Copyright Barclay D. McMillen 1999

--INTRODUCTION--

With minor deletions and additions, the following is the original.

Barclay D. McMillen

William Armstrong

August 1999

ONE

Kent State

When I had become an undergraduate at Kent in the early Fifties, Kent was primarily a college for the training of teachers. Located in a tree-lined rural area of Northeast Ohio, Kent State was a middle-sized university of about six thousand students composed primarily of undergraduates.

The campus was small but beautiful, with hundreds of now dead big Dutch Elms. The city of Kent was essentially free from the present glut of gas stations, instant hamburger joints, and twenty-plus bars on "the strip." When we could afford a few beers, most of us went down to Mandi's, Rocky's, or the Venice. If we could find someone with wheels, it was to the Big House for dancing and beer. Pot, speed, and acid were foreign to us. Kent was a quiet, pretty little town. Today, it is dominated by a vast university with 29,000 students on campus and at the branch centers nearby -- 22,000 on the main campus alone. The faculty numbers more than a thousand, guiding a mass of graduate students, assistants, and teaching fellows, and an array of masters and doctoral programs. It is a typical multi-university.

TWO

The Blacks Walk Out

Until 1968, Kent State had been the prototype of the sleepy midwestern university. Our first potentially violent and highly disruptive disturbance occurred in November of that year. In late spring there were angry mutterings from some black students about the promotion and salary of a lower level black official of the University.

The potential of a disturbance by the blacks in the spring faded. The reason was that the school year ended, proving the maxim known to college administrators throughout the nation: "If you must have a disturbance, have it in the spring when there are very few weeks left in the academic year."

A dean of one of America's leading universities candidly admitted to me: "If we're faced with trouble in the fall, we're far more inclined to compromise; if we take a hard position, it will be in the spring when we can live with it." Such is the thinking of administrators today.

But the blacks at Kent State in the spring of 1968 were not to be put off forever. Some admitted that the particular issue of the black official was not their best; the issue receded but it was apparent that the truce was temporary, the activist black needed recognition -- a victory, pyrrhic or real.

The first of Kent State's three confrontations commenced on November 13, 1968. Professor Earle Roberts, who headed the law enforcement program, had invited the Oakland police department on campus for recruitment, and fifteen students had signed up for interviews. Black militants had long accused the Oakland police of racism and murder of blacks. The Black Panthers were then headquartered in Oakland.

It was the type of issue which had great potential for unifying the blacks. It had an even more ominous possibility of uniting the blacks with our large contingent of S.D.S. (Students for a Democratic Society) members and followers, estimated between 100 and 300. The S.D.S. seized the moment, for here was the chance to have the blacks join them. The radicals were attempting to incite revolution by forming alliances (led by them, of course) with blacks, the workers, and students.

At 2 p.m. on Wednesday, November 13, about 100 white students and non-students gathered by the oak in front of the student union and marched the two hundred yards to the Student Activities Center where the Oakland police were conducting interviews. Carrying signs reading "Oakland Cops Must Go" and "End K.S.U. Complicity With Racism," they joined more than 100 blacks who were then conducting a sit-in at the building.

This was Kent's first confrontation. The University was not adequately prepared.

Dean of Students Robert Matson, bullhorn in hand, warned the protesters that their sit-in was unlawful and that university buses were drawn up near the occupied building. Rumors of mass arrests immediately swept the area. Dean Matson left, returned, and left again. At 7 p.m., arms locked together, the protesters walked out of the building.

As often happens, the next day the issue was no longer the Oakland police but "amnesty for all." This is the now classic pattern of confrontation and escalation used by radical elements. At Kent, they were hopeful of an adamant stand by the Administration, of violence, and of attaining their goal of closing the University. They would be all too successful a year and a half later. But then, the S.D.S. was just learning. They were heady with hope.

The University offered the protesters a punishment much less than suspension. But the offer was not properly "sold" and was lost in a mass of distrust and emotion.

Two days later, on Friday, the usual subsequent rally was held by S.D.S. and the first lack of proper police planning and intelligence appeared.

At most rallies of the white radicals all one had to do to find out what they were up to was to attend the rally. Apparently the police didn't attend, for having assumed that the S.D.S. was to march from their usual rallying point in front of the student union to the Administration Building, a contingent of riot-equipped police arrived, visible to all. To many of us, this would have a sobering effect; to the radical or even liberal student it too often has an inflammatory effect. Nothing occurred, but a warning flag had been raised. It was duty noted by this lawyer/professor who later, as much as anyone, was planning, coordinating and running the Administration's actions.

The white radical had been overly optimistic in hoping for a continued alliance with the blacks. The blacks had their "own thing" and it did not include the whites -- any whites. But human error gave continued impetus to the events.

Two of the black student leaders were waiting for me in front of the political science office at 8 a.m. on Friday. In fourteen months at Kent State, many blacks and I had established an honest relationship. I did not care for any popularity contest, nor was I a bleeding heart liberal for blacks. Some blacks I liked, some I did not. Most of them told it straight to me; to most of them I had told it straight. Their position had to be appreciated by anyone aware of the degradation to which so many had been subjected.

Their youthful pride was encouraging to behold. The reasonableness of their requests was evident. They were eating crow coming to me, a white, in their pride and youth and asking my help to get the blacks a large room in which to meet that morning. They did not want to meet with or join the S.D.S. meeting scheduled for that morning. If they had to meet outdoors, they feared harassment and physical violence from whites. It was now 8:30 and they wanted the room by 11 a.m.

In my mind this was the break. One could not help but be impressed with the students' logic, wishes and demeanor. Although it raised the questions of why they felt they had to go to a member of the faculty (and white at that), there was time to reflect on that later. Now was the time to make "the system" work.

Although from my position no promises could be made, assurances for best efforts were conveyed. They were to contact me after my 8:50 class at the University Auditorium.

I tried, but failed, to reach Dean Matson, but Dick Edwards, the young, bright and clever administrative assistant to President White was in. Formerly an administrative assistant to Congressman Charles Mosher of Ohio, Dick was to be a godsend to Kent State for the next seven months. On this, the first University-related call I had made to Dick, he was not his immediate imaginative self. He expressed fears that the blacks might seize the room or other horrors. I thought, "My God, has the Administration lost that much touch?" In fairness to Dick, he might have been reflecting the views of others. We talked and he agreed to call Dean Matson and Vice President for Administration Ronald Roskens. I learned later that the blacks had obtained their room.

A meeting was scheduled Sunday on campus with black students and their parents. The parents were against a contemplated walkout by their sons and daughters; they wanted their children educated. They disbelieved racist charges against the Administration.

Dean of Students Robert Matson, 37, a former college quarterback with an unfortunate hard glint to his eye and hardness to his face which belies an extremely compassionate nature, spoke to the assembled group of parents and students. Like most people, Bob is not at his best before large groups under tense circumstances. Using the expression "you people," which in the parlance of the black can be like "boy" he turned off the parents and turned on the impetus to extend the confrontation. Here was the human error. A walkout from campus was planned.

Monday was the day. In anticipation, news media had arrived. The University was getting tense. The walkout was planned for late afternoon.

At noon a few blacks, army veterans and more mature than the average student, walked into my office. The blacks were becoming fractured, and my visitors were questioning the wisdom of the walkout. Recognizing that a walkout was probably inevitable, nevertheless I agreed with their conclusions. "The problem" I told them, "is what do you do for an encore? The technique of the walkout is excellent; you'll get the publicity, but it will only work once. And your issue isn't that good. If we prohibit from campus the Oaklands, we will no longer be an open market for ideas if we likewise don't permit access by the Huey Newtons, the George Wallaces or the Jerry Rubins. And besides, if the Oakland police are indeed racist, what better way to change that then by having them recruit college-trained, non-racist-oriented graduates?" (In fact, one of the students who wanted an interview with the Oakland police was a black.) My friends left to speak to their brothers and sisters.

My introduction into the Administrations's decision making group commenced an hour later with my being called from class by the President's office for a conference in the Board room on the confrontation. It was by reason of the urging of Dick Edwards that I was invited. Until this time I had a cursory acquaintance with the Administration.

The walkout was scheduled for 5 p.m.; we met at 2 p.m.

From listening to the men in the Board room, it was apparent that they were rightfully fearful of the internal and external reactions to a walkout, they feared any backing away from the position of University action against the protesters and that they had no solution. In this, Dean Matson and Vice President of Administration, Ronald Roskens, were most firm; President White seemed to be following them; Edwards and Acting Provost Dr. C. Stanley Corey made few comments.

In front of me, on a legal pad, my position was outlined but not then communicated:  "First, both sides have erred; the sit-in was unjustified but the University moved erratically. Second, if the blacks walk out, how does this thing ever end? There is real danger of imports coming in to take advantage of the tensions. Third, this may present an opportunity to split the blacks from the S.D.S. Fourth, we need time to develop better ways to cope with disturbances; we aren't ready. It is time to end this thing before it gets out of hand." I recognized the danger of the community's reaction to a so-called "sell out" and expressed the fact that this would probably be a one-shot venture. The outside pressures on the University Administration would be too great to appear to capitulate again. We would be damned by many but probably survive one such apparent surrender.  But I said nothing.

President White asked the key question: "What do the blacks want?" Going from his left, he asked ten of us about that question.  There were no responses from nine of us.  I was asked last, and I responded, "They want a victory."  There was no discussion.  The meeting ended.

Less than half of the black students walked out, including those intimidated to do so. National news media covered the event. A KSU-in-exile was established in Akron for and by the blacks. Kent State was on the horns of a dilemma.

The next two days were frenzied. At a press conference the next day President White announced my appointment as Special Counsel for Student Rights. The position was simply a mechanism for the administration to have me legitimately involved in the decision making process. By that evening, President White appeared to be moving toward ending the crisis. Innumerable calls took place between White, Edwards and myself. An early morning call on Wednesday from President White asking for a meeting with me at 9 a.m. assured the adoption of my position. The means of achieving a termination of the walkout was something else, but President White had thought most of that through.

At that meeting President White asked me whether the evidence against the students was sufficient. It was patently obvious he was searching for a way out. I replied that I could go either way -- that an opinion could be written supporting either position. I asked which he preferred. There was no response. Again I asked the same question and again--no response. It seemed highly probable that he did not want to be on record. I then said I would write an opinion saying the evidence was not sufficient. An hour later, Mr. Robert Blakemore, an Akron attorney who also was chairman of the Democratic county chairman in Ohio, and I were to meet on this matter.

To the end Dean Matson fought any form of capitulation. In desperation, he finally argued law with me -- somewhat of a lamb and lion routine. For what it was worth, he obtained my respect for his tenacity for what he believed right. Although today he probably would concede the wisdom of the final decision, he had good reason to fight it. His word of University sanctions against the students was at stake; his reputation to his staff and their esprit de corps were in danger. And thus far Vice President Roskens had stood by his man Dean Matson.

After lunch President White read his proposed statement to Matson, Roskens, Edwards and myself. As finally issued, it read, in part:

"This morning, attorneys specially retained by the University have given an opinion that the evidence which could be used in the event of hearings and possibly subsequent proceedings in courts of law is, in itself, not sufficient to justify in a court of law a conviction under a charge of disorderly conduct.

"Under our repeatedly expressed allegiance to the maintenance of due process, Dean Matson, therefore, has decided not to place individual charges of disorderly conduct in connection with the Placement Office obstruction of last Wednesday, November 13th. . . . "

When President White read this to us and thus undercut Matson's and Roskens's position, Vice President Roskens said to the President: "That was a fine statement, President White."

