like a cross between the urbanity of a Playboy ad for Cricketeer suits and the innocence of a Norman Rockwell depiction of Tom Sawyer; Julie with her round, wholesome face, pleasing smile and conservative dresses--never pants--resembling the ideal American companion. They attended everything together. Dances at Baldwin House where they could lose themselves in the infectious soul of a (white) rock band.

Culturally enriching activities, such as plays, which they could enjoy in their winning way, Julie commenting after one dramatic production: "It was so nice. They all spoke with such cute British accents."

Eisenhovver - Nixon: 1968

magazine would like to believe. It takes time and effort and sharing. Julie was willing to devote that time to helping David in his troubled development. By October of their freshman year they were dating fairly regularly, straining to sprout a mutual feeling. During Thanksgiving vacation she invited David (after be got a haircut) to the family retreat, showing him the serenity and purity of her home life.

He met her father and saw the man's ideals in practice-his gracious smile, genuine affection for friends and family, determination to preserve the good things in American society. David also met the Minollas -the Nixon's servant couple-and was impressed by their treatment as part of the family, the way they worshipped the Nixons and obediently, almost eagerly, did everything asked of them.

At this time Julie was still dating another boy, the only leftover from her preDavid experimentation, but this would soon end. He was a fine boy, as Julie's freshman roommate recalls: "He was pretty nice. He must have been, to go out with her." But he was nowhere near-and

Their friends at the two schools shared in their activity, participated in their infectious joy. Once when Julie phoned the Alpha Delta Phi fraternity house, which David entered in his sophomore year, the person answered, " He's out in back blowing pot."

Julie thought for a few seconds. "Oh, no. Not David."

"Well, you never can tell about him.

He's always trying new things."

But then of course they laughed goodnaturedly in unison, Julie realizing through the absurdity of the situation that it was just a friendly joke. The boys at Amherst were unsure what Julie was really like, some considering her friendly but not too intelligent, others asserting that behind her surface lurked a real depth of thought. The girls in Baldwin House thought David was very funny and entertaining (although his A.D. buddies classify him as mainly inoffensive), as they remembered the times they sat with him for hours, listening to anecdotes, having a generally jolly time. Regardless of what any of them thought, the most consistent

image was the two of them engaging in their favorite on-campus activity-sitting for hours at the Amherst snack bar eating ice cream, staring at a cold slab of fudge ripple.

However they occupied themselves on campus, their fondest memory together was probably the road and the m any times they walked, hitchhiked or drove down it -driving coming only after Ike's expression of disapproval over their thumbing activities, necessitating the joint ownership of a light-green 1962 Valiant. They must have enjoyed most of all walking hand-inhand, wending their solitary way through fallen autumn leaves. Perhaps stopping and reminiscing in the playground of the red-brick schoolhouse, while a little girl beat out erasers, sending clouds of chalk dust into the chill-edged air. Maybe they wandered into the little shop with its distinctive sign: "Julie's Flower GardenCut Flowers," picking out some green remembrance of the blossoming countryside, to be guarded in their rooms while they were apart. They might have gone to the Hadley drive-in, little more than an unpainted billboard, smiling together at the screen antics of Hell's Angels counterparts. But most likely they relished sitting together under a tree on some secluded section of a romantically flowing meadow, flirting playfully: " You know Daddy's a Quaker."

"Yes, Julie."

"You know Quakers are pacifists and believe that all men are equal."

"Yes, Julie.... " So they grew together, building to engagement as a natural outcome of their love.

Yet they must have known that this delicious privacy could not last. For the announcement of the engagement of these Republican progenies, accomplished by Nixon via television while campaigning before the Oregon primary, could only bring them national attention. And of course the Nixon campaign organizers would expect them to help in the cause. Luckily they were of the same mind, David having long since dropped his dangerous liberal attitudes, so that although they loathed the loss of their private, innocent sharing, they were ready to do what they could to help Nixon, despite unwished-for publicity. At the first press conference after the engagement announcement they told the world how happy they were and that from then until after the election their time would be devoted to the cause.

The couple set to work: attending Nixon rallies, speaking at dinners, wearing "Nixon's the One!" buttons. They exchanged the road between Smith and Amherst for a national road, a conglomeration of all the American trails--from backwoods cowpath to superhighway. David, especially, proved to be an eloquent representative of the Nixon teachings. He knew that Nixon had made certain questionable moves, such as cater ing to Strom Thurmond, but he understood their motivation. "Strom Thurmond is second to God with a large segment of American voters. I guess be's third now that Wallace is second.... In practical terms Strom Thurmond held the line with the southern delegations. Now, does that mean you disregard Strom Thurmond and watch the nomination go down the river?" He commented on Nixon's determination to end the war, the problems of a vocal left causing a dangerous threat from the right, and the way Wallace was helped by Watts, Chicago and similar incidents. Here was a college spokesman that the American working class could admire.

