Volume 14 - Issue 2

Volume 14

Number Two

ewournal

October 24, 1981

Should Students Evaluate Teachers?

In Search of a White Collar Union

On patrol with Rick Randall

Monday & Tuesday R e1znaissance Rib NÂŁght

Publisher Ed Bennett Editor-in-Chi4 Andy Court

all the tasty, barbequed beef ribs you can eat only 5.95 salad included

Designtr Geoffry Fried AssocU:zu Publisher Jeff Foster Production Managtr Jane Hinson Photo Editor Rollin Riggs Staff Paul Hofheinz

'

Walter Jacob Geoff Pope

Does Yale Know Us? the second In a series of employment messages

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Covtr photos by RoUin Riggs

• 2

October 24, 1881

TheNewJournal In thl• l••u•:

A belated Introduction

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Comment: Taking Back The Night; The Mayoral Election

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Testing Teachers: A New System Ahead?

12

On Patrol With Rick Randall

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In Search of A White Collar Union

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Arts: The Paper Mache Video Institute

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Research: An Approach Against Leukemia

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Books: Serge Lang's File One criticism we recieved about our myopic, but because we want to do ftrst issue was that we offered no exwhat we can do best. With our limited planation of who·we were and what we resources, and your limited time, we were doing. We hoped to show rather think it wise to provide you with inthan tell, but perhaps we made the formation you probably can't get in magazine seem too impersonal in the Time or Nansweelc. process. The Nan Journal was founded We espouse no political ideology. In

by Daniel Yergin and Jerry Bruck in fact were looking for intelligent 1967. During those turbulent times, opinion from many different perspectives. We hope to print some the magazine covered the riots in New Haven, the aborted attempt to move articles that will challenge your Vassar to Yale, and the arrival of Jim convictions rather than merely affirm Morrison and the Doors in New them.

Haven. Some of their articles were so Finally, we need your help. Send us well-conceived and well-written that your article ideas, criticisms, and they're still interesting to read today. letters to the editor. It would be a Twelve years after its inception, The simple but heartening afftrmation that Nan Journal folded- a victim of bad the process of communication has luck and indifference. Now that we're indeed gone full circle. back, here are some things you should know about our format.

We cover almost exclusively Yale Send all correspondmce lo The New and New Haven stories. We don't do Journal, P. 0 . Box 1704, Nan Htwm, this because our view of the world is CT 06507.

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3

Comment------Taking back the night: two views

UpcoMiNG Acrs .

OCTOBER

21 Pat Metheny 22 Balance 23 Beau Bolero trib..u to Stag Dan

24 25 26 27

Beaver Brown CommanderCodY Jorma Kaukonen APPle Bmlks Musk

28 Rust

TribuiL to Neil YounK

30-31 Meade Bros.

NOVEMBER 1 8 to the Bar 3 fountainhead 5 JonathanEdwards 6-7 Beaver Brown 8 Willy & the Poor BoYS Tnhuu to Crmfcut Ckarwalh

16 Jesse Colin Vouna 19 CrYstal ShiP R~ of tilt Dom-s 300 YORK STREET • NEW HAVEN

Conc:ert Une: 777-743 1

Prom the etreeta After hearing Gloria Steinem speak earlier in the week, it somehow seemed appropriate that I should plan to attend the Take Back the Night rally that Saturday, even though I had never been in anything remotely resembling a protest march before·.

Seven of us from Branford College had dinner together, and then, at about 7:30, walked down to the New Haven Green. We stood at ftrst, and later sat in a semicircle on the grass, listening to a series of speeches which- while well worth hearing-lasted much longer than we'd been prepared for.

Standing in the middle of a mass of women, we couldn't see beyond the few irregular rows immediately ahead of us, and those in the front ranks had moved offbefore we were aware that the march had started. Like the left-behind half of a stretched-out Slinky, we hurried to catch up. Two feet to the side, a man stood shouldering an unmarked Portapak, its funnel-shaped eye staring at us inscrutably. A pair of men, leaning against the more distant iron railing separating sidewalk and grass, shouted comments that were intended, I realized with surprise, to be encouraging.

Moving diagonally along the path and out of the Green, we turned left, and, still behind, crossed Church Street at a run, catching up with the others inthe middle of Chapel. All the stores dark, the sidewalks deserted, we trod unseen upon the lane markings.

The people on the sidewalks stopped and stared as we proceeded onward and rounded the corner to Crown Street, walking to the rhythm of our words: "Women unite! Take back the night!

Women unite! Take back the night!

Women unite! . . ." A hard-faced cop stood by the parked patrol car at the intersection of Crown and Church Streets, and the halted drivers, one to a

lane, dourly waited for the human train to pass.

On the Macy's block the chanting changed: "Stop rape; fight back! Stop rape; fight back! Stop rape; fight back!"

The Crown Theatre, however, was just ahead, its sign already visible, and I wondered, eager to hear, what would be said there. The words, when they came, were disappointingly weak: "Down with the Crown! Down with the Crown!"

Those in front walked on, and, following, I was almost past the Crown's doorway when we again stopped. A new slogan, similarly unsatisfying, began: "Porno movies make ... big money! It's not smart! It's not funny!" A woman darted out from the crowd, attached a bumpersticker to the Crown's display window-hands flat against the glass- and ran back into the ranks as an orange-haired man, features contorted, ran out through the doorway and ripped it down.

The marchers hissed as they watched him crumple it, clench it, and hurl it at the crowd, while two couples, newly arrived, stood bewildered on the sidewalk.

Another woman retrieved it from the gutter: picked it up, wound up, and pitched it in his wake. He reappeared, apoplectic, and kicked it back.

Moving on, past Crown and York, we found the streets suddenl y populated. A group, looking from their Towers balcony: ten people lined up, applauding, giving the fist. "Come join us!" a woman in front of me yelled.

Another right turn, and all along Howe faces watching: staring unabashed, seated at the windows of the Elm City Diner; standing inside and outside of Mamoun's. Mostly men, and for once it was safe to stare straight at them, and see their expressions.

As we turned the fmal comer onto • Elm Street, going for Broadway, we feU silent between slogans. Teetering at the

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curb in front of Rudy's, a group of men- Yalies, by their attire-fLiled the gap with shouted and gestured obscenities. "Take a walk, pricks!" a woman bellowed from behind me, bullhornloudly.

Alas, they did, staying with us, on the sidewalk, to the comer of Broadway and York. "Shitheads!" shouted a friend who I had never yet heard use such a word in such a way.

Isolated couples scurried for cover on either side of the following block. A Saybrook College window was opened wide to emit the pounding sound of a • stereo just then turned up to maximum volume, and a woman looked down through the glassless rectangle, smiling.

The voices of those in the street increased to a level slightly surpassing the stereo's din: ". . . THE PATRIARCHY'S GOT TO GO!" As we crossed High Street we began a new chant: "All rapists are male!

Some of them even go to Yale!"

Caught up in the flow of the crowd, the seven of us continued on back to the Green, where six of us waited together for one wandering member to emerge.

Most of the women now stood side by side, easily circling the perimeter of the smaller block; and many of them that ran to meet in the circle's center. Our missing friend soon appeared; and we headed home.

• Martha Neil

Prom the aldellnea I couldn't help but feel excited as I watched the women's march leave the New Haven Green on September 26. It was about 10:15 on a Saturday night and the 1, 200 women marching through the streets of the city were a very impressive group, both in their fervor and their numbers.

The "Take Back the Night" rally and march was my first major women's event. I viewed it as a chance for women to show their togetherness in a struggle that affects all of us: the right to walk the streets without fear. It was a symbolic effort, surely; an hour later a woman would still have to call a friend to go out on the street. But symbolic actions take on meaning when they unite people.

I had no problem with the fact that men weren't allowed to march. The whole purpose of the event was to promote women's solidarity. In fact, two women who had come with me out of curiosity to see the marchers joined the demonstration on its way back to the Green. Later they told me what a tremendous experience it had been, just marching with other women.

After the march, I went to a party in watching Pierson College where I heard two Yale men bragging to each other about yelling at "those women in the street."

"Yeah," said one, "we were yelling 'Blow me you dyches' and they didn't know what to do."

When I asked him why he had yelled at the women he said, "I hate militant women."

I wanted to ask him, "What do you want, a passive dog?" but I didn't say it.

This young man obviously didn't have the beginnings of any kind of consciousness about the march or for that matter anything to do with women.

Before walking away from me he said,

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5

The election that won't be

"All the rapists just hid anyway until the march was over, so what?"

So What?