Bob Blakemore and I had rendered the view that the evidence "is, in itself, not sufficient to justify in a court of law a conviction under a charge of disorderly conduct." It is amazing that the news media or some person did not pick it up and show how ludicrous that remark was to the problem of University disciplinary processes. University disciplinary bodies are not courts of law. Also, the student conduct code does not define disorderly conduct and contained other provisions under which the students could have been disciplined. Regardless, it gave us what we then needed: a way to end the affair fast and with some dignity. That afternoon President White said to me that the statement might cause him to be fired. I do not think he believed it but he probably had given it some thought

It was one thing to draft the statement and another to get the blacks back on campus. The danger was ever present, especially with delay, that the blacks would escalate their demands to a level to which would be impossible to accede. Rumors to such effect were extant.

On that morning we had called for a meeting with the black leadership at 2 p.m. Earlier, at a meeting with the blacks, Matson, Edwards and myself at noon, we learned that they were willing to accept something less than we later offered them.  But their offer, conciliatory as it was, would have prolonged the episode, raising the possibility of further trouble. The fact that the 2 p.m. meeting was only with the blacks and not with S.D.S. was not accidental. Here was the opportunity to split the S.D.S. from the black students. However, in the event that failed, there was tentatively arranged a secret meeting between one or two S.D.S. leaders, President White and myself in my home at 4 p.m. Subsequently, that proposed meeting was hastily cancelled.

A little after 2 p.m. eight or so of the black leadership entered the office of President White where he and I had been anxiously waiting. Dean Matson's absence was intentional; he had become persona non grata with the black activists. One of the leaders who I knew well -- he was at my door the Friday morning before -- smiled at my presence. He then knew. Most were nervous and one asked the question, absurd to me but probably real to them, "Are there tape recorders in the room?" My somewhat disgusted reply at any insinuation that such would be attempted ended that. President White spoke at some length and then read a statement.

My friend of Friday morning asked: "What does that mean?" and I responded that there would be no charges. I believe they were taken aback. An intelligent and respectful discussion then took place between the students and President White. A number of matters were discussed and White agreed to many requests, almost too many, I thought.

A somewhat amusing incident took place at this meeting. When they entered, one very tall student had stationed himself inside the door as a guard, against what I could not fathom. When President White returned from the outer office where he had gone to have the statement duplicated, the President, who is not very tall, placed his face as close to the student's face as possible and glowered: "Just remember -- that's my door."  Guts!

That evening the black students returned to Kent. It was over. Trying to relax that night with my family, the first of many local negative reactions to my role in the walkout took place. A leading member of Faculty Senate called and accused me of having sold out the University by taking advantage of a tired president and using my "fancy Washington ways" with him (what they were I never knew). I suggested he call President White and ask for the President's resignation; that calmed him down. I was to continue to pay a high price for my involvement in a decision which I always felt was wise. Unfortunately, the reasons for the decision could not be told at the time.

Much good had been achieved. A new impetus to assimilate and help the black student was created; it carries over to this day (1999.) Time was provided for the next onslaught which most of us felt would be inevitable in the spring. The blacks on campus had received a tremendous psychological boost which must have been a factor in their remaining mostly aloof from the more major confrontations of April 1969 and May 1970. But most importantly, a potentially volatile confrontation had ended without physical injury or damage to property.

Around Christmas that year, Bob Matson and I were to argue as to the next confrontation. He felt it would come from the blacks, in part, probably because we "caved in." I felt the S.D.S. was our threat. Gentlemanly but firm words were exchanged.

A couple of days after the blacks returned, a rally in support of President White was attempted. In a sincere effort to give the President some student backing and favorable publicity to ward off the heat he was getting, I asked a few students to arrange the rally. It was a dud. Four students appeared. The reason wasn't that White was disliked, but rather, that he was unknown, except by name. He was not a visible, human presence to the students.

It was time for appraisal and reflection. This was our first exposure to a campus disturbance and my first intimate exposure to administration/student relations and the University's decision-making process for disturbances.

December 2, 1968, I sent President White a memorandum reflecting my thoughts and observations of the past three weeks as well as accumulated observations of fourteen months. This was my first of a number of memoranda developing an analysis of critical university problems.

"The following encompasses some of my thoughts and suggestions respecting recent campus disturbances. Such can be analyzed upon two bases: avoidance and control.

"AVOIDANCE: The recent demonstrations showed a manifest lack of meaningful communications between politically active groups on campus and the 'administration.' For example, on Friday, November 15th, B.U.S. [Black United Students] and the administration both used a faculty member to communicate their views to one another. I noted at that time fear and suspicion toward the administration by B.U.S.; likewise the 'administration' demonstrated (1) a sense of lack of urgency, and (2) a fear of  B.U.S., e.g., if we were to give B.U.S. a room to meet in, they might stage a sit-in and destroy property. At that juncture the blacks desired a room to meet in after the planned demonstration and protection to and from said room. They feared white harassment.

"The immediate reaction by the 'administration' should have been positive, for a most effective manner to vent anger is through discussion. The meeting place was arranged but not prior to an observation of the above.

"Other decisions also exacerbated the situation. First, on the day of the sit-in at the recruitment center, buses were pulled up at about 4 p.m. near the center, obviously with the intent of using them to haul away the student violators. This, within itself, was an act of incitement and should not have been made so patently obvious until a decision was firmly arrived at to use force.

"Second, on Friday at 1 p.m. when the S.D.S held a rally outside the union, someone erroneously decided that S.D.S. was about to march on the Administration Building. Anyone could have attended the rally and discovered that such was not the case. Shortly thereafter, ten Kent City police arrived at the Administration Building, five in complete riot regalia. Another act of incitement.

"If I may suggest another possible miscalculation: the failure of the administration to leave itself viable options. The gauntlet was immediately laid down with charges which could result in dismissal. The issue was no longer the Oakland police but 'the administration is out to get our leaders.' No cooling off period existed between the act and the expression of the intent of the administration.

"Also, I believe the lessening of the charges could have ended the whole episode if the mere 'conduct' charge had been effectively presented to the groups. But that would have required meaningful communications. To establish effective communications with these politically active groups and other interested students, I suggest two methods as being imperative:

"(1) Personalize the 'administration;' the hierarchy of the administration must find time and avenues to reach students on an informal basis on neutral ground (not 'the man's' office.) It is the student outside the 'system' which can and must be reached. Possibilities of this nature should be explored for not only have we bought a little time but I believe your recent action has provided this University great opportunity if availed of quickly and decisively.

"(2) The interested students on campus are seeking a 'piece of the action' to make the system more responsive to their needs. . . .

"CONTROL: There should be established immediately a control committee and center to become operative at the incipient stage of any possible campus disturbance. The decision making authority should be clearly allocated. This should be the center of control not only for administrative decisions, but also for police and press. The control group should be small -- probably not more than six persons. They should have a designated center (maybe the Board room but preferably away from the Administration Building) containing at least six phones, hopefully, extra extensions of the office number of each person comprising the control group.

"Additionally, steps should be taken immediately to coordinate for future purposes the police functions of the University, the city of Kent, and the county and the state. [The failure to implement this proved disastrous one and a half years later.]

"Although better communications will obviously improve the intelligence functions of the University, other avenues should be explored compatible with the nature of this institution.

"No reply necessary."

THREE

Paralysis by Analysis

The multi-university has many constituents, each of whom perceives its purposes and operations from their own point of reference. Today, when many institutions are subject to acute strife, the criticism usually reflects these references.

The taxpayer/voter may question why his money should be spent for a bunch of weirdo and hopped up rioting kids. This infects the elected official who must be ever-sensitive to his constituents; the name of his game is re-election. He may see the complexities of the multi-university and its problems but realizes the impossibility of conveying this to most voters.

With the passage of time, the campus remembrances of the alumnus becomes increasingly fond. He enjoys the football games, the dinners, and maybe the Alumni Club. Like the taxpayer, he can't fathom the ruckus at his dear ol' alma mater. He thinks of eliminating or lowering his contribution.

The non-academic employee of a university may see the kids as a real threat to his livelihood. He resents those spoiled brats who are wasting the college education he never had.

A huge university like Kent State is an enormous corporate effort involving thousands of employees, millions of dollars worth of buildings, millions of meals to prepare yearly, a vast array of departments and offices and more than 20,000 continually changing faces. This Leviathan somehow continues to operate with one of the most diffused decision making structures imaginable.

Those of us who have worked in the nation's factories and offices know that our foreman, office manager, vice president or president can hire or fire us. He's the boss, the person who sets policy. If you don't do your job, you're fired; if he doesn't do his job, he's fired. This analysis is oversimplified but most of us perceive our work lives in such terms. This is not so in the university.

Those who believe that the president of a university can simply fire a professor who teaches his student to make fire bombs for the revolution are living in a dream world. The professor may have that inviolable status called tenure; to remove a professor with tenure practically takes an act of Congress. The department chairman or the departmental executive committee comprised of his colleagues may be able to accomplish his removal, but then again he might appeal to the dean or the provost, or both. There is always the danger that other faculty might strike if the bomb-teaching professor were removed. And any good administrator knows that the heart of a university is its faculty.

In a large university, the president would be fortunate to know half the faculty. He must deal with a faculty governing board with broad power over academic policy. He must satisfy the state legislature which can turn on or turn off funds for university projects; matters in Washington may take time. The alumni want to see him. And an enormous stack of paper awaits him daily. Students demand to talk to him on a wide assortment of problems, from Vietnam to beer. The Board of Trustees sits like a vulture over his shoulder. All groups demand a piece of the action.

A president who takes all these tasks upon himself has little time left for mixing with the mass of students. He will spend time with the few students in formal organizations but today these are the "safe" students.

A president would be wise to have an executive vice president to whom many of the external university and administrative functions could be delegated.  Right or wrong, students of today want to know their president; they want to trust and like him.  The present absence of love and trust can be very damaging in periods of crisis when these elements are essential for campus peace.

Another bone of contention with many students is the board of trustees of a university.  Students perceive them as holding magic decision making powers.  They fail to realize that the boards are often rubber stamps for the administration.  Historically, for intra-university purposes, the major action of the board was to hire the president.

Board members are really lobbyists for the university.  A wise president will seek to have appointed a man with contacts  at the statehouse, a man with Washington contacts, and a person high in business who might be able to attract contributions.  At Kent a couple of board members with close ties to the news media probably have used their influence to assure favorable press coverage for the University.

Students are probably making a mistake in seeking voting representation on the boards.  First, the average student would soon become bored at the meetings, which are often devoted to fiscal matters.  Secondly, while today many board members can be lobbied to represent student interests, a voting student may cause the reaction, "Okay, you got your vote so don't expect us to look out after you."  The interests of the students would be jeopardized for they are no match in knowledge or experience with the seasoned board member.  In a year or two the student will have graduated.

One of the most frustrating but prevailing characteristics of a university is decision making (or delaying) by committees -- innumerable and interminable committees.  The committee process has been aptly described by Lee Burke, former president of the Service Pipeline Company, as "paralysis by analysis."  Of the many committees I have served on as a member of the faculty, only one could be regarded as worthwhile, and that resulted in another committee.  Some faculty members devote a major portion of their time and energies to committees; every university has its "faculty politicians." There exists a real danger that universities may drown in committees.  The process of action (or more likely, inaction or delayed action) by committee may have been tolerable in the quiet, tree-shaded university of yesteryear, but today excessive committees may paralyze the decision making process when rapid action is required.

"Why don't they simply kick out the trouble-making students?" is an often heard but futile cry.  Such simple sounding solutions are not realistic.  The trouble-causer may not be a student, or at least not at your university.  Furthermore, in riot situations it is extremely difficult to identify the wrong-doer.  And finally, a hearing fulfilling the legal requirements of due process is a prerequisite to a student's permanent dismissal.

