Volume 2 - Issue 6

TheNewJournal Volume two, number six I February 9, 1969

Yalies for the last quarter century have been leaving their lonely, dangerous, mean and dirty work as students to move from Yale into that ultimate clo:.ed corporation on the Potomac.

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21The New Journal I February 9, 1969

Contents 3

Old Blues and the CIA

by William L. Kahrl

7

Revolution number two

by Kenneth Keniston

11

Mr. Fug comes home

by Jeffrey Pollock

In Comment: The NJ rides again, Barnes may not be sleeping too well, Singer, we hope, less well, and club sandwiches hang on restaurant walls.

Phoenix A while back, WYBC held a contest in which listeners were to complete the sentence, "If God were a Yale man ...."The winner, a sophomore at Connecticut College for Women, answered, "If God were a Yale man, there would be no second coming."

But Heracles, the prototypical hero, had to descend into Hades and return; James Bond returned from a garden of death in You Only Live Twice; and on a somewhat less mythical scale, The New Journal is back. Very honestly, we had to cancel the issue we had planned for the exam period.

Besides the ridiculous amount of catching up that most of us had to do, there was also a financial problem or two. But the world is looking bright again, and we will be around this year and next year and as long aftenhat as there are people who want to put out a publication worth reading.

The New Journal is not a staid institution but is rather a few people who are excited by writing, editing, advertising, graphic design and general running around. We don't have heels or any type of formal competition: not that we are anarchists, but we feel most at home in our own personal chaos.

If you are interested in taking an integral part in publishing The New Journal, which is read by about three times as many people as any other Yale publication, whether ye be undergraduate, graduate student, faculty, faculty wife, student wife, please stop by our office in the basement (Room 50) of Silliman College on Wednesday, February 12, after 7:30.

There is an awful lot to be done, and we are looking for the handful of people who want to do it.

Barnes' nightmare Who plans Yale? Herb Short is damned if he knows, so he and Manfred Ibel, both students in the School of Architecture, created the Yale Planning Forum. When Short spoke the other night to members of Architecture 131 b, a seminar on the Yllle community, the talk was of power, people and pedestrian traffic routes. Beer can tops popped all over, and the scene was a far cry from the tinkle of sherry glasses in Woodbridge Hall.

"We clearly exist to usurp power," Short says. "We're going to advise the University just as does Ed Barnes' office." Barnesbetter known to the outside world as Edward Larrabee Barnes, A.I.A.-is a New York architect and official planning consultant to Yale. "We're going to come up with our own concrete proposals," Short adds, "and if they're ignored-well, then some of us might become more than intellectual advisers."

As yet, "some of us" includes just Short

and lbel, so a mass student movement against Yale expansion plans hardly seems imminent. But the group plans to set up headquarters in a Chapel Street storefront and Short and Ibel will begin a full time effort to mobilize the Yale community on their first issue: the proposed Mellon Center for British Art and British Studies, slated to occupy the south side of Chapel Street between High and York Streets.

Yale secretly assembled the land before Paul Mellon's gift of a building and art collection was made public in December, 1966.

The Mellon Center epitomizes all that is wrong with Yale design, says the Planning Forum. While supporting the idea of a British Studies center, the group is concerned about the loss of a commercial block on Chapel Street. Chapel, Broadway and Wall Street are the lifeblood of the Yale campus, says Short- who claims the streets give Yale the human element Harvard Square gives Cambridge-and, by the present Mellon plan, the university is placing its institutional demands above the needs of the city and its own student community. Ditto, says Short, for Yale's projected housing, parking and classroom development throughout the campus.

The Mellon Center's architect is due to be chosen in early spring, and the Plan- · ning Forum hopes by then to have established itself sufficiently to speak for the student community. "I don't think anything will happen unless we force it to happen," Short says. "The people making decisions about space here see the University as a bunch of academic departments.

We have to generate pressure on our side."

Part of this pressure, once the Mellon Center begins moving toward its 1973 target completion date, will be to force the University to include a mall of shops on the building's ground floor to replace the Chapel block. Shore also talks of designing the Center in conjunction with the planned Drama School building, proposed for the rear of the same block.

When the talk gets that long range, Short spews out plans faster than Ed Barnes ever dreamed possible. "There've been proposals to close off York Street," he says, "and make the old Drama School a film society headquarters and a student center. There's also talk of using Freshman Commons as a student center."

Warming up, Short shows the maps he prepared for his thesis presentation, which was based on the Yale Planning Forum.

"Orbit," at first glance a sort of abstract version of a New Haven road map, shows the routes preferred by pedestrians across the campus. "They're in complete conflict with the University's plans," Short points out, "because students tend to walk where there's something to see and people to meet--or to take short cuts through buildings such as Woolsey Hall. But the axes are in any case different from those 'planned.' " The Planning Forum seemed well on its way. Architecture 131b, a mixed bag of students from the Law and Divinity Schools as well as Art and Architecture and Yale College, couldn't find much to argue with in Herb Short's application of student power to the university planning process. Then someone raised the question of student interest, and Short admitted that was the group's problem. "We have to inspire more concern from undergraduates and non-architecture grad students," he said. He noted that most students are indifferent because of their transient position: "When you'll be out of

here in four years, it's hard to see a need for concern. Yet students will, in the end, have to become involved. We looked at what was happening at Yale and we got incensed-the old Gothic campus sat in the center, and monolithic institutional buildings were spread around the outside with no relationship to one another. We're at a time of the biggest expansion since the 1930s, and a new image will have to grow out of that the people in the University want."

Finding what the people in the University want and making sure they can have it is what the Yale Planning Forum is for -whether it be a new art gallery, an expansion of library space on the cross campus, or just the guarantee of a place to get a cup of coffee at one in the morning.

Volume two, number six February 9, 1969 Editors: Jeffrey Pollock Jonathan Lear Business Manager: Jean-Pierre Jordan Executive Editor: Herman Hong Art Director: Bruce Mcintosh Associate Editor: Lawrence Lasker Advertising Manager: K. Elia Georgiades

Paul Goldberger

Copy Editor: Paul Bennett

Singer

Photography Editor: Robert Randolph

Out of the charivari of last week's Singer and ROTC issues, emerges a surprising similitude. For in the minds of some faculty sitting in Connecticut Hall last Thursday lurked the argument that the same academic bankruptcy in military training could be shown to lie behind any program that channeled the University's resources into the more practical needs of the immediate community. Such an attitude toward what Whitney Griswold called the "service station" functions of the state colleges seems to underlie the Singer Report itself.

Along with its idealistic, elitist underpinnings, the Report urges that University "contributions to public education will proceed from on-going research interests."

Thus stated, without proceeding from the interests and needs of the community, the University's contribution will be that of the experimenting dandy playing piebald · games among the locals. Without proceeding from the interests of Yale students, the University will contribute very little to "the contact with that world" that the Singer Report seem's to hint is so necessary for the education of an elite. For while it is difficult, given the traditional role of .the private, national university, to argue for its responsiveness to the particular needs of the immediate community, to argue for the provision of some direct confrontation with the social problems of the generation seems easier and certainly within the scope of an institution. destining its members for leadership.

By its rhetoric, unfortunately, the Singer Report has come to bear more of the onus for Yale's response to the city than its authors claim. The report's concluding but altogether sketchy suggestions deserve some commendation. Inviting other local colleges to assist or handle Upward Bound and venturing jointly with independent private schools such as Choate to restructure pre-college preparation for black students are worthy impulses. Nevertheless, claims can be made that such ventures deal with such a paucity of students that they never affect the crux of the problem, the public school.

As for Yale's responsibility to develop new techniques and structural changes in the public schools, the Report sees Yale's much-touted Social Sciences Research Institute as a panacea. The recently announced Institute will include three centers for the study of contemporary social problems: the Center for Urban Studies, the Center for Urban Education, and the continued on page 15

Circulation Managers: John Adams Steve Thomas Contributing Editors: Jonathan Aaron Susan Holahan Mopsy S. Kennedy Michael Lerner Leo Ribuffo Staff:

Dennis Evans, Marty Davis, Joseph Fincke, Anna Fleck, Kathy Grossman, Nicolas Heller, John Hull, Rodger Kamenetz, Nita Kalish, John Neil, Michael David Rose, 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. 06520, and is printed at The Catl Purington Rollins P.rinting-Office of the Yale University Press in New Haven. Published bi-weekly during the academic year and distributed by qualified controlled circulation to the Yale Community.

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

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

Credits: Bill Crawford: pages 7, 8, 9, 10 Herman Hong: page 11 Bruce Mcintosh: Cover Michael David Rose: Cover Yale News Bureau: pages 4, 5, 6

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31The New Journal I February 9, 1969

.I

Yetllme and change shall naught prevail To break the friendships formed at ... byWilliam L. Kahrl Durell was a tall man, with a heavy musculature and thick black hair touched by gray at the temples. He wore inconspicuous dark suits, white button-down shirts, dark knitted ties. Aside from his height, and the way he carried himeslf-which a trained observer could identify as the walk of a dangerous man-he could lose himself in most crowds.