I have learned from the experience that some men feel so threatened by marches for women's rights that they form macho groups, mobs if you will, and scream sexual insults at the women.

Would such men behave the same way if they were alone? And, more important, why do these men feel so threatened by women marching together in the streets?

I talked with some friends after the march who were both shocked and depressed by the viciousness of some Yale men's responses as the women marched down Elm Street. They said that as they passed through the campus they received more vocal attacks from men than anywhere else along the route. Some men followed the marchers shouting obscenities. One of my friends who marched said that when she looked one of them in the eye, he looked away, as if he couldn't confront her individually but only with his group. Another woman told me, "It was the first time I really had cQnfirmed what I already knew, that the white¡ male power structure is really that vicious. These are our future leaders in their embryonic stages who are yelling 'Blow me you dyches.'"

As a man, or better, a person, I feel I should have respect enough for other people to listen and try to learn. What's it like to have a constant fear in the street or to be verbally harrassed every single day? These are things I have no understanding of because I am a man.

To gain an understanding one must listen and acknowledge that male violence against women is a major problem in society; until it ceases we will never have a just and equal place to live. One must be sensitive to what different people see as the causes of that 6

violence and especially what women feel are the ways to combat it.

The Yale men yelling insults in the streets are to a large extent what the women's march was directed against. In essence they proved the march's value and its necessity not only in New Haven, but especially here at Yale.

Learning to respect other people is for me a basic part of education. Still, I have no respect for those men who continue to batter women both verbally and physically. • Nathan Dudley

Don't let the busses to the polls fool you.

Or the name of the political unknown on the Republican ballot for mayor.

The polls will open all day November 3, but there's no real election for mayor in New Haven this year. Biagio "Ben" DiLieto-and what critics call the reconstituted political machine- will run the city for at least two more years.

In last month's Democratic primary, where New Haven traditionally selects its mayor, DiLieto breezed by State Senator Tony Ciarlone, a lackluster campaigner who probably couldn't have made a scandal out of a teapot dome.

Except for a few of Ciarlone's most ardent campaigners, no one ever seriously • questioned DiLieto's re-election chances.

DiLieto's chances in the general election are even better. His Republican opponent, Elaine Noe, has few people to count on. The city Republicans are in disarray. They have about 5,000 registered voters in a city of over 120,000. They have just one alderman on the city's 27-member board. The Republicans couldn't fmd a mayoral candidate until a week after their nominating convention this summer; for a while, they even considered backing Ciarlone on a double ticket.

You'd think DiLieto would have had more trouble this year. At well-attended public meetings throughout the city, residents have yelled at the mayor over many of his administration's decisions.

Even though Ciarlone failed to rally opposinon to DiLieto, the issues his now-defunct campaign raised still need to be heard.

Ciarlone noted, for instance, that the DiLieto administration recently instituted a new sewer charge. In 1980, it reduced trash pick-ups to once a week; soon after, rats began crawling out from railroad cuts in the Hill area. The administration has moved to close city

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public schools and assign principals to cover two schools at once. DiLieto rejected citizens' calls to support a bill to make Yale re-imburse the city for tax exemptions on services. Meanwhile, he laid ofT city workers, reducing the municipal workforce to below 2,000 employees for the fJISt time in recent history while giving his top aides raises.

And a series of housing authority scandals erupted this summer that led DiLieto to seek the resignation of its board of commissioners.

Ciarlone also hoped to capitalize on information he received from people • who lost jobs under DiLieto, or who lost power struggles with his administration. These people brought Ciarlone complaints about how Ben DiLieto allegedly sought to re-build the political machine that Frank Logue knocked out of City Hall for four years. They charged that because President Reagan's budget cuts have left cities less money to create jobs for political allies the way past New Haven mayors have, DiLieto has had to resort to illegal, or at least underhanded, means.

Both Ciarlone and city labor leaders charged DiLieto consistently bypassed civil service rules on testing and seniority in advancing employees through the city bureaucracy. Indeed, employees with up to 20 years' experience received lay-ofT notices this summer, but not others with far less time on the job and ties to DiLieto and his last campaign.

A related issue Ciarlone and his supporters raised cent~red on the voucher system. Since DiLieto couldn't create jobs out of the payroll, they maintained, he put allies on the voucher system on a regular basis, even though n officially functions as a budget for temporary ~ work. Alderman John Fabrizio, who ran on Ciarlone's ticket in the 14th ward, publicized the names on the voucher list; it included DiLieto's cam-

paign treasurer in 1979, relatives of his executive assistant and personnel director, and many others with similar connections.

Rather than examining these issues, voters more often wondered about Ciarlone: What does he stand for? Who is he?

To political insiders, Ciarlone's objections to DiLieto's alleged misconduct sounded hollow because of the make-up of Ciarlone's own organization. A key backer of his was Arthur Barbieri, former Democratic town chairman.

Barbieri used to run the machine and he helped to elect D iL ieto in 1979.

Once in office, DiLieto abandoned Barbieri.

The make-up of the group that worked for Ciarlone raised another question: what was his alternative to DiLieto's methods of running the city?

Aligned with Barbieri in Ciarlone's camp was Frank Logue- the man who knocked Barbieri out of power in 1975.

Logue's statements in support of Ciarlone reflected a distaste for DiLieto; like others, he didn't have much to say for Ciarlone.

Where were DiLieto's other potential opponents? Logue said he had enough of political office. Hank Parker, who ran against DiLieto and Logue in the 1979 democratic primary , backed DiLieto this time.

When Parker, the state's highest ranking black official, ran in 1979, speculation arose that he had made a deal with DiLieto who had lost to Logue twice before. Whether or not he made a deal, Parker drew liberal support away from Logue, and this proved enough for DiLieto to win. Since then, one of Parker's top campaign aides has become the director of civil service and personnel. Parker's wife has been paid on the voucher system. And Parker himself went out on primary day this year and

handed out literature for DiLieto outside the polls in the black wards.

DiLieto won by less than a clear-cut landslide in last month's primary because under half of the city's 46,000 registered Democrats bothered voting -the lowest turnout in ten years. Don't expect many more on November 3.

In the absence of any real campaigning by DiLieto, Republican Elaine Noe has used her candidacy to make some interesting comments. She called for dismantling the housing authority; criticized the reduction in the number of police officers and promised not to collect absentee ballots in order to question the high percentage of votes DiLieto always receives from the absentee ballots his workers bring in.

But Noe-a travel agent who unsuccessfully challenged Tony Ciarlone for his state senate seat last year- hasn't caused much of a stir in the latter part of the election campaign that never happened in New Haven this year. She's just been talking issues; issues that won't go away.

• Paul Bass The opinions expressed in this s«tion art those

of the indioidud writers. The New Journal wtlcoma Commmt on Yale and New HatJm issues. Smd proposals to P. 0 . &x 1704, New Havm, CT 06507.

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Robert Apfel, former chairman of the Teachzng and Uo.ming Committee, holds current course improvement form

Testing teachers: a new system ahead?

Welter .leoob If you're a student with ecstatic praise or harsh criticism for your professor, you might take your views to Dean Lamar.

If you're like most students, however, you'll never have a chance to let the Administration hear how you feel about the Yale faculty. The comments you write on your course improvement forms each semester will go no farther than your professor. The opinions you pass on to the Course Cn'tique won't be used when teachers come up for departmental evaluation.

The fact is that no mechanism now exists b y which students can have a say in faculty promotions and tenure deci-

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sions. Nor has any standardized method been established by the administration for the evaluation of teaching.

AU that may change soon. Although the Yale faculty has shown strong signs of opposition, two administrationappointed committees and members of the Yale College Council (YCC) are considering a comprehensive teacher evaluation system based on mandatory student evaluation forms.

"We're definitely in support of having more student input into the whole • decision-making process: said Beth Pardo, a Morse College representative to the YCC .

The option• Last year the Committee on Faculty Appointments took a close look at teacher evaluation systems at other schools, sources say. The committee, chaired by Professor James Tobin, was .;set up to look at Yale's policy towards tenure and non-tenure appointments.

Professor Robert Apfel, former chairman of the Teaching and Learning Committee, said he gave the Tobin Committee the results of his own research into teacher evaluations at Princeton and Stanford.

Horace Taft, this years chairman of the Teaching and Learning Committee, said he is interested in a number of teacher evaluation options and wiU put the idea before his committee if the Tobin Committee does not address the issue in its October report. A majority of Teaching and Learning Committee members said they favor discussion of the issue.

Yale's present Course Improvement Form System, approved last April by the Yale College fa c ulty , was recommended by Apfel's committee.

