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21The New Journal I May 11, 1969

Contents

3

Buckminster Fuller takes a look at the world.

by Lawrence Lasker

5

Clement Markert takes another look.

by David Meter

7

Ed Logue takes yet another.

by Susan Braudy

2

Douglas Hallett responds to last issue's article on the Yale Summer High School.

13

Paul Goldberger, who wrote the article, replies.

Letters To the Editors: I have read with considerable interest the column by Jonathan Lear on the Yale Daily News and the article by Paul Goldberger on Lawrence Paros and the Summer High School in your April 27 issue.

In view of your magazine's well deserved reputation for sound and reliable reporting, I find the articles and the possible results of their being taken seriously very disturbing. Speaking entirely as an individual, and not for the News or Mr. P aros, I would, therefore, I ike to respond to your contentions.

According to Mr. Goldberger, "The combination of YSHS's financial woes and its educational crisis was the real reason for Yale's decision to discharge Paros."

To prove Mr. Paros's alleged financial incompetence, Mr. Goldberger cites nobody.

To prove his thesis of an "educational crisis," he relies on the alleged views of three teachers in the Summer High School.

According to Mr. Lear, "three months" of research went into Mr. Goldberger's article. It seems to me that if in this time Mr. Goldberger could find no more substantiated evidence to support his charges than the views of those three teachers and his own intuition, The New Journal owes Mr. Paros an apology for printing those assertions.

In analyzing the educational crisis, Mr. Goldberger cites only three teachers; he also never explains what his criteria for evaluation are. By the traditional criteria of college admissions Mr. ParQs was more sucessful than his predecessor, Joel Fleishman, now Associate Provost for Urban Affairs. Of course, the whole point of Mr. Paros's program was to question traditional criteria, but this does not entitle Mr. Goldberger to develop his own unnamed ones. Certainly, he should have looked to educational authorites, both within and outside the program, and to a broader sampling of teachers and students.

If he h ad, he would have found that the vast majority of Summer High School students, faculty and observers support Mr. Paros's work.

There are thirty-seven former students and faculty of the Summer High §chool in the New Haven area, twelve at Yale. Yet Mr. Goldberger is only able-to quote four, one of whom, Mr. Frank, has informed me that he has been quoted out of context without his permission, and that the quotation used does not reflect his opinion of the program. Mr. Hildebidle and Mr. Ciochetto, Mr. Goldberger's other two references, were Mr. Paros's most vehement critics within the program; the criticisms of Mr. Hildebidle are contained in a document he himself terms a per-

sonal polemic. The vast majority of students and faculty to whom I have spoken and whose letters to Mr. Paros I have read praise Mr. Paros's work. It seems to me that Mr. Goldberger has an obligation to consider their views with more than just a short quotation from one girl.

Only two outside observers spent any length of time at the Summer High School -Edgar Friedenberg, one of the nation 's leading educational theorists and a man whose praise of YSHS you quoted several issues ago, and Edgar Beckham, of Wesleyan University. After several days of intensive interviews and analysis, these men had high praise for both the conceptualization and the management of the program. Mr. Friedenberg has called the 1968 Summer High School "the hope for America." Mr. Beckham has praise for not only the theoretical design of the program, as Mr. Goldberger noted, but also for its management, which Mr. Goldberger did not note and which runs counter to his argument. He wrote: The thing that struck me most about the Yale Summer High School was the thoughtfulness and depth of the theoretical design .... The inteUectual implications of the core course had been worked out in great detail, and even the behavior of students had been anticipated, interpreted, and worked into a conceptual framework. In short, I thought the program was extremely well conceived. [end of Tile New Journal quote] It seemed to me that the social problems

which confronted the program were handled skillfully. You [Mr. Paros] had quite a volatile mix of students on your hands, but their energies were channeled productively. 1 was also impressed by the effect of the shift in the recruitment procedures. It was clear that the Upward Bound kids, who were new to the program, were more aggressively bright and displayed more inteUectual energy than the students who were returning to YSHS fot a second summer.

Even if Mr. Goldberger feels that Mr. Paros could not deal, in academics and in discipline, with the type of alienated student recruited for the program, and perhaps that the Summer High School shouldn't have tried to do so, it seems to me that he has an obligation to note that the only two outside professional educators who examined the program support Mr. Paros on both counts. Instead, he ignores Mr. Friedenberg's views completely and includes only those aspects of Mr. Beckham's opinions which do not run counter to his argument. Nor does Mr. Goldberger ever consider the views of Dr. Lawrence Gould and Dr. Edward Klein, the Summer High School's research consultants, who have evaluated the program since its inception.

Mr. Goldberger uses a quotation from Mr. Ciochetto to imply that Jonathan Hall tricked certain faculty members into signing a statement endorsing Mr. Paros.

Whether or not the statement endorses Mr. Paros personally is open to question; my own reading is that it only asks for an explanation of Mr. Paros's dismissal and criticizes the style of thinking reflected in the Singer Report. In either case, however, it is irrefutable that Mr. Hall read the full statement to Mr. Ciochetto before he signed it. If Mr. Ciochetto now believes that the statement constitutes a personal endorsement of Mr. Paros, it is only because he now interprets the statement differently than he did when he signed it, not because he was tricked. Mr. Goldberger writes:

Traditionally, the anthology [of faculty evaluations) is distributed to the Administrative Board of the Summer High School and becomes an important factor in the review of the year; this time, however, Paros withheld copies of the critical report. Members of the Board and staff writers of the Yale Daily News, who thought they were getting the "full story" were never even made aware of its existence.

In point of fact, the anthology is prepared for internal staff use and has never before been distributed for general use or given to the Board. But my own experience is that Mr. Paros is quite willing to let anyone sec it once they understand its nature.

Mr. Goldberger himself was offered a copy. Contrary to what he reports, I too was aware of it and have read it.

The anthology is "critical," but not in the negative sense Mr. Goldberger implies. The anthology is designed to assist the staff in the planning for the following year; understandably, those who have no criticisms are less likely to write evalutions. One-third did not last year. Those who did wrote evaluations which I would describe as "mixed"-not too surprising considering the experimental nature of the program. But the views expressed in the anthology right after the summer do not necessarily constitute views held permanently. Teacher Jim Elston recently wrote Mr. Paros: During the summer I felt that I had a fairly good understanding of what was going on.

Recent reflections and insight have shown me that I was merely at one level of understanding and there are many above it of which I was unaware.

With this in mind I cannot understand how Mr. Goldberger, knowing the nature of the anthology, could base his entire opinion of the program on the views of Mr. Paros's two most vehement critics as expressed in that anthology. Certainly he has an obligation to consider the views of Mr. Friedenberg, Mr. Beckham and the majority of the Summer High School students and faculty who support Mr. P aros's work.

Mr. Goldberger's financial analysis appears to be based largely on a memorandum prepared by Jonathan Fanton, University Consultant for Special Education Programs. Nowhere does he quote or consider the views of Francis Nicoll, Dir.ector of the Office of Gifts and Grants, who keeps the Summer High School books. Of course, he also does not quote Mr. Fanton. Having compared the YSHS budget with Mr. Fanton's memorandum, I can well understand why Mr. Fanton did not allow himself to be quoted-his memorandum, blaming the YSHS deficit on Mr. Paros, is a total distortion of the true facts of the matter. At the very least, Mr. Fleishman, who was responsible for supervising and approving Mr. Paros's budget as his immediate superior, shares joint responsibility for any mismanagement. It should be noted that Mr. Fleishman never made clear what Mr. Paros's fund-raising responsibilities were and never questioned his budget. Mr. Paros understandably modeled his budget on Mr. Fleishman's for the previous year; the Comptroller's Office statements which Mr. Paros allegedly didn't read revealed that overhead charges, half by design and half through a clerical error in the Office of Gifts and Grants, were waived on that budget, and accordingly Mr. Paros waived overhead charges on his. Mr. Paros's budget, with no overhead charges, went continued on page 11

Volume two, number eleven May 11, 1969 Editor: Jonathan Lear Executive Editor: Herman Hong Managing Editor: Lawrence Lasker Business Manager: Steve Thomas Art Director: Nita Kalish

Associate Editor: Paul Goldberger Advertising Manager:

K. Elia Georgiades Copy Editors: Nancy Vickers Craig Slutzker Photography Editor: Robert Randolph Circulation Manager: John Adams Contributing Editors: Michael Lerner Bruce Mcintosh David Meter LeoRibuffo Publisher: Peter Yaeger Staff: Tom Abell, Richard Caples, Leo Draper, Mark Fishman, James Hinson, Stuart Klawans, Manuel Perez, Michael David Rose, Deborah Rubin, Scott Simpson, Joel Skidmore, Warner Wada, Michael Waltuch THIRD CLASS NON-PROFIT PERMIT: Third Class Non-Profit postage PAID in New Haven, Conn. The New Journal is published

by The New Journal at Yale, Inc. 3432 Yale Station, New Haven, Coon. 06520, and is printed at The Carl Purington Rollins Printing-Office of the Yale University Press in New Haven. Published bi-weekly during the academic year and distributed by qualified controlled circulation to the Yale Community.

For aU others, subscriptions are $7.50 per year ($4.50 for students) and newstand copies 50¢.

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

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

Credits: Wayne Creekmore: page 3 C lement Markert: page 5 New Haven Register: page 9

When Buckminster Fuller looks at the world, he sees the universe.

by Lawrence Lasker

There wasn't much fanfare when Buckminster Fuller came to Yale last February.

In fact, if you weren't paying close attention to the posters tacked up around the campus, it would have been quite easy not to know that he came at all. He gave one public, four-hour rap in the Law School Auditorium in the afternoon and then seemed to disappear along with his ideas.

Where he took them, though, was down the street to the Art and Architecture Building to begin a series of classes that would leave a few students mildly bored, would afford others with some good things to think about and, for the few who were ready to really get into what Fuller was saying, would change their lives.

"I am giving you the way I think as best as I know how," Fuller told the gathered architects, city planners and graphic designers that first night. "These are the most prominent thoughts I have in my head, and I am really hoping you wiJl take these away from me and think about them and do something with them. But I don't think about any of these things as school work or credits or exercises. This is life, this is it, and we are living on the frontier. It's terribly exciting, because you gradually find that you are right, and you are seeing for the first time that man is beginning to realize what he is doing here in the universe, what his function is on this spaceship, Earth ...."

I first became interested in Buckminster Fuller three weeks ago. A friend, who was visiting Yale after leaving last September to try life in the East Village, had left an old hard-backed book by my bed, Fuller's 1938 Nine Chains to the Moon, and I glanced at it before going to sleep. I had not heard him speak, and all I knew of Fuller was he had designed the geodesic dome. I first thought the book was a eulogy to technology, complete with foldout time lines showing the onward march of progress, and done with a rather peculiar sense of world mission. I wanted to dismiss the book for its ignorance of the coming products of technology, but I remembered hearing rumours about some far-out game Fuller was planning at the A&A Building. I decided to ask someone who had gone to the classes what was going on.