And where does all this leave the average student?  Too often he is left alone.  The administrator is engrossed in administering, perhaps for, but rarely with students, except the elitist few who belong to formal student organizations. And if the student would develop the courage to go to a professor's office to chat, he probably won't find him in. The professor may well be teaching, but more likely he is attending a committee meeting, playing with the kids at home, or buried somewhere writing.

"Reality" to the new faculty member is publish or perish.  Lip service is given to excellence in teaching or professor-student relations, but I know of no instance where such was the sole basis of promotion.  In almost every case publications are the prerequisite, and writing and research are enormously time consuming.

If I were to advise a young Ph.D. on how to get promotions and salary increases, he would be told, "For the first five years, try to publish about ten articles and one book of readings.  Don't worry too much about quality.  Spend as little time as possible at the office, teaching, or with students; the system does not reward such efforts."  Actually, such advice would be unnecessary; they know it already.

Research and writing are necessary academic pursuits, especially at the level of graduate courses, but today a substantial imbalance exists.  The forgotten man in higher education is the undergraduate; he doesn't like it and we are hearing from him.

I heard from him in the form of a freshman who came up to me after my last lecture in fall quarter 1968.  He was one of 600 students in my "classroom," the University Auditorium.  He walked up close, inspected me carefully, and said, "I just wanted to see what you look like."  Those large classes are another immeasurable irritant to the young person seeking and needing personal recognition.  The available data indicates that the student learns as much in a large class as in a small one, but learning is only one of the functions of college.  The maturing process should be another function and the need for personal communication is not satisfied by these large classes.  Nor can this need necessarily be satisfied by using graduate assistants in small classes.  The students want the real thing, the professor.  Further, our students upon leaving home and seeking their identity need the personal exposure to adults whom they can emulate or reject.  Part of the professor's role can be the parent substitute, but this is not possible in large classes.

Though lecturing to 600 student is a most difficult form of teaching, it was a relief to return full time to students after the November disturbances.  However, the likelihood of future disturbances was on my mind.  I felt certain that spring would bring further trouble.  During the winter, campuses are generally quiet; it's too cold to riot.

One thing worrying me was the inefficacy of the arrest procedures for campus riots.  Of our leading provocateurs, some were not students but full-time revolutionaries, or nominal students who register for one class to obtain student status, or imports from other universities.

Our student disciplinary process would be irrelevant to the non-student or nominal student.  The arrest process also contains the seed of irrelevancy for campus disruptions.  All too often the arrested revolutionary posts bond and returns to campus to incite further violence.  There must be a method by which those dedicated to destruction can be kept off university premises.

While teaching a Constitutional Law class, the method occurred to me -- court injunctions.  If it appears that a person is likely to commit a legal wrong, the court can prohibit that person from that act and forbid that person from entering the premises upon which that act would occur.   For violations of  such court orders, the person named would be in contempt of court.  Under a contempt citation the judge, without a jury, can immediately sentence the violator to jail.

Accordingly, this would apply to all who have indicated the probability that they would engage in disruptive activities. To be enjoined one would not necessarily have to have been arrested or convicted.  If an injunction were obtained prohibiting the disrupter from entering university property, and he violated that order by setting one foot on campus, he could be arrested and sentenced immediately.  There would be no opportunity to engage in disruptive actions or return to campus.

It is a powerful weapon which must be used with discretion, but with proper identification it can be quite successful, especially for violently prone leadership elements.

Early in winter quarter I introduced these thoughts to the Administration.  The approach was novel and eventually required the approval of the Ohio Attorney General's office in Columbus.  On the local level the obstacle was heard "But it's never been tried before." Yet in late February and early March, 1969, certain key local support was obtained. Dean Matson and myself had visited in chambers the long-time Judge Caris,  in the neighboring town of Ravenna.  Our purpose was to gain his view on our innovative injunction process.  His reaction was, "Boys, when you go after them, go with both guns blazing."

In this and other areas we were gearing up for S.D.S.' highly touted "Spring Offensive."

S.D.S. had invested months of planning into building the base from which the offensive would evolve.  Starting with a committed cadre of perhaps thirty to fifty members (which could be enlarged depending on the particular issue), they began trying to build a "radical consciousness" among the student body.

They promulgated their ideas boldly.  At that time, they felt success would come only through attracting large numbers of people to their cases, and that required getting attention.

Kent S.D.S. leaders had been instrumental in writing a document with statewide  distribution which would serve as the script for campus upheaval in the spring of 1969.

Entitled "Time of the Furnace: An Organizer's Manual for the Spring Offensive," parts of the manual smack of Lenin, Che and Mao.  They sought the support of the American Worker:

"Further, the allegiance of the masses of American workers to the system will not be seriously challenged until that material basis is changed."

Shades of Karl Marx and dialectic materialism.

Their first task was "to create a class consciousness among students;" the second is to bring the struggle into the communities:

"By attacking off-campus institutions such as the Board of Education, foundation or counter-insurgency front headquarters, corporations or banks; by seeking support of out of school working class youth through organizing, for example, around an anti-police training, anti-courts, anti-repression program; by supporting trade union struggles where appropriate."

In the struggle they urged:

"Open support for the victory of the National Liberation Front and the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam)."

They were not afraid to broadcast their attacks.  For example:

"At the same point, then, it will be necessary to actively confront R.O.T.C. kids (Stopping parades, etc.) in demonstrating our determination to stop imperialism.

"The question is whether to aim our actions at physically stopping R.O.T.C. (disrupting classes, stopping parades, etc.) or at the administration of the school.  In most cases it would seem best to move on the latter.  While disruptive and harassment tactics may help build pressure and consciousness, the focus of the assault should be against the administration, the trustees and/or the regents -- who control the decision making within the university and who represent our primary enemy on the campus."

High schools were not to be ignored, either:

"It has become clear within the last year or so that high school organizing -- particularly in working class schools -- is of vital importance to the development of our movement "

For colleges they spelled out their tactics and resources:

"(a)  Dorm and classroom organizing:  Taking the issues and demands directly to the people; speaking in dorms, setting up dorm cadres; agitating in relevant classes about militarization and imperialism;

"(b)  Film Festival:  The Regional Office in Cleveland has many films relating to militarization:  Hanoi 13; Pigs, Columbia Revolt, The Black Panther, etc.  People can use films in dorms and classes. . . .

"(c)  Literature:  The Regional Offices and stocking articles, reprints and pamphlets relevant to militarism.  Literature should be distributed to all chapter members for internal education, displayed at literature tables, available during all teach-ins, etc.

"(d)  Third World or Latin America, or Cuba Week -- Depending on how ambitious you are:  Setting up a week of propaganda activity including speakers, teach-ins, street marches to dramatize imperialism and our solidarity with the people of the Third World.

"(e)  Escalating actions:  During the course of the struggle it will probably be necessary and helpful to carry out a series of 'mini' actions to help build consciousness and  dramatize the issue.  Beginning with guerilla theater actions we can escalate to disrupting classes, street marches, quick assaults on buildings, etc., before moving to the major confrontation of the struggle."

In conclusion, the manual states,

"Our politics must be precise, coherent and revolutionary; and we must be ready to move, to desanctify, to confront, to escalate, and ultimately to defeat the system we live under."

This was what the University was up against; this was what Kent students would be facing. Coincidences between the plan and actual occurrences were not accidental; Kent was a target school.

It would not be uncommon that spring in many classrooms for S.D.S. member, when he had the floor, to digress from the class discussion.  In one reported instance at Kent State, a radical leader simply took the class over from the professor or would tell the professor "bullshit" or "sit down."  The professor would sit down. Both inside and outside the classroom, simplistic sloganeering brought the issues "to the people," often with little semblance of meaning:  "Dare to struggle, Dare to win," "Two-four-six-eight, organize to smash the state," "Ho, ho, Ho Chi Minh, the N.L.F. is gonna' win," "End the war in Vietnam," "Bring the troops home now," and "All power to the people."

Several films borrowed from S.D.S. headquarters were shown and discussed during winter quarter.  With temporary University recognition as a campus organization, S.D.S. was entitled to use University classroom facilities and audio-visual equipment.  Dorm "rap sessions" began taking place in the meeting areas in Tri-Towers dormitories known as the "Pit," and in other dorms during the height of the crisis in late April.

The Kent chapter of S.D.S succeeded in having several national S.D.S. leaders visit campus to lead public discussions and to meet in private sessions during the year.  These included Mark Rudd, who led the Columbia S.D.S.; Rennie Davis, a national S.D.S. officer; Bernadine Dohrne, another national officer, and Terry Robbins, a national S.D.S. leader and author of "Time of the Furnace," who later was reportedly killed while making a bomb in Greenwich Village.

Literature on almost any revolutionary topic was always available at S.D.S. recruiting tables.  Topics ranged from alleged exposes of the holdings of K.S.U. trustees, to various forms of women's liberation, to solidarity with the struggles of Ethiopia; mimeographed handouts were distributed on campus during winter and spring quarters.

"The People's Fight is Our Fight" read the heading over one flyer.  In pamphlets and rallies, they talked repeatedly about " self-determinations for the Third World," "repressions," and "imperialism and racism."  The whole system was guilty.

"The ruling class uses Kent State University to kill and contain the people who are exploited by the ruling class imperialists and racists; the people's struggle has been brought home to Kent!" they said.

"Open it up or shut it down!" cried the radicals.  The average student wanted it open; he ignored S.D.S.

It was a time for more attention toward handling disruptions.  Accordingly, on March 31, 1969, I submitted a memorandum to President White and other administrative officials.  Our next major disturbance was eight days away. Entitled "Proposed University Responses to Student Disturbances," the memo set forth warnings and proposed tactics. Parts of it were to be prophetic.

"I. General

"FLEXIBILITY:  University response to campus disturbances should be commensurate with the violations.  Utilizing police action is the last resort and constitutes an admission that all other solutions have failed.  The utilization of police in such instances is within itself a highly provocative factor on university campuses. Although a 'hard line' might appear to be popular now, over reaction, especially by police, could find the University doomed by faculty, students, press and T.V. and the state legislature.

"SEVERITY OF THE ACT:   Three acts warrant University action: (1) where human life is endangered or harmed; (2) where there is intentional destruction of property, and (3) where the rights of others are infringed upon.  It is this third factor which involves delicate responses and which is the most likely to occur, e.g., sit-ins.

"II.  Forms of University Responses

"WARNING:  The University has already warned the student body that further disturbances will not be tolerated.  The national climate is for a get tough policy which contains the danger of over reaction. . . .

"Universities may be entering a new stage where mass, violent, demonstrations become passe but guerilla type activities increase.

"Unless the administration makes a serious mistake, it is unlikely that severe trouble will develop this spring from any large contingent of black students.  The present danger is from a cadre of S.D.S. students and outsiders.  The University must also distinguish between the 'professional' S.D.S. member (the Che Guevara emulator) and the 'straight' member who will probably end up working for the 'establishment'. . . .

"POLICE:  In some instances, suspension will not be effective because the violator will not be a student at this University.  Indeed, this may become the rule rather than the exception depending on the degree of professionalism which disruptive student organizations develop.  The utilization of police for campus disturbances must be regarded as a last resort.  The temper of the times indicates that there exists a grave danger of undue force being applied by police. One of the tactics of the S.D.S. will be to attempt to have the University and/or police over react.  In certain instances it way not be possible in the time allotted to use police action. . . .

"Its assumed that the proposed T.R.O. (the injunction) procedure is ready to be applied at any time in the future.  The next disturbance can be five minutes away. . . .

"OTHER RECOURSES:  Most preferable and most commensurate with the role and functions of a University is the application of reason to student disturbances.  Prior to any university action, e.g., suspension, arrest, full warning should be given to the students.  This warning and an attempt to dissuade the students from their actions should be given by a person whom the students respect and who they can communicate with.  The University community should be advised through all possible media, e.g., W.K.S.U., of the proposed University action and with the reasons for it.  Efforts must be made to assure the isolation of and lack of mass support for the violators. . . .