Students, under the rules of the system, suggest improvements to their professors at the end of each semester, but no faculty member is required to pass out the course improvement forms and • nobody besides the professor himself gets to see them once they are filled out.

Princeton's system, in contrast to Yale's approach, makes student opinion of professors a matter of public record.

Approved under student pressure in 1968-9, the Princeton system requires all professors and teaching assistants to pass out two evaluation forms to their students, a multiple choice answer sheet and a sheet for written comments. The comment sheet, which asks for suggestions on course improvement, is kept by the professor. The multiple-choice sheet is sent to the Educational Testing Service, the same company that prints and grades College Entrance Examinations.

The tabulated results then go to department chairmen, administrators and the professors themselves, and are put on display at the Registrar's and Dean's offices for all interested students to see.

Princeton Registrar Bruce Finnie said many students use the result in making course decisions. Administrators and department heads use student opinions in making promotion decisions and setting salary levels for faculty members.

Finnie sees nothing wrong with using ~ student input to evaluate all faculty , tenured and non-tenured.

'The Princeton system was designed to be a multi-purpose instrument," he

said. "On what grounds would you exclude any faculty from the process?"

Yet many other options remain open to Yale committees in search of a viable teacher evaluation system. At Stanford University, professors are not required to pass out evaluation form s, but must tell the Registrar if they don't. Students do not see the results of the polls, nor are they used to set pay scales, but they do figure in promotion and tenure decisions, according to Jim Coleman , Stanford's Academic Standing Advisor.

At the Yale Medical School, where students receive no grades, faculty and students achieve a balance of power by evaluating each other. While teacher evaluations are discussed when professors are bucking for promotion , students know their evaluations wiU come up when they apply for jobs.

seen by anyone but the professor him or herself."

What was at stake in 1980, faculty and administrators suggest, is still the main issue today; the use of student evaluations in salary and promotion dec isions could pose a threat to faculty wages and positions. But because the Tobin Committee is unlikely to recommend that student opinions be used in wage decisions, Apfel said, tenured professors would find that their jobs are not threatened under a teacher evaluation system. Junior faculty, on the other hand, would be placed under a new kind of pressure from the students.

Dean Lamar said the faculty would be very sensitive about working in such conditions .

"The faculty here has always been very touchy about what seems to be a coercive system of reporting," he said.

Stiff oppoeltlon Taft said he was not sure that proIf the administration proposes a system fessors who felt they had to please their like Princeton's to the faculty, howev~r, students would become better teachers. it is likely to encounter stiff opposition.

"It's not at all clear what that is, Apfel said he scouted out faculty reac- whether that is good teaching or not," tions towards a Princeton-styled system he said. But caught between the desire before his committee proposed the to provide good teaching and the need Course Improvement Form to the facul- to produce quality work, Apfel sugty. On the basis of interviews with 16 gested, many junior faculty members department chairmen and directors of will look out for number one. undergraduate studies, Apfel decided "It's Catch-22 situation for some Princeton's form wouldn't fly at Yale. junior faculty members," he said.

"They all sort of grimaced at the "Often , it comes down to 'what's going evaluation form and said they didn't to do me the most good?"' think it would have much appeal," he Convenient apathy said.

Many administrators and faculty Whether or not any teacher evaluation wear the same grimaces today. Dean system can pass a faculty vote may ride Lamar predicated a strong faculty veto heavily o n how responsible teachers if the issue ever comes up. think students will be with their new •1 think they feel that they themselves power. YCC Chairman Paul Bacdayan are so concerned about teaching that said even he is not sure students can be they don't need such an elaborate trusted to fill out evaluation forms mechanical device," he said. responsibly. "I would hope that they Lamar added that a faculty veto would," he said "but I think it's easy for would be sufficient to kill the proposal, students to not write a very well at least for this year. thought-out essay." Westerfield said his *I think a vote by the faculty deter- own experience with Course Improvemines it one way or the other," he said. ment forms was not encouraging.

Apfel agreed, but took a different "For two years in a row fve given out view towards faculty motives. the forms in my class with a big pitch, *It's not so clear that the facul ty are and both years f ve gotten back 10 perdisinterested commentators on that cent of the class," he said. "That's a stanissue," he said. dard figure .• Such response rates go a long way What'• •t etake towards explaining the faculty's cool Professor Bradford Westerfield, who response towards an evaluation system, served with Apfel on the Teaching and Westerfield suggested.

Learning Committee in 1980, said "If you really had a sense that the there was little confusion back then as to students as a whole really wanted to what bothered the faculty about a make poUing a serious thing, then the teacher evaluation system. faculty would take it seriously as well," "What the faculty opposed .. he wd, he said.

•was any hint that the forms would be But Apfel's research shows that what 9

• • • No meclulnlam now exlata by which atudenta can have a . .Y In faculty promotion• and tenure declalona.

may be student apathy is combined with faculty carelessness or hypocrisy.

Teachers who ask students to fill out course improvement forms overnight or after class do often get response rates of 20 percent or lower, Apfel conceded.

Those who set aside time during class or before an exam, however, get rates of 90 percent and up. Moreover, every professor receives a letter from Dean Lamar when he gets his blank forms advising him of the best way to get good response rates.

These days, Apfel said, only 50 percent of the faculty even bothers to use the Course Improvement form. 90 Percent of that 50 percent, however, have expressed satisfaction with the present system through a Student Response Rate Questionnaire that is distributed to all faculty. Apfel shrugs his shoulders at those who don't pass out the form.

"Some people just don't want advice, unfortunately," he said.

Other faculty members point to the Yak Course Critique as a sign of student indifference to course evaluation. Many critiques in the student-run publication are written on the basis of responses from less than 25 percent of the people enrolled in the course. Matthew Hamel, editor of the Cn.tique, said he does not believe low student response rates to Critique questionnaires mean that students are apathetic. Much of the problem, he said, lies in getting questionnaires to and from students.

"I don't think it's accurate to say that the Course Cn.tique is a firm indication of whether students care enough to have courses evaluated," he said. "We've had less than optimal distribution and collection techniques recently."

A worrlaome precedent While nothing on the order of Princeton's evaluation system has ever been used for all of Yale College, various segments of the University have used or still use evaluation forms. Freshman evaluations decided the fates of many a faculty member between 1919 and 1954, according to Professor RobertS. Brumbaugh. Under the guidelines of the Freshman Year Program, estab-

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lished in 1919-20, Yale freshmen were offered a limited curriculum and learned in separate classrooms under the instruction of a separate and selfgoverning faculty. Brumbaugh, who did time as a Freshman professor, said both Freshman faculty and students were on trial in those days; the faculty, • to prove themselves worthy of a full Yale faculty position, and the students, to show themselves worthy of a place in Yale's upper classes. Failure by either party could mean ejection from the College.

Freshman teacher evaluation forms were sent to instructors, department chairmen and others, and provoked a great deal of bad feeling among faculty members, Brumbaugh said.

"The freshmen felt it their responsibility to get rid of as many professors as they could," he said. "I don't know if it accomplished anything, except that it gave them a heady sense of power which they could have done without."

George Wilson Pierson, Yale's University Historian, portrayed faculty attitudes towards the Freshman Year very differently in his Yale: The Universi-

g College. ". . . They taught with such enthusiasm and success," he wrote, "that the Freshman Year, which had been established in faculty bitterness, won a .,. tolerant, even a warm consent."

Brumbaugh said he doesn't oppose teacher evaluations on principle, but warned against making the results public without individual professorial approval.

"If you create an adversary student /faculty relationship," he said,"' think it could be very dangerous."

Poaltlve eapeota In at least two instances, however, teacher evaluation systems are being used with apparent success. The Yale Medical School's system, established on a vote by the Medical School Council in 1970 and subsequently modified, requires faculty to collect evaluations from all students throughout the school's four year program. Dr. Howard Levitin, Dean of the Students' School of Medicine, said the faculty are "very sensitive to the pressure• of student evaluations. But partly because students never see the tabulated results of their evaluations, and because faculty salary levels do not ride on good evaluations, the system remains stable.

Levitin said the evaluation forms have proved useful in discussions of faculty ' promotions.

-rhe chairman of each department

which is recommending faculty .will not infrequently mention that a professor got a 'six' from his students," he said.

"The fact is that very important changes take place as a result of that input."

Dr. Robert Berliner, Dean of the Medical School, said he's happy with the role evaluation forms play. "' think they're useful," he said, "' think they tell us who needs to pay more attention to teaching and who the stars

are."

