Say What You Will . . .
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n a cool, late October day in 1961, Homer A . Tomlinson arrived in Eugene on a Greyhound bus. He brought with him his portable throne, one gold and one silver crown, a royal robe, and (it was Eugene, after all) an umbrella. Tomlinson planned to crown himself “King of the University of Oregon.” As the self-proclaimed “King of All Nations of Men,” he had already declared his sovereignty in 101 countries, all 50 states, and at 42 universities. He had twice run for president on a platform advocating the union of church and state and the establishment of two new cabinet posts: secretary of righteousness and secretary of the Holy Bible. His UO coronation, as outlandish as it seemed, was a seminal teaching moment for the Class of ’62, which celebrated its fiftieth reunion this October. “This was the initial incident that triggered the consciousness of the student body leadership,” says then-ASUO president Dan Williams ’62, who went on to serve as the UO’s vice president of administration from 1983 to 2005. “It was a sobering experience for all of us. I have always carried with me, since then, strongly held views about freedom of speech.” Tomlinson appeared outside the student union, where about 1,000 students had gathered to watch the show. But things quickly turned ugly. “Before and during the coronation, he was pelted with tomatoes, sprayed with shaving cream, laughed and jeered at, and reviled,” reported the Daily Emerald. “Firecrackers were set off during the ceremony.” Even as a brother in the
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Self-styled “King of All Nations of Men” Homer A. Tomlinson in a 1959 press photo
Delta Upsilon fraternity helped Tomlinson escape in a Chevrolet convertible, students thronged about the car, shouting, “Homer is a fink!” and “Get out of town by sundown!” Williams had an office just above the plaza. “I saw it unfold, and I was very embarrassed,” he says. “I had a sense of responsibility.” He was not alone. UO president Arthur Flemming called the students’ conduct “indefensible.” Many students wrote letters to the Emerald condemning their classmates’ behavior. One wrote sarcastically, “It takes a lot of guts to degrade a nice harmless old man.” Even the members of Delta Upsilon, who had brought the would-be king to
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campus, expressed their remorse. In a letter to the editor, they admitted that they had a “prankish, smug attitude” when they invited him to visit. But once they met Tomlinson, they said, they admired him for his sincerity. “We can say we were successfully taught a lesson in human dignity,” they wrote. “While Brother Homer tried to convey to us his apologies for any repercussions we might encounter for having assisted him to and from the ceremony and for opening our home to him, we feel the lesson we have learned far outweighs any repercussions that might ensue.” Williams remembers Si Ellingson ’48, director of the Erb Memorial Union, taking the time to talk to student leaders about what had happened. “Si saw this as a learning opportunity for us,” Williams says. “We talked about how the essence of any university is the freedom to say what you want to say, no matter how silly it seems on the surface.” About four months later, in February 1962, Williams got a call from his counterpart at Reed College saying that student leaders there had invited Gus Hall, chairman of the Communist Party USA, to speak on campus, but they needed another school to share the cost. The Cold War was in full swing, and Hall was a well-known— and generally reviled—figure. The student cabinet sought the president’s approval. “I was naive,” Williams says. “I didn’t think about the potential for serious implications, but I learned about them damn quick, I’ll tell you.” President Flemming was under a lot of pressure to say no—there were numerous
KEYSTONE PRESS
Two controversial speakers led the Class of ’62 to present the university with a platform from which all ideas, no matter how questionable, could be presented with dignity.