"It is possible that some disturbances can be avoided if there is communication between the administration and students. For example, the November disturbances might not have occurred had the blacks been aware of the 1.8 million dollar appropriation request for blacks by the President.

"INTERRUPTIONS IN THE CLASSROOM:

"Possible Areas of Disturbances and Comments Upon Same.

"R.O.T.C.:  R.O.T.C. classes and marching practice on the Commons are likely areas. (This occurred a month and a half later.)  In respect to the latter, that tactic applied may be that of the hit and run variety, i.e., a disturbance lasting no more than ten minutes. . . .

"THE BARRACKS:  It may be a miracle if they survive much longer.  (The R.O.T.C. building was burned May 2, 1970.)

"INTERRUPTIONS OF CLASSROOMS:  (This occurred nine days later.)  Again, is this area within the ambit of authority of the provost or the Vice President for Student Affairs? Perhaps there should be appointed a coordinator for all campus disturbances directly under the President.  (A coordinator was appointed fourteen months later.)

"This type of disruption can take various forms -- a teach-in, a quick hit and run tactic, registering in classes for the purpose of disruption.  It would appear advisable that the instructor who is subject to a classroom disturbance (1) attempt to make visual identification of the violators, (2) request that they cease and desist from disruptive conduct, (3) advise that they are subject to suspension for their acts, (4) dismiss the class, and (5) immediately advise Dr. Harris (Dr. Louis K. Harris, formerly chairman of the political science department, had been made Vice President and Provost of January 1, 1969.) of the event (or coordinator, should one be appointed.)

"RECORDS:  The student records office is subject to being destroyed.

"LAW ENFORCEMENT PROGRAMS:  All University functions in this area have a high priority for the S.D.S. movement.  Tactics could vary from class disruptions, to sit-ins in the professors' offices, to arson.  Everyone in the University should have one telephone number to call in the event of any campus disruptions.  The person to whom that call is made then should advise the responsible University officials.

"THE OFFICES of the Board of Trustees, President, Provost, Vice President for Student Affairs and Vice President for Administration:  These offices are subject to various forms of attack.  Each office should be equipped with a concealed buzzer leading to the University police.  The Board room may be the most likely target when the trustees are meeting.

"INTERRUPTIONS to University meetings, e.g., Faculty and Student Senate, academic meetings, guest speakers; Responses should follow the approach suggested respecting classrooms disturbances.  Visual identification should be established, requests to cease should be made, and warning of suspension should be given.  Immediate notice to the appropriate University official should be provided.  The difficulty of knowing who is the "appropriate University official" may be another reason supporting the creation of a coordinator for campus disturbances. . . .

"It is impossible to predict the exact form of the next incident and it is easy to envisage a case where no one is certain within whose ambit of authority proposed action is encompassed.  At least as a stop gap measure, a coordinator should be appointed who would be answerable only to the President, an alter ego of the president, whose functions would be to advise appropriate officials of an incident, be the person to whom all initial calls be made, synthesize and coordinate the planning and execution of policy for all such disturbances, and supervise the operation of all involved segments.

                                                                                               Barclay D. McMillen"

A campus incident in early March concerned me; it was another police gaffe, this time with the complicity of the county prosecutor's office.  A student, "Rebel" Flanagan, was arrested at the student union for distributing an allegedly obscene document.  This leaflet was of the usual sort distributed by S.D.S. and did contain the word "fuckers."  The arrest was made by a campus policeman with the consent of the county prosecutor, but without checking with Vice President Matson or President White.

Political documents receive a unique degree of protection under the First Amendment to the Constitution and, as was apparent to me and others at the time, the courts would have to dismiss the charge.  Later a municipal court judge did throw it out.  On the evening of the arrest, March 2, 1969, President White, Dick Edwards and I spent a most anxious evening.  Frankly, we were fearful of having the incident lead to another disturbances. The University was at fault.

We tried everything we could to have the charges dropped.  We failed.  The large, liberal university is not often loved by a conservative, rural community.  That night I went to the nearby home of the local S.D.S. leader (Ric Erickson.) We wanted to express our concern over the arrest; secondly, we wanted to find out what they were going to do about it.  It was a game of charges, with him making such statements over the telephone for my benefit as "Oberlin, you can deliver 150 students?  Good, we can deliver 100," and so forth.  It was hard to keep a straight face.  The leader wanted "Rebel" to stay in jail as a symbol.  "Rebel" wanted out.  The incident passed without trouble, fortunately.  Later I was told by a "radical" that his friends had said they had really told me off that night.  Actually, they were quite courteous but apparently felt they had to tell their compatriots that they were tough guys.

The police had erred but during April and May law enforcement agencies distinguished themselves at Kent State University.

FOUR

The Spring Offensive

Massive Ernie Ames, a University police officer, stood there impassively.  His big arms were extended to full length as he held his position just inside the blue crash-bar doors that lead to the heart of the Administration Building.  He had been a lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers.  Ames easily sustained the assaults on his huge frame by several members of the Kent S.D.S. who had marched into the hallway and now were beating wildly on his chest, arms, legs and whatever else they could reach -- his privates.

Dr. David Ambler, at 35 a mild-mannered and balding assistant vice president for student affairs, had called out the door only a few moments earlier, saying that three S.D.S. leaders could come in to present their statements to the Administration.  That offer had been refused; S.D.S. was a group of one-for-all.  It looked more like a free-for-all.

The date was April 8, 1969.  It was the beginning of the Spring Offensive at Kent State and the start of the campus's second confrontation.

What they wanted to say to the Administration was a repeat of what had been said loudly at outdoor rallies earlier in the spring.  As part of Kent's participation in the Spring Offensive, they had demanded abolition of the campus Reserve Officer Training Corps, the Bureau of Criminal Investigation (a state agency,) the Liquid Crystal Institute (financed by a grant from the Defense Department) and the School of Law Enforcement.

These were Kent's "complicity with the war machine."  The programs represented the University's cooperation with the Vietnam effort, S.D.S. said, and they must be stopped.

Earlier, two hundred strong, they had gathered in front of the student union carrying the VietCong flag and shouting their interminable slogans: "Ho, ho, Ho Chi Minh, the N.L.F. is gonna' win" and "Hell no, We won't go" and with fists raised in the salute of the revolutionary marched to Bowman Hall, a classroom building.  About half their number then deserted the revolution for the time being, for they knew that the disturbances, if continued in Bowman Hall, could result in arrests.  The remainder continued their noise pollution throughout Bowman and resumed their march, ending at the rear entrance to the Administration Building.  Their numbers had dwindled to thirty or so, but the leadership was there.

After my lecture, I had followed the group on their meanderings, ending on the edge of the group slashing away at Patrolman Ames.  A radical leader who was wise enough not to join this group came up to me with a movie camera in hand.  I assumed the camera was intended to take pictures of the always-hoped-for-police brutality.  We observed the fracas together a few minutes, then I told him, "Bill, go and tell Ric to end it; it's getting out of hand and they'll be busted."  His look showed concern and agreement and his small body disappeared into the melee. Seconds later he returned, shrugged his shoulders, said they wouldn't quit, and wisely left.  The physical assault on Patrolman Ames and a fellow officer continued.  A coat hanger was used, apparently to get at an officer's mace can and his "privates;" the officer was cut.

Becoming arm-weary, the group went around to the front of the building and renewed their assault, this time to the whirl of television and movie cameras.  Little did they know that a side door to the building was fully open and letting in the spring breezes.  I entered the inner part of the Administration Building through that door and immediately told the officers to close it.

Inside, confusion was paramount.  Nobody appeared to be in charge.  It was tense, for here were the offices and records of the president and three vice presidents, office equipment, and thousands of dollars in cash and checks. Events were moving rapidly and I noted that Dean Ambler did not read the riot act to the attacking group.  No one could find the bull horn.  It became irrelevant, for after again attempting to force entrance, the group again became tired.

The example of Patrolman Ames became the order of the day for the police at the front.  They were shoved, kicked, and an officer's hat was yanked and thrown into the air, but they kept their cool.  The police held their ground but never used their fists, clubs, mace or guns.

One huge alumnus, a former pro football player, and his somewhat smaller friend happened by on their way to a coaches' seminar.  They used their strength and bulk to protect half the entrance way.  After our arm weary warriors tired, the two men quietly left, one muttering to the other, "Those damn kids need a good spanking."

S.D.S. had made major mistakes.  They had interrupted classes on their march, alienating many students. They had assaulted police officers; yet police had acted with enormous restraint -- more than was wise for their own physical beings.  For the purpose of confrontation politics, the University was in an enviable position:  no police brutality, but rather S.D.S. brutality.  And it was the S.D.S. leadership on the front lines; they would not make that mistake again.  It was time for arrests and the use of the injunction process to keep the leaders off campus.

Later that afternoon, while having a coke in the student union, I related the events to Fred Keithley, director of public safety for the city of Kent and a professor in the University's law enforcement school.  While doing so, it struck me that the Administration might not realize the opportunity it had or what had to be done for the sake of the entire University community.

I was all too right.  Sitting with Dick Edwards a few minutes later, he expressed my fear; everyone was just sitting. He urged me to go see Vice President Matson and communicate my thought to him, which I did.

"Bob, we're going to have to arrest for assault and battery of our police officers," I said.  "It did occur and if we don't move, we'll lose our police force.  And we've got to prohibit those people from setting one foot on our campus; the fact that they are the leaders won't hurt us at all."

That the Administration, including Matson, was inert at that point was not surprising.  Kent State had never experienced such actions before.  University decision making is a slow deliberate process where all interested parties may usually be heard.  And there wasn't time to appoint a committee.  The training and experience of college administrators militate against a person trained to make a final decision within a short time.  A seasoned lawyer does not have that handicap. Bob Matson was to be a most apt pupil.  "Okay, what do you want to do?" he asked.  I had our chief security officer Donald Schwartzmiller called in and told him we were moving for arrests.  His satisfaction was apparent; his men would have quit.

We had to make certain that the charges would hold; we wanted no innocents arrested.  I examined each officer to find the requisite offensive act.  One officer claimed that so-and-so had hit him.  There was an expression on his face which warned me and upon further examination he admitted he just didn't like the S.O.B.  We needed none of that. We went ahead with arrest warrants for five persons and later added another after viewing pictures and television film.  The charges held up in court.

Meanwhile the injunction process was slowly grinding forward.  We also agreed on the immediate suspension of the six persons arrested, with opportunity for a hearing shortly thereafter.  In retrospect suspension was unnecessary, for by legally enjoining the students from campus the same would be achieved.  But we could not be certain that the court would grant our petitions for injunction.

Matson decided to revoke temporary University recognition of S.D.S.  To this I objected, for I felt it would unnecessarily inflame the liberal non-S.D.S. student and would either result in the S.D.S. going underground or in it merely changing its name.  But the University's relations with the state legislature and the public were not to be forgotten either.  The decisions are not simple.

By noon on the day after the incident at the Administration Building, the campus was jittery.  Many felt that the S.D.S. had gotten what it deserved, although they did not know what would follow.  News of the assault had traveled quickly -- the next day two television stations and several newspapers were on the scene.  At the noon rally under the old oak by the Student Union, three of the participants from the day before appeared to speak to a large crowd of students about the night's arrests and suspensions.

Unbeknownst to the speakers a co-revolutionary, the most charismatic of all of them, Ric Erickson, had been arrested ten minutes earlier.  A professor had previously invited the radical to speak to his freshman class.   Police had been tipped off, surrounded the classroom, and arrested the student when he left.  We did not want him at the noon rally; the danger of violence would have increased appreciably had he been there.  I had orchestrated the University reaction.