•

Princeton's system is working well, Finnie asserted, because it is used wisely. The student opinions expressed on Princeton's forms, he said, are nothing more or less than another means by which a professor's performance at Princeton may be evaluated. No tenure decision, Finnie said, is made solely on the basis of forms .

"It's just a factor in an overall decision," he said. "I would doubt if it's the major factor. That isn't how you get tenure at an institution like Princeton."

Finnie cautioned against viewing evaluation forms as a system with solely negative implications for the faculty.

Many junior faculty at Princeton applying for positions at other schools use the results of student evaluations as proof of their skills, he said.

"You know, there are positive aspects to this system, too!" he said. "If you're good, it can help you!"

Thla m . .na you The YCC's belated interest in faculty appointments does not strengthen any arguments for student responsibility in teacher evaluations. Bacdayan admitted that the YCC did not initiate the present administrative debates on evaluation forms and had little to do with the creation of the Tobin Committee.

"There has been no effort made," he said, but "it's something we're interested in."

Given faculty attitudes toward evaluation forms, however, it seems clear that students who want a say in faculty appointments are going to have to take an active role in fighting for it.

And once an evaluation system is in place, Taft suggested, the test of student mettle has only begun. "'f the University would do something like this," he said, "they would in effect be saying 'Look, we're going to give you students some responsibility.'"

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Walter Jacob, a smior in Silli77UU1, lw.s wn'ttm for The Washington Monthly,

The National Journal, and The Miami Herald.

new this fallPower and Politics THE PURPOSES OF AMERICAN POWER An Essay on National Security Robert W. Tucker, The Johns Hopkins Unwers1ty We have reached a ma)or tummg pomt m Amencan foreign policy; a period of withdrawal and of pass1v1ry has come to an end. Tucker portrays the visible decline of American power and position as havmg led to a greater dissatisfaction over policy than we have expenenced m a decade. Notes, bibliography.

CONTENTS: 1. A Cnucal Juncture. 2. Amenca m Declme: The 1970s. 3. The Significance of the Present Debate. 4. The Arms Balance and the Persian Gulf.

5. The Two Containments: An Argument Retraced.

200 pp. September 1981 $12.00 (Cloth) ISBN 0-03-059974-1 $5.95 (Student Edition) ISBN 0-03-059976-8 A LEHRMAN INSTITUTE BOOK

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR ROBERT W. TUCKER'S PREVIOUS BOOKS The Radical Left and American Foreign Policy "Tucker, as wugh-mmded a rattonal.~t a~ th~) come. we1ghs the con\'entional and radical v1ewpomts aga1mt each other m bnll.ant and relentlessly \lhJeCtt\'e style ... An extreme I) 1mporrant lx•ok:· The New lsolationism "A cogent challenge. rad1cal vet ,oher. t\l the recent and current \>rthodoxy \>t American fore1gn P<'llcv:· Swn~ Huffrrwnn The lnequality of Nations ~Professor Tucker's luetd, f\>rcetul. unurth\-.Jox and lmp.lrtant ary!ument should conunue the debate" engendered h\ h1" earlier e:.savs on th1s suh)ect. u> try to mduce greater equalitY mro mtematt\mal relauons. the author mststs. w11l he quixouc and counterpr\'-.Jucuve:' F(Jre1gn Affarrs

PltAlGl.R PUIUSHUlS 521 Flfth

Av~nu~

New York. New York 10175

11

On

patrol with Rick Randall

Andy Court

12

The prisoners right arm was suspended in the air because of the bullet wound.

A few weeks before he would have been released from the halfway house, he went beserk and held nine people hostage. He shot a girl. The police shot him. Now he was lying in a bed in Yale New Haven Hospital moaning. Some cop was sitting in the darkened hall watching him .

The cop was Rick Randall- a 29 year-old black police officer with three years on the job. Randall asked one of the nurses for some lined paper. She gave him a blank medical form . On the back of the paper, he wrote: Slowly I reap the fragments Of yesterday's dreams Merely left behind To remind me Of more optimistic time I guess it really doesn't matter If a dream Is ever harvested For rm a prisoner Of today's pessimistic reality.

Officer Randall also writes songs.

You might see him sometime playingthe piano in the Jonathan Edwards common room. He'll be the clean-cut, baby-faced guy with the fine features , the slender fmgers, smooth voice. He'll probably be playing one of his own compositions smiling, glowing. It's possible you'll feel inspired just watching him.

Randall is a lifelong New Havener.

He grew up in rundown sections of town that have long since been tom down and done over. He was 17 when he attended the May Day Rally on the Green. Today, he lives in a handsome redbrick building on Dwight Street with two Siberian huskies, Lazarus and Loki, the latter named after the Norse god of mischief.

Randall has had few encounters with Yalies, but last year he took two by surprise. They had been mugged and were waiting for an officer to make a report.

Randall was guarding a prisoner. One of the Yalies asked Randall why he seemed to be the only one around who was in a good mood. '"It doesn't make a difference if everything's happening or not happening. You mothers will stay in a good mood," he said.

"You ever heard of existentialism? l Well, you must be an existentialist if you're going to be here."

A short discussion of existentialism ensued. One of the Yalies asked if most cops thought that way.

"rm not most cops," Randall said. "rmme."

One of the Yalies recollected long afterward, "'t's not like he was the only competent person there. It was just a different attitude and a different age."

Qrowln• up Randall grew up in the slums of the Dwight and Dixwell areas of New Haven. He said his neighbors included a drug pusher on one side, and a lady who ran a numbers operation on the other. His father , a chef, divorced his mother when he was ten. For the next ten years, his mother supported six children by cleaning apartments.

Sometimes she went on welfare.

On weekends and over the summer, Randall visited his grandparents' home in Milford. "I was given suburbia lock, stock, and barrel," Randall said. "I was able to sort of balance my two worlds.

"The asset to it was realizing that there was an out. There was something other than Dixwell. There was something other than the pushers on the street."

Randall never had any trouble with the law. When riots broke out in Lee High School, he and a friend decided to spend the day in the Yale Art Gallery.

Many of those who knew him were surprised that he became a cop only because they thought he was going to be a lawyer.

While in high school, Randall took classes on the Yale campus through the U.S. Grant program. After graduation, he decided he was sick of school. He worked in a department store and spent five years as an aide in Yale-New Haven Hospital. One day, coming home from work at a drug store, he saw the police recruiting van and decided to go for it.

"I just thought I could do a better job than half the cops I met," he said. "I thought I could understand people better."

Although Randall questioned some of the police civil rights practices in the 'sixties, he had never been anti-law. He made a distinction between being antiwar and supporting the Panthers or hating the police. Nonetheless, Randall said, '1 still have my reservations about the police."

He understands some things better now. For example, the reason why New Haven cops frequently stop black youths. A crime will be committed somewhere in the vicinity, and the youth will fit the general description , Randall said.

"Now· you say, 'what's the matter, you stop every black kid running in a

blue shirt and jeans?' That's as a kid.

But the cop has to say, 'Well if I don't stop him, what happens if he's the person?'"

Randall has been stopped by police several times in his life. He admits white people get stopped far less frequently, but says that doesn't particularly bother him. One thing does frustrate him: "If a white person's giving me a description and he says, 'he [the criminal] was black,' I say, 'well what complexion was he?' 'He was black.'

'OK was he medium complected? Was he dark complected?' 'He was bU:uk.l' When you're dealing with that kind of mentality you sort of understand why a lot of people get stopped, because you're dealing with very skimpy characteristics."

About a year ago, Randall was walking down Chapel Street wearing a brown cowboy hat. An officer stopped him and asked him if he would wait a minute.

"Sure Jack," Randall said.

The officer looked up: "0 Shit."

Another officer approached: "Does the kid check out?"

"It's Randall, Lieutenant."

The pl•nom•n Something about Rick Randall's manner makes him seem like a person on the verge of being discovered. It's partly his poise but it's also the bemused, laidback way he choses to deal with the world. When he's confused, he writes poems; "Sometimes it's a way to make sure I stay true to who I am." When he's frustrated, he takes photographs or plays the piano.

Randall's played all kinds of music.

As a child, he practiced classical music at his grandparents' house in Milford.

In high school, he sang for a local rock group called Fortified Glue. He also worked as the pianoman at the Enormous Room which used to be above the Gypsy Bar on York Street.

'1 never liked performing," he said. "I didn't like the demands people put on you . Like they owned you." He encounters some of the same thing when he's out on patrol and some motorist expects him to jump his car, or some pedestrian expects him to provide a lift to the train station.