Of course Julie was there all the time, giving her silent support, commending him on his fine progress. From time to time she talked with the press. but hers was mainly a nostalgic position, reflecting on the past with an unstated but obvious confidence in the future: "I still haven't conceded the 1960 election. I do believe continued on page 14

41 The New Journal I November 3, 1968

Faces of the revolution: a Cuban journal

by Walt Wagoner, Jr.

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I spent a month this summer in Cuba and kept a daily journal, mostly transcriptions of conversation. What follow are some excerpts from that journal. I traveled widely about the island, talking with all sorts of people. The extraordinary impression they aU gave me was one of a revolution in progress. Even after almost ten years, the atmosphere in Cuba is charged with a sense of newness and change. I owe a debt of thanks to my Cuban friends for their willingness to let me do as I pleased and their efforts to let me see and do what I wanted virtually without restriction. I hope readers can capture for themselves here something of what it is like in Cuba today.

Thanks too to Anne Jones of Radcliffe, whom I met in Mexico as we were leaving for Havana and who has aided my recollections from time to time.

1 Waiting in the Mexico City airport for the Cubana flight , Anne and I met a motherly Cuban who works for a publishing house in Havana. She was in Mexico to visit her grandchildren. She told us stories of Fidel ("Ay, Fidel, what a maivelous boy!") and complained about conditions in the airport.

"It's just shameful the way they take your pictures here, as if you were some sort of criminal. For heaven's sake, they caU Cuba a police state, and look what they do to you here! It makes a person nervous. I just won't feel calm until we're on that plane. Thank goodness that sort of thing doesn't go on in Cuba."

Walter Wagoner, Jr., is a second-year student at the Yale Law School.

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"You know, it makes a person so mad.

Why, here they are in Mexico having all these problems with the students, and what do they start saying? 'Castro-Communists!' That's all they think about. Why, the papers talk as if we were running around here stirring everything up. They should have a little more sense; these young people have their own problems; we certainly don't have to get involved. This is a very strange country!"

We boarded a Russian airliner for the three-hour flight. The food was great, the best I've ever bad on a plane. Our Cuban lady friend kept urging us to eat on. "Of course they'll say that the Cubans are all starving to death. Well, you'll see soon enough." She rubbed her stomach and winked.

We were met at the Jose Mart( Airport by several young people working for the Cuban Tourist Agency. We were nervous, still; they gave us a daiquiri, and that began to calm me'down. But then, damn it, somebody came along and took our picture! The baggage arrived a few moments later; no one had opened it. We were ushered to an elderly Cadillac and off we went toward Havana.

It was evening; lights were beginning to illuminate the towers of the city as we approached. The mood of the streets was calm, after the hustle and smog of Mexico.

We watched the signs: The Fight of the Vietnamese People is Our Fight Ten Million Tons of Sugar by 1970 The, Girl With Green Eyes Che-Until Victory!

Visit Santiago de Cuba Communications Will Be Maintained, In War As In Peace Homeland Or Death; We Shall Overcome

Only one out of three streetlights were on, but the red sun on the brilliant green vegetation gave everything a deep glow.

2 After supper, we walked into Havana for our first look at the Revolution. A few blocks from the hotel Anne spotted a small building with "PALANTE" pasted in hand-cut letters across the windows. We decided to walk in, though it was past eleven. We found the staff of the leading humor magazine, introduced ourselves and asked about it.

"It's a humor magazine-cartoons and satire, mainly-though we do some service features as well. You could say we make fun of just about everything." The editor was a young man of about 28 or 30, with longish black curly hair, bright green eyes and quick smiles. He showed us copies16 pages on large sheets of newsprint, full-page and half-page cartoons in two and and three colors, divided almost equally between political and more general themes, often very sexy. The caricature of the guerilla soldier was that of a defiant little man, all beard, nose and boots, often bespectacled, with a gun sticking out of the top of the boots where they joined the base of his neck; a huge cigar and a beanie topped it off.

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The women were extraordinarly curvacious, all hips and breasts tugging at miniskirts and thin blouses. The sex of the cartoons was explicit and unrestrained.

Even the issue following the death of Che was grimly, darkly, bitterly humorous: guns disguised as cigars protruding from beards of defiant soldiers.

Anne asked him how he got to be editor: if he were a member of the party, for instance. He looked a little shy in response.

"Well, actually, I'm not a member of the party; you don't have to be. Maybe I will be someday, but I have just a few little defects."