His Cajun accent no longer betrayed him, thanks to his years in New Haven where he picked up a Yale degree and some cash playing cards at Savin Rock. He had started in the business with G-2 and later transfered to the old OSS training ground at Pemberley during World War II. Afterward, he had known there could never be any other work for him, and he had been accepted by the Central Intelligence Agency of the State Department when it was first formed. It was lonely, dangerous, mean and dirty work for him, and the risks went unheralded by bugles.

Edward Aarons, Assignment: School for Spies

.

The career of Sam Durrell is not entirely a pulp-writer's fancy. Although the games at Savin Rock have long since folded, Yalies for the last quarter century have been leaving their lonely, dangerous, mean and dirty work as students to move from Yale into that ultimate closed corporation on the Potomac, the Central Intelligence Agency. Yale, in turn, through a relationship which neither organization has wished to publicize, has benefitted from a continuing exchange of personnel with the C IA. Today, an ex-CIA officer with fifteen years' experience is a special assistant to President Brewster, another is the University Chaplain, and many other former intelligence operatives teach in Yale's English and political science departments.

The C IA does not run Yale. It does not need to. The men from the CIA who are at Yale today are not active agents of an invisible government. It is disturbing, however, to note how closely the talents required of an effective Yale administrator correspond to those demanded of a good agent. Who for example, could be better suited to represent Yale to New H aven's black community than a man who could convince Adlai Stevenson that the United States had no interest in invading Cuba?

In any case, judging by the number of Yale men who have entered this branch of government service, it seems clear that there are no prevailing ethical standards embedded in the Yale education wh ich preclude cooperation with a super-secret spy agency.

Like Yale, the C IA is basically a community of scholars surrounded by a legion of administrative agents of serviceable virtue who sustain the institution and carry out its bidding. The academic stam p has been on the American intelligence community ever since its founding after the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Office of Strategic Services, the immediate forerunner of the CIA was, in fact, known as the "I 00 professors."

William Kahrl, Yale '68, recently left the graduate program in American studies to work with the Youth Division of the New Haven Police Department.

One of the first of those professors, Norman H olmes Pearson, professor of English and American studies at Yale, explains that scholars were first brought into intelligence work to plug the gaps in military thinking. T he Army, for example, never considered the Library of Congress as an important intelligence resource; and yet, one could find there d ata of the annual rainfall in Tibet, the angle of the beach at Okinawa, the depth of the harbor at Marseilles- in short, all of the factual material which is essential to an effective intelligence system. Consequently, Archibald MacLeish, then Librarian of Congress, was an early recruit of the fledgling OSS. Wilmarth Lewis, Yale' 18 and a member of the Yale Corporation until 1964, was brought in to establish a central registry of intelligence data based on the filing system he had developed for cataloguing the papers of Horace Walpole.

For many men of a bookish bent whose talents would not have been best applied on the front lines, the OSS afforded a chance for valuable service during the war. Among the men from Yale who joined at this time were Eugene Weyth; John Phillips, curator of the American Art Collection: Sumner Crosby; Bradford Wells: and Sherman Kent, who remained with the intelligence service until his retirement last year. To its critics, the OSS was composed of "a group of middle-aged specialists in anthropology, economics and a dozen other fields, plus a few young instructors who had had Ph.D. training in applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair of libraries." Pearson, a James Bond " M'' of Bogart vintage who commanded counter-espionage for all of Europe, the Mediterranean and North Africa, recalls that his department was composed mainly of professors and lawyers: "Of the two, I preferred the lawyers because they had been trained to make up their minds on the evidence at hand, whereas professors prefer to meditate.''

Although the academics played a leading role in organizing intelligence materials, the membership of the OSS was motley. As one veteran remarked, "In those days of the speeded-up draft and the scrambling for jobs, OSS was frequently the last refuge of the well-connected." The founder of the OSS, William J . D onovan, began by bringing in many of his old law partners and acquaintances to help him. Gradually, this "Old-Boy" network spread to include such diverse individuals as the millionaire Paul Mellon , movie director John Ford (who is scheduled to direct a history of the OSS with John Wayne as Donovan), a Yale tackle named George Seabury, Rene Dussaq ("the human fly'') and the bartender from the New York Yale C lub. As Pearson recaJls, " It was a time for remembering people."

Pearson is a man well suited to such times, for his accumulation of well-known friends is as evident to the casual visitor as the bulk of his reading, and there is scarely a foot of wall space in Pearson's three-room office (outside of the bathroom) which is not lined with books.

One of the more startling names of past acquaintances which Pearson has to recall is that of Kim Philby, the Russian double-agent. In his recently published memoirs, Philby remembers Pearson derisively as "the poet from Yale ... all 'h ail fellow well met,' or 'have you heard the one about the lady on the bus.' "And Graham Greene at the time of Phil by's defection commented in the Times that Philby had never been so great a threat to British secur ity as Norman Holmes Pearson.

Pearson, ~ho is a proponent of the theory that Philby went bad as a result of reading at an impressionable age Kipling's story of another Kim, reacts sharply to Philby's attack while concurring subtly with Greene's. He points out that while Philby as a Russian agent was rifting British desks, Pearson, as an American agent, was rifting Philby's. Thus, remarks Pearson with a wicked grin, "Philby was right to say that he was well rid of me, because he knew that I was kind."

The operational patterns established by the OSS later shaped the development of the CIA. Research and analysis by trained scholars is still the basis of the intelligence system, and the web of personal friends, school ties and useful acquaintances remains at the heart of the recruitment process. It should not be forgotten that the OSS was an exciting and colorful service as well. It was an organization which sent Tolstoy¡s grandson llya on a mission to the Dalai Lama in the forbidden city of Lhasa, and it gave a brave former Yale student, Roderick H all, the chance to battle the German Army single-handed in an attempt to close the Brenner Pass to the Axis. Undoubtedly, the aura of adventure still accounts for much of the attractiveness of the espionage business. For example, C IA agent Herbert Itkin, indicted in New York for bribing a high c ity official, has been implicated in a plot hatched by two East-Side London crime czars to kidnap the Pope.

C. Tracy Barnes, who worked with the French underground during the war and later served with the C IA for nearly all of its h istory, agrees that for many years the intelligence service attracted men "who like to tear up the pea patch."

I 21 The New Journal I Febru ary 9, 1 o.c"

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February 20-23 Evenings at 8:30

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A Yale Institution for Upperclassmen

During the Korean War, the C IA also offered the singular advantage of being one of the few government agencies where liberals and leftists could work without fear of the shadow of Joe McCarthy. During this period the CIA began its financing of the National Student Association for participation in leftist world youth festivals, and Allen Dulles, the CIA chief, took his stand against McCarthy in defense of William Bundy. For liberals like New York Magazine editor Gloria Steinem, founder of the Independent Research Service, the CIA was the only place to turn for funds to represent the United States at communist festivals abroad. For pea-patch terrors of the calibre of William Sloane Coffin, the CIA offered more: it offered "the chance to work on the side of Socialism against Communism."

Reverend Coffin has always been discreetly candid about the fact of his service with theCIAfrom 1950to 1953 and candidly discreet about the nature of his work tor the agency. He had not yet received his call to the ministry. when he entered the service; he was interested in international relations and spoke fluent Russian. His assignments never brought him into the agency headquarters in Washington, and he left the CIA after three years with what he calls "a narrow impression of a pretty outstanding group of guys." Coffin still sees a few of his friends in the C IA and is proud of the personal ties that have survived politics.

"They look on me as a traitor, and I look on them as murderers," he explains jovially.

Liberals for the sake of Mr. Coffin's reputation and conservatives for the sake of the agency's undoubtedly would all prefer to believe that the agency which Coffin joined during the Korean War is a very different organization from the CIA today. Chances are that it is not. The CIA has continued to recruit intelligent liberals wherever it can find them, and on Vietnam, for example, the agency has maintained a relatively dovish stance. Coffin certainly does not regard this past association as any blot upon his record, although it did cause some slight trouble when he was appointed to the Advisory Board to the P eace Corps at a time when Sargent Shriver was striving mightily to keep that organization free of CIA infiltration.

According to C. Tracy Barnes, who bas been with the C IA for the last fifteen years, the agency bas changed. "Over the years there has been a gradual accumulation of procedures ... tep.ding to keep out the pea-patch-tearer-uppers ... " Barnes should know. A Groton-YaleHarvard-Law graduate, he spent the war working with the French underground.

From J anuary to June, 1945, he worked with Allen Dulles in Switzerland arranging the surrender of northern Italy. After a few years of other government work and private law practice, Barnes went to work for Dulles again in the C IA in 1952, where he remained until 1967. His name bas appeared in connection with the agency on various occasions, notably as the most prominent liaison officer to the State Department during the planning of the Bay of Pigs invasion. According to Arthur Schlesinger in A Thousand Days, it was Barnes and he who, on AprilS, briefed Adlai Stevenson o n the coming invasion. On the basis of that briefing, Adlai Stevenson stood up on the morning the boats bit the beaches to assure the nations of the world that the US had no part in the plot against Cuba. Schlesinger later admitted that the briefing may have been " unduly vague."