Randall's artistic work reveals natural talent. Most of his songs have a mellow sound; it's like opening up a music box and hearing Cat Stevens. His poems are simple and sincere; he says all poetry should be easily accessible, free of any difficult metaphors or allusions that get in your way.

13

Hla nelghbora Included a drug puaher on one aide and a lady who ran a numbera operation on the other.

ing trouble. They said they hadn't.

Randall suggested that they leave anyway.

Later that night, Randall was called to back up another unit. Two officers were having trouble getting a short, stout woman into the back of the detention van.

"Monica," one of the officers said. "I thought you said you were going to be good."

"I can't. I can't," she said.

On P•trol "Now come on Monica, go ahead."

Monica tried again. It wasn't just that Like other officers with only a few years on the job, Randall fills in when they she had trouble lifting herself into the need someone to patrol in a car, but he van, but everytime the officers tried to doesn't have a regular beat. Often he help her into the van, she broke down spends his time answering complaints crying.

"I can't, I can't. Please." on the telephone or xeroxing reports in "Now Monica . . . " Records.

One of the officers seemed like he was He probably would have been answering phones on Friday, October 2, about to lose his patience. "I've got to but some writer called the chief and said get going." Randall stepped in. "Here he wanted to ride with Randall. On you go Monica. Come on, go ahead. I'll what proved to be a fairly typical night, help you."

"I can't. I can't."

Randall dealt with some perennial "Sure you can. Here you go." problems- car accidents, disorderly Randall's voice remained at the same conduct, disturbing the peace.

About halfway through his shift, even keel throughout, and Monica Randall assisted on a strange accident eventually got into the van. She was gocase. A drunk was driving down the ing to the station for disorderly conduct, street. Someone rammed into him and Randall found out afterwards. She'd apparently beat him up. The problem probably be out within a few hours.

The last call of the night was an acci- .. was that the drunk couldn't remember a dent on East Rock. A tow truck passing thing. He couldn't even confirm that someone had run into him. To com- by had called it in. A car was smashed plicate matters, the drunk bad lost his against a rock wall; the driver was nowhere to be found. The inside of the keys. The officers decided to tow away the car because they figured the drunk car was littered with at least 20 beer cans. It reeked worse than a drunk's wouldn't remember where be had left it.

The thing about patrolling is that you breath. Randall eventually tracked can't ever relax, Randall said. You down the car owner's son. Yes sir, his come across some silly, petty things, but Dad took the car. No sir, he hadn't seen you never know when something is go- him since. Yes sir, certainly sir, be ing to happen. Randall remembers the would give his father Randall's time he was first one to arrive on the telephone number.

Another shift ended. Randall took his scene of a shooting. A guy was sitting in a van; he had been shot in the head. lunch at 11:30 p.m.

Randall said be isn't optimistic about After handling that incident, Randall had to go to someone's home and ask the chances for promotion. To really get them to tum down their music. "That's ahead, he said, you need •a hook," the way life is," Randall said. "Life someone who can help you through the political labyrinth of the department. doesn't give a damn; it just goes."

While cru1smg on one of the Randall shrugs it ofT; he said he knew sidestreets along Grand Avenue, Ran- about the politics going in. It doesn't dall came upon a group of teenagers in disappoint him.

"I still have no idea what I'm going to dungaree jackets. One of the guys was shuffiing a deck of cards. Some girls do with my life" he said. He's thought about going back to school, maybe were sitting on the hood of a car. becoming a teacher. For the time being, "Hey officer, Howya doin?" however, he's happy with his work.

"Lousy," Randall said smiling, "How about you?"

"You get any complaints officer? You Andy Court, a junior in Saybrook, lu:u writtm" want us to leave?" for Columbia Joumalism Review, and Randall asked if they had been mak- The Miami Herald.

Color photography is another of his interests. He has early morning cityscapes, abstract shots of colored lights, and a series on seals. He took one picture of a frost pattern taken through the windshield of his car as another car was passing by. He took another of a butterfly and a bee sitting on a flower. "I ran around trying to catch those butterflies and bees with a regular lens," he said.

•

14

Yale Employee Ot¡ganizing D t¡i

TNJIRollon R.ggs

UA W- TOP organize- Charlme Block

In search ~ of a white collar union Pllul Hothelnz

Charlene Block has commuted to New Haven from Terryville, Connecticut five days a week since February of 1979. In the last year, she has taken only two weeks of vacation , even though she qualifies for five. Her task is not an easy one. She heads up a rotating staff of full and part-time office workers who for two and a half years have tried to sell one cause to the Yale Community: union representation for Yale's 2 ,800 Clerical and Technical employees.

Since the late 1960s, various groups have tried to organize Yale's white collar workers into a union. Partly because of the difficulty of the task, none of them has succeeded. The National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) requires that an organization collect the signatures of thirty percent of the workforce being organized to hold an election on unionization. To date two groups have collected the 800 signatures necessary to call for an election at Yale. In both elections, held in 1971 and 1977 , a majority of the employees voted against union representation.

But these past failures have not ended the story. Today, two unions, the United Auto Workers (UAW) led by Charlene Block, and the Federation of University Employees Local 35, the union of Yale's dining hall and maintenance workers led by John Wilhelm, have ongoing campaigns to convince Yale's white collar workers to join their rank.s.

The tenacity the unions have demonstrated is not surprising in light of the

size o f the stakes involved. If a union successfully organized the clerical and technical employees, it would control the largest group of employees on campus. While the power to raise salaries, improve fringe benefits, or set up better, and probably more expensive, working conditions would go to the workers, the successful organizer would get increased union dues as well as a certain share of the power which would come from such an organization.

Because the clerical and technicals cover virtually e very aspect of university administration, a strike of all of these workers could, in the words of John Wilhelm , "cripple the University."

With this kind of potential , the unions could go to the bargaining table and make significant changes in the status quo at Yale. While those changes would most likely improve the working conditions o f a large number of University employees, others might not fare as well . The increased costs to the University could result in higher tuition, fewer services, and even the loss of some clerical and technical jobs which the University could no longer finance .

Union organizers point out that working conditions, in particular salaries, are not as good as those of other white collar workers in New Haven . The lowest clerical and technical salary grade at Yale, which includes Mail Clerks, Delivery Aides, and Typists, pays between $3 .80 and $5.00 an hour. Unionized secretaries at Southern New England Telephone 15

Company (SNETCO) with only basic typing skills make between $4.45 and $8.41 an hour.

What's more, Yale service and maintenance people, the blue collar workers which include the dining hall and Physical Plant employees, make mo r e than t h eir white collar counterparts. T he lowest paid service and maintenance people at Yale, which include waitresses, waiters, light custodians and elevator operators make $6.10 an hour. In addition, they receive four cost of living increases a year, which last year totaled $.58 an hour, or $23.00 a week. White collar workers don't receive an automatic cost of living increase in pay, although the University periodically raises their salaries. The most recent revision, which went into effect on July 1, 1981, amounted to an 11 to 12 percent increase over the last salary revision in September of 1980.

But these figures have not sent people running to the unions. A number of factors have complicated, and continue to complicate, the union organizer's task.

"The nature of the employees, the size of the campus, the fact that you're dealing with a different class background than you normally deal with in blue-collar situations" all make clerical and technical organizing difficult, according to Charlene Block.

The banner of white collar workers includes everything from lab technicians and computer programmers to librarians and secretaries, all of whom come with attitudes and concerns as diverse as the skills they use. The organizers must not only communicate with this large group of employees, spread out from laboratories on Science Hill to phone stations and offices at Yale-New Haven Hospital, but also unite them behind a common set of grievances or principles.

Another factor which has hindered the unions, Block says, is that their backgrounds are different from those of workers who are traditionally associated with unions.

"Their whole philosophy about a union through their upbringing has been different" from that of blue collar workers, Block said.

"Maybe their dads own businesses."

Furthermore, some white collar employees have strong ties of loyalty with Yale. They are less inclined to form a coalition with an outside organization that might hurt the University or send them out on strike against it. In 1968, shortly after the ftrSt drive to unionize clerical and technical 16

employees began, Henry Chauncey, then Special Assistant to the President of the University, made a candid comment which shed much light on the relationship white collar workers have with the University.

"Of the twelve workers I have talked to-" Chauncey told the Yale Daily News, "and I don't call them workers, I call them friends- not one thinks that they need a union."

This personal rapport which the clericals and technicals have with management help the University remain in good standing with them, regardless of working conditions Because this same rapport is conspicuously missing between the service and maintenance people and management, they can turn much more easily to a union to redress their discrepancies in pay than the white collar workers can.