Fuller had been asked to come to Yale

by Herbert Matter, a New York designer who wanted to make a movie about Fuller and his ideas. Matter visited him at his geodesic dome home in Carbondale, where Fuller is head of Southern Illinois University's World Resources Inventory. The two men decided to work with Matter's design students at Yale on the problem of visually communicating the ideas behind what should turn out to be Fuller's greatest project, a natural outgrowth of the work he has been doing for most of his seventy-three years: The World Game.

"I guess the best way to understand the World Game is to try to get into how Fuller thinks," Wayne Creekmore told me sitting at his desk in the basement of the A&A. Creekmore, a third-year design student, has committed himself to help figure out how to get Fuller's ideas across in visual terms. If he weren't "forced by society to make money to exist," he would devote all of his time to the problem, which he thinks is the most important work to be done in life.

Now Fuller's thought-style is really pretty basic, which does not necessarily mean that it is widely known. He learned early in his life that, to trust the wisdom of his elders was to insure inaccurate

Using tetrahedrons, Fuller has described three basic states of matter.

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water edges hinge

thought. (Partly because of this attitude, he was thrown out of Harvard twice.) "By now," he says, "I've spent a lot of my life just trying to unlearn ways that my reflexes have been conditioned to respond. It's hard, because it takes more than just intellectually realizing what is right." What Fuller tries to do is "ask myself the largest questions I can think of asking, and then answer them without any preconceived ideas of politics or economics, but in terms of my own experience. And I find that if man does not think in terms of the total universe, he is likely to leave out some very important concepts."

Take Fuller's example of Einstein's discoveries (somewhat simplified). When Einstein looked out at the universe and saw one star as a live show taking place thirty thousand years ago and another as a live show taking place eighteen hundred years ago, he intuitively felt that the concept of an "instant," simultaneous universe was wrong. Instead, be postulated that the universe was "an aggregate of non-simultaneous, only partially overlapping transformations of events." Then maybe, he thought, the universe is not running down as so many men believe; and this led to the discovery of the real conservation of energy. Energy is not destroyed or lost; it just goes somewhere else.

"But I find," Fuller told the design students, "that society is so tremendously specialized that there has been almost no philosophizing in this country, no integrating the significance of the different information coming in. For instance, because of the cosmological concept of the universe running down, as I came into the intellectual wocld of Harvard, this concept meant that our resources are going to diminish, that they get spent. Spending is a very powerful word in politics, the idea of running down. But there has been no revision of economics chapters because of the discovery of the real conservation of energy.... There was almost a philosophic premise that socialism wouldn't work because there wouldn't be enough to go around for everybody. But there is enough, now, for all of mankind."

Reading Fuller is a little like reading optimistic science fiction, but when one considers that there are people dying every day of starvation and overcrowding, his ideas have overwhelming appeal. "Life tends to behave very well if it has the right environment," he has said. "Our job is to try to see how we can organize the world so man can be free to enjoy his total earth. The World Game is the way I began to see we might get there in a little more hurry than any other way." The Game is to be played on a computerized map of the world, and for forty years Fuller and his team have been compiling a vast inventory of resources and human trends to feed into the computers. Experts in different fields from all over the world will travel to Carbondale to play the final game. (This summer students from colleges throughout America will play the Game for the first time, on a limited scale, working with Fuller at the Studio School in New York.)

Fuller bas already come up with some pretty amazing proposals for man. After looking at energy sources, he bas suggested that man use income energywater, wind and direct sun power-rather than depletive (and pollutive) energy sources like oil and coal. There is, he says, more energy in one hurricane than in the combined atomic stockpiles of Russia and the US. One proposal he has

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offered is a total world energy link-up using the tremendous power of the melting waters in the arctic.

His solutions seem to multiply themselves. It is obvious that computers can work many times as efficiently as human beings, he says, so ideally they will free man for more human work. "Now, the number of people in bureaucracies is astounding, and I say that all they want is that job; all they want is to be sure the family eats, and you're not supposed to be allowed to live unless you have a job. So if you say I'm going to pay you if you will go fishing, he's going to go fishing, and all the business offices will be emptied out.

We will now be allowed to really go into automation instead of just pretending.

And so you have all the computers down in the cellar-they don't take up much room-and yet there are all these people sleeping in the slums. So this is what will happen the minute you do this: every one of those big beautiful buildings in New York and every city around the world will simply become those people's new homes.

There, I've taken care of your urbanism."

He smiles, and the students laugh at the simplicity.

"It is now becoming perfectly clear to me that mankind is in trouble/' Fuller said to the class one afternoon. "He may be on the verge of extinction. And we know that all the biological species that have become extinct have done so through over-specialization. But man is designed by nature to be generally adaptable, and every child is clearly interested in everything-he asks the most beautiful questions about the whole universe. So why did he get to be a specialist? Why do we get a ll the schools designing people to be specialists? I'm sure nature doesn't have a department of physics or chemistry."

He fixes the blame for this state of affairs in America on the early "pirate" . capitalists whose success in commerce depended upon the secrecy of their maneuvers. ''They found it necessary to have their brain slaves, so they founded the great graduate schools, starting with Harvard. But these men were all specialists, and the qnly men who knew what was going on were the giants on top. Now, when these giants were cleared out during the Depression, these schools kept on turning out more and more specialists.

They still are." Whether or not this is a very accurate account of what happened, Fuller goes on to make a very important observation: because this nation was set up to ins ure the free maneuvering of business, the government has little power to take initiative in the development of technology. "We can only really have a federal initiative at the time of war. During World War II, this country made tremendous steps in technology, but it was all put into war equipment. After the war, our whole system depended on the initiative of the government, so you know what they did?

They said, "Well, we'll get ready for World War III. The military tells us there will be a tremendous Armageddon, so we'll be r eady.' And that's what they are doing."

So what is to be done? ''There is a question whether you can overcome the formidableness of the inertia, the fear, the great bureaucracies. But I have seen many things topple now, and they topple only when you have something better to offer.''

Buckm inster FuUer has three watches on his wrist: one set for the place where he is, one set for the place where he is heading, and one set for Carbondale, Illinois

time. He travels all over the world offering his ideas, and in h is life has circled the earth hundreds of times. According to him, his reception is favorable wherever he speaks. "I meet particularly with the students. They take me into their home life, and everywhere I go around the world I find that humanity is saying, 'We are not against any other human beings; we feel that the world ought to work together.'

They say it is our politicians that get us into troubl.e. This is the majority viewpoint all around the earth today."

Russia thinks enough of Fuller that Pravda is now printing his books; Walter Reuther is his friend; and they love him in Ghana. He went there several years ago as a visiting professor in the school of architecture and helped. the students design tropical buildings. As he was boarding the plane to leave, his class showed up at the airport in caps and gowns and told him: "Before you came we were sure you would have nothing..for us. The Russians, the Chinese and the Americans come to us and try to proseletyze us. You told us the truth. We love you.''

Fuller has tried his best to remain neutral and unbiased, because his vision is a world one not limited to any organization or nation. When his second child was born back in 1927, he vowed that he would not use his abilities "to make money to get special advantage for her. I figured she would not want me to do anything else."

I nstead, he has tried to remain outside the "profit-minded" structure of the society he lives in.

In describing his life to the Yale design students, Fuller said, "When I was trying to figure out what the little individual could do in our society, I saw that society pays no attention to me; they are just going along like a great big ship. I try to get out in front and they pay no attention to me, they just go .right¡by. So I find after they have all gone by I can be just a trim little rudder here and I just put my foot over . like that ... and here we go!"

After the Second World War Fuller sent his friends a Christmas card with a poem he had written on it: "It wiJl take many waves of threatened self-destruction by society to convince and instruct and mobilize an effectively articulate majority of humanity in the synchronization of society towards an objective evolutionary volition inspired by deeply acknowledged faith in an o m niscient wisdom.and benevolence instructing through intellect.... " If Fuller is right in his ultimate faith that men wiJI stop short of blowing themselves to pieces, then maybe we've got it made. Mankind now finds itself on an extraordinarily well-equipped biosphere, where technology can very easily provide enough resources to benefit aU of mankind , not just the current forty-four per cent. But when man reaches this stage, and when he no longer has to spend life labori ng because the computer has set him free, what will he do?

"What man has that is unique, that has gotten us where we are now," Fuller told the Yale students, " is his intellect. How did it happen that our spaceship Earth didn't have a m anual the way our German camera has telling you how to operate it?

It would be perfectly easy; we have sweets and sours; we could have red and green signals telling us what to do and what not to do. But it didn't come out that way.l think that the reason we didn't have a manual was because we were confronted with the necessity to make the experiment, to discover what we really have, and

what we really have is a mind. And it's a part of universal evolution. It's a very extraordinary thing, this ability to transcend the physical special case and apprehend the amazing orderliness of the universe.

"We h ave gotten to the point where we find not only the physical world taking energy and ordering it, like p lants, but we find the metaphysical, then, apprehending, comprehending and cohering.

We find E instein as intellect, metaphysically taking the measure of the physical and writing equations. E equals me 2 • There is nothing in our experience which suggests that energy wiJI ever write the equation of intellect, though. I ntellect has a unique function in the universe.

"So we have been provided with an enormous, excess increment of resources to give us trial and error to discover ourselves and to discover whatever our function really may be. I think it is now discoverable, and if it is discoverable, we really know what we ought to be doing about it. I really just can't be content with reading fiction anymore. I can't because the universe itself is just more and more tantalizing, it gets more and more mystical as I think about it. Because while I say this is what we know, I still don't know how come? How come there are all these generalized principles we have discovered?

"And we know what we ough t to be doing. I'll point out to you as an example this little b ird, an embryo encased in an egg with a ll the chromosomic instructions on how to design that bird. And all the nutriments necessary. Only one thing more is n ecessary, a little heat. Just exactly the right critical heat which is given by the mother bird. Then, suddenly when there is enough in there for the bird to develop itself in a beautifully controlled environment, now it's big enough to be actually its own nutriment inside the egg. It tries to get in all directions, it inadvertently pecks the egg shell a nd breaks it open, slowly breaks it, and suddenly there he is standing. And he's got all the equipment now tO really get around and go out and explore. Well, I would say humanitywe have just broken our egg shell. We have just broken out." ~

When Clement Markert looks at the world, he sees the people.

by David Meter

When Clement Markert was twenty, he and his university roommate said goodbye to Colorado and went to fight the fascists in the Spanish Civil War. Exactly a year later Markert was back in classes, beginning honors work in Biology. His roommate was dead, killed when the Abraham Lincoln Brigade was surrounded by Franco's troops and virtually annihilated.