Barnes was with the agency during its greatest growth period, under the Republicans. Probably the full story of how the agency grew during this period will never be known: how, for example, McCarthy was kept out; how the FBI was beaten back in its attempts to encroach upon the C IA's sphere of activity; who was ultimately responsible inside the executive branch for overseeing the agency's growth.

Certainly the fact that the chief of the CIA, Allen Dulles, was the brother of the Secretary of State made for an informal intermeshing of power which few departments of government could match.

Also, the fears bred by the Cold War helped the agency, as Barnes explains, to see itself as " a necessary tool of government policy." Wl\atever the combination of circumstances which Jed to this result, the C IA within a decade doubled its staff, acquired a budget half again as large as that of the Department of State, and hired a body of men more flexible, more experienced and in some cases more influential than their counterparts in State.

S I The New J ournal! February 9, 1969

According to Tracy Barnes, this all changed with the Bay of Pigs debacle.

"There was a change of attitudes. Until then, if the agency did exceed its limits, it d id so with the consent of the government. After the Bay of Pigs, there was distrust of the agency within government."

Joh n F. Kennedy grumbled at the time, " I made a mistake in putting Bobby in the J ustice Department .... Bobby should be in CIA. ... McNamara has dealt with Defense; Rusk has done a lot with State; but no one has dealt with CIA."

In the spring of 1967, the CIA suffered a setback wh ich was, in some ways, even more damaging: the disclosure of the CIA funding of the National Student Association. In subsequent investigations, CIA money was found in everybody's pocket from M IT and the American Newspaper Guild to Norman Podhoretz. Before this, Barnes feels, except for occasional leaks age ncy cr itics "didn't have anything to get their hands on" unless they wanted to attack the agency as a governmental unit on ethical grounds. As W. Eugene Groves, President of the NSA at the time, remar ked in a paper subtitled "Second Thoughts after the Storm": "In reacting to the CIA/ NSA expose, some Americans saw themselves almost directly threatened. Some saw a manifestation of what American society, and interpersonal relations within this society, ought not to be.

At the same time, others saw nothing wrong with using secretive methods to fight outsiders, 'them.' And conservatives saw their own economic and political interest jeopardized by covert support of liberal groups, feeling that the money was given to the wrong people.''

T oday, two years later, it is still difficult to assess the dam age to the CIA. The agency's Covert Action Division #5, wh ich ha nd led most of the funding, has not grown new tentacles where the old ones were struck off; and the division head, Robert Kiley, a former president of NSA, has dropped out of sight. The Katzcnbach Commission appointed by the President in February, 1967, has put an end on paper to all covert funding of domestic organizations. But C.A.D. #5 still exists, and it is a good guess that the money is still going out, only the vehicles have changed.

More important, the agency may have lost the ability to regenerate its ideals and the capabilities of its personnel because of the damage the disclosures may have done to the agency's recruiting program.

The NSA is one example. When the NSA decided to admit to its connections with the CIA, an attempt was made by a number of people connected with the association to investigate the relationship and make a full discloure of all the details. It became clear that the NSA through its international programs bad never been actively engaged in spying per se, nor had it ever been able to provide the agency with useful intelligence of any importance.

The CIA admitted as much. Why then did the agency continue to finance the NSA for so long?

The reasons accepted at that time had to do with internal disputes over recruiting programs. There appeared to be a division within the CIA between the liberals of the OSS school and the later Dulles recruits generally described as "FBI-mentality" types. According to the story, the liberals were using the NSA as a recruiting resource to replenish their own ranks within the agency.

C IA people today tend to discount this story, pointing out that such arecruiting plan could never have worked.

They insist that there is no way of knowing that a man who is a liberal NSA staffer at twenty-two is going to feel the same way about world events after five years within the C IA. They explain the rationale for the NSA support much more simply, as nothing more than an attempt to build a base for influence within the ranks of the new generation of college students. To that extent, they argue, the NSA venture was a q ualified success.

But the opportu nity for maintaining that influence has been lost, largely because of bad press. The CIA maintains no public relations office. In fact, it closed its public affairs office in Washington four years ago with the simple announcement that "a top-secret intelligence agency has no public affairs." For the agency, there is nothing to do but wait for the ill feelings raised by the disclosures of 1967 to subside in time. In the meanwhile, Tracy Barnes admits that he has no idea "where the bright young liberal minds are going to come from."

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Society In the past, according to Barnes, the agency attracted "people who enjoy being close to the movement of events, even if they are not the movers." Today, says Barnes, "There is less of a tendency for these people to seek out agency employment." Todd Gitlin and Bob Ross in The Village Voice took a much more caustic view of the CIA's recruitment process: "Weaned in postwar affluence and American self-righteousness, they longed to lodge their careers in the service of bard-nosed antiCommunism .... Take someone who is not very principled to begin with, stuff him with images of power, fly him to meetings around the world, extend just enough of the seductive thigh of power so that the bitch goddess of success seems accessible: you can quickly convince him that this is indeed what he wanted all along."

Friday, February 7 John Ford's CHEYENNE AUTUMN (1964) Richard Wid mark, James Stuart, Carroll Baker, Karl Malden The final stage of Ford's epic vision of American historythe death of tradition, the passing of myths into dreams, the transition from legends to facts.

Saturday, February 8 Samuel Fuller's SCHOCK CORRIDOR (1963) " The masterpiece of the barbarian cinema."-Jean-luc Goddard " Film is like a battle ground. Love. Hate. Action, Violence.

Death. In one word: Emotion."-8amuel Fuller

In the fifties and early sixties, recruitment for the CIA involved little more than a continuing extension of the "Old-Boy Net" formed by the OSS. The agency kept in touch with college deans and, at many of the Ivy League schools, had talent scouts keeping an eye out for new talent.

In the early fifties, Yale's crew coach, Skip Walz, did the agency's recruiting here. J ohn Downey, captured as a spy in Red China in 1952, was recruited on the Yale campus by Walz in 1951. For several years thereafter, Georges May was the man to talk to if you wanted a job with the C IA. At Harvard in the late fifties, it was sufficient for a graduating senior simply to let it be known among certain professors in the political science department that he was interested in agency employment for . the machinery of recruitment to go into operation. At Yale today this would mean cozying up to a Harold Lasswell, or anyone else with an interest in international relations and a grounding in behavioral sciences.

It is quite natural that the "Old-Boy Net" should be thickest in the Ivy League.

According to David Wise and Thomas B. Ross in The Invisible Government, the twenty top CIA executives have always been preponderantly Ivy League graduates. For many years, the NSA staff members who worked with the CIA tended to migrate to the Yale political science department or the H arvard Law School for a few years before returning to the agency.

Furthermore, there is much in the Ivy League educational experience which tends to acclimate the mdividual to the very attractions which an organization like the CIA offers to its recruits. Throughout his education, from secondary school on through college, the Yale man is impressed with the idea that he is one of the chosen ones, a manager, a future leader.

So often, the models set for him to emulate are the Rostows and the Sch lesingers of the world. His professors are a hybrid mix of scholar and administrator, the sort of intellectual mules who bear the progress of the government on their backs. And in the commencement exercises at Yale last year, President Brewster repeatedly returned to the theme that the Yale degree carries with it the responsibility to serve your country.

The CIA, like the State Department, has suspended recruitment to a great extent until the intentions of the Nixon administration are clear. The CIA, in fact, has not sought any new operatives since the riots in Paris, when it was interested only in people fluent in French a nd with a personal grounding in French politics. It seems fairly certain, however, that the CIA over the next four years will return to the power it enjoyed under Eisenhower.

Nixon has indicated as much by his revival of the moribund National Security Council. Moreover, it was Nixon, operating as Vice President u nder the cloak of Eisenhower's apparent inactivity, who oversaw the growth of the agency during the fifties. As one agency employee puts it, "There is a feeling inside the agency that Nixon owes it to us."

The prospect of expansion of the agency's activities looms precisely when its communications with the campuses are weaker than at any other time in the agency's history, largely as a result of the 1967 disclosures. The route of access to the agency today lies more through the Army than through Phelps Gate. On the other hand, at least three recent Yale graduates, Henry Hoff, '67, J ames Gardner, '68, and Brian Burns, '68, have entered Army Intelligence. If they do their work well, they might have the opportunity of continuing a great tradition of Yale Blue in cloak and dagger. •

71The New J ournal I February 9, 1969

Revolution number two: You know it's going to be ... all right

by Kenneth Keniston

GRiND!

CoMPETE! A(HiEVE!

MARKfTABlÂŁ SkiLLS! GfT AGoODJ""oB!