Because workers' perceptions are far more important than the reality of working conditions , the negative perceptions that many white collar workers have of unions have kept them from voting in favor of joining a union.

If a union aucceaafully organized the clerical and technical employ. .a, It would control the largeat group of employ. .a on campua.

"We have great serv1ces that we offer to (white collar workers] above and beyond just being a part of the UAW," Block said.

"But I think there's been some misapprehension from the people as to whether they need to address these problems with a union because people consider that a union is an abstract thing, another party coming in trying to make abstract decisions for them."

"What fve seen of the Unions has led me to distrust them,• one secretary commented.

"They told us we'd get a 70 percent raise last time. That's ridiculous," another added.

"There's nothing (the unions] can give me that I don't already have,• in the university job.

While Wilhelm may point proudly to the things Local 35 has accomplished in the last decade, few white collar workers have forgotten that these sweeping changes came only after a series of bitterly contested and controversial

walkouts. Local 35's first strike in 1968 lasted only one day. But in 1971, when their contract expired, they went •on strike" for seven weeks; in 1974, for ten.

Their most recent strike in 1977 lasted for thirteen weeks, leaving dining halls closed well into December of Fall Term 1977, and workers without a job or regular salary ~ughout that period.

However controversial these strikes were at the time for the blue collar workers, they accomplished, in the words of John Wilhelm, "everything, and I mean that quite literally." In 1968, blue collar workers made scarcely above the minimum wage. In 1980, they are among the highest paid dining hall workers in the country.

But for white collar workers, the ends required to bring these changes about don't necessarily justify the means.

"If you look at the history of relationships between the University and Local 35, I think that very few clerical and technical employees would like to experience that," Jerald Stevens, VicePresident of the University, who oversees the nuts and bolts of the University operations, said.

Another factor has complicated the union drives: for the first time, the white collar workers are being courted by more than one union.

Block and her co-workers say they .. might me for an election with the NLRB some time this spring, one year later than they said it would be last fall.

"It depends on how many people are confused by the fact that two unions are fighting over them and how many people that conflict turns off to unions altogether," Block said.

At that time, the UAW was the only union with an ongoing clerical and technical drive. Then Wilhelm and Local 35 threw their hat into the ring and started a competing drive last November.

"I don't happen to think that having more than one union involved is bad. I think that to the extent that people have a chance to make choices and to see how different unions function, that's fme," Wilhelm said.

Neither Wilhelm's opinion nor his subsequent actions sit well with the UAW. "If the 'other union' had not jumped into the drive, we would have had an election by now," Block said.

Now Local35 and the UAW are trying to address these issues but their tactical approaches differ.

• •r think that the majority of this group will decide to be represented by the union only if the union can effec-

John Wilhelm, uf Local 35 tively communicate what the union is all about to all of those little pockets of people that are all over the campus," Wilhelm said.

Local 35's drive is trying to do just that. They have attempted to set up a "rank and ftle organizing committee," of 500 to 525 people with at least one person in every individuaJ office or department. To date, they have passed out only one brochure, relying rather on this extensive grapevine to take their cause to the blue collar workers themselves.

The United Auto Workers has pursued a different tactic throughout their drive than Local35 has. Since 1979, the UAW has passed out countless pamphlets, booklets, leaflets and brochures.

They have set up booths, worn signs and held large publicized meetings. The goal of this work is to lead a very visible and public campaign rather than establishing an internal network like local 35 is trying to do. Similarly, they have flied two unfair labor practices against the University with the NLRB, one involving a Peter Halsey, Director of Community Relations at Yale, quotation in the New Havm R~gistn', and another involving an employee who was harrassed by h::r supervisor for passing out union leaflets.

But this style of organizing evokes the ' UAWs heritage of industrial organization and the hard-fought battles of former days. In a booklet called the UAW fact finder, an unsigned letter to

TNJ/RoUin Rogga

local union representatives maintains that "those older members to whom the past struggles are but dim memories need to be reminded by their leaders that no benefit is guaranteed unless we have strong, militant and united members who give their leaders all-out support." Another pamphlet holds that "beauty, culture and prestige don't pay the rent [or] put food on the table." At last spring's Communiversity Day, some of the employees who have joined forces with the UA W carried signs which read "We're only a pawn in their game."

But the University itself can offer services to the clerical and technicals too, and if they wish to keep the unions out, they will need to demonstrate to white collar workers that the University's intentions and working conditions are good. Because the employees work for the University, and not for the unions, the University can improve working conditions in a way that union organizers can only promise to do. "'ur position has always been that generally Yale and the employees who are being organized would not necessarily benefit" from a white collar union, Vice President Stevens said.

And in the last year and a half, the Administration has embarked on an improved worker training program, set up a counseling and preliminary grievance committee network of"personnel representatives," and begun a "new evalua-

tion system fm¡ managenal and professional workers that has as its basic principle that there ought to be more explicit and formal statements of what we expect people ought to do," according to the Vice-President. At the same time Stevens said the ¡ University has ~ "ongoing effort" to keep salaries marked to market so that we are meeting competition."

In short, the University has found , like many other management fLnlls in the 1980s, that the way to keep unions out is to be a good employer. "We ought to take the kind of corrective actions that make sure that people don't see unions as their only redress alternative," Stevens said.

Still, because the University understands the size of the stakes involved and the potential of a white collar union to cause them financial and other headaches, they are taking no chances.

Yale has retained a H artford-based law firm , Seigal, O'Conner and Kanin, to advise them on "labor-related matters," according to Stevens.

But the union organizers do not feel that Seigal, O'Conner and Kanin play such an impartial role. Block maintains that while the University calls them "labor consultants, we refer to them, lovingly, as union busters."

Despite the difficulties involved, the union organizers remain optimistic about their chances of having an election soon. "Conditions have deteriorated to the point where there's no question that they'IJ form a union in the next couple of years," Wilhelm said. "I don't know what the precise timetable will be, but I feel confident there will be an election before june," or during this school year.

The United Auto Workers also hope to file for an election at that time. "All Universities that we've organized take two or three years," Block said. "And most of them don't have other unions," competing with them.

"The campaign between the unions has not been easy, but neither one of us has begun the campaign against the University," she added.

But the Administration is not certain it will face this situation so soon. "I think the unions are going to have a damn difficult job organizing,- Jerry Stevens said. "And I don't think they're ~oing to be successful."

â&#x20AC;˘

Paul Hojheinz is a

sophomor~

in Silliman.

17

..

ArtS-----~

The Paper-Mache VIdeo Institute Bird Brenner

18

The harvest moon shines brightly above the massive hulk of industrial silhouettes in New Haven's warehouse district; Hamilton Street is silent, lit by persistently pink mercury street lights.

Romance pervades every darkened corner of the Bethany Shirt Works building. A man in tuxedo and battered sneakers makes his way up five flights of creaky stairs; a women's rhinestone tiara glistens in the factory's greasy parking lot. A small crowd gradually congregates upstairs in the studio headquarters of the Paper Mache Video Institute. Tonight a time-honored American tradition finds new meaning, new vitality, in the Institute's longawaited, sixth annual Miss America Spectacular.

A battery of television sets Uned up against one wall of a darkened room assail the viewer. Most are tuned to the Miss America Pageant, and the plastic glory of Atlantic City, New Jersey, is reproduced in Technicolor throughout the room. Many of the sets are wildly mis-tuned, with nearly fluorescent orange and green tones; sound blares loudly across the room in a distorted chorus. A young boy plays with a video tennis game, oblivious to a Brooke Shields commercial echoed some twenty times in front of him. Grown men manipulate toy tanks with remotecontrol radios. From behind a large wooden cut-out of a tank, people help themselves to wine and cucumber dip.

PMVI is not by any means a typical art gallery. Indeed, there are those who would insist that the Institute has absolutely nothing to do with art.

"I'm dedicated to avoiding art," muses Paul Rutkovsky, the patron saint of PMVI. Rutkovsky, who founded the Institute, teaches a t New Haven's Paier School of Art. He keeps a low proftle, focusing attention on his work. "We live in a time where museums are cathedrals; they've served their purpose for holding icons of the past. This is why I have a passion for reaching out to a different audience, one that has. nothing to do with the A-R-T world. What is vital to our culture is off the picture plane, out of the proscenium and into the department stores and onto the highways." A large sign at the entrance to the Institute (which actually is located on the top floor of an old shirt factory)

reads: "Dedicated To The Promotion Of Transient Culture." The medium?