Markert had been one of a lucky few.

Today Clement L. Markert is fifty-two and chairman of the Yale biology department. Although he is not well known among Yale students, he has a national reputation as a statesman among scientists.

He edits journals, chairs committees and lobbies before scientific advisors to the US government as a member of the Committee on Science and Public Policy of the prestigious National Academy of Sciences. His research on the chemistry of the isozyme LDH produced the last significant discoveries in the field of developmental biochemistry until just recently.

Markert is a brusque man. Some, even some who know him best, caJI him a cold man. He is known as a scrupolously fair, blunt and decisive department chairman who does not like to share responsibility and powers with anyone else. Few people think of him as a radical anymore, and few people know about his rich radical history in the tradition of the International. His life is now apolitical outside of scientific circles, a n inactivity which is belied by the strong words he still uses to describe his "outrage" at the crimes of the American capitalist system. A colleague and close friend gently chides him for his refusal to reenter radical activity and for his failure to play a major role in the Day of Reflection on science, technology and the military held March 4 at Yale.

Markert himself considers that be is a "fundamentally very radical individual" according to a rather broad definition:

hind his desk and talked freely, if dispassionately, about his history as a radical, a soldier and a biologist. I munched jellybeans from a small beaker on the desktop (they were a demonstration gift from the company that made the beaker), and listened, occasionally asking a question.

Clement Markert's adolescent years in Pueblo, Colorado coincided exactly with the lowest depths of the Depression. The general mood of discouragement among Colorado steelworkers led him "torepudiate completely any support for the so-called free enterprise system under which we operate." His father was a foreman in the steel mills, and Clement as a teenager went to work in the mills and nearby farms during the summers.

While on the job, he helped organize the steelworkers union, and after two years of organizing saw the union win its first election and begin to act as the workers' bargaining agent.

I didn't try to communicate my more sociaJist feelings because understanding them required a level of sensitivity and sophistication which scarcely any of the workmen bad. Rather, I tried to point out their immediate interests as I saw them. The security of their jobs, the level of their pay, the kind of treatment they would receive from the company. Not at all

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His prescription for American society sounds radical too:

And yet Markert is not ready any longer to lead people into the street, because he concludes we are not really in a revolutionary situation and knows more efficient and less futile uses for his talent.

Markert's office in the Kline Biology Tower is small and nearly undecorated, walled with pale yellow concrete blocks which would belong more in a warehouse or rec room than in a beautifully proportioned skyscraper. There Markert sat be-

The FBI was quickly informed of Markert's decision, and he and his roommate were denied passports. With help from friendly people in New York they were able to stow away aboard a freighter bound for France. "We h ad to lie under a seaman's bunk for fourteen days, all the time, all the way there. A couple of sympathetic crew members fed us." The same sailors carried them off the ship, past . guards who assumed they were dead drunk. In Paris they made contact with comrades who soon helped them sneak across the Pyrenees into Spain, avoiding French police patrols.

They reached Figueras and joined the International Brigades, then went to Albaceti for training. The situation was critical since Franco was trying to cut the Loyalist position in two by means of an offensive from his stronghold in the North all the way to the Mediterranean.

CARNEr DE AFILIADO ARO 1938 II'! 224051

A radical is one who is not only willing but dares to question the fundamental nature of anything he encounters, and I do continuously. I don't really think you can be a good scientist unless you're pretty radical.

The nature of our society requires a fundamental transformation, an overturning if you wish. And that's true at this very moment.

Unless we are able to solve the problems of being a militaristic, imperialistic society, that's likely to create a crisis. In fact the Vietnam War has about created such now. But the powers that are running the country are able to even manage with that kind of egregious affront to the country ... they can still manage. It's incredible that they can do so. I should have thought something like the Vietnam War would have had ninety per cent of the population in the street with guns, but obviously it doesn't. If most people felt like I do, they would be in the street with guns.

ments that were involved in a world-wide scale. And particularly it had a great deal of significance for countries like France, England and the United States, m terms of making the population aware of what the nature of the battles were throughout the world. I decided that the best thing to do would be to become a participant in that war. So I volunteered.

did I try to recruit them on the basis that the capitalist system was no good. If anyone had tried to do that, he would have failed .

"Interacting" with communists and socialists around the University of Colorado, where he went in 1935, politicized Markert even further. He became the leading organizer of a communist student group affiliated with the Communist Party of Colorado. The rise of Hitler, the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and the Japanese push into China provoked a reaction against fascism which bad a further effect on student-radical Markert. The Spanish war broke out in 1936: By the time I was a junior, the Spanish Civil War was in full swing. Various speakers would come through Colorado and would present information as to the nature of the war and its general significance. I became persuaded that in fact it was one of the major battlefronts in a growing conflict throughout the world between the fascist forces and all those who were against such a direction in human affairs.... It seemed to me that a touchstone of this battJe was represented by the Spanish War. Not so much that it was militarily significant, but was a kind of micro-

cosm, a representation of all the major eleMarkert, having been trained for three weeks, was sent to the front with the Lincoln-Washington Battalion.

Well, at the time I joined the battalion it had about five hundred members, and we were right in the center of the battle. Within a few days we were surrounded, and all but fifty of us were kiiJed. I was one of the lucky ones, of course. When the final breakup occurred, the survivors were dispersed at night, and I found myself back of the fascist lines and all alone, and it took me three days and three nights to make my way through the fascist lines until I came to the Ebro river which was the temporary boundary between the opposing forces.

And I swam across the river and was back in Loyalist territory.

Markert regrouped with the Loyalists.

I was a foot soldier at the beginning, but became a scout. The scouts always proceeded the advance of the battalion. They usually discovered the enemy by getting shot at. That was the most certain way ... to discover them. Most all of the scouts were killed of course, sooner or later. At the end I was chief of the scouts, the Sergeant-in-Charge. But there were none at the end who started out when I did. They'd all been killed.

I was very fatalistic about it. I didn't think my chances were worth anybody's gamble.

After all, when you see everybody around you dying you can't be too confident it won't happen to you in the next few minutes. But I never worried about it. I realized that'd be one event I'd never regret, so I just didn't give it any serious thought. I took all of the normal, proper evasive action in order to preserve myself in battle. I didn't stick my head up unnecessarily.

In fact it's so hard sometimes that you just cancel out the danger and are not willing to work so hard any more. Instead of running bent over for the next hundred years you say 'The Hell with it!' and just stand up and walk.

You get so tired out that you just don't care what happens any more. On some marches, when we were surrounded, I remember we would march for so long, and-then rest for a few minutes, and then march again, that some individuals wouldn't get up. They'd say 'Nope, it's not worth it'. 'Well look,' we say, 'We're surrounded. You stay here and you'll be killed.' 'Too bad.' And they'd just stay there. We'd kick 'em and stick 'em with a bayonet to make 'em move.

The internationals who remained in late 1938 were evacuated by the League of Nations. The Loyalists had lost the war, the Munich agreement had been signed and the potentially anti-fascist forces in the world had not declared war on the menace seen by Markert three years earlier. Markert m ade it home for Christmas and three weeks later was a fuU time student again. "Some people cannot become satisfactory civilized human beings again after being in wars," Markert notes, but he himself" ... didn't have any difficulty at all. I was gone from the university exactly a year and took right up where I left off."

On his return Markert refused to join Veterans of th~ Abraham Lincoln Brigade because he didn't want to become "The Old Soldier," and because he felt that, "That was a very inefficient and sterile way to invest my political energies for the future." Today he has no contact with anyone he knew well then.

When the United States finally entered the fight against fascism Markert volunteered for the Air Corps, which refused to accept him because of his "subversive" activities. So Markert joined the Merchant Marines and spent four years as a radio operator.

While Markert was going to graduate school after the war he continued politicking, a part of his life's activity which he describes in an exceedingly prosaic way.

He canvassed for Henry WaUace in 1948 with the Committee of the Arts, Sciences and Professions, which, as J . P. Trinkaus, who worked with him then, interprets it, represented the American non-communist democratic left. Markert just says that he was still involved in organizing laborers, working for certain pieces of legislation or for "this person or that." He began to feel that action in purely political arenas didn't make much practical difference to the advance of the causes in which he believed. He grew discouraged and around 1950 "just stopped" trying to organize people. He became a biolosist exclusively, moved from department to department and built a distinguished career, restricting his political expression to radical "interaction" with those immediately around him and to rational advising of people in high places.

America's prosperity under capitalism since World War II surprised Markert and seems to have disillusioned him from further radical action. The effect of this prosperity on American workers, who

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shifted their support from one Wallace to another twenty years later, was for Markert "an ironic, bitter pill to swallow."

All this changed Markert's perception of the system, though not his readiness to rail against it, with charges of "outrage," " insanity," "absurdity," and "grossly distorted" social goals "not worthy of the consideration of rational men."

What really was required was a transformation of the whole nature of our society and after the tremendous battles that were involved in organizing labor-and I played a small role in those-it turned out that labor became one of the most conservative influences in our society.! had not the slightest interest in bringing about the organization of labor if the consequences were that those people were then going to be a conservative weight on society. And that's exactly what happened. I could perceive that sort of thing already in the fifti~ven in the forties-then it was clear to me that that was a futile way to proceed.

It was also clear that American society was not rigid enough to get itself into a revolutionary situation. It would accommodate itself to whatever the stresses and strains of changing views were, to make them fit the circumstances. I don't particularly like that, since I'm not particularly enamored of our society and I'd like to see it disintegrate and something better formed.

No, I don't have any confidence in the mass of the people in terms of their ability to see the truth. Certainly the idea which I shared at one time, that one could have a lot of confidence in the common man as it were, is a bunch of nonsense. Their personal development leaves a lot to be desired.

One factor in Markert's withdrawal from active radicalism seems to have been his investigation for subversive activity during the McCarthy era, although be does not mention the inquiry in that context himself. He refused to testify before a witch-hunting subcommittee of the Ho~se Un-American Activities Committee while be was an assistant professor at the University of Michigan in 1954. For this refusal he nearly lost his post in the biology department, but after very adroit politicking and with the help of others on the Michigan faculty, a committee which voted to fire two of his colleagues decided to retain him. Markert proudly attributes his survival in that situation to the high quality of his research. His good work is his hook in the system which forces people to keep him around whatever they think of his views. And indeed Roger Pedersen, one of Markert's graduate students who has been active in the Resistance at Yale says, "The most important thing Markert represents to me is that if you're good you don't have to be afraid of getting into trouble with the system. He helps me feel I'm free to be political now."

Markert is not quite so confident that this is the case. One of the biologists fired

by Michigan in 1954 went into exile in Canada and continued his scientific work successfully. Markert wouldn't have gone to Canada, even though his career in the United States would have been ruined. "If I had been axed at Michigan," he says now, " I might have been forced into political life." Markert's important discoveries in biology all came after 1954.