I asked him if they criticized th e government in the magazine.

"We joke about it a lot, and we try to point out what goes wrong. But we don't criticize for its own sake and we try not to be negative. We think of ourselves as revolutionaries and humorists at the same time. We try to be truthful and have fun with it, too."

We walked on a few blocks until we came to a basement apartment with a small sign outside reading "CDR" (Committees in the Defense of the Revolution), and in we went. Large poster of Che on the waUs, Marx and Fidel under glass on the coffee table, ten folks sitting around the room, aU ages, generous blend of colors.

We just asked who they were and what they did. All neighbors, they answered, defending the Revolution at the block level.

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S I The New Journal I November 3, 1968

What did they mean? "See this plastic bag?" answered a lady. "We get together and fill it with dirt that they truck in-to the corner. Then we put a coffee seedling in it-thousands of bags in a good weekend -they go out to the fields in another truck and are planted-all around Havana in the Havana Cord6n Plan."

"What do you think about the Revolution?"

"Fantastic-the most beautiful thing in the world. Here we are, all neighbors, black and white. You know, in the old days me and Maria here couldn't really get together. We had our own circles, the places I went to, the parties and so on, well, a black person couldn't go. We were friends, of course, but it just wasn't the same.

Now-the Revolution-black and white, it's all the same." They smiled sweetly at each other.

"Ah, but Fidel, Fidel." A sinewy old black man was on his feet now. "We depend on Fidel and his wonderful example, 'nuestro Hder maximo'; we would be nowhere without our Fidel. What vision!

What strength! With our Fidel we'll just keep moving forward until there's no stopping us!"

Four women were speaking at once now, as if to cut the old fellow off.

"Look," said one of them, ''you should tell the Americans that we don't hate them, that we think of them as brothers, 'nuestro hermano pals,' but we are determined to make this Revolution a complete success.

It's not the people there, not the people at all. But that Mr. Johnson! Well, that's something else again. I really wish you'd try to get that across when you go back."

We walked out an hour later with one of the young men of the block. "You noticed how that old man kept talking about Fidel," he said. "Well, frankly, it bothered me. That's something Fidel wants to discourage. He doesn't make so many speeches now, not like he used to-trying to get people to figure things out for themselves. That's one of our big problems: some people depend too much on Fidel."

3 I walked about a mile into Havana this afternoon, just to look around. The streets are colorless: faded paint and tom posters, but no litter. Once in a while you overbear a passing comment from one of the older ladies-how you have to get in line at five in the morning to buy your ration of meat and how they might run out when there are only five people ahead of you in the line.

Kids all over the place; schools are on vacation.

"Frances?" a little boy called out to me.

He was sitting with a friend on the edge of the sidewalk. I shook my bead.

"Ruso? Aleman? Checo? Ingles? Italiano?" I kept shaking no.

"Well what are you then?"

"American," I answered.

"My God! I've never seen an American! How did you get here? What are they going to do to you when you go back?"

All of a sudden, I was being mobbed by children. They were filling the street.

Traffic was blocked. Anxious mothers were peering over their heads. Older men were muttering with each other and eyeing me with suspicion. We were on the edge of chaos.

"How high is the Empire State Building?

Taller than the ones in Havana? Do you have lots of cars in America? What about the black people? Are you a Black Panther?" I hated to disappoint them. We streamed over to a nearby park and talked for hours. One boy wondered if I had ever heard of Che. Yes, I told him, sometimes we carry his picture. "Then how do you escape from the police when they come after you?" he asked.

At KLH, we believe that music often leaves you no choice but to listen.

4 We talked most of the evening with Miguel, a poet who lives here in Havana.

"In a way," he was saying, "it's too bad Che left. We needed him. He was the opposition here. He had Fidel's kind of charisma. He could touch Fidel. I can't remember the number of times I've spoken with Fidel, intimately. We are very close.

But somehow I can't imagine touching him, just reaching out and touching him in conversation, like this. One simply doesn't imagine such things; there is something about his presence. But Che could do that, the only one. That was a mark of his stature. Che was a brilliant man, far more so than the average. We have great need for more like that. Education is still a great problem here.

"In government, Che stood for more economic centralization. He had extensive debates with the French economist Bettleheim about that. Che would write in the magazine Our Industry very powerful stuff, even though it sometimes seemed like a contest to see who could quote more Marx, Lenin and Fidel. Che usually won on that score." He paused.

"I should have died in Bolivia. I would have, gladly. Cbe went there and be lost; we needed him here. There wasn't a weekend that Che didn't go to some farm or factory for voluntary work. I really think there are very few people in Cuba that haven't known him and worked with him.