Xerox, of course.

Rutkovsky chooses to construct most of his sculptural installations out of transient materials; videotape and papier mache figure prominently. Both decay in a comparatively short time span. Huge houses, built of papier mache and reaching anywhere from floor level to nearly ten feet high, haunt one studio area of the Institute. Contained within each one is a flickering video display. As the viewer peers into the windows of each house, she or he enters into a smaller world. In one house, the video display consists of a child's head, the figure composed of papier mache relief, the video screen comprising a face , which changes from a smile to tears over a. period of time.

In a taller house, a man sits in front of a silent TV screen, and the viewer gazes past him, through another window to an alleyway and into a video display of a street beyond it. Rutkovsky says the houses represent the forced containment of people in their individual boxes; houses, cars and institutions are rigid enclosures of isolation.

The inclusion of video screens serves as a reminder of television's omnipresent impact on our lives. People learn to relate to an inanimate box instead of each other.

There is a stark sense of irony in Paul Rutkovsky's work. Confronting the culture's obsession with death machines with a childlike innocence, he combines some rather ugly images with happy colors and buoyant gesture. A recent exhibit, entitled "Paintings for the Future," consisted of sixty or seventy small paintings lined up on white walls.

Rutkovsky remarks that they are "representatives of military war machines in very slick fashion ; I just wanted to present them in a highly designed mode_. It was actually a very cynical presentation, because they were so pretty -graduated colors, muted greys. My cynicism hides occasionally, but it was out that month." Subject matter inclu- . ded airborne missiles gliding past the upturned tails of happily leaping whales, studies of tanks and a detailed mini-se ries called "Marty Watching TV," which depicted a young man with

vacant face in front of variously colored television sets.

Television is a recurring theme in Paul Rutkovsky's work. As a video artist, he has created a number of unusual tapes, including one which was presented at a Silliman Sheep's Clothing concert a few years back, a piece entitled "How to Draw." In the videotape, Rutkovsky appears and shows the viewer how to draw various objects (such as a sink, cat, etc.,) and finally , shows a ftlmed demonstration of each object in use. The last lesson demonstrates the drawing of a gun, and the video protagonist is assassinated.

End of lesson. One reason why Rutkovsky's work is so accessible to those "untrained" in art, and appreciated by those who might normally reject it out-ofhand, is that no abstraction is carried beyond everyday life. If it can be translated into television terms, it can

be understood by any modern person.

Needless to say, there are strong political overtones to Rutkovsky's art.

However, there is no ideology involved in its presentation, no preaching. He says his creations simply reflect militaristic attitudes rampant in today's world. A show upcoming in Los Angeles, opening on November 14 at Contemporary Exhibitions, is called "Airplane Remnants," and consists of a Korean War bomber control panel, whose switches are operated by Rutkovsky. Portable tape players and hanging lights are placed at different points in the gallery, scattered among wings, stewardesses, cockpits, pilots, wheels, bullets, tailfins, and missiles. Rutkovsky operates the lighting and sound selections at whim; sounds include recordings of an atomic bomb explosion, bullets, and machine guns. The audience wanders about the gallery,

Paul RuJlwvslcy insidL 1M Pap" Mtu:hi VidLo lnstituÂŤ

viewing the changes through plastic opera glasses and filling out order forms for their favorite airplane remnants.

The message behind the art, in this case, is gleaned through direct participation.

Participation is what an evening at a Papier Mache Video Institute opening is all about. At any given moment, you, the viewer, might be drafted to xerox your face in slow motion or assist in the photography of a seltzer bottle being shot at a live electrical wire. Artists are always willing to discuss their work, and the physical layout of the Institute is intriguing, at times a bit confusing, because the walls are moved periodically. The surrealistic surroundings of a totally industrialized neighborhood offer a vista refreshingly unlike Yale's ivory towers.

Although the Papier Mache Video Institute is held together largely by Paul

19

Pipe Show!

Saturday, Nov. 14, 1981 All Day Artisans from the American Smoking Pipe Company will be at the Owl Shop showing their unique handcrafted pipes.

This is a demonstration not to be missed.

10% off their pipes on this day only.

Amity

GMAT LSAT 1jMCAT

Rutkovsky's imagination and a little rubber cement, it is the home of numerous exhibits and performances created by other artists, whose interest range from the mildly avant-garde to the wildly incomprehensible. Sound sculptures, painting displays, video anr!

• I REVIEW PROGRAMS fLlm projection and performance pieces are all part of the Institute's calendar.

N ew York's Carmen Beuchat performed two evenings of modern dance on October 16 and 1 7. Her performances, according to Paul Rutkovsky, Classes for the "include works that combine pure dance December 5 LSA T begin with mixed media modes that are both Nov. 8 and Nov. 20: mysterious and exhtlarating."

Another opening, entitled "Visual Events in Various Rooms," premiered call now for free brochure. on October 23. A number of artists have collaborated on this one; the a landmark in New Ha11en Animal Room features a group exhibit since 1934 containing "The Farm Installation" by 268 College Street Anna Bresnick and Fran Real, painNew Haven, Connecticut 06HO tings by Joan Gardner entitled "EnTelephone (203) 624-3250 trances and Exits of Animals" and a dart gun elimination game by Frank Gard- l----------------_...l-----------"---- -ner called "Random Roads to Extinction." In addition, Jack Harriett displays an imitation back yard (complete with birds and birdbaths). Beverly Richey's graphite and paper works and Ben Westbrook's "Abstract Environmental Sculpture" fill a room each.

Rutkovsky's ever-popular Artificial Store is also open, offering "cultural refreshments at discount prices."

One attraction tentatively being planned is the creation of the Hamilton Street Country Club, which will feature a 9-hole miniature golf course, papier mache landscapes, souvenier T -shirts and golf caps and assorted toys.

Rutkovsky terms the work "a recreational art piece;" viewers will be encouraged to play on the course. f:ine 'Wine~, LiquoT"S" and Bee,.

The Papier Mache Video Institute is located at 133 Hamilton Street, in New Haven, The studio phone number is 777-0906; Paul Rutkovsky welcomes Wlue MePclaaat inquiries about exhibits and is always SHOPPING CENTER open to presenting new works at the InCOLLEGE ST NEW HAVEN CONN . stitute. Whether you're dedicated to art, dedicated to avoiding art or simply into 06610 watching television, PMVI is an adventure for the senses.

Vincent Marottoli Ralph Marottoli Bird Brmn.er ir a smior in Si/Ji17UUI. Tel. 624-3825 Richard Slattery, Permittee

203-789-1700

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Research----An approach against leukemia Geoff Hayward

This year over 1,500 Americans will fall victim to Leukemia. By now, the dreaded blood disease's effects are well known to doctors; an acute leukemia patient has from a few days to a few months to live, while the chronic patient may have up to five years.

But with luck, the gruesome leukemia statistics may start to change as early as next year. As a result of the research of Drs. Csaba H orvath and Krishna Kalghatgi (Yale Engineering and Applied Science) and Dr. Joseph Bertino (Yale Pharmacology), effective treatment may soon be available for not only leukemia, but breast cancer , lymphoma and head and neck cancers as well.

For years, Leukemia researchers have had an anticarcinogen that rids a patient's bloodstream of leukemic cells but also destroys tissue and bone marrow. Bertino and Horvath have found a way to inject the anticarcinogen into the bloodstream and then filter it out before it can damage the body. The ftltering is done through an enzyme reaction that takes place outside the body in a machine called an enzyme reactor .

Currently the researchers are testing their technique on dogs with encouraging results. If all goes as planned, the machine could be used on human beings in a little over a years time, Bertino said.

The developments in cancer research which led to the discoveries of Bertino, H orvath and Kalghatgi can be traced back as early as 1949. In that year, a drug named Methotrexate (MTX) was developed which could fight leukemia, lymphoma, and breast, head and neck cancers. Unfortunately, it turned out to be equally good at destroying human tissue and bone marrow.

In 1971 , Bertino's laboratory distilled a strain of bacteria capable of breaking down MTX into harmless by-products.

From the bacteria Bertino derived an enzyme dubbed Carboxypeptidase G' (CPDG•).

The question then became how to put CPDG •, into use against leukemia.

Researchers considered a "rescue operation" in which a leukemia patient would be injected with a potentially lethal dose of MTX. Human bone marrow and

• Dr. Csaha H()1'f)Q/}z shows his mzyme reactor

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soft muscle tissue were judged to have about tree day's worth of anti-metabolic reserves for protection. Before the MTX got a chance to attack the bone marrow, the patient would get a shot ot CPDG 1 to destroy most of the MTX in his bloodstream and "rescue" him from a grisly death.