As Clement Markert has become a more sophisticated scientist, and as he has become progressively more interested in world population problems. his notions of which forces are most important in society have been rearranged. Mass political action has been debased in his heirarchy of forces, and the role of sound

advice given at strategic points within the system has been upgraded. On the National Academy of Sciences' Committee on Science and Public Policy, which he considers the "most prestigious scientific group in the country outside the government," he knows that, "A person like me all by myself can hope to have some influence. A few hours spent working on that are likely to have a thousand times more effect than a thousand hours spent trying to organize a peace demonstration."

The Committee on Science and Public Policy met two months ago with Lee DuBridge, Nixon's new science advisor.

Markert believes his committtee's esta~ lishment of a Committee on Population Control several years ago was chiefly responsible for changing the attitude of the Kennedy administration towards birth control from indifference and hostility to promotion of contraceptives.

I consider that a fundamental advance. Most great transformations in human events do not occur on the battlefield. They occur in people being persuaded that they should have two kids instead of four, say. That bas more effect than any dramatic political battle.

I think I can have a more radical effect functioning in that area of human affairs than I can as just one of another of thousands or millions in the final cataclysmic showdowns of political confrontations. Those to me are just terminal expressions and are not the forces that really reshape society.

These are not changes in policy from the top but physical differences in the way men live which are brought about by science and technology, and which then influence their thinking. For example, agriculture became so productive that everybody moved off the farms. Farming became a trivial aspect of American society. And that's all happened in the last twenty years.

It wasn't any political revolution that produced that. In the 1930's the farmer was a very important political force in our society.

Now he doesn't count for anything. That was a tremendous transformation. more dramatic than it would have been if he had been conquered by an army.

It is not hard to understand Clement Markert's thirty-year transition from a radical organizer to an elitist technocrat.

He has always been aware of the vanguard and wants very much to be in it.

For example, he is highly skeptical of the competence of Yale undergraduates who are " not quite adult" to know what they need academically and even emotionally, much less to know enough to play a role in the administration of Yale.

The biology department, however, was the first Yale department to h ave undergraduate representation on its Course of Study Committee. One of his colleagues gives himself the credit for convincing Markert to make the innovation. " I said, 'Look, Clem, do you want us to be first in something?' And be always does!" So the change was made.

Roger Pederson, who seems as close as anyone to being a disciple of Markert, explains that in his teaching and style as a scientist M arkert places the highest value on steering inquiry and research toward the most fundamental and farreaching problems in the discipline. Accordingly, Pederson reports that the nine graduate students working with Markert will be shifting the field of their research beginning next year from isozyme biochemistry to work with mouse embryos cultured in test tubes. This work, which depends on culture techniques that have only been developed in the last two years, could have profound implications for

humans within a few more years. And C lement Markert, for his part, is ready to actualize some of these implications.

If I discover some way of causing human beings to be one genotype or another, that

could be of some consequence even in my lifetime. We could produce a thousand Einstein types, or Horowitzes, or something like that. We'll be able to do that, if we want to, and I'd like to see it tried.

Mr. Markert, however, considers this type of work of low priority compared to the social task of making it possible for people to develop fully according to their current genotypes. Moreover, he claims he feels no sense of urgency in his interests in genetics and development, beyond his scientist's urge to understand the world, since the problems of future races of men are beyond his and all men's capacities for empathy.

In fact, as we are at this moment, if we were transplanted by some magical time travel into some society ten thousand years hence composed of very different human beings, we wouldn't like it at all. We can only appreciate and profit by a society which is based on the kind of people we are at this momentnot upon some different kind of person. We wouldn't like things ten thousand years from now any more than some chimpanzees would like to take up residence in the Kline Biology Tower. They much prefer it out in the jungles.

Markert is emphatic in his belief that biology is the most humanistic discipline at Yale, because during the forseeable future it will have more to say, and more to actually define, about the nature of men than a ny other discipline. Markert is eager to thrash out ahead of time ethical and practical questions which inevitably grow out of research in human genetics and reproduction. He is excited about a new biology course for non-science majors which his department is planning to debut next year. Markert will teach some of the sessions himself, sharing the task with Trinkaus and A. W. Galston. This course will reintroduce Markert to the undergraduate community at Yale.

Each summer Clement Markert goes back to a cabin in the Colorado Rockies because he likes the physical environment there. He a lso enjoys skin diving over coral reefs and announces that he can free dive to a sixty foot depth, a family record until one of his sons bettered it by ten feet a few years ago. But Markert is ch aracterized as a "man who lives for his work" by people who feel warmly toward him, and as a " human machine" by people who don't. His notion of himself as an especially rational organism is formidable. His life's goal bas been understanding the world and working out principles and views which can become axioms for practical and efficient action. J.P. Trinka us, who tends to bring out the passionate in things, calls Markert "a passionate man." And that is an idea Markert himself occasionally agrees with. ~

When Ed Logue looks at the world, he sees buildings.

by Susan Braudy

Jane Jacobs, the author and urban critic, says she knew Ed Logue was a bad fellow when he confided to her that another fire would be the best thing that could happen to San Francisco. It would allow them to plan things, he explained. Logue likes to plan things. As head of Nelson Rockefeller's New York State Urban Development Corporation (SUDC) since last April, he can condemn and build anything, anywhere in New York State, even against the wishes of local mayors and their communities. Today, Edward J. Logue is without question the most powerful urban renewal director in the country.

When Logue started lecturing at Yale Law School years ago, students crowded the wainscotted classroom to pay homage to a glamorous, super-tough, super-successful Yale Law graduate. Ed Logue's brains and drive had gathered enormous worldly power in the name of liberal ideas, a formula the awed students memorized eagerly. He had changed the faces of two American cities, New Haven in the 1950's and Boston in the early 1960's, bringing down buildings almost as easily as a suburban gardener weeds crabgrass from his front lawn. Logue used New Haven as his renewal laboratory. He changed the dying heart of a dirty milltown into a thriving business district. Like Lewis Carroll"s red queen, Logue has stayed in that one place, New Haven, though he bas travelled from city to city in the past sixteen years. His New Haven formula: hire a bright, young, highly-paid staff, finagle millions from the "feds" (federal government), seduce businessmen to invest in the downtown business district, build roads to bring Mrs. Suburban-Shopper into town, relocate slum dwellers and, most important, make sure Ed Logue calls every shot.

In the old days Logue always finished his Saturday morning lectures at Yale in time to get to the Yale Bowl for a home game. But the last time he lectured at Yale angry students made him late for the kickoff, battling with him over what they felt was his inattention to the needs of the poor black people whose ghetto homes he had bulldozed or rehabilitated to make way for upper and middle income housing, highways, office buildings and department stores. While others had theorized, he had acted, and in the process he became responsible for many of the sins and achieveSusan Broudy, a former associate editor of The New Journal, is currently a free 14nce writer in New York. Her writing has appeared in New York and The New York Times Magazine.

ments of urban renewal.

Logue first wiped away New Raven's ugliest slum, Oak Street, with bulldozers.

Residents fled to the city's other slums, to nearby West Haven and to Bridgeport.

The old Oak Street ghetto now contains a super-highway that empties suburbanites into the new downtown shopping center, several luxury highrise apartment buildings and office buildings. Today Logue the politician admits to one mistake in New Haven. "I should have kept design control over the buildings in Oak Street," he says.

"In my ignorance, I thought I could rely on the Southern New England Telephone Company to choose good architecture."

New Haven was Logue's working model. Previously planners designed almost solely for professional citations, then shelved their work and their awards.

Logue built buildings. But slum dwellers never fared as well as the suburban shopper, who never came back to live in New Haven, but station-wagonned in every day to shop at the new Macy's. Over twentytwo hundred lower-income New Haveners have been moved and removed, some of them three and four times. Logue's coalition for urban renewal didn't include one minority, the poor and the propertyless.

"You have to hurt somebody in this business," says a former Logue aide. "So you hurt those who can't hurt the program."

Logue's defenders say it was a question of taking inadequate steps or doing nothing in New Haven. But there were still slums in New Haven, new slums and old ones. Then came the riots in the summer of 1967. Was there trouble in paradise?

National attention focused fleetingly on New Raven's problems instead of her buildings. Today New Haven redevelopment plans are blocked by angry citizens who say they resent being treated as pawns in the paternalistic game of !-know-what'sbest-for-you. After years of being manipulated, fear and mistrust are the ghetto dweller's reaction to redevelopment. Citizen opposition is stronger here than in any other city.

Logue met opposition with anger, logic and forcefulness. He had a way of shutting out arguments, recalls an aide. If you disagreed with him, you were bad. He stayed up nights memorizing federal urban renewal regulations and proved his genius for getting money from the "feds." Today, New Haven has received $930 per capita from the federal government, more than any other city and more than twice as much as New York.

These days, Logue is almost impossible to catch up with to interview. He spends

his days criss-crossing New York State: by plane and train for a businessman's luncheon in Buffalo, to Albany for a conference with Rockefeller and a speech to a synagogue fellowship, then back to his New York City office. Weekends he shuttles from New York to his Beacon Hill home in Boston where his family is making plans to move to New York.

After settling his briefcase and my coat on a crowded commuter train to New Haven where he is going for a farniiJ dinner at his mother-in-law's home, I...Oaue flatly denies students' charges agail\st him.

"Lookit, I'm not a bad fellow." He speaks quickly with nasal vowels which are a combination of Philadelphia and Yale.

He's put on a little weight since the old New Haven days; his blue eyes are still black fringed but a little tired; his hair is graying. He looks like an elderly, fatter, Ivy-League version of Glenn Ford. ''I'm not a bad fellow. Urban renewal wouldn't be around this long if it meant pushing people out in the streets. There aren't any villains in this business. I never go into a community unless I am invited."

"By the property owners?" I ask.

"No," he purses his lips and makes an angry noise. Our train is passing through Harlem, and tenement lights flicker across his angry face and his Shetland jacket as he stares out the window. He's an incurable building watcher. "Some people say if neighborhood people come to me, they must be Uncle Toms or bourgeois. But I'm invited into neighborhoods by ministers, schoolteachers, factory workers-a good cross section."

Last spring Governor Rockefeller, then the urban presidential candidate, declared that New York State must take some responsibility for the plight of the cities.

He twisted a few arms with several latenight phone calls to get SUDC legislation through a hostile state assembly on the night of Dr. Martin Luther King's funeral, even though the legislation had been defeated earlier. Said Rocky proudly a few weeks later at a news conference announcing Logue's appointment, "I chose Edward Logue to direct urban development because Logue gets things done."