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In the course of the last year, the advanced nations of the world have been faced with an extraordinary and unprecedented upsurge of student unrest. New student tactics have taken hold in seventy nations of the world: everywhere the pattern has bee~ for .stud~~ts to occupy or seek to occupy thear un_aversattes until the demanded reforms are achaeved. In Czechoslavakia and France, students almost triggered major political revolutions .. I propose, here, to present a very speculauve.argument concerning the style and psycho-hastorical situation that unite student protests in the more advanced nations of the world.

1 One of the factors often cited as an explanation of youthful unrest is the very large number of young men and women in the world under the age of thirty-which has become the critical dividing line between generations. But this fact alone does. not constitute an adequate explanataon of the revolutionary mood of many university students. In all historical eras, the vast portion of the population has been under the age of 30. Indeed, in the most primitive societies, most people are dead long before they reach that age. If chronological youth alone were enough to insure rebellion, advanced societies, where a greater proportion of the population reaches old age than ever before in world history, should be the least revolutionary, and the most piimitive societies should be characterized by the greatest youthful ferment. This is not the case.

What does matter, however, are two interrelated characteristics of the underthirties: first, the relationship of the young to the established institutions of the society, that is, whether they are engaged in them or not; second, the opportunities the society provides for continuing intellectual, ethical and emotional development after the age of puberty. In both of these regards, the present situation in the more advanced nations is without any precedent.

Philippe Aries, in h is remarkable book, Centuries of Childhood, points out that until the end of the Middle Ages, no separate stage of childhood was recognized in Western societies. Infancy ended at approximately the age of six or seven, whereupon most children were integrated into adult life, treated as small men and women, and expected to work as junior partners of the adult world.

One crucial phenomenon in the more developed nations of the world today is the gradual recognition of another stage of life, one that like childhood and adolescence before it, was previously allowed to only a small minority, but that is rapidly being extended to an ever greater group. I will call this the stage of youth, and by youth I will mean a further stage of disengagement and development that intervenes between adolescence and adulthood.

Kenneth Keniston is an associate professor of psychiatry at the Yale M edical School.

He is the author o.f T he Uncommitted and The You ng Radicals.

What is new about our present situation, then, is not that there are more young people, but that we have opened to larger numbers of them an extended period of disengagement and development that continues into the twenties and often until the thirties as well. We have created a new stage of life, at least for the more fortunate in the more advanced nations, a stage of continuing disengagement from the adult structures of the society, a stage th at provides opportunities for intellectual: emotional and moral development whach were not afforded to any large group to the same extent ever before in history. In the student revolts, we are seeing oneresult of this advance.

I have called the extension of youth an advance advisedly. There is growing evidence that, on the whole, attendance in a university is, all other things held constant, a good thing for the individual involved. Put in an oversimplified phrase, it tends to free him-to free him from swallowing unexamined the assumptions of the past, to free him from the superstitions of his childhood, to free him to express his feelings more openly and to f~ee him from irrational bondage to authonty.

Available evidence indicates clearly that this is an effect of attendance at a university, not a factor built into the selection process by which students are admitted.

I obviously do not need to suggest th at all college graduates or all student radicals are free and liberated spirits, unencumbered by irrationality, superstition, authoritarianism or blind adherence to tradition. But as applied to individuals, these findings indicate that universities, far from only turning out mach ine-like robots who will provide skilled manpower for the economy, are turning out evergreater n umbers of h ighly critical citizens, young men and women who h ave h ad the opportun ity, the leisure, the affluence and the educational resources to continue their development past th e point where most men and women in the past were required to stop it.

One part of what we are seeing on campuses th roughout the world is not a reflection of how bad h igher education is but rather of its extraordinary accomplishments on a historical scale. Even the moral righteousness of the student rebels, a quality both endearing and infuriating to their elders, must be judged at least in part a consequence of the privilege of an extended youth; for a prolonged development, we k now, permits the individual to elaborate a more personal, less purely conventional, sense of eth ics.

8 I The New Journal I February 9, 1969

What the advanced nations have done is to create their own critics on a mass basis -that is, to create a larger and larger group of young men and women who take the credal values of their societies as their own, who internalize these values and identify them with their own best selves and who are willing to struggle to implement them. And at the same time, these same young men and women have been freed from the requirements of work, gainful employment and even marriage, permitting them to criticize their society from the protected position of disengagement.

But the mere fact of prolongation of psychological development need not automatically lead to unrest. To be sure, we have granted to millions the opportunity to examine their societies, to compare them with their values and to come to a reasoned judgment of the existing order.

But why should their judgment today be so unenthusiastic?

2 What protesting students share, on a worldwide basis, is a mood more than an ideology or a program-a mood that says that the existing system, the power structure, is hypocritical, unworthy of respect, out-moded and in urgent need of reform.

In addition, the complaint of repression, manipulation and authoritarianism is ubiquitous although paradoxical, given the apparently great freedoms given students in many nations. In America those who complain most loudly about being suffocated by the subtle tyranny of the Society attend the institutions where freedom is in fact greatest. Around this general mood, specific complaints arrange themselves as symptoms of what they often call the "exhaustion of the existing society."

To understand this phenomenon, we must recognize that during the decades since the second World War, a number of societies have begun to move past the industrial era into a new world that is postindustrial, technological, post-modem, post-historic or, in Brzyzinski's terms, "technectronic." In western Europe, the United States, Canada and Japan, the first contours of this post-industrial society are already apparent. And in many other less developed societies, middle-class professionals (whose children become activists) also Jive in post-industrial subcultures.

Whatever we call this new kind of society, it has demonstrated that for the first time in history man can produce more than necessary to meet his material needs.

This accomplishment is admittedly blemished by enormous problems of economic distribution in the advanced nations, and it is in terrifying contrast to the overwhelming poverty of the Third World. Nevertheless it has become clear that what might be called "the problem of production" can, in principle, be solved.

If all members of American society, for example, do not have enough material goods, this is because the system of distribution is flawed. The same is true, or will soon be true, in a number of other nations that are approaching advanced states of industrialization. Characteristically, these nations, along with the most technological, are those where student unrest has recently been most prominent.

The transition from industrial to postindustrial society brings with it a major shift in social emphases and values. Industrializing and industrial societies, whatever their political organizations, tend to be oriented toward solving the problem of production. An industrial ethic--sometimes Protestant, sometimes socialist, sometimes communist-tends to emphasize psychological qualities like self-discipline, delay of gratfication, achievementorientation and a strong emphasis on economic success and productivity. The social, political and economic institutions of industrializing societies tend to be organized in a way that is consistent with the goal of increasing production. And as many have noted, industrial societies tend to apply universalistic or uniform standards, to reward achievement rather than status acquired by birth, to emphasize emotional neutrality ("coolness") and rationality in work and public life.

The emergence of post-industrial societies, however, means that growing numbers of youths are brought up in family environments where abundance, relative economic security, political freedom and affluence are simply facts of life, not goals to be striven for. To such young men and women, the psychological imperatives, social institutions and cultural values of the industrial ethic seem largely outdated and irrelevant to their own life situations.

When the young perceive that the problem of production has been or can be solved, when it has been solved in their own life-experience, they become unresponsive, bored or "turned off" by values, institutions and psychological demands that originated in a society where production was crucial. Once it has been demonstrated that a society can produce more ' than enough for all of its members, at least some of the young turn to other goals: for example, trying to make sure that society does produce enough and distributes it fairly, or else searching for outlooks arid life-styles that will enable them to live meaningfully with the goods and the leisure they already have. The problem is that our society has, in some realms, exceeded its earlier targets and, lacking new targets, has become exhausted by its success. As a result, even though material conditions are in many respects better than ever before in world history, this era brings an unprecedented and surprising upsurge of student protest and unrest.

When the values of industrial society become devitalized, the elite sectors of youth-the most affluent, intelligent, privileged and so on--come to feel that they live in institutions with imperatives that lack moral authority or, in today's jargon, "credibility." The moral imperative behind production, acquisition, materialism and abundance has been lost.

Furthermore, given the lack of moral legitimacy felt in "The System," the least request for loyalty, restraint or conformity by its representatives-for example, by college presidents and deans-is viewed as a moral outrage, an authoritarian repression or a manipulative co-optation.

Thus, I suggest that the vague feeling of oppression voiced by so many.students springs from their feeling that the existing society has lost its ethical mandate and credibility, so any demand from that society is an exercise in "illegitimate authority" and must be exposed and resisted. And perhaps that peculiar sense of suffocation felt by dissenting students arises ultimately from living in societies without vital ethical claims.

Given such a situation, it does not take much to trigger off a major protest. I doubt that school, college and university administrators are in fact more hypocritical and dishonest than they were in the past. American intervention in Vietnam, while many of us find it unjust, outrageous and cruel, is not in itself more outrageous than other similar imperialistic interventions by America and other nations within the last century. And the position of blacks in this nation, although disastrously and unjustifiably disadvantaged, is materially and legally better than ever before. Similarly, the conditions of students themselves in America have never been.so good, especially at those elite colleges where student protests are most common. But this is precisely the point. It is because so many of the other problems of American society seem to have been resolved or to be resolvable in principle that students now react with new indignation to old problems, turn to new goals, and propose radical reforms.