Clearly unpopular to the vast majority of those gathered, the S.D.S. spokesmen were heckled extensively.  It was feared that fights would break out between those who cried, "Let them speak!" and those who cried "S.D.S. go home," "Get a bath" and "Hey, Howie, my drill sergeant wants you."

When the speaking was over, they must have known they were through.  Campus police in plain clothes moved through the crowd, showed them the warrants for their arrest, and led them away to the campus police station.  A fight broke out; it was quelled.  An air of acute anxiety prevailed.  Comic relief was afforded in the guise of the arrival of riot-equipped Kent city police.  They marched in formation through the crowd into the Administration Building.  It looked like a bad Keystone Cops movie, but the humor in it changed the mood.

Meanwhile, those arrested, as if martyrs, marched three abreast with their linked hands held high above their heads. It was the last time they would move freely on campus.  A bus took the three prisoners and their escorts to the county court house in nearby Ravenna.  The injunctions were issued later that day.

They never ceased their statements that they would be victorious in all of this.  Their song, sometimes audible as they marched home from meetings at night, reflected this:  "Solidarity Together."  Like losing candidates on election night who watch the early returns appear to give victory to the other side, they would not give up until the last votes were tallied.  Victory would take little more than a year.

But keeping the leaders off campus was not the whole answer.  The planned Spring Offensive had included a series of climactic demonstrations and activities aimed at developing the "radical consciousness" among the student body.

S.D.S. had already threatened to disrupt sessions of an Asian Affairs Conference April 9 through 12.  The sessions's first speaker was L.N. Palar, former Indonesian ambassador to the United Nations.  Tying together the spring activities with the Conference was S.D.S.'s way of presenting the other side, and showing solidarity with "Third World" peoples in Asia, Latin America and the ghettos.

Bob Matson and I listened to part of the activities over a police walkie-talkie.  We were ensconced in the two rooms of the riot control center located in 117 Kent Hall, a building adjoining the Administration Building.  We were to spend many an hour there over the next few weeks, along with an assigned police officer, members of Matson's staff who would come and go, and a secretary who would log all calls.  This is where the decisions were supposed to emanate.

What we heard was  a dangerous situation developing.  A group of some 350 students, mostly fraternity men, marched on the Asian Affairs Conference chanting "S.D.S. Go home."  Cooler heads prevailed and violence was averted.

The rest of the week was orderly, a breather for both sides.  While each explained and defended their actions, criminal trials were set for those who had been arrested.  The Kent Stater urged in an editorial that all sides should "avoid physical confrontation" and "continue to maintain the educational process."

University disciplinary hearings were arranged for the suspended students.  Judicial interpretation of the Fourteenth Amendment requires a hearing for a suspended student before such suspension becomes permanent.  Many violations of due process were to occur during hearings throughout that spring.  The University lacked a sufficient number of trained lawyers to dispose of such cases with due regard to Constitutional rights.

At this point a series of University errors occurred, ramifications of which pervade Kent State to this day.  Two student suspension hearings before the joint Student Faculty Judicial Board were scheduled for April 16 at 4 p.m.  It was decided that the hearings would be held at the Music and Speech Building on campus, and those arrested and enjoined had their court order modified to permit them to testify at the hearings.

I was flabbergasted.  It was obvious that the result would be chaos.  The purpose of calling those arrested and enjoined as witnesses appeared to me to be only for further disruption and not for sincere testimony.  Since that was a fait accompli, I reasoned that the hearings must be held at the club house of the University golf course, one mile from the main campus.

I practically ran to Edwards' office and implored him to convey these thoughts to President White.  After unsuccessfully trying to get Matson to change the site, I again asked Edwards to attempt to have the decisions changed.  Later I was advised that President White did not feel he should override his vice president -- a worthwhile thought, but one with a high price tag.

The decision had been made to go ahead with the hearings.  At 3:30 p.m., Bob and I resumed our post at the control center.  Although my urgings had been of no avail, this was no time to abandon ship.

Hearings were to be held in a third floor classroom of Music and Speech, where television equipment was available to play tapes of the April 8 sequence.  A local television station had provided the University with films taken during the incident.  Traditionally, student conduct hearings were "closed door" proceedings -- held privately for the protection of the student.  Several suspended students, however, demanded that their hearing be "open and collective," that they all be tried together in full view.  Despite their protestations, the policy was not altered.

Members of S.D.S. had called for a rally that day at 4 p.m. (the same time as the hearings,) ostensibly to discuss the suspensions and to reassert the four demands.

Although speakers tried to capture the crowd's attention, only a handful of the more than 500 who assembled were sympathetic.  Many had "had it" with S.D.S. Many of them chanted, "It's our campus too" or "We're Americans." Both groups used portable bull horns, and emotions in the crowd in front of the student union were charged.

S.D.S. followers, curiosity seekers, and news media marched to 117 Kent Hall, where Matson and I were and where they believed the hearings were being held.  When we heard their destination over the police radio, and shortly heard their insane like war hoops down the hall, I quickly locked the door between the outer and inner room and developed a very dry mouth, which lasted ten minutes.  We were tense; we heard the screams of the mob advancing toward our rooms. The group of several hundred surrounded the room yelled, chanted "Open it up or shut it down." (in reference to the hearings) and proceeded to bang on the door.  Police officer Jerry Yokum stood up and walked the few steps to the door; his right hand slid toward his gun.  I stood up, fearful, but mad.  I was no pacifist.  However, the group had learned that the hearings were being held elsewhere.  Our fear never completely abated; we always kept an eye on the windows.  The possibility of a homemade bomb was not to be ignored.

But waiting under the main portico at Music and Speech was a massed group of 250 students who had locked arms to prevent S.D.S. from entering the building.  Fights broke out between the two student factions.  Who hit whom first will never be known; riot situations are not conducive to exacting identification of wrongdoers.

Although side and rear entrances to the building had been locked, a few -- too few -- police stationed at most entrances inside the building, a glass door was kicked in by the radicals and dozens of them poured through the hole as other doors were opened.  They raced toward room D-305 on the third floor.

In the control room we were essentially ignorant of what was taking place; the battery on our radio was giving out and we were picking up only bits of conversations.

Meanwhile, the radicals were in the process of smashing the steel doors which barred their entrance to the third floor. They succeeded. A group of them proceeded to rush the handful of police available; one protester, had a long, iron bar aimed at them.  Except for one radical leader  (my guess, Ric Erickson) ordering the protester to drop the bar, the police probably would have opened fire, as a police officer later advised me.

At the control center we were getting more information but not enough; one of us should have been on the scene. (Such is the value of hindsight.)  Our main concern was the lack of police.  "Where were the city police and county sheriff's deputies?" we wondered.  About 5:30 p.m. our walkie-talkie picked up these words from Lt. Crawford (Crawford was in charge of the four police we had on the third floor of the Music and Speech building):  "We can't hold much longer."  My finger shot toward Matson and I simply said "State Highway Patrol -- now!"  He quickly checked with President White, who was home, and the call went out for the Patrol.

The next hours were hectic; who did what and when is impossible to recollect with total accuracy.  Bob and I were both on the phone continually.  Things were out of the control which would be desirable; University staff and police had been strained to the breaking point.  A university is not designed to successfully cope with such events.

Someone, I believe it was myself, told Dean Ambler who was at Music and Speech, to seal off the area and let no one out.  We thought that only the hard core, violent protesters were there.  We were wrong, for the naive but curious had also gone up to see what was going on.  They were trapped.  Again, either Matson or myself should have been on the scene.

Meanwhile, we waited and waited for the State Highway Patrol.  The city police and sheriff deputies had arrived and we did not want them to make the arrests.  The more highly trained Patrol would be less likely to bust heads unnecessarily; that is why they were called.  Meanwhile I had been calling the County Prosecutor Ronald Kane keeping him advised as to what was occurring.  Later that night Kane told me that the sheriff's men were about to arrest en masse.  My exact reply is forgotten, but it was close to this: "My God, No!  The Patrol is on its way.  If the sheriff's men make the arrests, we'll disown them.  I'll go live on television."  The prosecutor apparently had the same thought, for he advised me that he had warned them that he, too, would disown them if they moved in for arrests.

Later I interviewed many of those who had been suspended.  In my conversations with the suspended girls a pattern seemed to emerge; almost every one of them disclosed a highly unsatisfactory and quarrelsome relationship with her father.  It made one wonder.

Although the Patrol arrived frightfully late for our purposes (it took almost three hours,) the decision to call them was wise.  But there were some bad decisions caused primarily by a lack of communications.  The breaking point had been reached.  Formally, Matson held the decision making authority; in reality during April and May, both of us were making decisions, sometimes separately, sometimes together.  Situations demanded instant teamwork.  One of the gaffes on my part was to order the serving of immediate suspension notices to all students trapped on the third floor. This later exacerbated the crisis.  Slowly, we were acquiring some sophistication in counter-revolutionary tactics.

For three and a half hours, the security ring kept the corridor closed to all.  Leaders of the trapped group shouted out the windows to the crowd three floors below.  The rap continued until dusk.  They talked about the S.D.S., about the University,  about racism, police, etc., all the usual themes, trying to convince the masses that they were right. Any forum would do, even while they were captives.

With television equipment turned on, the trapped students could even watch the evening news reports of their "occupation" of the building and the rally that afternoon.  The radicals must have relished the attention.  Kent State had again captured the attention of the national news media.

About 9 p.m. the Patrol arrived and began arresting, one by one.  Some students had escaped through an elevator before that leak was plugged, but in all, 58 persons were taken into custody.  While it is probable that some of these were the curious coming in to watch, many known radicals -- including seven non-students -- were also picked up.

Without weapons, two Patrolmen at a time went into the hallway, picked a demonstrator, and escorted him downstairs, where each was searched, photographed, fingerprinted and suspended from school.   Campus buses transported them to jail in Ravenna.  It was an amazingly orderly procedure for so dramatic an event, but it was not without a reaction from the sensitive academic community.

For S.D.S., the mass arrests and suspensions would be a trump card for their movement.  It was actually more than they could have done themselves to stir the masses.  Now people were aware and listening to them.  In a flyer published the next day, S.D.S. explained:  "It is of no consequence if you, the reader, agreed with the demands of S.D.S.  What is important is that these kids were arrested by outsiders -- police brought in by the good old trustees." The flyer, claiming that the student conduct code had been flaunted in the mass arrest procedure, announced a rally in an off-campus park.  The conflict then began a long but typical process of campus escalation.

A curious mixture of liberal students and faculty members gathered.  Drawing up a list of three "demands" (separate from those of S.D.S.,) they mimeographed thousands of them and began the leafleting process.  The Concerned Citizens of the K.S.U. Community (3-C for short) demanded that all charges and suspensions be dropped, that the old student conduct code be followed and that the S.D.S. charter be reinstated.  "Civil liberties" as defined by them was the 3-C issue.

The first demand was symptomatic of the naive and unfounded belief that University officials could wave a magic wand and have all charges dropped.  We had tried our wand with the prosecutor in the Flanagan case and the magic just wasn't forthcoming.  But the group was correct in implying that the trespass charge should have been quashed; the students had not been afforded an opportunity to leave.  But no one tried to beat the trespass charge.

At 8 p.m. the night after the "bust" 3-C held its first mass rally on the Commons, a ten-acre assembly area in the center of campus.  It attracted nearly two thousand students.  While the demands were being discussed, a girl's shrill voice came from the crowd, "What the hell's gonna happen if our demands aren't met?"  From another part of the crowd came the answer:  "A strike!"  There was loud applause.  A number of the students asked me to speak, and I spoke to the issues raised by 3-C.  But soon the microphone was gently lifted from my hand; the leadership did not want speaking a person who tried to use reason.  By "consensus" the group agreed to come back in the morning and decide what to do next.