Logue's New York State appropriation is seventeen million. One year from now he will issue one billion dollars in bonds. which Rockefeller predicts will generate five billion more in private investment and federal grants, a total of six billion for building purposes. Previously, renewal chiefs applied for federal funds, condemned buildings, then sold land to private developers who would finance construe-

8 I The New Journal! May 11, 1969

tion. Now Logue can do this and more.

He can act as the state government or as a private developer. He is being paid fifty thousand dollars a year to carry urban renewal, if he wants to, from start to finish.

To cities all over New York State he offers savvy, power and relief from years of struggling with red tape and unfinished projects.

While the New Haven-bound train lurches into the Fairfield County night, I ask Logue about his overwhelming power. As a consultant while SUDC legislation was being prepared, Logue insisted that a program-head have the power to override local protests. I ask him why he wanted this power. Does it say, I'm the boss; deal with me or else? The question makes him shift angrily forward, and the springs squeal in the worn velvet train seat. Then he slouches down into his jowls, the seat and his coat. Logue loves a fight. He looks like a governor or a senator;but his manner is abrasive, boyish.

"Why don't you repeat that question, stamping your foot and raising your fist for every place you've loaded it?" Logue throws me a fast appraising look and begins to talk. "Cities aren't equipped to do the job. The 'feds' have their troubles too.

People aren't gaining on city problems.

I won't go anywhere without an invitation.

I will go to City HaJJ and work with Mr. Mayor. I won't fight him. And right now we've lots of business in New York." He turns back to building-watching as we pass through Bridgeport.

Mayor Lindsay has attacked Logue's program for its invading and encroach ing on homerule. There are two theories about what will happen to Logue in New York City. Some say state-city harmony is a must; both sides want SUDC money spent here. Others predict a battle a month between Logue and Lindsay.

New Towns are now the magic words around Logue's new Manhattan headquarters at 666 Fifth Avenue, where a black receptionist sits surrounded by cartons of roadmaps and blueprints. New Town traditionally has meartt a planned self-sufficient city built as a unit on a large tract of vacant land. This traditional New Town contains its own houses, factories, stores, parks and office buildings. New Towns in this country like Reston, Virginia and Columbia, Maryland are advertised by brochures that happily depict uniformly white-middle-class suburban families living out the Readers' Digest version of the American dream.

Logue's New Towns are still to be

planned. They will be located inside existing towns like Utica and just outside places like Albany, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo and Newburgh. But Logue's New Towns wouldn't be completely self-sufficient.

Residents would depend on nearby or surrounding established towns for some jobs, schools and recreation.

Says a planning critic, "We all turned up our noses at Levitt's instant communities ten years ago. But now Logue adds a tree-shaded factory, an office building or two, some token low-income housing, and he's got a fancy social experiment called the New Town." " New Towns are our goals for New York State," says Logue. "We will cre3te balanced communities, racially and economically."

What he doesn't say is that his New Town is substantially the same thing he's been building for years: predominantly upper and m iddle income houses, central business districts and token low-rent housing.

Logue has added or perhaps subtracted one wrink le in his formula. He will have fewer people problems with his New Towns because he is building them on vacant land. He won't have to relocate, build homes for, or plan with people a lready Jiving on the sites he's chosen. It's as though the area has already been bulldozed and the people scattered for him.

A Logue fan, a former New Haven Redevelopment aide says, "Though he isn't admitting it, maybe Ed's finally learned he's not a community person. He never used the energies of the ghetto or slum community anyway in the planning process; not that any other efficient planner did either. Bob Moses, I suspect, cared a little more for cars than for people. One never stops hoping that Ed cares a little more for people than for buildings."

But Logue has again run into people problems in a New Town called Fort Lincoln, for which he directed planning on an empty tract outside Washington, D.C. The project's neighbors-mostly black homeowners-are upset because they haven't been consulted about the first families Logue has decided to move in.

These will be poor blacks and will comprise up to 10% of the total project population. Neighbors fear the poorer residents will set the tone, and that the project won't attract middle-class whites and blacks.

Jesse Jackson, head of the local citizens' planning council complained, "This will be another ghetto. I don't see how any sensible person could expect a fifty-fifty

racial balance by any stretch of the imagination."

Logue's father died when Logue was in his teens, and he worked his way through Yale waiting on tables. After graduation he flew seventeen missions as an Air Force bombardier in Italy. Critics cite his bombardier days as his only training for the wholesale bulldozing and flattening of New Haven and Boston slums.

After the war, Logue returned to Yale Law School, where he found time to unionize law school and hospitaJ employees for the United Mine Workers. He admired John L. Lewis as one man who knew how to use power. As the campus radical, Logue also married Margaret DeVane, the daughter of the Dean of Yale College. While Logue was organizing a hospital strike, his mother-in-law was a patient. She approved.

After graduation in 1949, Logue worked in Philadelphia as a labor lawyer.

"I quickly became dissatisfied," recalls Logue riding toward New Haven, "be¡ cause the real power decisions were made by elected labor leaders. The lawyers were just technicians." Obsession with the power of elected officials has been the Logue life theme. Today one of his favorite jokes concerns Tacky O'Dwyer, a political crony of Mayor Richard Lee, who ran New Raven's parking garage. Once O'Dwyer sent a pal to Lee for a patronage job.

"Well," Lee asked, "what job do you want?"

"I want Tacky's job," announced Tacky's pal.

"T hen what's left for Tacky?" wondered Lee. "Tacky's job" became Logue's codewords for the coveted power of Logue¡s bosses. When he ran for mayor of Boston in 1967, he was after Tacky's job. In 1966, while he was writing the report to Lindsay which recommended giving centralized planning powers, developing powers and budget powers to Edward Logue, aides asked, "What's left for Lindsay?" Logue laughed shortly, "You mean what's left for Tacky?"

In 1953 Logue drifted back to New Haven, lured by his pregnant wife's liking for a local obstetrician. Logue had planned to practice law, but found himself instead working in the thick of Richard Lee's mayoral campaign. After Lee won, he called Logue into his office, pulled a copy of the city charter from a desk drawer and asked casually, "How about working for me? Take a look here and see if any-

thing appeals to you."

Logue finally became Lee's official secretary at six thousand dollars a year with backstage powers as deputy mayor. After one year, Logue was running the Redevelopment Agency. After two, he officially or unofficially ran all city agencies' activities that had anything to do with redevelopment-zoning, traffic, parks, and even schools. New Haven became the country's first model city, a m iracle of renewal in the urban desert. Awed bureaucrats from all over the country trooped dutifully and even enthusiastically to the shrine.

Some of Logue's New Haven subordinates felt his programs were more important to him than the people he worked with. "We fought continually, right until the time Logue left in 1961," Mayor Lee has said. Their fights were power struggles.

Logue wanted Tacky's job. He aJso wanted the public trappings that went with his powerful number-two role. But Lee wanted to keep him under wraps. Says Logue, "I was ready to be a behind-the-scenes fella, but there was a difference between being a subordinate and a slave. Once Dick cut the grou nd out from under me in public. When he did that, I just got up and quit."

Today Logue and Lee blissfully agree they fought like brothers. Indeed, Lee's adroitness at handling people made the two men for a time an almost perfect team.

Logue and others attribute much of their success in New Haven to the chemistry between Logue and his boss.

Logue is still a loyal Old Blue, who had the doors to his home on Beacon Hill and to his Boston Redevelopment office painted Yale blue. He attends all YaJe home games, and he joins thousands of fellow Yalies who have champagne on ice plus banquet at the Harvard game. "Tailgating," they call it, as they sit on folding chairs in raccoon coats, eating out of the backs of their Buick station wagons.

But, while other Yalies visit Mary's or favorite teachers, Logue returns to Dick Lee's house for their traditional Thanksgiving party. Here, with Logue squeezed next to him on the couch, Lee starts to tell anecdotes of the early urban renewal days. Soon Logue and Lee are topping each other's stories. The other graduates of Lee's urban renewal crash course listen nostaJgically. "It's like returning to Mecca every year," sighs one usually no-nonsense type. New Haven, despite riots and angry slum dwellers, is still their model, their Mecca, as it is Logue's. Only the wives are bored at these reunions. They daydream

Enjoy the New Haven Skyline and a specially prepared Gourmet D inner at the

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and half-listen to this year's version of stories they've heard for the past ten years.

In December, 1965, Logue came to New York to serve on Charles Abrams' housing task force for Mayor-elect Lindsay. Logue attended few meetings, but he did have time for a public confrontation with urban critic J a ne Jacobs over lunch at the Harvard Club. Her book Death and Life of Great American Cities argued that neighborhoods and people's homes should be preserved, not destroyed by renewers. To Logue partisans, she is a "soft-beadedslum-lover." She believes in community control of planning, to the extent of getting herself arrested recently for leading a demonstration that resulted in her destruction of the stenographic record of a public hearing on the Lower Manhattan Expressway.

On the train Logue looks only a little like the tired commuters around him staring at folded newspapers as he describes his exchange with his favorite arch-enemy.

"J ane came on very strong as usual, skidding over facts like suds. She was bitching as usual about urban renewal. She said we shouldn't even be talking about it.

I finally said, lookit, Jane, you tell the Mayor and the rest of us what you'd like to see changed in your neighborhood. Or is it perfect the way it is? So she started listing p lanning with people, new schools, new low and middle income houses, rehabilitation of existing homes and good social services. When she was all through, I sai~, J ane, we call that stuff urban renewal. I don't know what you call it, maybe you have some great new name. The Mayor then laughed like hell," remembers Logue shaking his head and slapping his armrest happily, "and we finished our lunch."

Jane Jacobs might have responded that she differed with Logue on priorities.

Logue, she would say, gives only token emphasis to community planning, rehabilitation and social services. During that luncheon at the Harvard Club, she and a few others were horrified to hear Logue remark, "If you want to bulldoze a neighborhood, you can avoid community protest by enlarging the boundaries of your total renewal area. Then the bulldozed area will be a smaller part of the whole."

Jane Jacobs had not seen the last of Edward Logue. Two months later she was to rush to an African C hurch in East Harlem, visions of bulldozers dancing in her head, for a panicky secret meeting.

Mayor Lindsay had invited Logue to New York to write himself an urban renewal program and head it up. At the meeting Jane Jacobs worried about Lindsay's latest move with community control partisans like Herbert Gans, one of urban renewal's most sensitive and relentless critics. Gans, a Colombia professor and author of The Urban Villagers, has been dogging Logue's heels since the 50's. Gans, Jane Jacobs and others decided to commission Michael Appleby, a Ph.D. candidate in planning at Harvard, to write a report on Logue's Boston renewal work.

"Appleby was a good choice," says Gans, a shy man whose office is tilled with yellowing Timeses, Lifes and Newswuks, and who mumbles, "because Appleby, though we didn't realize it, knew lots of people working with Logue in Boston."

"Let Gans talk ideal solutions all he wants," says a poverty program executive, who also started in New Haven, as he chews his cigar. "Gans never met a payroll in his life. He never ran a program, never built a building."