Children here, they go out now and plant coffee and talk very seriously about living like Che. He left us that." We asked about Fidel.

"Cuban. That's the best way to describe Fidel. Incredibly, powerfully Cuban.

There's something untamed in the Cuban character-it's not just Fidel. In that sense, he's the expression of his people. His mother carried a gun, a pistol right on her ~elt. She prayed for the Revolution and threatened to shoot anyone who tried to nationalize her lands. ''I'll never forget the early sixties, when Fidel was having all his troubles with the Catholic church. He was laid up with pneumonia when his mother announced that she would celebrate a public mass in the largest cathedral in Havana for his recovery. Poor Fidel had to drag himself out of bed to tell his mother that it just wasn't good politics/

david dean smith Corner of Elm and York

The Yale Ski Club announces the opening of its New Ski Lodge

Membership meeting Monday, November 4 at 8:30PM in 114 SSS beer-co-eds-ski lodge students, faculty and administration invited

6J The New Journal! November 3, 1968

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Yale Film Society

Friday, November 1 lngmar Bergman's WINTER LIGHT (1962) Ingrid Thulin, Max von Sydow Dealing with a bitter revelation of spiritual failure, this film is Bergman's least posturing and most poignant work.

Saturday, November 9 Andy Warhol's VINYL (1966) A careful re-evolution of the essentials of film Also Saturday, November 2 Hitchcock's SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943) Tuesday, November 5 Dreyer's PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC (1928)

"He's always been a leader, president of the student body at the University, always making five-minute speeches on corners and dodging the police. Agit-prop kind of things. He's terribly concerned about the students, how they're thinking. Did you hear he showed up at the University just last night? He does that every couple of weeks, just walks over and talks to whoever is there. They have to shut the gates when he arrives or they'd have all the city trying to get in there. He has that way with people.

"He arrived at eight and talked until five in the morning; then they all went off with him to work on his experimental farm 04tside of Havana. Nobody tan keep up with him for more than two days at a time!

"He remembers everything. He's the only person I could listen to for eight hours. Those speeches be used to make! I remember once I was watching him on television; I went to sleep at about twelve and woke up in the morning at eight. He was still talking!

"Sometimes be acts as if be had no power at all. He came over to a friend's house a few months ago. Something happens to people when be's around. This time they didn't think to offer him coffee or even ask him to sit down. So he just stood there for two hours.

"And he can be hard on people. Once, he was fishing with Hemingway; they both had big ones, putting up a hell of a fight. ... He was into it with all he had. And for some reason a fellow watching asked Fidel why he had on two watches. Fidel has always worn two watches since the war -in case one of them fails--one on the top and one on the bottom of his wristRolexes.

"Well, Fidel didn't answer, but he took a look at the gold chain this guy had on his wrist and asked why the devil he was wearing such a vulgar thing. The guy was very hurt; he had just been put down by Fidel Castro. What was he going to say to his friends? Fidel pulled in his fish and looked around for the fellow. 'Here,' be said, 'take this.' And he gave him one of the watches. 'Give me that chain.' And Fidel took the chain, put it on his other wrist and walked off.

"People love the man. And they're awed by him. It's hard to explain-something that comes out of your balls."

5 I met an old man, about seventy, working in a cigar factory. "Old man, why don't you retire?" I asked him.

"Look, sonny," he replied, chewing on the butt of an extinguished cigar, "I've worked in this factory since I was twelve, forty-eight years working here for the boss to make the money. Do you think I'm going to quit now? Hell no; I'd rather die in here with a cigar in my mouth!"

6 Today I met a fellow who said he wasn't a fanatic. He's a clerk in a dingy little grocery store near the hotel. I went in to have a look at the place: piles of canned milk on the shelves, barrels of flour and sugar on the floor. Not much business; an occasional customer presents his ration book and carries something off. Between customers we talked for about three hours.

Actually, he did almost all of the talking, in low whispers, sometimes very excitedly.

I could never see his eyes for the dark glasses.

"What's the revolution done? I can tell you about that. Just look at the housing.

Look at the housing. This government here has probably built more houses than everybody else in Latin America put together. Have you seen East Havana? Have you seen it? A whole new city. Tremendous thing. And the rents. Very low, I can assure you. Those people pay $15, maybe $19 a month. I don't pay anything. Not a dime. House built over twenty years ago.

That's the system. Over twenty, no rent.

They say they won't charge rent for anybody two years from now. Who knows?

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by Robert D. Schulzinger The Cox Commission Report: Crisis at Columbia: Report of the Fact-Finding Commission Appointed to Investigate the Disturbances at Columbia University.

A Vintage Special, 222 pp.