Unfortunately, an injec tion of CPDG1, directly into the bloodstream would have serious side-effects. The body's immunological defense system is so acute that it attacks foreign proteins like CPDG1 as soon as they enter the bloodstream. The amount of CPDG 1 necessary to eliminate most of the MTX could well send the body into anafolactic shock. In other words, by trying to produce antibodies to attack the enzyme the body would soon exhaust its own defense system. The treatment for leukemia was thus becoming an extended chain of cures and countercures, each one almost as lethal as the original disease.

The breakthrough came with Horvath and Kalghatgi's research in biochemical engineering. In the early 1970s Horvath began developing a device known as an •enzyme reactor" that would permit doctors to use CPDG1 in a new kind of rescue operation. Horvath's idea was to force a reaction between CPDGt and MTX outside of all contact with the bloodstream.

The reactor, an unimpressivelooking plastic cylinder about 8 inches long and two inches in diameter and packed with hair-like tubules, works much like an artificial kidney. Large quantities of blood are pumped out of the body and filtered through hairlike tubules that run the length of a reactor.

Stored within the tubules is enough CPDG 1 to break down a lethal dose of MTX. As blood containing MTX is fJ.ltered through the tubules, the MTX enters the tubule wall and is broken down by CPDG 1 into harmless acids.

The purified blood is then pumped back into the body.

The beauty of the Horvath reactor is that CPDG1 never enters the body, and thus never causes a reaction from the body's immunological system. The reactor can safely eliminate in the space

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of two hours over 90 percent of the MTX in the bloodstream.

Despite the advantages of Horvath's reactor, it is still a long way from being used on human beings. Like any other tool in cancer therapy, it must first be tested on laboratory animals. Bertino said he is frustrated by the strict testing requirements set for cancer treatments. "'n my view," he said, •the requirements of doing testing on anticancer drugs are much too stringent."

Partly because of these rigid requirements, neither Bertino nor Horvath is eager to commit himself to a date on which the reactors will be ready for use. "'t will probably take at least a year before we have enough ·data . . . to allow for work on humans," Bertino said. Horvath hopes the reactor will follow the path of another enzyme reactor he built to combat PKU, a disease causing mental retardation in children.

That device is slated for use on human beings later this year.

For the moment, however, progress is gradual and equipment is expensive.

Both Horvath and Bertino worry about their sources of research funds.

Bertino, who gets his funding from the National Cancer Institute, said many scientists are suffering the same anxieties.

"I think everyone believes, and I believe, too, that it's going to get more difficult to get funding," he said.

Horvath, who said his funds come from the National Institute of Health, fears that even a constant flow of research dollars may not pay for his work.

"The problem seems to be that while grants may remain the same size, the inflation eats up a lot, • he said.

Horvath also worries that any sudden brake in the money flow, even if it is later resumed, would cause a serious set-back, to his research.

Horvath, Bertino and Kalghatgi are all concerned about the supply of CPDG 1. Presently, the enzyme is being produced by a New England manufacturer. The production of such a small quantity of enzyme is extremely expensive, and that expense is passed on to the researchers themselves. Horvath

has suggested that Yale should invest in the facilities necessary for enzyme production, both to provide more security for projects like his own and to instruct graduates and undergraduates in Biotechnology.

For Horvath, the enzyme reactor fits neatly into a much greater long-term plan. That is to bring the benefits of chemical engineering to medicine.

"The pure scientist is an egoist," he said, "concerned only with the pleasures of knowing."

It remains for the engineer to bring that knowledge to·society. Horvath cites an old cliche, "The scientist makes it known, the engineer makes it work."

Both Bertino and Horvath feel intense pressure to •make it work." If the CPDG1 reactor works well, then work will begin to improve upon it, or to build new reactors working with new enzymes. As Horvath puts it, "a successful project never ends, it just keeps growing."

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Geoff Hayward, a junior in Dtwmport, has wriltmfor tJu Yale Daily News.

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Books----------Serge Lang's File Lelia Wardwell

T'he File: Case Study in Correction (1977-1979) by Serge Lang 1981 Springer-Verlag 712 pp.

Everyone who knows Mathematics Professor Serge Lang will agree he is not one to let things slide. The opinionated, energetic, argumentative character, who has been known to eat his meals in Commons so he can debate furiously with freshmen, has just published his first non-mathematical book. It comes as no surprise that the book is a study in controversy.

T'he File by Serge Lang is literally a -4.fue- a collection of letters, articles, documents and memos that grew out of Lang's disapproval of a social science questionnaire he and several thousand other professors received four years ago. Who else but Lang would go so far as to publish a ftle of correspondences in a 712 page volume?

It all began in the spring of 1977 when two sociology professors, E.C. Ladd from the University of Connecticut and S.M. Lipset from Stanford, issued a questionnaire to a random selection of 9 ,000 professors, entitled "The 1977 Survey of the American Professoriate." The purpose of the survey, the researchers said, was to "collect information useful to the formation of sound education policy" by obtaining faculty opinion on their careers, current events and higher education . Lang said he found the survey •stupid: and its questions irrelevent, poorly phrased and prejudiced. Disgusted, he promptly threw it out without answering it. After he received two reminder notices from the surveyors to return it he was so irritated he wrote them an angry note telling them they were •parasites of the ,.cademic community." "Lay offi" he wrote.

Lipset wrote back defending himself.

Other professors and deans got involved in the exchange primarily because Lang made xerox copies of his letters and sent them to people he thought would be interested in the issue. The "carbon copy" list grew to 140 people. Within a year articles appeared in T'he Chronicle of Higher Education, The New York Review of Books and The New York Times. The entire controversy, initiated and brewed

by Lang himself, escalated to such an extent that the ftle was not officially closed by Lang until more than two years after the original questionnaire had been released. He closed it because it had "become logistically impossible to keep [the ftle] up and communicate it to the [carbon copy] liat following the same criteria of completeness which have been used up to now."

Readers may be put off by The File at first. It is massive and composed of documents that at ftrSt glance seem boring and petty. The main issue of the questionnaire concems only sociologists and professors.

But these first impressions are deceiving. The File is extremely interesting and often amusing. The important aspect of the book is not the debate over some obscure sociological survey. Lang subtitled his book, "Case Study in Correction." It is about the origin and spread of misinformation, how distortions of the truth are so easily accepted and believed, what can be done to correct people's misunderstandings and how they react to these corrections.

Lang explains in his introduction that he wants readers to look through the raw materials of the case so they can learn to decide for themselves about the issues and relate the problems in communication here to comparable situations in their own experiences.

The File provides an excellent glimpse into the world of the college

faculty- what academic figures really think of each other and how they express themselves to their colleagues. For example, Professor Robert Merton from Columbia sent Lang this terse reply: "I find the peremptory and prosecutory tone of your letter anything but collegial; indeed, I find it most offensive. I shall therefore not enter into correspondence with you on this or any other matter."

It's possible to become so involved in the sub-plots that you forget entirely about the larger issues. For example, Lang and Professor Sigmund Diamond from Columbia attack Lipset for a book he had written on McCarthyism at Harvard in the early 1950s, and this gave rise to a new exchange of letters.

Throughout the book, alliances develop and enemies are made. Correspondents mysteriously neglect to write back and are never heard from again . Reputations are harmed and questioned constantly.

At times the correspondence can be quite entertaining. Imagine these esteemed professors bickering with each other like schoolmates. In response to Lang's ftrSt angry note, Professor Lipset remarks "When and if ever [Lang] has an intellectual point to make, I will be more than happy to respond to it."

Lang's character shines forth wonderfully in his own letters. He even admits himself that "there is something in me that likes to agitate and make people aware of their assumptions." When he is writing to a sociology professor from Columbia he says of Ladd and Lipset: •As for basic courses, some of these guys ought to take spelling. On page 12 [of the survey] they misspell judgements' [sic]. Lipset misspelled 'publically' in his letter to me. How can one take that crowd seriously?" When Lang writes his last letter to Lipset, be signs ofT by declaring: •1 have decided to have no further communications with you. All further communications from you will be thrown out unopened."

The File is an important and valuable book. It is an excellent resource for many academic fields including journalism, political science, psychology and sociology because it takes such an in-depth look at the basic problems of communication. And for the Yale student who wishes only to hear our eccentric math professor express himself bravely and defiantly to figures somewhat more formidible than college freshman, The File is ideal.

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uli4 Wardwell Calhoun 1985

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