So while Logue and company compiled "Let There Be Commitment," Logue's report on New York's housing ills, Appleby compiled his report on Logue's Boston record. Appleby's is a scholarly document that carefully footnotes statistics for factual claims. Logue was tops in his field, summarized Gans' introduction, at building business booms and middle class housing. But New York needed lowincome housing badly. Could Logue adapt to the new situation? Could he relocate slum dwellers in their own repaired, not bulldozed neighborhood according to plans they've helped to make? Could he change his priorities?

Logue and his New York staff met for the first time on a wintry night in J anuary, 1966. Logue had discovered that no city-

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wide urban renewal map existed. He had one made that he called "the salt and pepper map." He pointed to urban renewal projects on it that looked like unrelated specks. "New York has just pecked at its problems," he said. Like many planners, Logue mainly trusts change that he can see -new buildings on a street or color splotches on a map.

"I don't know what's more depressing about this town," Logue said the next day while touring Harlem in a gigantic, black, fifteen-passenger limousine, "the quantity of work to be done here, or the quality of work finished."

Logue's report to Lindsay asked for the powers Logue held in Boston and New Haven. He proposed that he combine the city's planning and development agencies ¡ under one man. Zoning, planning, design and construction of urban renewal projects would be centralized also under Logue, who would gather powers which were at that time shared by ten different agencies.

As in New Haven and Boston, Logue would "centralize" power and claim to "de-centralize" by establishing neighborhood renewal offices responsible to him.

(One New York planner-<::ritic of Logue's speaks derisively of a neighborhood office in Queens. ''That's how well he knows New York--<::alling the whole borough of Queens a neighborhood, to be serviced by one 'neighborhood' office.")

Perhaps Logue never expected to come to New York at all. An anonymous observer claims Logue was dangling Lindsay at the same time he was negotiating hard for support in Boston's mayoral primary.

In November, 1966, almost one year after he agreed to make the $135,000 report to Lindsay, Logue turned him down. Edward Logue finished being Lindsay's "part-time kibbitzer." And the Times commented blandly: "Logue apparently became convinced that even if Lindsay accepted his conditions, Lindsay would not be able to deliver on his promises."

In December, 1966, Logue was back in New York, standing wordlessly next to Senator Robert Kennedy while Kennedy outlined his plan to combine private and public investment to help the BedfordStuyvesant community help itself.

"Logue," says one Bedford-Stuyvesant executive, "is one of a small group of socalled experts who fly around the country holding meetings on trains, in airports, and in limousines. They spend a night or two walking around a strange hotel room in their socks and write out the same proposal they drafted in the last town they were in, changing the names of streets and buildings."

"Boston is Urban Renewal," says Norman Mailer. And Ed Logue is urban renewal in Boston. Sailing down the twists and turns of the Charles to his home on Beacon Hill, Logue loves to see the new buildings he's added to Boston's downtown skyline. "It's a great view, a great feeling.

Boston's not finished, but it's moved faster, farther than any other city. It's got the greatest looking city hall of any city and the best plaza for parades."

Before Logue would leave New H aven to come to Boston in 1961, he demanded the same czar-like powers to condemn, plan, build and cut through years of red tape. The New York Times hailed his Boston arrival as the return of the white hats and the routing of the bad guys in black hats. Logue's reputation seemed to peak in 1965 when Life featured him as the " Bold Boston Gladiator." Fortune gleefully counted the money flowing into

the new Boston business boom. In Boston, Logue used his New Haven model to become the most successful urban renewal boss in the country. He coaxed enough millions from the "feds" to put one-quarter of the city under urban renewal. Again he gathered private investment and a highlypaid, highly-motivated staff. Again be wanted to save a dying business district, increase property values and the tax base, and bring the middle class back to Boston to shop and live. Again Logue saw the central urban crisis as the middle class flight to the suburbs, not the plight of the urban poor.

People with political muscle profit from urban renewal. When the Irish residents of Charlestown, who regularly elect Boston's top officials, shouted Logue down at meetings over one renewal plan, Logue changed it. But a Washington Park project was rammed through without considering the area's poor blacks. Community support for the Washington Park project carne not from the twenty-five hundred families to be removed from their homes, but from their m iddle class black neighbors. Black leaders now say that the poor didn't participate in the project. There was never any attempt to involve or educate the poor, and the plan was primarily an instrument for displacing them from the neighborhood, declared Noel Day, an urban sociologist and former director of a Washington Park neighborhood social center.

Although three-quarters of the poor families were eligible for public housing, only one thirty-eight-unit rent-supplement complex was provided. Urban renewal actually increased Boston'_s previous shortage of low income housing.

Who can balance the virtues and vices of urban renewal? Lovely old buildings were ripped from Boston's dying central business district to make way for the new. business. Writes city planning critic Wolf Von Eckhardt, "The wounds and scars of Ed Logue's wily ambition are everywhere: big ugly holes in the fabric of the city and the anguish and anger of the displaced ....

Boston has made noisier mistakes than any other city. But it is also reaching greater heights of glory."

Yale architectural critic Vincent Scully is more jaundiced: "I would agree with anyone who says Boston looks like a ruined city, as though civilization died there ten years ago."

But meanwhile, Logue was planning the most daring move of his career. Mayor John Collins, his Boston boss, wasn't going to run again. Tacky's job was up for grabs.

And Edward Logue wanted that elective power.

By spring of 1967, Logue was openly running for Mayor. He was making plans to resign h is thirty-thousand doUar a year post as director of Boston's renewal.

Logue, the candidate of downtown business people, many of whom lived in Boston's suburbs, campaigned hard for the non-partisan primary run-off. But Logue was too well-known in Boston to be elected Mayor. While shaking hands at a dairy factory, he paused to say to Tom Wicker that, unlike other freshman cand idates for public office, he had no recognition problems. "My problem is I have to go around and show them I don't have horns." Wicker and other national observers felt Logue was the best candidate.

H e certainly had more experience in running citjes than the others.

The national press focused on Louise Day H icks, Logue's major opponent, an Irish wom an from South Boston who

---.----------------------~-~--

-------------------------,

111 The New Journal I May 11, 1969

was courting the backlash votes. "I don't believe in civil r ights," she said. "I don't believe in preferential rights." Kevin White, another white-bat liberal type and Massachusetts Secretary of State, was the third top contender of the eleven running.

Two weeks before the primary election, Logue challenged some signatures on White's primary petition. Experts feel this move cost Logue second place in the runoff a nd the right to oppose Mrs. Hicks in the regular e lection. Logue couldn't prove the signatures were false, and be lost face and ·major support among uncommitted and liberal voters. He also lost his life's. dream, finishing fourth among the eleven candidates. Kevin White was finally elected M ayor. Unsurpr isingly, Logue says he wouldn't even consider working for Kevin White on Boston's redevelopment. Finishing the gigantic redevelopment job he star ted wasn't as important to him as working for a man be liked.

Instead, Logue took a job teaching cityplanning at Boston University. But he chafed and fussed during that year, despite the fact that he had freedom to travel and spend longer hours with his family. He was also courted by Mayors Yorty of Los Angeles and Stokes of Cleveland. But they weren't big enough for Logue, says a friend. New York State was the next logical step.

The New Haven train is pulling slowly into the station as Logue speaks without enth usiasm of his teaching year. "As a p lanning critic at B.U., I wrote three lectures and I stand behind them. But I have no taste for academics. I bave respect for the academic life, but it's not for me. I find the idea of sitting on the sidelines terrible. I took the job I have now with the hope I can use the power it gives me for a constructive purpose. I know I can.

"New Haven is a better place than it used to be or would have been. So is Boston. I've changed two cities for the better, spending money honestly, competently, with some taste and style. But two cities aren't enough. I don't want to quit after re-building only two cities." ~

Letters continued from page 2

through to Washington with the necessary appr oval.

As for the increase in the number of students, so many brought tuition funds to the p rogram that it added only six thousand dollars to the budget which was taken up by reduction in administrative costs.

Con trary to what Mr. Goldberger asserts, M r. Fleishman approved the increase in the n umber of students. The one hundred thousand dollar deficit in which Mr. Goldberger puts such stock actually consists largely of a clerical error, funds promised, but not delivered, by Mr. Fleishman and a ch ange in the Summer High School's accounting system which unfairly added five mon ths of administrative costs to Mr. P ar os's budget. Mr. Paros did underestimate some of his expenses, but the program's deficit is at least as much the administration's fault as it is his. Finally, contrary to what Mr. Goldberger asserts, Yale bas not called in an outside auditor because "the situation has become so confused." In fact the Office of Economic Opportu nity requested an audit, but only as p art of its normal accounting procedures.

Altho ugh Mr. Goldberger has had an opportun ity to compare Mr. Fanton's

memorandum with Mr. Paros's budget, he almost totally ignores the possibility that the Yale administration mishandled the Summer High School. He dismisses the connection between the Singer Report and Mr. Paros's dismissal, yet he knows that the Singer Report recommendations are specifically included in Mr. Fanton's prospectus for the 1969 program-the exact same recommendations, incidentally, which Mr. Fanton made last April while he was working in Washington and before he had ever examined Mr. Paros's program. (These recommendations led to Mr. Fanton's return to Yale and to his coauthorship of the Singer Report.) Neither the News nor I have ever felt that the Singer Report-a document whose significance Mr. Goldberger grossly underestimates-was the sole cause of Mr. Paros's dismissal, but the style of thinking it represents was at least an important one.

I personally believe that Mr. Fanton's ambitions, Mr. Fleishman's regard for Mr. Fanton and his disregard for Mr. Paros, as well as differences in educational philosophy, made Mr. Paros's dismissal inevitable. But the Singer Report was, and still is, a convenient and accurate way of summarizing a part of the thinking that went into the administration's decision.

It has, after all, also been used by President Brewster, Mr. Richard Sewall (former C hairman of the High School Board), Mr. F leishman and Mr. Fanton to explain Mr. Paros's dismissal.

Even if Mr. Goldberger thinks Mr. Paros's dismissal should be completely separated from the Singer Report, an assumption of Mr. Paros's incompetence is not the onJy alternative. Mr. Goldberger has had an opportunity to discuss Mr. Paros's program with students, faculty and the two leading educators who examined it. He has had an opportunity to review Mr. Paros's financial report and the report prepared by Mr. Fanton. If he had done so adequately, I feel sure that he would have come up with a somewhat better explanation for Mr. Paros's dismissal than the bogus incompetence charge which Mr. Fleishman and Mr. Fanton have used to subvert Mr. Paros's reputation, but which they dare not discuss with Mr. Paros privately or publicly.