The events of last April and May at Columbia University provided an institution which yearns for more public recognition with enough publicity to last it a decade.

Now that we have been treated to a nationally televised spectacular of policemen having a ball with young people in Chicago, the public memory of the Columbia uprising has dimmed. The recent publication of Crisis at Columbia, the report compiled by the faculty-appointed commission headed by former Solicitor General Archibald Cox, should refresh our recollection of that turbulent period. The report is likely to become the definitive work for parents, university administrators and non-radical students on what happened at Columbia last spring. As such it is flawed, for unlike Mark Twain, who told the truth with some stretches, the Cox report tells the truth with some contractions.

When the Cox Commission conducted hearings last spring, the leaders of the two Columbia groups most involved in the crisis, Students for a Democratic Society and the Student Afro-American Society, refused to participate, claiming that the Commission was unrepresentative of the University and was bound to compile a report favoring the particular interests of the faculty. There is some merit in this charge. The report emphasizes as a cause of unrest Columbia's relative decline in four years from fifth to seventeenth place among American universities in faculty salaries. It does not suggest, however, that any student seized a building in order to get his professor a bigger paycheck.

Some students might find the style of the report patronizing. Even a master of academic cliche would sound foolish making statements like, "The present generation of young people in our universities is the best informed, the most intelligent, and the most idealistic this country has ever known." Similarly, the drafters of the report try to get with it by speaking of the police "bust" and Columbia "jocks." The Columbia Spectator had the good sense to write about the "raid" and the "athletes."

Robert Schu/zinger, a second-year graduate student in American history, is an alumnus of Columbia and was on the Morningside Heights campus when the buildings were occupied.

Nevertheless, the report does make a sincere effort to tell what happened and why and to suggest what Columbia (and other universities) ought to do to prevent similar outbreaks in the future. It is most forthright in explaining what the uprising was not. No sinister conclave in Maryland of left-wing mischief-makers plotted the uprising, as an article in the New Republic averred. Nor was Mark Rudd, the chairman of SDS at Columbia, in any sense a revolutionary mastermind. The report makes it quite clear that Rudd, the other SDS leaders and the leaders of the Student Afro-American Society were surprised by the rapid tum of events and had to make decisions after being confronted with unplanned situations.

The seizure of five buildings was a spontaneous act made possible by a long history of student frustrations and unhappiness reinforced by administration intransigence and blundering. The fact that nearly a thousand students participated in the sit-ins and that substantially more honored a student strike after police came to clear the campus is correctly cited as proof that whatever happened was not the work of an insignificant band of agitators and firebrands.

If unscrupulous radicals did not engineer a destructive confrontation with the university authorities, then what caused the spring rising? Part of the explanation is familiar-too familiar. The Cox Commission says that we live in disrupted times, that young people question old values, that the war in Vietnam and the civil rights struggle have aroused our youth, and that, besides, there seems to be a world-wide rising of the young against the old. General explanations like this explain nothing.

When the report speaks of the particular conditions within a single urban university which caused it to blow up, we begin to understand how a climate of mutual distrust and even contempt developed at Columbia. Three issues were involved in the Columbia crisis: (1) the University's expansion and its relations with its neighbors in Morningside Heights and Harlem, (2) the University's relations with the defense establishment and (3) the University's structure and the role students legitimately should have in planning university policies.

Like other urban universities wishing to expand facilities, Columbia has come into sharp conflict with its neighbors, and the report makes a valiant effort to refrain from evaluating the justice of Columbia's expansion plans. It can see no harm in the gymnasium Columbia planned to construct in Morningside Park. It believes that the University was not freely grabbing public lands and finds that the amount of space it allocated for the use of community members was adequate. It does indicate, however, that only in 1966, i.e. eight years after the original plan for the gym was drafted, did university officials meet with community leaders to discover what their objections to the gym were.

Columbia's general policy of improving the quality of the Morningside Heights neighborhood by removing the neighbors gets rougher treatment in the report.

During the bearings last spring witnesses testified that Columbia had evicted some seven thousand residents, mostly lowincome blacks, Puerto Ricans and aged whites, from Morningside Heights in the last ten years. The Commission was particularly shocked by the refusal of Columbia's affiliated Pharmacy School to honor a university pledge to relocate the people it displaced. The Commission refused to judge the merits of the testimony of those witnesses who claimed that the University had no interest in what happened to the residents of Morningside Heights. It did note the obvious strength of conviction of those who testified. The Commission did observe generally that a university cannot be run as an ordinary business venture-a truth that Columbia, with its real estate policies and its farcical activity as a cigarette filter manufacturer, apparently never learned.