3 So far I have emphasized the moral exhaustion of the old order and the fact that for the children of post-industrial affluence the once-revolutionary claims of the industrial society have lost much of their validity as a source of immediate personal motivation. I now want to argue that we are witnessing on the campuses of the world a fusion of two revolutions with distinct historical origins. One revolution is the old and familiar revolution of the industrial society, the liberal-democratic egaJitarian revolution which has not yet been completed in any nation of the world, the revolution that started, if you will, in America and France at the turn of the 18th century and that has since spread to virtually every nation in the world. The other revolution is the new revolution, the post-industrial revolution, which seeks to define new goaJs relevant for the 20th and 21st centuries.

91 The New Journal! February 9, 1969

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In its social and political aspects, the industrial revolution has been a revolution of universalization, in the sociologist's awkward terms. It has involved the progressive extension to larger and larger numbers of people of economic, political and social rights, privileges and opportunities originally available only to the aristocracy, then only to the middle-class, and now in America, for example, only to the relatively affluent and white working class. It is in many respects a quantitative revolution: that is, it concerns itself less with the quality of life than with the amount of political freedom, the quantity and distribution of goods, or the amount and level of injustice.

In our own society, as we approach the targets of the first revolution on which our society was built, to be poor becomes outrageous; and even to witness poverty, discrimination, exploitation and oppression in others becomes intolerable. In our own time, the impatience to complete the first revolution has grown apace, and we find less tolerance, less patience, less willingness to compromise and forgive among the young, especially among those who now take the values of the old revolution for granted-seeing them not as goals, but as rights.

A subtle shift has thus occurred. What used to be utopian visions-for example, equality, freedom from discrimination, abundance-have now shifted to become demands-inalienable rights upon which one can insist without brooking any compromise. It is noteworthy in student confrontations that no one today requests anything: students present their "demands".

So on the one hand we see a growing impatience to complete the first, the liberal-industrial revolution, to extend the economic, social and political claims of liberalism to all, a growing intolerance of a society where oppression, inequality and exploitation persist. But on the other hand, admixed with the demands of the old revolution is a second revolution concerned with newer issues, a new revolution that is less social, economic or political than psychological, historical and cultural, a revolution less concerned with the ~uantities of things than with their qualities, a revolution that judges the virtually complete liberal revolution and finds it ~till wanting. "You have to have grown up •n Scarsdale to know how bad things really are," said one radical student.

This comment would probably sound arrogant, heartless and insensitive to a poor black, much less to a citizen of the Third World. But he meant something important by it. He meant that even in the Scarsdales of America, with their affluence, their upper middle-class security and abundance, their well-fed, well-heeled children and excellent schools, something is wrong. Economic affluence does not guarantee human fulfillment; political freedom does not yield inner liberation and cultural freedom; social justice and equality may leave one with a feeling that something else is missing in life. "No to the consumer society" shouted the bourgeois students of the Sorbonne during May and June of 1968-a cry that understandably alienated French workers, for whom affluence and the consumer society are still central goals.

What, then, are the targets of the new revolution? I approach this question with great diffidence, since I feel that if I, or anyone, could answer that question satisfactorily·, we would indeed be prophets of a new age. As is often noted, students themselves do not know what these objectives are: they speak vaguely of "a society that has never existed"; of "new values," of a more humane world; of "liberation" in some psychological, cultural and historical sense. Their rhetoric is largely negative, and it is only indirectly that we can discern certain trends in the rhetoric of the student the world across that point to the still unformulated targets of the new revolution.

First is a revulsion against the notion of quantity, particularly economic quantity and materialism, and a turn toward notions and concepts of quality. One of the most delightful slogans of the French student revolt was "Long live the passionate revolt of creative imagination." There is some sense in which the achievement of abundance may enable us to turn to examine, as only a few artists and madmen have examined in the past, the quality, intactness, joyfulness and zestfulness of our daily and immediate experience, including the interweaving of imagination in our Jives.

Another goal of the new revolution involves a revolt against uniformity, equalization, standardization and homogenization. At times this revolt approaches anarchic quaintness, but it has a strong positive core as well. This core is a demand that individuals be appreciated not because of their similarities or despite their differences, but because they are different, diverse, unique and non-interchangeable.

The same pressure is evident in a thousand areas: for example, the insistence upon a cultivation of personal idiosyncracy, mannerism and unique aptitude; even the rejection of the melting-pot and consensus-politics view of American life in favor of a post-homogeneous America in which cultural diversity is underlined rather than denied.

The new revolution also involves a continual struggle against psychological or institutional closure or rigidity in any · form. Positively, it extols the virtues of openness, motion and continuing human development. What Robert J. Lifton has termed the protean style is clearly in evidence in this new revolution. Fixity and rigidity of all forms is fought against, even the rigidity of a determinate adult role. As an alternative, there is emerging a concept of a lifetime of personal change, of an adulthood of continuing self-transformation, of an adaptability and openness to the revolutionary modern world that will enable the individual to remain with it, psychologically youthful and on top of the present.

A final characteristic of the new revolution is the revolt against centralized power and the complementary demand for participation. What is demanded is not merely assent by the governed, but the involvement of the governed in the governance of their lives and their communities. The phrase "participatory democracy" of course summarizes this aspiration, but the aspiration extends far beyond that one phrase and the rudimentary social forms that have sprung up around it. The demand for participation extends to the demand for relevance in education, that is, for a chance for the individual to participate as a human being in his own educational experience, in such a way that all of his faculties, emotional and moral as well as intellectual, are involved in his education. The demand for participation is also embodied in the new ethic of "meaningful human relationships" in which individuals confront each other without masks, pretenses and games, "relate" to each other as unique and irreplaceable human beings, develop and devise new forms of relationships from which all participants will grow.

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In distinguishing between the old and the new revolutions and in attempting to define the targets of the new in contrast of those of the old, I am of course making distinctions which students themselves rarely make. In any concrete situation the two revolutions are joined and fused, if not confused. Students often are misled, I think, by many of the concepts they use and the ideologies they borrow. Even the concept of "revolution" itself is laden with the meanings of political, economic and social revolution and hardly seems adequate to characterize the psychological, cultural and historical transformations the post-industrial world demands.

Similarly, the most powerful critiques of past and present societies derive from theories like 'Marxism which are intricately bound up with the old revolution, which take economic quantity, political freedom and/ or social justice as their goal.

Students are frequently deceived by their own vocabulary and rhetoric, which is in turn even more deceptive to the adults who listen to them. Similarly, the problem of reconciling the two revolutions is rarely confronted directly. One of the critical needs today is for a new vocabulary and rhetoric adequate to the special revolutionary needs of the post-industrial world ..

Finally, beneath my analysis lies an assumption I had best make explicit. Many student critics of their societies argue that these societies have failed miserably.

My argument, a more historical one perhaps, suggests that our problem is not only that industrial societies have failed to keep all their promises, but that they have succeeded in other ways beyond all expectation. Universal mass education was once a utopian goal; today in America, almost the entire population completes 12 years of school and almost half of the population enters colleges and universities.

The notion that individuals might be free, en masse, to continue their psychological, intellectual, moral, an d cognitive development through their teens and into their twenties would have been laughed out of court in any century other than our own.

Today, that opportunity is open to millions of young Americans. Student unrest is a reflection not only of the failures, but of the extraordinary successes of the liberal-industrial revolution.

For those of today's students who have never eJ!:perienced anything but affluence, political freedom and social equality, the old vision is going dead. It may inspire bitterness and outrage when it is not realized, but it no longer animates or guides.

In place of that vision, students (and many who are not students) are searching for a new vision, a new set of values, a new set of targets appropriate to the post-industrial era, a myth, an ideology, or a set of values that will concern themselves with the quality of life in the post-industrial era and that will answer the question, Beyond freedom and affluence, what? What characterizes student unrest in the developed nations is this peculiar mixture of the old and the new, the urgent need to fulfill the promises of the past and at the same time to d7fine the possibilities of the future. •

Mr. Fug joins long-range patrol

by Jeff Pollock

That which you have loved with youthful enthusiasm and admired with youthful ardor, that which you have secretly and mysteriously preserved in the innermost recesses of your soul, that which you have hidden in the heart: that which you have learned to know bit by bit, like a bird gathering straws for its nest, happier over each separate little piece that over all the rest of the world; that you always approach with a certain shyness, with mingled emotions, when you know that the purpose is to try to understand it. I know that what I have hitherto understood is very little, so there will always be enough left behind.

Sillren Kierkegaard, Either/ Or I floated lonely down the street one day, Who did I see slither my way Slum Goddess from the Lower East Side, Slum Goddess, gonna make her my bride, There's not a chick in the world who's half as hip as she My swinging little Goddess from Avenue D It's really very groovy To take her to a movie, Where we make it in the balcony.