The air was becoming frenzied on campus as two thousand students returned to their dorms and related to their friends what they were doing.  Meanwhile, a representative group of 3-C marched to President White's house on campus. The president, dressed informally in an old flannel shirt, met with them and listened to their demands and threat of a strike.

Continued fear of further violence was expressed in the control center.  By this time, the control center, the president's office and other strategic offices were under regular surveillance by various radicals.  After one Sunday morning at the control center I went to the girl who had been watching the door for two hours and advised her she could go home now, the meeting was over.  Later, Bob Matson and I were just walking down the hall between the administration building and his office when, out of the crowd, a girl came up to us and spit all over Bob and me.  She ran.

Throughout these hectic weeks President White in periods of crisis would often be removed from the University to keep in touch by telephone.  On most decisions there was not time to consult him.  Bob and I felt he was watching us, leaving it to us so long as the crises were being reasonably well handled but ready to disown us if need be.  Now, I doubt he would disown us.  One of White's weaknesses was too much loyalty, and another, a weakness in choosing aides.

Friday dawned drizzly and overcast.  Nevertheless, hundreds of 3-C followers stood on the soggy Commons and discussed means of working up support for their actions.  They had little faith that the Administration would give in to their demands.  With the help of the Administration, an indoors meeting was arranged for noon.  By this time television crews had arrived and the ball was rolling.  The movement was carried by sheer momentum and excellent planning.

The University Auditorium was hot and crowded at noon.  With the group's enthusiastic support, speakers urged a massive march around campus, leafleting in the dorms and discussions in all classes.  Some of the group looked too young to be college students; reports were coming in that high school students had joined the protest.

At the meeting's climax a speaker asked how many opposed the group's plans.  There was silence.  3-C would meet again on Monday to take a strike vote on the Commons.

Friday's assembly gave way to formation of a mass march that afternoon, involving between three and five thousand students.  Snaking their way around campus, they picked up support as they passed dorms and classroom buildings. The moderate student had been reached; the University was facing its most crucial period in fifty-nine years of existence.  Perhaps many did not realize it, for few understood the frailty of a university.

It was a textbook success for 3-C and for S.D.S.  And totally forseeable.  It would not have happened if the hearings were held at the golf course as I tried to have occur.  Reporters from the Kent Stater, meanwhile, studied an S.D.S. booklet that had been published from national S.D.S. headquarters in Chicago.  Entitled "The New Radicals in the Multiuniversity," portions of the manual show how the approach outlined in the booklet had been successfully used thus far at Kent State:

"Throughout all our on-campus organizing efforts we should keep this one point in mind;  that sooner or later we are going to have to strike, or at least successfully threaten to strike.  Because of this, our constant strategy should be the preparation of a mass base for supporting and participating in this kind of action. . . .

"In the early stages (of the movement,) publicity, the establishment of a mood and climate for radical politics, is of utmost importance.  We should make our presence felt everywhere -- in the campus news media, leafleting and poster displays, social and religious organizations.  We should make all aspects of our politics as visible and open as possible. . . .

"Our first task is that of building a radical consciousness. . . .

"The next stage of the movement is the most crucial and delicate -- the formation of a Student Strike Coordinating Committee.  There are two pre-conditions necessary for its existence.  First, there must be a quasi-radical base of some size that has been developed from past activity.  Secondly, either a crisis situation provoked by the administration or a climate of active frustration with the administration or the ruling class it represents must exist.  The frustration should be centered around a set of specific demands that have been unresolved through the established channels of liberal action.  If this kind of situation exists, then a strike is both possible and desirable.

"A temporary steering committee should be set up, consisting of representatives of radical groups (S.D.S., Black Students Union, T.A.'s [teaching assistants].)  This group would set the initial demands and put out the call for a strike within a few weeks time.  Within that time, they would try to bring in a many other groups as possible without seriously watering down the demands. . . ."

The cascading events and the potential for violence caused Kent Stater staff members to decide upon a special Monday edition to keep students up to date.

Much had happened.  Student government leaders, realizing that they were being used, resigned from the 3-C steering committee.  All too clearly, they saw that if the turmoil continued, the University would have to close.

Friday through Monday was the period of the most frantic activity in the history of the school.  A war of leafleting took place.  People were taking their stands for or against the Monday rally.  Outsiders were infiltrating the University -- sixty-seven according to a 3-C leader, and more than four hundred according to other sources.  Student government leaders opposed the rally.  Dr. Thomas Ungs, political science department chairman, furnished with descriptive pamphlets about what was taking place, organized faculty teams who went into the dorms to explain the facts to students.

All fraternity and sorority leaders asked me on a Saturday night to talk with them.  This was important for they represented hundreds of interested students.  I asked them to please stay away.  We could handle the problem.  I did accept their offer of a couple of body guards.

The fear that the University might have to close was the theme of the editorial and many of the statements and analyses published in the Monday "Extra" of the Kent Stater.  The account from the "New Radicals" publication, coupled with examples of local events to illustrate the pattern, had an appreciable impact.

Meanwhile, a regional weekend meeting of the Ohio S.D.S. had moved from Oberlin to Akron, fifteen miles west of Kent.  Akron police closely observed the meeting and later followed at least one of the participants back to Kent. Late Saturday night, many of the participants descended on K.S.U. dormitories.  The situation by this time was dangerous and practically uncontrollable.  With so many diverse groups "rapping" in the dorm areas, leafleting and making plans, the potential for violent confrontation was great.

As evidenced by the delayed arrival of police reinforcements at the Music and Speech incident, police intelligence and coordination were poor.  Apparently, this was true throughout the crises, for Fred Keithley, the city's safety director, would continually call me to find out what was planned.  He often said they weren't getting information or cooperation downtown.  If such were true, the price paid a year later would be astronomical.

But Monday was peaceful.  The activity of the faculty in the dorms, the pleadings in the student newspaper, a Sunday night closed-circuit television program shown in all dorms and featuring key Administration and faculty leaders (President White and myself,) plus the many warnings that demonstrations could lead to violence, kept the noon rally comparatively small and quiet. Less than two thousand participants sat on the lawn; the odds were against them.  3-C decided on a referendum to determine its future action.  Two days later, in the largest election of any kind ever conducted at Kent State, the 25% of the student body who participated expressed itself by a five-to-three repudiation of 3-C's demands.  The wording of the ballot was regarded by some as "loaded" in favor of 3-C.  One professor said, "The last time I saw a ballot like that was in Communist Poland."  The crisis passed, but University personnel were exhausted, the civil court dockets were loaded with Kent S.D.S. cases, and many faculty members became enmeshed in committees to find out what had happened in all the turbulence.

In the aftermath of large-scale disturbances, a few persons are always left embittered.  Often these persons will remain radicalized for long periods of time.  Periodically, they were to be heard from again.

Such was the case with some students.  The radical demands had gone unmet; 3-C had failed.  The radical leaders were in jail or facing heavy fines.  But revolutionary dedication dictated a final effort, and the University was ready.

On May 22, a meager fifteen S.D.S. members, still waving red and black revolutionary flags, tramped across the Commons during a dress rehearsal for the R.O.T.C. Honors Day Convocation.  After hearing the trespass warnings from Dean Ambler and after being ignored by the R.O.T.C. cadets, the contingent left.  Concurrently, someone had hung chains and padlocks on the doors of the Research Building, where liquid crystal research was taking place. Fifteen warrants were issued for disrupting the R.O.T.C. classroom exercise.

In planning for the announced rally on May 22, I suggested a calculated risk by having a bus load of State Highway Patrolmen near the site of the Convocation and clearly visible.  There they sat in complete riot regalia, not visible from the Commons but visible to all in that area of the campus.  They were not needed but here was notice to those bent on violence that we would not roll over and play dead.  This show of intent was important.  We were not to be tampered with.

On the following Sunday the actual Convocation took place without incident.  The Patrol was there, too, but concealed in the R.O.T.C. supply center.

The use of the court orders prohibiting the S.D.S. leaders from campus had proved its worth.  In May, I was to write President White and suggest its applicability to all state universities.  If the attorney general's office were to seek injunctions on all violently prone radical leaders in the state and were to enjoin them from all state university campuses, we would be in a much better position to keep the colleges quiet and open.  There was an increasing fear that these elements would congregate and move from campus to campus spreading violence wherever they went. This fear appeared warranted one year later.  But the key to the effectuation of the plan was good police identification and communication procedures.  The proposal is yet even to be discussed.

On Sunday, R.O.T.C. Convocation day, Bob Matson and I for the first time left the control center together and appeared in open sunlight with a police officer at our side.  The jibes which greeted us from staff members were in good fun.

President White attending the Convocation took me aside and asked whether he should write a letter to county officials requesting the release of those arrested for interrupting the rehearsal a week before.  I said "No, keep your powder dry for we may need it to oppose the community on something more important in the future."

Surely, we were exhausted, particularly Bob, for he had spent many more hours handling details than I had.  And others must have been equally exhausted, for every fiber of the University had been strained.  Emotionally we were not to recover by the tragic days of May 1 through 4, when the strain again became too great for the limited University resources.  New blood was infused but it was untrained.  A disinclination even to discuss disturbances set in for the next academic year; people had had it.  We wanted to return to being academicians and did not desire to continue playing cops.

The few of us who had participated in the decision making process felt pride in our efforts.  We made our share of bad decisions but we had made some good ones too.  The campus was quiet and the students were returning to their books.

But for now Kent State University was beautiful and quiet again.  It was time to assess.

I knew why I left a highly successful and profitable Washington law practice before the federal courts and Congress to come to Kent State in 1967--love for Kent State University.  I did well at Kent State and Kent State did me well. From Kent I went to Harvard Law School.  From there onward.  In Washington, I had played hardball with the pros. I was invited to the Gridiron dinners with the President.  I was ready.

I was looking forward to the challenge of teaching at a university.  The challenges I faced were far more complex and difficult than teaching, but, hey, it was my college.

To give the reader a feel for the atmosphere, the Kent State police informed me of the radicals assassination list: eight votes for President White, five for me, three for Bob Matson and only one for various others.  One professor expressed disappointment to me that he wasn't on the list.  I would have liked to have traded places.

In mid-March of 1970 I reported to Dean Matson that my sources told me the University could erupt around May 1. As I recall, he dismissed that.

I had for years infiltrated the S.D.S.  I also had the respect of others.  For example, a leader of the S.D.S., Ric Erickson asked me to be his lawyer.

FIVE

A Time For Reflection

On somewhat of an ad hoc basis we had successfully coped with our disturbances.  Plaudits were duly received by Matson and White from many sources, including the Internal Security Committee of the House of Representatives, who heard testimony from witnesses from Kent State on June 24 and 25, 1969, in Washington.  The Internal Security Committee was a far cry from its predecessor, the House Un-American Activities Committee.  Some of us had been fearful of the possible direction the Committee might take but our fears turned out to be unjustified; there was no witch hunt.

During the summer, elements of the S.D.S. planned to infiltrate factories and direct the "workers' revolution."  One labor leader called me asking for the names of our radicals.  (I did not provide him this information.)  He reported that some radicals had obtained summer jobs in a nearby auto plant and were attempting to incite his men.  He was not fearful of the revolution but, rather, expressed concern that his workers would kill the revolutionaries.  America's blue collar workers were not about to join the "people's revolution."  The "hard hats" had been foreshadowed.

At my request the nominal position of Special Council for Student Rights was terminated on June 15, 1969. However, my activity as advisor, speech writer, analyzer and planner was to continue until October of that year.  My last "administrative" act for Kent State was the writing of a University policy statement issued by President White on October 6.  It was the best statement I had or have ever written.