The Cox Commission found that the University's ties with the Institute for Defense Analysis were not a sufficient cause for the seizure of buildings. When the report describes the grudging manner in which Columbia administrators revealed there was a connection, the atmosphere of suspicion becomes clearer. But it takes a careful reader to glean from the report the fact that a graduate school dean once denied any university connection with I.D.A. and that the president of the University once stated that Columbia had never received money from the Central Intelligence Agency to conduct secret research. The report judges the first statement to be legitimate since not the University but only individual faculty members had contracts with I.D.A. President Kirk's denial of a CIA connection is found unexceptionable, since the results of the research paid for by the CIA were made public, even if the source of the money was indeed kept a dark secret. The Cox Commission says university officials were not "insincere" in their answers to student questions concerning government contracts. Perhaps they were at least "disingenuous"?

The members of the Commission, most of whom were lawyers, were greatly concerned by the lack of formal disciplinary procedures at Columbia to assure students a role in judging their peers. Instead, a1l disciplinary power was jealously preserved by the president and the deans. A rule forbidding political demonstrations inside university buildings had been promulgated

by President Kirk in September, 1967, in spite of opposition from a Committee on Student Life and the Columbia University Student Council. In February, 1968, the University singled out for discipline five students of a hundred who bad demonstrated inside a building against the presence on campus of a recruiter from Dow Chemical. The fact that these five were leaders of SDS indicated a political inspiration behind the disciplinary procedure.

13 1The New Journal! November 3, 1968

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The report criticizes the administration for having these students suspended by the dean of Columbia College instead of following the extraordinary procedure of public trial by a student-faculty-administration tribunal which had been employed a year before. The report somehow neglects to mention that the previous disciplinary hearing had been made public only after 250 students forced their way into the hearing room.

Perhaps the report's greatest fault is its refusal to take a firm stand on the violence which occurred when police were called to clear the campus buildings on the night of April 29. Violence, the Commission concludes, was inevitable, and not too much could be done to reduce it. Only one commission member was moved to speak some bard sense about how policemen should conduct themselves. Anthony Amsterdam of the University of Pennsylvania Law School offered his opinion that, One who resists a policeman doubtless ought to be held morally accountable for the policeman's legitimate use of force to overcome his resistance. Events may also very well hold him physically accountable for creating the risk that the police force will get out of hand. I see no moral utility for taxing him, in the realm of conscience, for the policeman's use of excessive and illegitimate force. It seems to me that he may properly expect that the policeman will not use excessive force. The propriety of this expectation is not based upon factual probabilities, but upon a standard of conduct for police which society cannot afford to relax.

_

By refusing to judge the conduct of the police the Commission also managed to ignore the charge raised by the Columbia Spectator that much vandalism occurred in one of the occupied buildings after the students had been cleared and only police remained inside.

What is the Commission's solution?

They appeal to students who find their university administrators transparently uncandid to show these men more civility and goodwill. To the administrators they make the modest proposal that they stop treating faculty members as employees, students as customers, critics as evil men and the surrounding community as an unhealthy swamp which will go away if it is ignored o r swallowed. To all members of the University the Commission appeals for a willingness to share power and to respect opposing views.

In the end, the Commission begs the question by proposing that the solution is greater tolerance and understanding among those concerned. If only people were nicer the world would indeed be better. The Cox Report should have been less interested in improving people and more concerned with changing institutions.

The best that ~an be hoped today for the " new" Columbia is an institution in which the administration tolerates the students.

In their turn, perhaps, students will become more skeptically amused than enraged by the inevitable administration verbal legerdemain. Maybe students will soon derive some satisfaction from knowing that a Columbia education and a sojourn on Morningside Heights makes them wise in the ways our world is run. '"IE

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141 The New Journal I November 3,

196~

Cuba continued from page 10 People were breaking into small groups and talking excitedly. Four smaller children ran up to me and asked if I knew how to dance the H ankipanki. I denied any knowledge of it. "So what do you do when you dance?"

"Anything that comes into my mind," I said, trying to avoid the showdown.

"Great! Jet's dance," answered a twelveyear-old girl.

"I'll dance if we all dance," I offered.

A boy started to bang out the Hankipanki on his guitar. The older girl began to dance in front of me and took my hand. I can't be certain, but I don't think it was the Hankipanki. But it was good. It wasn't until then that I noticed her wedding ring.

After the dance I asked about that.

"Ha. Don't worry." She was laughing with some of the women.

"You're damn right I'll worry."

"OK; I'll tell you about that. My husband ... well, when we were both in the militia about three years ago we weren't married yet, we were just novios. There was a meeting one night and Fidel came. I don't know why, but he asked my boyfriend why he wasn't married and he said, 'Comandante, the truth is I have a girlfriend, that one there. We'd like to get married, but just now the time isn't right.