Ken Weaver, "Slum Goddess"

Jack Anderson¡s apartment on Chapel Street is big and roomy. A few photos of army buddies in Vietnam and a little oil painting of some sunflowers that be did before going into the service grace the spotless white walls. The only other mementos from his three years away from Yale are a cigarette lighter inscribed, "John A. Anderson, Ill, First Infantry, Vietnam, June, 1967-July, 1968" and a crumpled old Play bill from "An Evening with the Fugs" at the Players' Theater.

Jack offers us a seat on his trunk and settles back into a canvas Yale director's chair. It is the only piece of furniture in the room.

"The summer after my freshman year at Yale, I worked at the New York World's Fair and lived in an apartment on the Lower East Side. I wandered around the neighborhood and heard about a rock group caJled the Fugs playing at the Bridge Street Theater. I went one night and talked to them and then met them again at the Peace Eye book store, which was run by their leader, Ed Sanders. They were all amazingly energetic guys. Ed got his B.A. in Greek and Latin literature from NYU and was a pretty active poet.

He had worked at a tobacco stand on Times Square for a while until he got enough backing to open the Peace Eye. "The Pugs had really gotten going during the previous winter. Ed had grown up with classical rock and roll in the fifties.

He was high school class of '56 and a cheerleader at the time, you know: "Tough as nails, hard as bricks, Southwest High School fifty-six!" In fact, that's why Ed is in a footbaJI uniform on the cover of the Fugs' second album.

"The other core members of the group were Ken Weaver and Tuli Kupferberg, an old-time New York anarchist and poet.

Tuli has always had a tremendous following, primarily of young girls. He's a very beatific person, like a kindly wise uncle, but it wasn't always totally platonic. He's not a dirty old man-he takes young girls to bed sometimes and just interdigitates with them.

"My best friend was Ken Weaver. He was born a bastard in Texas and had some pretty traumatic times moving from one foster home to another. After four years in the Air Force as a Russian translator, he got a job working on Wall Street. As kind of a reaction to the service, he wore turtlenecks to work and started letting his hair and beard grow. He eventually quit Wall Street and lived by donating blood for five bucks a pint. When I met him he was sleeping in the back room of Ed's book store.

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" I was a guide that summer in the Federal pavillion at the New York World's Fair. The Fugs thought it was interesting, and I was a new kind of person for them to have as a friend, a Yalie. We made friends quickly enough so that there were no undercurrents-! laughed at them and they laughed at me. I bought a bass guitar and kind of joined up."

"With the Fugs I played bass, Ken Weaver was on conga drum, and there were two other musicians who played as sidemen, Peter Stamfel and Steve Weber of the Holy Modal Rounders. The group was playing the old kind of music I used to like; we sung two William Blake poems in bluegrass and did rock and roll parodies.

"Tuli and Ed had decided that they wanted to use rock and roll to convey poetry of their own. They had visions of merging modern poetry with modern music, which both of them appreciated as a classical idea. With Dylan's new music a Jot of rock was becoming poetic, and since I expressed an interest they indicated that they would like to have me along.

"Obviously I didn't look like them much, because my hair wasn't very long and I didn't have a beard. But they were · the last people at that time to worry about any kind of image. In fact, later on my image became valuable as a sort of oasis of innocence. They accepted me on the basis of the contribution I made, which was dependability and some sort of organized music. You see, I could be counted on to play the same note roughly at the same time in a given song, every time they played it."

"A lot of New York kids were our early following, as the hippie phenomenon was beginning. But we'd also get a lot of uptown, middle-class. middle-brow, middleaged people, who would come in and giggle nervously away through the whole show. Most of the songs were Ed and Tuli's. Things like "Swineburn Stomp," " Wet Dream over You" and "Supergirl": I want a girl that can love like a monkey, hug like a castle, think like a darling, laugh like a lemon, eat like a monster, roar like a jug of wine.

Supergirl, my supergirl Supergirl, my supergirl "Ed Sanders did most of the singing, altho ugh Tuli did some in the early days.

The rest of us did background harmony, if you could call it that. For a long time our music was very rough and ragged, and yet people preferred the first album to the second, because it was so ... patently what it was, so blatant. We had a program to follow during the shows, a strict format.

It was presented as a kind of theater, "An Evening with the Fugs," with Playbills and all that.

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"The way the performance developed and continued, Ed Sanders had a continuous monologue throughout the show, making various comments, introducing people and songs and talking to the audience. Tuli would go through costume changes and pantomimes, and Ken Weaver would act the part of some hideous character like a bum on the Bowery or a faggot in Times Square, and Ed would be David Freakpuke interviewing him for the m ass media. We also had Lee Cragtrec, who was a masterful keyboard pianist. But Lee would get so pissed off at the lack of musical organization or he'd have some metaphysical 'vector' interferring with Ed that he'd periodically stomp off stage in the middle of a song, and we wouldn't see him for a few days.

"I was doing arrangements; Ed would construct a song and its lyrics and just work out a sketchy tune on the tape recorder. The rest of us would translate it into playable music. It was pretty clear by this time that Ed and Tuli and Ken were the Fugs and the other musicians were just sidemen. When we finally got to the point of incorporating ourselves, I was included as one of the four principal Fugs.

Not because I was making an equal contribution, but because I was dependable, compared to the other people. I managed to get along with them all.

"The summer was over, and I was tempted not to come back to New Haven, but I said I ought to try to make both scenes for a while. The first semester wasn't too bad and I went into New York to play on the weekends. I guess I got a fair amount of work done, but I was losing interest in English literature. The only bright spot was a paper I did on Milton, using Burroughs' Cut and Blend technique. I would transpose lines of Paradise Lost or blend them with other works, like Lawrence Durrell's Black Book. It's kind of like reading very free verse or looking at abstract art. You really have to be open to any possible significance.

"It's kind of related to what the Fugs and other groups were doing at the time.

There's really a difference between people 'doing their own thing' at any given time and people obeying a certain formula even if that formula itself is governed by chance. The Burroughs method, which Ed Sanders turned me on to, is structured. It really seems more valid than no form whatsoever, like a lot of purported 'music' that consists of using any noise you happen to generate. We used to do a lot of that in the early days of the Fugs, and you know, it just begins to pall.

"Second semester at Yale, things became difficult because I was in New York every day recording for our second album. At that time there was a kind of identity crisis going on: Was I a student or a rock-and-roll star? I was really trying to lead two lives, and though it wasn't Yale's fault , the scene in New York seemed to offer me more. I was dropping courses, so I figured I'd better resign for a year.

[

13 I The New Journal! February 9, 1969

"That spring I moved to New York, and we began to practice every day. Things weren't totally together, the drumming was still a problem, but it worked out. The music was really getting more coherent and more interesting. We were doing a lot of formal arranging, things that were more complex musically, something I had hoped for all along. I wanted to combine the songs that Tuli and Ed were writing, which I felt were really worthwhile, with music that would form a real rock-androll ethos. We wanted to make some money to be able to continue to reach other people, and we saw the music as a kind of political action.

"The music we were playing was pretty revolutionary. People talk about the songs of the Mothers of Invention; well, I guess we were the fathers of the Mothers. Their first album, Freak Out, was an idea that had been going on in New York for some time. We used to play at benefits with a group called the Falling Spikes, and together we'd be called the Transcendental Simulematic Orchestra; we'd play the background music for underground movies and light shows on dancing people, which was all starting at that time. The F aUing Spikes eventually became the musicians for Andy Warhol's group, the Velvet Underground. We referred to the music as acid rock and body rock and flesh rock and grope rock. A lot of those terms could really be ascribed to Ed Sanders, because he introduced a lot of terminology into the jargon that had been Times Square creep language. In fact, his position in the new linguistics was pretty central.

"That summer we did a peace concert at Carnegie Hall. There was an archetypal black blues singer there, blind, who played the twelve-string guitar beautifully. He -started singing a slow spiritual song, and Joan Baez sort of popped into the room and joined in. Ken Weaver was drunk at the time and got into a big argument with Theodore Bike!, who kept pounding his chest and yelling that he had been a member of the Movement for 30 years and we were just punks. I guess it was the voice of the Establishment.

"T he war was a pretty important issue among these people, even back in '64 and '65. At the time I felt the US was at least making a mistake if not doing something immoral. I was pretty involved, and I probably would have stayed with them for a year or so longer, or at least until I had decided to go back to Yale. The people I met were great: Harry Smith, Ted Berrigan and A lan Ginsberg, who is a friendly, open and warm guy who always gives you a friendly little grope when you see him.

But then the Army moved into my life.

"When I left Yale, it occurred to me that I might be drafted, but I intended to cop out, like so many people I know in New York. I had originally planned to appear before the physical board as a drug user and hope that they would reject me. The guys in the band didn't want me to go and offered to come with me and throw a big scene and help me put holes in my arms.

But I was called up in the peak month of October, '66, and anyone with two legs was accepted. So it came down to a choice of going in peacefully or going to jail. And I doubted what support the Fugs could provide in a court case.