Since Mr. Paros has repeatedly asked for a public explanation of his dismissal, it can hardly be argued that the administration is trying to protect him. As a newspaper, the News could not discuss suspicions of the real reasons for Mr. Paros's dismissal or the rumors about his competence being spread by Mr. Fleishman and Mr. Fanton. Accordingly, I took the administration's Singer Report explanation, knowing it was incomplete, and criticized the dismissal in that context in order to force the administration to release its full reasons. Unfortunately, Mr. Goldberger's article does not provide those reasons, but only the same false cover the administration has been using privately.

The Director's Report, which Mr. Goldberger criticizes so heavily, was financed out of day-to-day operating funds for the program. Mr. Paros wrote much of it on his own time; he operated an extensive follow-up program at the same time; be did not exceed his annual printing budget; and he produced a document less expensive than the last one "Titten by Mr. Fleishman. The ten thousand dollars to which Mr. Goldberger refers presumably includes Mr. Paros's and his staff's salaries, to wh ich they were entitled by contr act.

Since Mr. Paros was excluded from plan-

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ning for the 1969 program, he felt that he should use his time and resources for some other purpose which contributed to the development of educational theory.

As any of the experts who have read the Report will testify, it is not a "white elephant" and it does accomplish Mr. Paros's very worthwhile goal.

Mr. Goldberger hints that Mr. Paros wrote his Report in order to gain Yale's support (or his School One proposal. In fact, Mr. Paros has never wanted toregain a position at YaJe. The School One idea is aimed at the type of alienated student Mr. Paros dealt with in the Summer High School, but which the administration has decided against assisting.

Since only fifteen students from last year's Summer High School are even eligible under this year's criteria, Mr. Paros feels an obligation to provide a meaningful program for the alienated students he, Mr. Friedenberg and Mr. Beckham see as the most ignored potential talent in American education.

Mr. Goldberger charges Mr. Paros with demanding complete editorial rights over Mr. Goldberger's article. Since I was present at every meeting between Mr. Goldberger and Mr. Paros, I know that this is untrue. Having allowed Mr. Goldberger, as weU as myself, extraordinary freedom with his files and his knowledge about the issue, Mr. Paros naturally wanted to ascertain that Mr. Goldberger's facts were correct. But, in no case, did Mr. Paros attempt to censor Mr. Goldberger or deprive him of his information.

Mr. Goldberger claims Mr. Paros refused to attend Administrative Board meetings ca11ed to review his dismissal. In point of fact, the Administrative Board offered to discuss Mr. Paros's dismissal only after newspaper criticism began, and it was made clear that the dismissal would not be reversed . .One meeting was called off by Mr. Sewall. Mr. Paros was inadvertently not invited to a second meeting. He refused to attend the third because Mr. Fleishman, the official with whom ultimate authority for the Summer High School lies, was unable to come, and he felt that any discussion would be academic. Since, however, the Administrative Board, with the exception of a one-day visit by Mr. Sewall, never showed any interest in Mr. Paros's program, and since it had acceded to the administration's "regularization" of contracts and has allowed itself to be used in the violation of a university appointment, it would have been a small wonder if Mr. Paros had not refused to appear.

I am also concerned by the criticisms Mr. Lear and Mr. Goldberger direct at me personally. Contrary to Mr. Lear's charge, I did not participate in any "pirating" of a copy of Mr. Goldberger's article. Some of its points were relayed to me, without my request, by a friend who, until that time, I did not even know was on your staff. Within a few minutes of finding out what was in your article, I ran into Mr. Paros on York Street. Understandably distressed by the article's inaccuracy, I disclosed my information to Mr. Paros, and we agreed to confront Mr. Goldberger in order to clear u p our disagreements.

I think we all have an interest in an accurate reporting of this sensitive issue, and our meeting with Mr. Goldberger contributed to making his article more accurate than it otherwise would have been. Unfortunately, the meeting degenerated because of understandably high emotions.

As a result, Mr. Goldberger did not take some of our criticisms as seriously as he might have.

While Mr. Lear may consider my actions¡ "immoral," I believe they were appropriate considering the damage Mr. Goldberger's article has done to Mr. Paros's reputation. Mr. Paros allowed Mr. Goldberger and me extraordinary freedom with his files and his knowledge. If Mr. Goldberger had chosen to reciprocate Mr. Paros's candor and had asked him or me about the charges he planned to make, the embarrassment his article has caused all of us might well have been avoided.

Contrary to what Mr. Goldberger report~, Mr. Paros did not "make certain that Alan Boles, then chairman of the Yale Daily News, knew of the Singer Report and the easy connection that could be made betwen its recommendations and his dismissal." Mr. Boles called Mr. Paros completely independently. As for my alleged collusion with Mr. Paros, I did not even meet him until late February. Mr. Goldberger was present at most of the meetings between Mr. Paros and me, and the same information was made available to him. A far better case could be made for collusion between Mr. Goldberger, Mr. Fleishman and Mr. Fanton. Never have I, as he has done, made assertions without any reference at all to a possible source. Never have I, as he has done, claimed three months of research and then come to conclusions which oppose those a neutral observer would ascertain with only the slightest inquiry.

I do not accept Mr. Goldberger's charge that my coverage has been biased and has consisted largely of personal attacks on university officials. I ask Mr. Goldberger to point out such bias or such attacks printed on the news pages of the News. I regret very much that Mr. Fleishman and Mr. Fanton refused to reply to Mr. Paros in the newspaper; on many occasions, I tried to obtain comments from them or elicit articles for publication on the editorial page. They always refused. If the News' coverage has consisted mainly of articles about students, faculty and administrators of the Summer High School, it is only because university officials declined to answer Mr. Paros and his associates.

As for my column on the question, Mr. Goldberger has picked out of context statements made by me. The comment on Mr. Sewall was not, as Mr. Goldberger asserts, directed at his doubts about the Summer High School, but at his refusal to criticize what he knows to be unethical behavior by university officials. The sentence about "mini-Brewsters, mini-Fieishmans and mini-Fantons" was not directed at those men personally, but at the educational philosophy and style they espouse.

Although I do want to defend Mr. Paros, his program and his opposition to the type of thinking the Singer Report, Mr. Fleish; man and Mr. Fanton represent, I have not used the News as a platform for personal attacks and biased journalism.

Finally, I would like to separate my own position from that of the News. The News editorial on Mr. Paros's dismissal did not endorse Mr. Paros, and it did not attempt to link his dismissal with the Singer Report. Most of the News's Singer Report coverage which Mr. Goldberger criticizes was entirely unrelated to our discussion of the Summer High School.

The News editorial on Mr. Paros only asked the administration to explain its

13 I T he New Journal I May 11, 1969

policy with openness, honesty and candor.

My own column, which Mr. Goldberger has incorrectly interpreted as News policy ~eiterated this request and went beyond ' 1t to both support Mr. Paros's ideas and criticize administration handling of the Summer High School issue. I do not believe that Mr. Paros is infallible; he has made mistakes as he indicates quite clearly i~ his Director's Report. He may even be mcompetent; 1 haven't accused him of being so because I have seen no evidence to prove it and much to the contrary. But nothing Mr. Paros has done or could do would warrant the treatment he has received from Joel Fleishman Jonathan Fanton, Richard Sewall and The New Journal. For the consequences of that view, I, not the News, should bear fu ll responsiblity.

Douglas Hallett Paul Goldberger replies: I am grateful for Mr. Hallett's careful reading of my article. I am sorry, however, that he seems unable to answer without resorting to the same biases, unsupported assertions and outright misstatements of ~act that have characterized his reporting m the Yale Daily News.

First, the purpose of my article was only to prove that there is a reasonable doubt about the success of the 1968 program. I feel this doubt is sufficient to have justified Mr. Paros's dismissal. Mr. Hallett only barely concedes that it exists.

I feel compelled to clear up several particularly blatant errors contained in Mr. H allett's letter before I state my own position further. First, his statement that, " By the traditional criteria of college admissions, Mr. Paros was more successful than his predecessor, Joel Fleishman" is false. Ninety-nine per cent of the Su~­ mer H igh School students from Mr. Fleishman's years (1965-66) were admitted to college. T he Students in the Yale Summer High School last summer have not all reached their senior year of high school, and have not yet begun to make applications to college. Therefore, no fin al figures even exist for Mr. Paros's years; M r. Hallett seems to demonstrate remar kable powers of clairvoyance in asserting that Mr. Paros's "record" is higher. And moreover, students for Mr. Paros's fi rst year (1967) were selected by Mr. Fleishman before Mr. Paros assumed his d ~ ties and therefore do not represent the kmd of student Mr. Paros states his program existed to deal with.

I question Mr. H allett's assertion that "the vast majority" of students and faculty s~pport M r. Paros's work. True, many d1d-but my article mentions this. As an attempt to give the other side of the storyto explain this "reasonable doubt"-J naturally turned toward critics, none of whose comments had ever found their way to what Mr. H allett calls the "unbiased " pages of the News. Indeed, if Mr. H allett had access to these comments, as he claims he did, why did he never choose to print any? The administration's ~efusa l to talk, which I join Mr. Hallett m deplor ing, does not absolve him of any responsibil ity to investigate the other side.

The News's decision to ignore the other point of view based on the administration's ~a-comment stance is not only unfair; it IS a c heap and easy way of evading the newspaperman's responsibility to print both sides of the story.

Mr. Hallett's assertion that Jonathan Hall read the faculty statement to Peter Ciochetto is another untruth. Given the level of conduct of Mr. HaJJ and Mr. Paros during the course of the controversy, I must say I am willing to reject their word in favor of that of Mr. Ciochetto, who again says that the statement was never read to him, but instead paraphrased wrongly, in order to gain rights to his signature. Mr. Ciochetto had never before heard the statement the News printed until I read it to him over the telephone.

Mr. Hallett's comment that the anthology of faculty comments has "never before been given to the Board" is another untruth. Mr. Fleishman made a regular practice of reviewing it with the Administrative Board during his tenure. And it is easy to say that "Mr. Paros was quite willing to let anyone see it once they understood its nature," for very few people did understand its nature-how could they if they were never even told of its existence?

Mr. Hallett's attempt to explain the financial problem, rather than put that issue to rest, opens a Pandora's box of erroneous assertions. It is true that Mr. Fleishman, as Mr. Paros's superior, shares responsibility. But the actual errors themselves remain the fault of Mr. Paros.

First, it is hard to believe that "Mr. Paros understandably modelled h is budget on Mr. Fleishman's for the previous year," for Mr. Fleishman's included overhead charges, that elusive item Mr. Paros seems to have forgotten. Mr. Hallett further states that "Mr. Paros's budget, with no overhead charges, went through to Washington with the necessary approval."

Again he is in error. My checks with the Office of Economic Opportunity in Washington have revealed that $21 ,812 in overhead charges was included in the I 968 budget, an amount added by the University before the budget went on to Washington. Mr. Paros would be wise to keep a closer eye on his budgets-just because he forgot overhead does not give him the right to charge that the university accounting offices made the same mistake.