My parents are against it. It's a delicate thing, really, comandante. Well, you see, my girl is a little on the dark side, and my· parents aren't quite ready for that, comprende?' So Fidel just looks at him for a long time, then he slams his fist and says, 'You're getting married!' Fidel thought we ought to have a military wedding. You know, swords and all that. I had on a very cute little white wedding dress. Short. My boyfriend wore his uniform. Fidel said we ought to have a nice honeymoon, and he paid for us to go to Varadero Beach. You could say Fidel was really interested in that wedding. We got divorced after that.

So you can stop worrying."

12 We got up at 5:00AM on Wednesday, breakfast at six and out to work by seven, digging more pits for the coffee seedlings.

We had a contest with one of the other brigades to see who could dig the most pits in eight hours. I was told that the fourhour average for one guy is 90 or 100. I got in 174 in the morning; one guy d id 252.

An older man, about 65, was the low man with 90. And he was roundly congratulated. The spirit continued to be great, reaching a peak at mid-morning melon break for watermelon, lemonade and dirty jokes.

The afternoon was slower. A threat of rain drove most of the men back to the camp. "WeiJ, you know what Fidel says," I was told. " 'Not a single wet worker in this revolution!' Now don't get the wrong idea; if there is something that has to be done, and it has to be done right away, we do it, rain or no rain. Why once I cut cane for 17 hours straight-it would have dried up if we hadn't worked like that.

But if we can keep dry we like to."

During that break, the talk turned to examples of good working spirit.

Julie and David

"You should see that Cuban Central Committee when they came out to cut cane. No water, no rest stops, just flying cane. You get one of those guys out in front of you and you really want to work.

You know, if Fidel came by he'd just grab a hoe and do more work than anyone else."

There was a very heavy guy with a heart condition who told me, "I can't do any hard fast work-it's the condition I have; it could kill me. I can only do a few dozen pits a day, but everyone should do what he can." I suggested that if they keep up this pace, it should all pay off in lots of food within a few years. "Well, you can't really say that in 'X' years we'll be well off. When you think of Vietnam.... You know, as long as there is anyone in the world who needs our help, such as in Vietnam, we'll just keep on working like this."

The clouds blew over, and we continued to work until about five. It had been a very rough day; my hands were sore, and my whole body felt lilce it would be hard to get up in the morning. I was leaving that night at midnight for Havana and then for home. There was to be a talent show in the camp in my honor, and I was to sing some songs. I was thinking about that when one of the men approached me quietly on the road back to camp. "They say you're leaving tonight to go back to the United States. I hope you'll write. It's been good having you here. I want you to know one thing, and I am very serious.

You know, I have a wonderful family and a good job--a very good life. But nevertheless, I've written to the Party in Havana offering to go and fight in Vietnam if that is necessary. That would be the greatest honor in the world, to fight alongside those men and women. And I've been thinking, talking to you, about the United States.

You've made a great impression here; you have a great task before you in that country. I can understand why you want to go back. It's a beautiful land with fine people; I traveled there some years ago. Someday I hope to return. Let me just say this to you. T he struggle you will have in that country will not be easy. Please remember this. If you ever feel you need help, I am willing to come and fight alongside you. It would be a fine thing to fight for such a wonderful country as the United States."~

continued from page 3 Daddy won it. But my father says the Presidency of the United States is never stolen, and he wouldn't want a recount because he wouldn't want to win that way."

And now Julie has dropped out of Smith, apparently having gotten all she can out of the school, but David attends Amherst Tuesdays through Thursdays, devoting the weekends to jetting to whatever spot the Nixon campaign chooses. While at school he not only seriously devotes himself to studying-a fraternity friend says that David has never missed his Tuesday class at 9:00-he also talks with local leaders about Republican strategy. Yes, here is a coUege spokesman that the American working class can admire.

They have progressed a long way, this pair, from the simple pleasures of Route 9, with never a wisp of an idea of what the future would reveal. And one can imagine them twenty years or more from now, when the road between two colleges will become the path to the Presidency, when the nation will turn to this glowing couple as new redeemers in the image of Nixon.

Julie of course will still smile and say that her husband is the greatest man ever and of course she takes all her orders from him; David will smile too and refuse to meet any candidate in a televised debate and promise to get us out of whatever war we're in at the time. And he probably will. '"I.E

Comment continued from page ing and expression, views toward the value of education and how it fits into their lives, as well as some of the more psychic and personal needs and desires of women As it is, Yale Graduate School, by its very nature of being a career-oriented, profes sionally academic training school, forces women, whose identity is not defined by their achievements but by their insights and perceptions, to renounce that which is essential to their integrity- their femininity.