"I really wasn't willing to be a martyr, although I thought it was a bad idea to become involved in the army. I was really questioning myself, because I couldn't be sure that my motives were pure. Although I felt that this war was a bad thing, I also believed that it was an inevitable function of human civilization and that it probably wouldn't end in my lifetime. Most of my opposition was just a feeling that I didn't want to be interrupted, that I didn't want to be bothered.

"When it came down to my actual induction scene, it was pretty long and painful and rather traumatic. I was regarded as being a freak because I had long sideburns and fairly long hair. So on the way down to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, I ducked into a barbershop and got a straight haircut; I wasn't about to give any Army barber some kind of orgasm from cutting my hair. At Fort Jackson, it was complete, total disorientation. The whole idea of Army training is to give you a feeling of isolation and unfamiliarity that empties you out and makes you receptive to the military way.

"At the time, I wasn't feeling sorry for myself. As soon as I accepted the fact that I was in the Army, I decided to devote my energies to doing a good job, so that I wouldn't get harassed more than necessary. I tend to be fairly practical and pragmatic anyway, and I had such a feeling of academic failure in the back of mind that it was a relief to do well on the tests they gave us in basic.

"The reaction among Gis to my being a Yalie and a former Fug was one of surprise, but I didn't get much of a hard time.

Our platoon became very close as a unit, and none of the others did. It was great to be part of cohesive, working group, something I guess I wanted with the Pugs. I found it easy to see what was demanded of me and to perform without feeling that I was really being changed. It was a kind of resuscitation period. It had occurred to me that the Army would be a kind of interesting time out, and when I finally got in, I decided that I would use the two years to become physically and mentally fit.

"I was assigned to be a radio operator in a stateside base, although I had requested to be a medic. I had hoped that I would have time to do some writing, but at the end of every day we'd all go off and get drunk or high. I had a lot of free time, and I would go up to New York all the time in those first months to see the Fugs.

"Most of the guys drafted were afraid or didn't want to go to Vietnam, and they didn't volunteer for infantry or armor.! didn't want to be the company peace creep, because I didn't see how it would do anything. I was able to work some people around to a kind of skepticism, but you begin to get the feeling of kinship with the poor Gis who are no better nor worse than you but are over there anyway. In April I found out that I was going to Vietnam; my orders came in the last week of June, and I left on July 27."

Jack is surprisingly casual about the transition from Fug musician singing "Kill for Peace" and participating in the early peace protests to a radio operator in South Vietnam. He was assigned to a twelvehour night shift with the Signal Corps and spent most of his free time reading and relaxing. ¡

where it~ at,Eli!

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

XEROX COPIES ON YOUR MIND?

by John Webster Adapted by Artistic Director Arvin Brown ro heighten its impact on a modern audience, this production will provide theatre-goers with a rare opportunity to see this infrequently-done English lite rary classic in costumes of the period.

See a classic of dramatic literature come alive in the intimacy of the Long Wharf Theatre.

Box Office 787-4282 Mon.-Fri. 8:30 Sats. 5 • & 9 Matinees: Thurs. Feb. 13 Wed. Feb. 26• •Free bus from H otel Taft Y2 hr. before matinees

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1!.

"After five months I decided that I really wanted to get into something else. I thought that I'd like to be a helicopter gunner o r something, because flying a helicopter is great; it's really fun. I was really feeling that I was missing something, that I should do something a little more exciting, see more of the country. I didn't specifically want to kill somebody, and I didn't expect to get a thrill out of it. But it turned out that the only unit available was the Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol that Westmoreland had established.

"The Long Range Patrol, a very small and off-beat little company, ran five-man scout patrols at night. We mainly just ran ambush patrols around the base camp. I was new, so I didn't get to go out at first, but I took fifteen or twenty missions in the last weeks I was there. A nd I never, never got into contact; the tension built up to an extent that I began to be really disappointed.

"Usually, with about ninety days left, a soldier is considered 'short,' and with a month left most guys really want to stay out of the field. But I went out when I only had two weeks left, because I wanted at least a little something to happen. It just worked out that guys would go into the same areas that I worked the day before or the day after, and make contact. But when I went, nothing.

"I felt that my luck was boringly good , and I led a kind of charmed life in Vietnam. It's not like I was walking into the teeth of danger, but when I made choices, I opted for the situation that that was potentially more dangerous. I just observed that it was happening. and it gave me a feeling of confidence.

"One morning a single rocket came into the company area next to ours, and landed about 200 feet away from my tent. There were 14 shrapnel holes in the tent from flying metal that bad pierced steel lockers.

T,hree of us were asleep, and none of us was hurt. In the company area where it landed there were eight guys killed and thirty-five wounded. But again we got away clean.

"I had people that knew and liked get kiJled. The only time that I got a little gut twang was when we held services for one guy in my unit. As members of the Long Range Patrol Westmoreland had us all wear black berets to give us a sense of group identity. We held services for this guy, and put his boots down and then stuck his rifle in the ground with his beret hanging on top. The division chaplain read services for him, and we were all pretty shaken. But in general death is something that you have to live with, and you become hardened to it.

Sergeant Anderson (he had been promoted by this time) looked at the war in "practical terms," trying to form a judgment from the information that was available. He says that in a military atmosphere the tendency is to look for a solution in military terms. Although most of the Gls over there are against our involvement, the ever-present pressure of the fighting m akes them see the North Vietnamese and the VietCong as the "enemy."

"I obviously went through a lot of little changes in how I felt about the war. For one thing, I just tended to look at it in practical terms-it exists. Whatever our mistakes in first entering the war, I know a lot of cases where the Vietnamese civilians, for whom I have some interest and sympathy, really were stepped on by the V.C. They forcibly induct people from an area, which we do too, but they do it at gunpoint. They depend on people for their food, and gain support by extortion. It's the Vietnamese peasants who always sufer, and I'd like to see a government that would protect people from reprisals after the war, and that would let us help them materially. I would like to see the Vietnamese get a good break-they haven't had one for a couple of thousand years.

"No matter how we're doing in the war, a soldier in Vietnam can't get away from seeing the Cong as the enemy. It's sort of like Yale-Harvard: whether or not you feel there's any sense to it, it's just a fact of your life. So you tend to feel, and I began to feel, that the VietCong and the N.V.A. were punks and were ... just our enemies.

"At the end of July, '68, I finally got out of the service. I worked in an assembly plant for several months before I came back here. I started to think about coming back to Yale while I was in Vietnam. I felt that although Yale may not be the most exciting experience or even the most worthwhile thing for me to do, having a college degree has its practical values. I don't know what I'm going to eventually do, and a B.A. might open a few doors.

"Since I've been back things have really changed culturally. The whole idea of hippies as a social stratum began and ended while I was in the Army. I was pre-hippie myself, because as a Pug we used the term to refer to kids who weren't doing anything but who had the clothes and came to hear us play. I guess I've viewed that whole scene as a pretty non-directional and unproductive way of life, and I wouldn't have been a hippie if I had remained a civilian; I hope I would have been a musician or some other kind of doer.

"But it's most surprising bow Yale has changed. When I was here I was a freak, whereas now I'm small potatoes, at least visually. And I've become aware, just by listening to people d iscuss their papers and exams, that people are able to live at Yale and have the same kind of life I led in New York. At the time, I found the two worlds incompatible. I guess it's conceivable that if I were in the same stage in my own development now, I might go through the same phases here at Yale involved with other Yale people. " I guess I've come some way in the last three years, but I don't feel that I have a 'pat my back, I'm a man now' feeling.

I don't feel that I'm too old to be going to college, and although my values and attitudes have changed, I haven't begun to feel decomposition or anything. I'm taking a course in engineering because it interests me, and I'm majoring in anthropology. I hope to write a little, do a little photography. And play a little music. I guess it's that I won't let go of my little persona dream, which is to be some kind of cool renaissance man."•

IS I The New Journal I February 9, 1969

Singer continued from page 2 Center for Management Studies, centers that will magically loosen the departmental bonds to release social scientists to study broader, concrete problems. Such researches might eventually influence educational and social policy and in the long run actually implement policy by the training (perhaps) of a few teachers and bureaucrats.

For the more immediate problems of New Haven, the Singer Report affirms the suggestion in Brewster's current annual report that Yale help initiate a Yale-New Haven Community Corporation which might include housing and educational corporations. What relations, however, will occur between such a corporation and the departmentalized researches of the Center for Urban Education? Relations that will guarantee undergraduate, graduate and community participation, or relations that will insure convenient research material for academics? Will the Center for Urban Studies, for example, commit itself to the Yale-New Haven Housing Corporation to explore as well as establish new ways to house both the coming influx of Yale students and the disadvantaged citizens of New Haven?