I find its curious, though, that Mr. Paros forgets to include overhead costs when he prepares his own budget yet remembers them quickly when they can be used in his defense. It is true that the university Comptroller's Office erred and neglected to account for eleven thousand dollars . in overhead on the 1966-67 OEO grant for the Summer High School. But this error was in Mr. Paros's favor and, contrary to his claims, the University admits its error and has not sought to reclaim the eleven thousand dollars. But since the sum must be made up out of university contingency funds, it is included in the overall Summer High School deficit-i.e., the overall amount of money the University will have to supply to rebalance the Summer High School accounts. But no one charges Mr. Paros with responsibility for the eleven thousand dollars. And moreover, the Provost has authorized that twelve thousand dollars overhead be waived on another OEO grant to reduce the level of the deficit for which Mr. Paros is responsibile. Why has Mr. H allett not mentioned this?

The figure of only six thousand dollars in additional expenses for the twenty-eight extra students in the program is highly questionable. While h alf of the stud ents d id bring five hundred dollars, this hardly offsets the estimated cost of fifteen h un-

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dred dol1ars per student, which totals forty-two thousand dollars, quite a cut above the six-thousand figure. And if, as Mr. Paros states, no new teachers were necessary for twenty-eight students, it appears as though the Summer High School was overstaffed in the first place or, worse, that the program was watered down to accommodate the extra students.

But most important, there is no truth whatsoever in Mr. Hallett's statement that Mr. Fleishman approved the increase in number of students. Mr. Fleishman was never even questioned about the increase; Mr. Paros simply accepted the extra students without authorization. (I find it interesting to note that Mr. Paros himself never claimed Mr. Fleishman's approval on this matter. Again, Mr. Hallett's zeal has driven him to distort facts to an even greater extent than Mr. Paros has.)

The Director's Report, which Mr. Hallett maintains costs less than a previous one written by Mr. Fleishman, may well have been less expensive to print. But Mr. Fleishman's document of approximately one hundred pages took nowhere near the amount of staff time to prepare that Mr. Paros's of almost four hundred pages did. And it was not a personal defense or a long statement of personal educational philosophy, as was Mr. Paros's Report. It was what it was supposed to be, a summary of the summer.

True, the 1968 staff was not permitted to join in planning for the 1969 session.

But they were retained to run a follow-up program for last summer's students. It is impossible to believe that the follow-up program did not suffer because of the time diverted to the writing of that voluminous report.

Mr. Hallett errs again when he states that he was present at every meeting between Mr. Paros and me. This is absolutely untrue. How does he know when I am with Mr. Paros? Mr. Hallet's clairvoyant abilities seem to have failed him here, for he is unaware of several talks I had . privately with Mr. Paros. And I am sorry to have to repeat again that Mr. Paros did in fact demand editing rights to my story; indeed, he and his two associates subjected me to continual harassment and went as far as to urge at one point that the entire story be eliminated "because it would only add to tensions."

The rationale Mr. Paros, Mr. Hall and Mr. Miller used to justify their demand is a strange one in light of their oft-repeated concern for free dialogue. Mr. Hall exp lained to me that, in the free and open university they foresee, the press would }lave to work closely with news sources such as themselves reviewing finished stories before publication so as to be sure they approved of the impression that was to be conveyed to the public.

Perhaps Mr. Hall calls his version of cooperation a license for a free press; I prefer to call it control of the news, something hardly consistent with the "open university."

Another error lies in Mr. Hallett's description of relations between Mr. Paros and the Administrative Board. Mr. Paros did in fact refuse to attend not one but two Administrative Board meetings called to discuss h is dismissal. He did not attend one because, as Mr. Hallett reports, he wished only to be there if Mr. Fleishman could attend. He refused to attend another, however, simply because that day be considered himself emotionally unable to go through the experience of discussing his

dismissal. This is most unfortunate, but it does not give him the right to say he was denied the chance to state his case.

Indeed, the second time Mr. Paros refused to come, the Board directed its chairman, Richard Sewall, to request Mr. Paros to write a statement explaining his position. The Board has yet to receive the statement.

Finally, I take strong exception to Mr. Hallett's view of the role the Yale Daily News has played. The statement that the News's coverage has not been biased is nothing short of extraordinary. Nowhere in any News story relating to the controversy have I been able to find any statement whatsoever that is unfavorable to Mr. Paros. True, the administration bas refused comment, but, as I stated above, that in no way means there is no other view to be investigated. Mr. Hallett claims he had access to the critical faculty anthology. Then. why were readers led to believe the faculty had aligned itself entirely in Mr. Paros) favor? The anthology contains several essays opposing Mr. Paros's management o( the Summer High School, not simply the two I quoted.

(Perhaps Mr. Hallett simply failed to read the anthology carefully-a possibility enhanced by the fact that he reports John Hildebidle termed his essay a personal polemic against Mr. Paros. A more careful reading would inform Mr. Hallett that Mr. Hildebidle did not term his essay a personal polemic but only expressed fears that it might be taken as such by careless readers. It was in fact the most serious, conscientious and eloquent statement in the entire anthology.)

Mr. HaJlett's piece de resistance is his claim that his coverage did not include personal attacks. If calling Richard Sewall a coward is not a personal attack, I call upon him to tell me what is.

As to Mr. Hallett's discussion of his alleged collusjon with Mr. Paros. I find it rather lacking in evidence to disprove my charge. I am happy that fate shines on Mr. Hallett so brightly that he chanced to meet Mr. Paros on York Street at just the very moment he needed him, right after he had discussed my article with a New Journal copyreader, acting without authorization. Even if that meeting was just a coincidence, why was Mr. Hallett present on Aprill8 when Mr. Paros, Mr. Hall and Mr. Miller called me to their office to attempt to have the article changed? There is certainly no reason for an outside member of the press to have been at that meeting, and the way the afternoon turned out-Mr. Paros, Mr. Hall, Mr. Miller and Mr. Hallett all together defending the Summer High School and demanding changes in the storymakes it difficult indeed to believe that Mr. Hallett was the unbiased reporter he claims he was. For at least those two and one half hours on April 18, Mr. HaJlett was not a reporter at all; he was another arm of the staff of the Yale Summer H igJl School.

Mr. Hallett notes that "the meeting degenerated because of understandably high emotions." I hasten to point out that, although I was the target of all four gentlemen for the entire afternoon, the meeting did not degenerate because of my emotions. It was Mr. Paros who, upon being challenged as to the ethics of preparing a four-hundred-page report in his defense, found it necessary to resort to name-calling. H e then left abru ptly and the meeting ended.

151 The New Journal! May 11, 1969

Mr. Hallett claims that "a far better case could me made for collusion between Mr. Goldberger and Mr. Fleishman and Mr. Fanton." This, too, is an absolute untruth, and I suspect Mr. Hallett knows it, for he offers not a single word of supporting evidence.

The length required simply to correct Mr. Hallett's misstatement of fact is, I believe, an ample index to the strength of his argument. There remains no question in my mind that the Yale Summer High School was a flawed program. While its basic conception was excellent and well thought out, its execution left a great .deal to be desired.

Administratively, the program was troubled not only by financial problems but by very serious discipline problems.

Many sources r eported the absence of Mr. P aros and of then Associate Director Paul J efferson at times of crisis. One of last summer's students, now in Yale's Transitional Year Program, emphasized that the basic concept of the program was valuable enough to make it a "great" summer, but added: "Larry Paros never asserted his authority. He let the kids run all over him. He never told it straight; he was a very bad administrator." Twenty-one of the thirty teachers whose evaluations are included in the anthology cite the administt:ation's overly weak line on discipline.

While Edgar Beckham may have liked the program's romantic attitude, I am more willing to trust the opinions of the faculty

members who had to deal with the problems themselves. (By the way, Mr. :aeckham and Edgar Friedenbreg were not, as Mr. Hallett stated, the only leading educators to visit YSHS. David Riesman visited also, and came away with a particularly unfavorable impression.)

The program, then, was a failure administratively. Nor was it a rousing success academically. While students by and large did enjoy the program, any competent educator would agree that the evaluation s they prepared at summer's end for the Director's Report are hardly a valid means of making a final judgment on the program. As another former student told me, "Most of the kids were the type who would enjoy any program that gave them freedom."

I made the point in my article that the good core concept was perhaps not ideal for the disadvantaged students Mr. Paros insisted upon having. It seems as though Mr. Paros agrees, for in the latest version of his Director's Report he admits that many problems resulted "from the fact that the Yale Summer High School was only a summer program," and that the "alienated" students he enrolled could not be dealt with in a summer. By this admission, Mr. Paros is in fact conceding the academic failure of his program. He claims the University lacked a "commitment to solve the problems we addressed."

But this is just the point: the problems Mr. Paros "addressed" were not the problems

he was charged with addressing. The Summer High School was never designed to serve "problem" students, but rather those with college potential, because the University has known all along what Mr. Paros has just found out: simply, that alienated students cannot be dealt with in a summer.

Thus the formation of the Summer High School as a program for underprivileged but "college-material" students, and the establishment of different programs, such as Upward Bound, for less promising students.

J doubt that I will ever be able to convince Mr. Hallett of the fallacy of charging Mr. Paros's dismissal to the Singer Report.

We all agree that the Singer Report was not the real reason for the dismissal (though the other administration reason, the OEO requirement for a faculty director, is indeed quite real), and I share Mr. Hallet's disapproval of the administration's refusal to discuss the full story. Yet I still maintain that it was a desire to preserve Mr. Paros's reputation that resulted in the withholding of the information I presented. Furthermore, the Yale administration, as would any institution in power, selfishly wanted to keep the issue quiet. I agree that this was an unwise policy. But let us not allow it to obscure the larger fact: that Lawrence Paros was a poor administrator. ! .recognize that my story was a onesided presentation; perhaps our error was really in the billing of it as the "fuli story."

...,.. -"'' '-Yet it is the responsibility of a newspaper ""'~--. . such as the News to provide the real full story, and it was Mr. Hallett's failure to do so that prompted my investigation into the other side of the controversy. I apologize for any errors I may have made (and particularly to Michael Frank, whom I did indeed quote without permission). But in the final review of the evidence, I see no reason whatsoever to change my conclusions. I believe Lawrence Paros was wrong, and that Mr. Hallett, in what may indeed have beeq an honest and wellmeaning effort to defend him, abdicated the high standards of journalistic integrity traditionally associated with the Yale Daily News.

Paul Goldberger

Goodbye, hello As The New Journal publishes its last issue for this academic year, we thought we'd announce that we will be back again in the fall. If any of our readers want to discuss article ideas or any other matter concerning the NJ over the summer, please call us at (212)-PLl-72 19

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