The reasons for my withdrawal were multi-faceted.  Amongst other reasons my position during the spring of "power without responsibility" was untenable.  Worrying me greatly was a lack of confidence in the Administration's ability to cope with future disturbances or to take those steps necessary to avoid major uprisings.  I succumbed to the human weakness of not wanting to be on a losing team.  And finally, I wanted to return to my real love:  students and teaching. I was tired of playing the devil's advocate role by attempting to light intellectual fires not only within students but also under the Administration.  One does not become very popular by being involved in such involuted roles.

My services from November 1968 to June 1969 had been rendered without compensation and at considerable financial loss to myself.  My involvement had caused a substantial curtailment of my Washington law practice, some of which I had kept as an income supplement.  In reaction, President White, at the behest of Bob Matson, assigned me another nominal position as special advisor to the vice president for student affairs and asked that a report be submitted upon a couple of minor questions.  Essentially, it was a means to reimburse me for previous services rendered.

But the subject of higher education and the dangers it faced deeply interested me.  We had developed some expertise in coping with certain types of disturbances but one thing appeared certain:  the future troubles at Kent State, which were highly probable, would not take the same pattern again.  Such events rarely repeat their format. We had to become prepared for varied attacks.

Certainly, control was an important factor, but more important was to avoid the crisis, if possible.  That would require action to strike at the causes of student disaffection.  Kent State could not end the war in Vietnam or the draft but we could do something to personalize the huge complex.

Kent State had been only one of a number of colleges which had undergone major and highly publicized disturbances. During the summer of 1969 would be a good time to compare notes.  Accordingly, I arranged for conferences with personnel at Columbia, Harvard and Cornell Universities and Dartmouth College.  They would be more willing to open up and talk informally and candidly with a fellow academician than with formal groups which would record the discussions.  What emerged were fascinating and highly educational visitations.  There were amazing consistencies to the problems experienced by other colleges and some answers to the problems were elicited. As written, the final report amounted to a message on the state of the universities.

To most universities the recommendations remain as valid today as when written.  The theme of the report, personalization of the multi-university, must be accomplished, for if it fails, we have heard the death knell of the large university.

Written for President White, the report was delivered to him on September 8, 1969.  As he recognized, the report requires careful reading.  But until the deaths on May 4, the recommendations were essentially ignored.  Still lurking in our minds are the questions:  "Should the report have been neglected, and if it had been implemented, would May 4 have occurred?  Could the May 4ths at other universities be avoided by a consideration of the document?"

The report is appended to this as an Addendum.

In late September, 1969, the University opened for the fall quarter.  As usual, the football team was in trouble.  The student union was filled with the customary "freaks" but this fall it was more difficult to tell the "freaks" from the Greeks; long hair and beards had become the style.  The S.D.S., still fractured, could muster fewer than ten students for its big demonstrations.  Radical leadership was to remain in jail until April 29, 1970.  The consensus of the Administration was that we were to have a quiet year; they returned to their niches.

My views as expressed to Vice President Harris and Vice President Matson were different.  I could not see the radicals forgetting Kent in light of their spring defeat.  When an attack would come, no one could foretell, but that it would come was predictable.

The academic year1969-1970 saw the recommendations of the report go unheeded.  Four deaths and seven months later, a "committeefied" University and town were devoting tens of thousands of hours on these and related questions.

SIX

And Four Lay Dead

The relative quietude of Kent State during the 1969-1970 academic year was not to be broken until May 1, culminating in the shooting of May 4.

The efforts of the paltry number of remaining S.D.S. members, some now called Weathermen, had been feeble.  On one occasion only eight turned out for a march around the R.O.T.C. buildings.  Even the distribution of 10,000 leaflets by the liberal Student Senate resulted in only forty students showing up to protest a fence erected by the Administration. The October 15 Moratorium rally and march did result in 4,000 participants, but it was peaceful, except for a brick thrown through the window of the local Army Recruitment Center.

Bitterness remained from the previous spring but that remnant was felt mainly by some frustrated members of the 3-C student group.  Their energies were absorbed in futile projects attempting to renew student activism.  Until May 1 a teacher could teach and a student could study.

The report of September 8 made little or no impact.  On September 22, I received the following memo from President White:

"Somewhat belatedly, a matter perhaps not so crucial because, as I understand it, you were to seek a break of a few days, I wish to acknowledge your letter and report of September 8.  While I have read the report through once, I must confess I have not given it the careful study which it deserves.  It is my hope that within a few days, we can find opportunity for another talk."

I was not to talk with President White again that academic year, except in November on other matters.  A brief conversation with Vice President Roskens brought forth the remark that he enjoyed the gossipy-type comments contained in the report's appendix about other universities.

Vice President Matson was more pointed when we very briefly discussed the report in February and March, 1970. He regretted my efforts because the report was essentially irrelevant since the campus was quiet.  During spring vacation a professor at Cape Cod Community College in Massachusetts who was aware of the report asked, "Have they implemented much of your report?"  At my response that the Administration had become ostrich-like, he put his hand on his forehead and said, "Oh, God, No."  He was to be a good forecaster.

James Michner in his book "Kent State" had expressed his view at pages 245 and 246:

"In the material cited so far, the administration of the university has been shown waging a resolute battle to preserve the freedom and the integrity of education.  Instead of being indifferent to the confusions of the age, or supine in the face of their challenge, Kent State was in the forefront in developing procedures to cope with new confrontations, and in  this respect, led the educational institutions of Ohio.  One must remember that Kent had taken these bold steps:

"1.  By applying resolute pressure and sober judgment, it had forced SDS off campus.

"2. By a restrained use of court injunctions, it had protected itself against students who sought to destroy it.

"3.  By making sensible adjustments, it had tried to win the support of its black students, and although it had been unable to satisfy all their demands, it had paved the way for solid cooperation in the future.  Specifically, by resolving as many black protests as possible, the administration had kept the large middle body of black students from throwing their destinies in with the SDS.

"4.  By inviting specially trained units of the Ohio State Highway Patrol onto the campus to make arrests when serious trouble threatened, it had avoided both scandal and rebellion.

"5.  And while it took these innovative steps, the university remained zealous in defending the right of free speech, assembly and intellectual investigation. . . .

"The administrators of Kent State acted prudently in these years to keep their university functioning; they displayed both intelligence and courage.  It is extraordinary, therefore, to witness how ineffectual they were during the May crisis."

One evening in March, Bob Matson and I were discussing possible future campus violence.  In reply to my comment that it was nice to return to teaching and no longer play "cop," Bob said, "Oh no, if the sirens start screaming, you're coming back in."  Bob probably still felt some bitterness over my role in the "black walkout," but he on a few occasions commented that the two best minds he had run into were President White's and mine.  If not friendship, a mutual respect had grown between us.  Yet when the "sirens started screaming," I was not called by Bob.  I can only speculate as to a variety of "reasons" but at the time I was not desirous of reassuming my prior position of power without responsibility.

In early April a student friend of mine who had close contact with radical groups told me privately, "The University is going to blow this spring."  But to many, May struck like a bolt out of the blue.

There had been no rallies of any concern, no speeches inciting to revolution, and no disturbances until Friday, May 1. True, Jerry Rubin had spoken on campus April 10 but as one student said, "He couldn't incite a riot already in progress."  Universities should pay him to speak; he turned off the student who wasn't already turned on.

Early Friday morning (May 1) some students had been invited to downtown Kent "to burn down Water Street" that night.  Leaflets were distributed calling for a noon rally on the Commons to "bury the Constitution."  Typical of its kind in the intense emotionalism and non-analysis, the leaflet read:

"Help us. . . BURY THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES President Nixon has flagrantly violated our constitutional rights by invading a sovereign nation without a declaration of war by Congress.  Nixon has garnered all governmental power to the executive and has committed us to a course of national barbarity:  a crime that we will never be able to shed.  He has been motivated by his own personal whims.  He has neither consulted Congress or the citizens of the United States.  In essence he has usurped power in a fashion not dissimilar to a coup d'etat.  President Nixon has murdered the Constitution and made a mockery of his claims to represent law and order.  In recognition of the deceased we will commit the Constitution to the earth at . . .12:00 NOON TODAY.   ON THE COMMONS IN FRONT OF THE VICTORY BELL.

"World Historians Opposed to Racism and Exploitation (sponsored by NUC Kent)"

At the noon rally fellow students, observing faculty, and police were greeting one another with "Does this sound familiar?"  It did -- "oppression by Nixon, oppression by the K.S.U. Administration."  Even the speakers were familiar; one had been arrested in Cleveland a week before and some others were of the old 3-C group.  A group of a hundred or so sitting around the speakers' platform would cheer wildly.  The more numerous onlookers watched the show.  I listened without listening; by this point I cold write their speeches with my eyes closed.  Dean Ambler later reported that a speaker had urged the crowd to join them downtown "tonight."  And we heard the speaker invite everyone back for a big rally at noon on Monday, May 4.  The Spring Offensive 1970 style had commenced.

Two days prior, the jailed leaders of the previous spring's April 8 disruption were released from jail ten days early. At least some of them were in town.

Shortly after 11 p.m., with the bars on North Water Street in Kent, Ohio, jammed with drinking and dancing students, a group of thirty or more proceeded to build a bonfire in the middle of the street.  It was a good size fire, which made one speculate as to where the combustibles were found.  Someone had done his homework.  The up-dated chants of "Fuck Agnew," "One-two-three-four, we don't want your fucking war," and "Power to the people, Off (kill) the pigs" were heard.  The occasion used was America's participation in the drive into Cambodia.

With the furor created the students and visitors to Kent's "strip" poured from the bars to see the action.  Eventually five hundred or more persons were to make the scene.  Rocks and bricks were heaved through the windows of the "Establishment."

Police arrived, first from the city, then from the county and surrounding communities.  More rocks.   Obscenities. Arrests.  Injuries.  A riot was in progress.

I had been told that downtown was going to erupt on May 1.  I was there.

A professor [me] observed a contingent of police forming to break up students who were just watching.  The police could not know that these were just onlookers -- the young all looked alike to them.  The professor went to the police and shouted, "Don't charge them; give me two men and I'll remove them from here peacefully."  With two county deputies behind him in a scene which would be comic under different circumstances, the professor, arms raised, cajoled the crowd:  "Keep cool; everybody's uptight.  Let's move it back."  The crowd dispersed.  Many of the students had known the professor.

But there were few from the University faculty or staff downtown that night.  The participating students were being moved back toward campus.  More rocks.  A state of emergency was declared; a store had been looted; a curfew imposed.  The next day a few of the participants were overheard talking of their adventures the night before.  "I hope the store owners don't take this personally; this is the only way we can bring down the establishment," they said.  The shop keepers couldn't see it that way.

At 2 a.m. about two hundred students sought sanctuary at the entrance to the campus.  Had the hard core radical departed, leaving Joe Average Student bearing the brunt?  Most of these were probably K.S.U. students, perhaps with spirits raised by liquid refreshments.  They were an angry mob, their faces distorted.

Twenty feet away, across the street by Captain Brady's Restaurant, were sixty or seventy very anxious and somewhat afraid police.  It was as if an invisible curtain kept them from University property.  None of the Kent State police were around; perhaps the police present were waiting for the University police to take care of their own house. They never arrived -- another police gaffe.

From behind this invisible curtain police threw their tear gas.  For the first time in the history of Kent State tear gas had been used on campus.  By 3 a.m. the disturbance had been quelled.

Returning home at about 2:15 a.m. when the first tear gas had been thrown, that familiar feeling set in.  We were in it again.  The town would be furious; thousands of dollars of damage had been done.  Where had our police been?  Tear gas would help radicalize the campus.  And it appeared too planned.