Such questions can be asked not to underscore the limitations of the Singer Report but to challenge rightfully the way it was subsequently publicized and handled. For it would seem that if the gist of the Report is simply to offer guidelines and if thus students, the community and faculty must combine to implement its suggestions, then something very different from an 'acceptance in principle' by the administration is needed. The Yale Daily News reporter conscientiously following the Report this past week called for more information and discussion. It is ironic that he was soon shut off from sources of information. Strange too that there should be concerned faculty in the Schools of Law, City Planning and Architecture, and in the Master's Teaching Program who have little knowledge of Yale's urban involvement and small insight into the nature of the university's projected cooperation with the city. Will such urban programs continue to be distilled in Woodbridge Hall, refined in the mysterious alembics of Mssrs. Fanton and Fleishman?

Mike Deasy

The New Politics Brook.Jyn's St. George Hotel is old and tarnished; thus, its choice as the scene of a statewide conference of Coalition for a Democratic Alternative may have been ominous. The theme of the January 18 meeting was "Toward a New Democratic Coalition." By the middle of the morning, I had placed a question mark at the end of that phrase on my program.

The collection of people there was intriguing, if not bewildering. They ranged from Robert Lowell to Norman Mailer, from Paul O'Dwyer to Stanley Steingut.

One thing was certain. Everyone who was anyone in left-liberal Democratic circles in the state of New York managed to make an appearance.

In the morning I wandered into a panel on "The Future of the New Politics"; the panelists included Peter Fishbein, an attorney and former aide to Robert Kennedy; Newfield Gorman, a speechwriter for the McCarthy campaign; Jack Newfield of the Village Voice; and Neal

Hurwitz of Columbia's Students for a Restructured University.

Fishbein began legalistically. For him the New Politics included both the McCarthy and Kennedy campaigns, which he conveniently lumped together, a practice that began, as I can best recall, the day after the New Hampshire primary. What the New Politics did not include for lawyer Fishbein, old beyond his years, were those bad boys from the New Left; and he soon proceeded to raise the spectre of the Weimar Republic and Nazi Germany. He was living proof that former Socialists like Irving Howe and everyone's parents are not the only ones who can draw inadequate comparisons.

Paul Gorman was the angry young man of the panel, and he voiced disaffection even with the now-controversial star of the show, Eugene McCarthy, whose afternoon appearance everyone eagerly awaited. Gorman spoke of the need for a redistribution of power in America, raising up the old demon of the military-industrial complex (now the military-industrialspace complex) and pointing to the need for leadership which had no stake in maintaining the present institutions.

In the afternoon I spent most of my time at a panel on the future of the Democratic state organization of New York. It began with a speech by Michael Harrington, who is a member of what someone called the Albert Shanker school of New Politics. Harrington spoke of the need for a new party within the Democratic Party. He took great pains to remind everyone, especially intellectuals, that labor was essential to the new coalition.

You know, I saw labor, especially in New York City, as part of the old coalition, the military-industrial-labor complex.

Ted Sorenson, whose interests in a revitalized Democratic Party are undoubtedly altruistic (though presumably he would accept a legitimate draft for the Senatorial nomination in 1970), spoke later and went out of his way to praise that famed anti-machine politician, Senator Abraham Ribicoff-never a bad idea in New York Democratic circles if you're canvassing for support. That raised in my mind the old lingering question of how such a dedicated anti-machine politician as Senator Ribicoff got where he did in such a dedicated machine state as John Bailey's Connecticut.

The CDA Conference was a testament to the old notion that politics makes strange bedfellows. This was nowhere more evident than when the panel was lectured by the latest hero of the New Politics in New York, State Chairman John Burns, accused of cheating the McCarthyites out of at-large delegates to the Convention last June. Burns was later to be hissed a bit by less forgetful members of the audience and defended by none other than Paul O'Dwyer. It is indeed depressing that the New Politics has sunk so low that Paul O'Dwyer is forced to defend John Burns.

Well, the best is always saved for last.

There he was, Don Quixote himself, fresh from a vote for Russell Long and a favor for Gale McGee to tell us all about the New Politics in 1969. Gene McCarthy still held the hearts of the crowd, though; they stood (not all, but most) and cheered wildly.

McCarthy, praised in an introduction

by Paul O'Dwyer for having the courage to debate Joe McCarthy in the 1950s and challenge Lyndon Johnson in the 1960s, was not about to duck the questions on

everyone's mind. First came the bitterness of the man. As some in the audience began to indicate their displeasure for his jokes about his recent actions in the Senate, Gene went after the jugular. He had gone up to New Hampshire to hunt big game in the person of Lyndon Johnson, but a lot of people, a Jot of these rabbit-hunters, had not gone with him.

They had stayed home though he had invited them to come a few times. Then, later on, they came. Old Gene was not about to be put on the defensive by any Kennedyites around.

Bitterness was not all, though. McCarthy spoke of the need for changes in people and politics and political processes in the USA. He spoke of the need for a movement centered around the people and not around leaders, a movement that was its own and not his. He indicated that if the movement were so dependent on his vote for Senate whip and on his presence on Foreign Relations, it was really in bad shape and perhaps had misjudged him.

It almost seemed that Gene had deliberately wished to destroy the hero-worship surrounding him. Perhaps not surprising for a man who was always more anti-hero than hero. The man is strange and egotistical and arrogant; but if he hadn't been, he might never have run against LBJ and we might all be the worse off because of it.

The real probJem is that the New Politics, CDA style, is not new enough. The predominance of middle-aged and middleclass people at the conference was not inspiring. Their hearts may be in the right place, but their understanding of the issues and power realities in America is often limited.

Looking around the CDA convention, . and even listening to Lowenstein and McCarthy, I could sense why McCarthy's speechwriter Paul Gorman had become discontented. People were talking about making radical changes in the quality of our national life but were not talking about radical tactics or even about radical programs. It was a not-so-New Politics that day at the not-so-new St. George Hotel.

Robert Lamm

Random thought Dr. Arthur W. Galston, chairman of the faculty's committee on the course of study, said, "ROTC is like singing in the Whifienpoofs-a perfectly fine activity."

If you have the choice, may we suggest the latter.

Club sandwich Every night, the old United Restaurant on Chapel Street used to feed, and occasionally poison, generations of book-weary Yale men. The greasy floors, the everpresent smoke and the Early Attic decor lent a charm to the United that brought a few tears at its demise nearly three years ago. At some point since then, Yale purchased the property and converted the old greasy spoon into the United Restaurant Art Gallery.

The spirit of the old United was recaptured for us last week when we received an invitation to the opening of the latest gallery event, screened on old United place mats. A two-man show by Bruce Mcintosh and Frank Mouris, students in the graphic design program at the Yale School of An and Architecture, in a way thematically describes the full menu of graphic design as "the club sandwich" of the visual arts.

Against the gray dampness and stale beer aroma of the old building, the show itself offers a freshness and variety of theme that is a tribute to the range of these two artists. Assemblages, sculptures, designs, collages, and Rauschenberg-type rubbings fill the gallery. Significantly, these mixed-media forms represent the personal and highly individualistic attitudes of the artists towards their presentation and subject matter.

"Maybe it goes back to my childhood," insists Frank Mouris, who majored in Architectural Sciences at Harvard before coming to Yale, "but I can't bear to throw anything away. I have a thing about baby shoes, old gloves, weathered pieces of wood; things that people throw away. And I try to give them a new meaning by placing them in an unusual context. The same is true of the pieces of magazine that I use in my collages. The juxtaposition of advertizing symbols and magazine photos make people more visually aware of the idioms they take for granted every day.

"One of the more striking examples of what I mean is in the sculpture titled 'Prominent Member.' There was an old porch pillar lying behind our house for a whole summer. The trashmen refused to take it away. I cut it into an old piece of driftwood that I found in Maine, and it worked beautifully. I mean it represents 'a study of surface textures in a wood sculpture' but it's also the most ,.--ouc thing I've ever seen."

This combination of a satiric sense of humor and a more serious search for new means of visual expression gives the work of both artists an exuberance and vitality that makes the show almost a dramatic event.

"It's a matter of total visual communication," insists Bruce Mcintosh, a former student at Rhode Island School of Design and a Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Brown.

"I find the arbitrary divisions within the arts really meaningless. Why all the boundaries between sculpture, painting, film and graphic design? I hope my work makes people forget the critical labels, and rather see the beauty in the interrelation of themes and styles.

"I feel that the show is a kind of personal history for me. It includes work from over a long period, and it lets me see where my work has come from and where it is going. There is a personal rhythm in seeing component parts in several different forms. The same things appear in the calendar assemblage, in the rubbings, and in the collages that indicate some of the commercial and social idioms that bug me.

"Things like flags and eagles, the whole Americana bit, has been a hang-up for a long time. A brutal juxtaposition of some of the phony things we say and the visual emblems we accept can be strikingly beautiful, visually, as well as socially meaningful. I hope the tension created by the crossing of themes and media can shake people enough to let them experience art openly, to let them share the excitement I feel and want to communicate."

t

The p'rOnleJ~alle conlJnittee en,cottt·ages faculty lll~ll grltllttate lschool participlttioJ~ i1~ ...

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