When Yale leaps into coeducation, it had better consider what educating women really means. But then, maybe it will take several thousand women to make Yale aware of what it has been doing to its women and to help make it a natural atmosphere for living as well as learning.

For the sake of the men at least as much as for the women, I hope coeducation will be complete and soon. It is only when male undergraduates, graduate students and faculty can view women as a natural part of their lives that women can again be free from the tensions which make their years here so often a dehumanizing, desexualizing drag.

Bonnie McGregor

Living end Even that bastion of solidarity, the New York Times, is beginning to show a few cracks.

Walter Kerr thinks they have ugly bodies.

Eric Bentley denounced Clive Barnes in his article, "I reject the Living Theater."

Clive Barnes returned fire by accusing

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. ''51 The New Journal I November 3, 1968

Bentley of "propagandistic journalism of a high degree of sophistication."

But no one captured the Living Theatre quite the way a Minnesota editor did as he read a wire dispatch about Paradise Now at Yale. Readers of the St. Paul Dispatch were offered the following editorial: "The so-called 'living theater' may have become the living end.

"Or so it seemed in New Haven late Thursday n ight. The Yale Drama School is currently presenting New Paradise, a play which ends with a member of the cast shouting, 'The streets belong to the people,' at which point he leads the rest of the cast, and any game members of the audience, out into the street where they undress themselves.

"Well, as anyone knows, it's easy to bomb in New Haven. But this play more than bombed; it ended with 10 people getting arrested by the New Haven police, a fine force, but not one noted for its love of the theater, living or dead. ''Those arrested were charged with indecent exposure and a breach of the peace.

To which you might say, 'Lousy cops!

They foiled a work of art.'

"But the error, surely, is with the play.

Anything which calls itself theater, no matter how it applies to or duplicates reality, is supposed to be make-believe.

When you write a play to have people running about naked on public streets, the play has breached the limits of makebelieve.

"In short, there can be no such thing as 'living theater,' that is drama that somehow is meant to come alive in the real

world, for if it truly becomes part of that world, if it becomes 'living,' then it is no longer theater.

"Surely, the police of New Haven probably haven't thought this through, and certainly they don't have to. It's quite simple: people aren't supposed to run around in public with no clothes on, whether they're players or not. " 'Living theater' has little future in the world of the living- it should stay with the world of the theater. In the meantime, Old Blues could spread the story that this really happened at Harvard."

Letters To the editors: It is easy to understand why many who wish to advance the goals of peace and of civil and human rights have been undecided about how, or even whether, to vote in this year's Presidential election. Having shared this indecision, we have now concluded that we should vote-and vote for for Hubert Humphrey and Edmund Muskie. We want to explain why.

Everyone who fails to vote for President adds to George Wallace's percentage of total votes cast and helps to promote his influence in the future. We believe that his powerful appeal to prejudice and violence must be repudiated now, before it gains further support. Moreover, writein votes for a scattering of other candidates will be unavailing for this purpose; what newsmen and campaign managers will talk about are the Humphrey-Nixon-W allace figures.

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Everyone who fails to vote for President presupposes that there is no choice between Nixon-Agnew and HumphreyMuskie. We believe there is a choice. We feel that the Republicans are far less likely than the Democrats to make headway against the militarism, intolerance and injustice that disturb us so deeply. We are reassured by Muskie and .a ppalled that Agnew could become President.

Everyone who fails to vote for President gives an uncontested vote to the people with whom he most strongly disagrees. By refusing to vote, many disillusioned Democrats and Independents would give away the next two to eight years, in the hope that Democratic politicians will come to them.

But there is good evidence that, as Nelson Polsby says, "It is neither the meek nor the pure of heart who inherit the wreckage of a political party when the party is buried in a landslide. Incumbent office-holders and party 'regulars' pick up the pieces."

Furthermore, what happens during these years will determine the course of our future. We fear that even if 1972 or 1976 brings the election of a m an we admire unreservedly, his effectiveness may be crippled by the mistakes of his immediate predecessor. If we really want to overcome the apathy and h atred that threaten our country, we will do well to participate realistically in the choice of our next President.

Harriet V. Holmes, Florence McBride, Katherine W. Pollak, Herta G. Redlich, Elizabeth R. Tobin, Elga Wasserman and Carol Ann Ziegler

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Contribute to Biafra Children's Relief Fund before there are no children left. Send checks to New Haven Register Box 262W, 367 Orange Street. Contributions are tax deductable.

Mao may not live forever, but he's going to die trying. The New Journal Volume two, number four.

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