At 2:25 a.m. the sleepy voice of Vice President Matson answered his phone.  Apparently he had an earlier call but was unaware of the use of tear gas and from the sound of his voice it seemed he was not cognizant of the seriousness of what had happened.  Concluding, I said to him, "We're in it."  Coming from me and from my tone of voice, this was my cry of "emergency."  A year before I would have also called Dick Edwards, but unfortunately for Kent State he had quit as President White's aide.

Unbeknownst to me, President White was attending a meeting in Iowa.  On hanging up, I hoped Matson would immediately get in touch with White and if  he were out of town, get him back pronto.  It was time, at that moment, to call for a meeting of key personnel.  With some despair, I doubted that they would then meet.  Frankly, I had lost faith in their abilities to cope with or even to recognize such events.  I then called President White and was told by his wife that he was in Iowa.  I said to hell with it and went to bed.  That was a mistake; I should have tried talking to President White who was not to return until Sunday afternoon.

On Saturday afternoon the University had obtained a court order prohibiting all destructive acts on campus.  It was a very narrow injunction which in essence said it was unlawful to act unlawfully.  The purpose of the injunction was hopefully to avert the need to call the National Guard.

My displeasure over the narrowness of the injunction was expressed late Saturday afternoon to an aid of Vice President Matson.  (This lawyer had assumed my role of the year before.)  A much broader and more meaningful injunction had been issued at Harvard and there had been no major repercussions by students or faculty.  By reason of my position a year before I asked the aide if he was going to have adequate police for the night.  He assured me that was all taken care of.  We were going to need them.

I had to return to campus in the middle of a long-promised dinner honoring my daughter's First Communion. Meeting with student leaders, I explained the injunction to them.  With three or four student aides assigned to me, we went to the huge Tri-Towers dormitory complex to rap with students.  It was nearing 8 p.m.

A curfew was set for the city at 8 p.m.  The University had scheduled a later curfew for 11 p.m.  It was thought that dances, movies and other events would keep the students busy.  The late curfew and programmed entertainment exhibited unbelievable naivete.  The campuses were not like they were in the Fifties or early or mid Sixties.

At the Commons a group was forming.  A radical leader told me and a student government leader, "I know that building is going to go.  These people are uptight."  He was pointing towards the R.O.T.C. building.

The conversation had just begun at Tri-Towers with the handful of students gathered when Craig Morgan, candidate for student body president, called and warned me of some four hundred students marching on Tri-Towers.  This was the usual tactic, to march around the dormitories to increase the mob.  The atmosphere was very tense.  I handed my felt hat to a student aid to hold.  Rarely had I worn a hat since coming to Kent but tonight was different.  When trouble came and police arrived I wanted to look clearly over thirty.  It was my "pass."  But with four hundred potential rioters marching toward me the hat was a liability.

Events moved rapidly.  A student came to me and said some marcher had a gun which a friend had seen.  One of my student aides introduced me to "Jack" who was up from Oberlin College.  One would hear a group speaking of their participation in the Ohio State riots in Columbus.

A car pulled up and a man of thirty asked, "Are you going to be able to control them?"  But he had more in mind; he was proposing a one man army:  himself -- a right-wing nut attracted by the publicity.

Only two or three of the group were familiar to me.  The students with me reported that they knew very few of the massed group.  I asked a student of mine who was on the fringe of the group to find out who was running the show. Two days later he furnished me with a first name:  "Howie."

To my horror, a law enforcement student ran up to me with a snubbed nose .38 revolver in his hand, yelling, "What can I do?"  I said put that damn gun away.  His name was Terry Norman who was reputed to be an F.B.I. contract employee.  He soon went to work for the District of Columbia police, long known for its close association with the F.B.I.

The group marched on toward another dormitory complex and then back toward Taylor Hall and the Commons. This was a different kind of group than we had the year before.  There were none of the Viet Cong or black flags of the anarchists present.  The chanting was not at its usual, vociferous pitch.

There is a fence which separates Taylor Hall on one side and the dormitory complex on the other side.  The group had reached this fence.  Some went around it, some over it.  They climbed trees and howled.  If you watch enough of these demonstrations, you get a feel of a crowd; you develop an acute sensitivity to their moods.  This group was going to raise hell.  I said to one student aide still with me, "I wish I had a walkie-talkie with me; I'd call out everything we've got now!"

No police were visible from our vantage point.  If they had been, some of them might have had the same feeling of impending violence.  At least there would be a chance that they could feel the crowd's pulse better than the Administration;  the police had observed these before and had regular student contact, albeit not from the vantage point of a classroom.  The Administration was usually cloistered from observing such events.

Running behind Taylor Hall the group convened on the Commons and moved to its far end, next to the student union and one hundred yards from the Administration Building.  They half encircled the old student union, now the R.O.T.C. building.  Again there was little chanting, and no speeches.  This crowd was here on business.  I stood next to the building, facing the crowd, trying to identify the many strange faces.

They were waiting and it seemed at the time that they were waiting for the same thing I was -- the police.  All of us were to be disappointed.  Later, the University's safety director would say it was too dangerous to send his police in. People would ask, "What the hell are police for?"  To myself, I said;  "I'm here and I know I'm in jeopardy.  But where are my police buddies?"

My student friend and I were getting edgy and moved back toward the driveway leading to the Student Activities Center and Taylor Hall.  A small truck pulled up and the driver yelled, "Barclay!"  It was chief of university security Don Schwartzmiller and detective Tom Kelley.  On a personal basis I like them both.  "Do you think we can contain them?" Don asked.  "No," I responded, "this group is moving fast.  It's got a momentum of its own and I'm not recognizing them.  They look like outsiders.  Call out everything you've got and call them out now."  Seconds after they left I told my student aide, "Forget that conversation."  In case things went wrong I didn't want Schwartzmiller's or Kelley's heads put on the chopping block by student gossip.  May 4th was to change my attitude on full disclosure of almost everything relevant.

We returned to stand near the R.O.T.C. building.  It was nearing dusk.  Photographers had been warned by members of the group not to bring their cameras.  For what they had in mind they wanted no pictures; indeed, this was not April 1969 revisited when the show was for the press.  Still, there were no police; one could almost feel the anticipation for police and possible police over reaction.  Over reaction was what they really wanted to further the revolution.  But this opportunity was too good to ignore, police or no police.

It was night; photography would be difficult.  A few rocks smashed the R.O.T.C. windows.  The crowd roared its approval.  A male dashed out of the group with what looked like a crowbar and did his job on the window before he was reabsorbed by the group.  Others now darted in and out, some with railroad flares.  This was no spontaneous demonstration.  A small portion of the building was on fire.

It was a lonely feeling standing there looking into the faces of the crowd's heroes as they did their deeds, and I looked in vain for someone else over thirty.  My student and I retreated.  Halfway up the road from the small but spreading fire we stopped the fire truck on its way to the scene.  "There's a mob down there; watch it," I yelled.  The firemen didn't know there was no police protection for them; they could not see the fire from where we were.  My student friend warned them of .22 ammunition in the basement. They thanked us and drove the two hundred yards to the R.O.T.C. building.

The mob was watching the fruits of its labor.  Slowly, the fire was growing but it could still be extinguished easily by the firemen.  Unprotected, the firemen moved rapidly with hoses to the burning section of the building.  The crowd moved forward, the firemen became engulfed, and a hose taken from one.  A rioter with a sharp instrument chopped away at the hose; water spurted upward.  Wisely, the firemen withdrew, leaving the fire to do its work.  It grew in intensity as the old timbers quickly became inflamed. The act of sabotage had been completed.  With intense emotions of sadness, I left.

Twenty minutes after the initial rock was thrown at the windows, the first contingent of police had arrived.  During the initial stages of the burning, campus police were beginning their staging maneuvers.   One group was forming behind Taylor Hall but would have had to march through the crowd to get to the building.  Another group of thirteen campus police were awaiting orders in their van, the "Black Mariah," more than a mile away at the K.S.U. Football Stadium. When firemen did return an hour later, the conflagration had already roared out of control.  It was a complete loss.

As the building burned, a line of perhaps twenty police positioned themselves in front of it facing the crowd on the Commons.  Their faces were hardly recognizable as they breathed through gas masks and wore their riot equipment. It was hot inside and they had difficulty seeing.  Forty hours later similarly dressed National Guardsmen would have the same problem as they stood on a knoll behind Taylor Hall.

Across the Commons, a cacophony of shouts could be heard.  A thin haze of tear gas hugged the ground.  Through it the police could see the flames shooting up from the ten-foot-square archery supply shack near the trees in front of Taylor Hall.  No attempt had been made to extinguish that fire, except by a group of students who formed a bucket brigade from nearby dormitories.

No one could know what the next target might be.  Chief Schwartzmiller came up and warned his men that the building was about to blow.  Police moved away from the structure and regrouped behind the student union. It was there that another confrontation was about to take place.  More than a hundred students were noisily making their way toward the Union, having paraded by several dorms and the Education Building on their meanderings from the fire on the Commons.

Police heard them coming; then, with tear gas canisters drawn, they proceeded around the corner of the union and faced the group head on.  With rocks flying toward them police in a continuous motion reared back, pulled the rings from the canisters and let them fly.  Leaving an arching trail of smoke behind them, the canisters landed near the students.  Coughing, stinging and sneezing, they ran away.  There would be more of this throughout the night.

The mob regrouped and headed somewhere else.  Rumors had it -- accurately -- that they would try to go downtown, violate the curfew, and in the process wrack further havoc on a beleaguered and alarmed city.  They started in the direction of President White's house and then moved into the street.  Rocks were thrown at a gas station.

The students probably didn't know it but awaiting them downtown were residents and shop owners who had dusted off their weapons.  These people were prepared to defend their jobs and investments with their lives, and, if need be, at the expense of other lives.  When they became threatened, this was their solution to campus unrest.  It is not possible to estimate how many more lives might have been lost that weekend if troops had not arrived when they did. Carried by planning, excitement and sheer momentum, the group was on its way downtown.

But coming in behind them down East Main Street from Ravenna was a long caravan of Ohio National Guard troop carriers, jeeps and half-tracks.  Although the homes along the street were dark and few were in the street watching the rioters, a spontaneous cheer for the Guard arose from behind bushes, windows and doors.  The Guard rolled up directly in front of the campus.  Troops must have seen the night sky lit up and wondered what they were walking into. This was no relief to them, this change of assignment.  The Guardsmen had been called from duty on bridges and highways for a Teamsters strike throughout northeast Ohio.

The Guard fanned out in its initial foray onto the dark campus.  From that moment until forty-two days later, the Kent State University Administration would no longer be in legal control of its campus.

Guardsmen stopped all persons and checked identification.  They lined up and marched to strategic points on campus. The University shortly became militarized.  Hilltop Drive became checkpoint zero-one-three; Portage Path was zero-four-one.  The Guard took over all operations.  Under their command were seven hundred of their own, plus an untotaled number of state troopers, sheriff deputies, city and campus police.

It is frighteningly unreal to watch the National Guard move in.  Each man carried a weapon, a clip of ammunition and bayonet.  Their fatigues made them look like regular soldiers.  Yet they were young weekend warriors and many of them were students themselves.

They were equipped for battle, yet this scene was incongruous on a college campus.  Three helicopters rattled overhead.  Searchlights beamed down intensely on roving bands of youths.  When the light showed on a cluster of youths in a street, on a building top, or in a grassy area, it would glare at them as they moved.  Gestures of obscenity would be pointed toward the aircraft, and a hail of tear gas from the choppers would answer the obscene ones. Emotions were fraught and the kids were terrified of the machines.

As the chases continued, the Guard announced through loud speakers and bullhorns that anyone not in a building would be subject to arrest.  The announcement was repeated many times before the students moved back into their dorms and the dark campus quieted again near 1 a.m.  We were occupied.

The curious gathered on Sunday to view the wreckage of the night before.  Early