His would not be an easy tenure at IU. As the Vietnam War heated up with President Johnson’s (LBJ) major escalation in early ‘65, a small number of students organized, joining a Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) march on Washington DC in April of ’65, and sponsoring a local march in Bloomington in August. At the same time Robin Hunter, Bernella and David Satterfield, Jim Wallihan, Peter and Lucia Montague, and others worked on establishing an IU SDS chapter that Jeff soon joined. As if providing grist for the antiwar mill during the next two years, President Stahr, who was well-connected in Washington, invited a series of major pro war speakers to campus.
It was quite an impressive roster, beginning with former Vice President Nixon, following with Generals Maxwell Taylor and Lewis Hershey, and concluding with Secretary of State Dean Rusk. Stahr invited no counter-balancing antiwar speakers of similar stature; Herbert Aptheker, theoretician of the American Communist Party, and a few other lesser known leaders of the left were all invited by tiny sectarian groups at the university with little following. IU, a sleepy Midwestern campus, was fundamentally a conservative place, and the pro war notables attracted very large audiences, while Aptheker drew only hundreds and was hung in effigy outside the student union.
What drew the Washington luminaries to the middle of the Great Plains? Presumably, Stahr had the contacts and the clout to persuade them to visit the campus as his distinguished guests. He clearly seemed to know some of them professionally since he often personally introduced the speaker in the university’s vast auditorium. For Nixon, accepting an invitation in the fall of ’65 was no doubt an easy decision. Out of office and working as a New York lawyer, he had ambitions to get back in the political game.
Indiana, long a Republican state, would be a good place to show himself to the thousands of conservatives who would come out to hear the former VP. Not many would have been aware that in ’54 then-Vice President Nixon had tried to persuade President Eisenhower (Ike) to save the beleaguered French colonialist forces, which were about to be overrun by Ho Chi Minh’s communist army at Dien Bien Phu—given Nixon’s anti-communist portfolio, it was a logical recommendation, but one which Ike wisely rejected. However, the roughly 200 student activists marching in protest outside the auditorium that day were well aware of Nixon’s stance on Indochina.
The generals came marching onto campus the following spring of ‘66. General Taylor, a hero of WWII, came in March; he was so closely involved with Vietnam War policy that his arrival was unmistakably a pro war statement. After visiting Vietnam under JFK, Taylor recommended the introduction of US combat troops and even the idea of ‘liberating’ Communist North Vietnam, decisions the President declined to take. Subsequently Taylor served as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and later as Ambassador to South Vietnam. He was an ardent supporter of the war.
President Stahr introducing General Taylor,
‘66
Taylor was followed to the rostrum in early May by a fellow flag officer, General Hershey, an avuncular 73-year-old whose military career went back to the Mexican Border War of 1916. He’d been head of the Selective Service System since ‘41. An Indiana native son, he was certainly a welcome guest at the Hoosier state’s largest university; like most schools, IU liked to bask in the glory of those with local connections who went far. But for IU student activists as well as draft age male students, a protest was called for. Hershey had recently told draft boards they could draft college men who were not performing well academically; prior to that, young men were automatically exempt from the draft while in college.
Further, Hershey ordered an aptitude test to be resumed after a long hiatus that
very month; performance on the test would determine who remained exempt and who
did not. For activists as well as poorly
performing male students blindsided by the directive, the general represented
the point of the spear marshaling young men to war in faraway South
Vietnam. A year later the general would
issue another regulation aimed directly at college-deferred men, subjecting
them to the draft immediately for demonstrating against a military
recruiter.
The last in the
string of pro-war speakers was Rusk, a major hawk, at the end of October ‘67.
Like Nixon, he carried personal baggage from the past that no doubt shaped his
unremitting advocacy of the US mission in Vietnam. Rusk had been Assistant
Secretary of State for Far Eastern Affairs in the postwar Truman Administration
after the fall of China in ‘49. When the Republicans tarred the Democrats with
‘losing China’ to the ‘Reds’, Rusk made certain that his image as a tough-minded
Cold Warrior was clearly visible.
Tapped by JFK for Secretary of State a decade later, Rusk
had been prepared to throw himself with the zeal of a true believer into the
young president’s crusade against international communism. However, it was understood
by all that JFK would conduct his own foreign policy with Rusk as his
diplomatic place holder, a status to which he accommodated himself without complaint.
In Washington circles he was soon considered a mediocrity, a perception he
subsequently did little to change.
After JFK’s assassination, Rusk continued to go with the
flow and fly with the hawks on Vietnam. By ’67, other than LBJ himself and Defense
Secretary McNamara, Rusk’s appearance before a student audience was guaranteed
to serve as a lightning rod for antiwar protest, and IU was no exception. A
special ‘reception’ was prepared by an activist group calling itself the “Dean
Rusk Welcoming Committee.”
Each of the national advocates of the Vietnam War was met by
an escalating level of antiwar protest at IU, albeit very small in scale
compared to the size of the student body. At the time of Nixon’s arrival on
campus, increased American involvement in the conflict in Southeast Asia was
barely six months old. The campus protestors’ challenge was not students
supporting the war; on the contrary, the war barely registered with the average
IU student at the time – the main problem was student apathy.
The newly formed SDS chapter and a campus left group, YPSL
or the Young People’s Socialist League, managed to mobilize nearly 200
demonstrators to march in protest of Nixon’s fall ’65 appearance. Predictably
Nixon praised LBJ’s recent escalation – the start of a bombing campaign against
the Communist North and the dispatch of combat troops to South Vietnam.
When the generals arrived on campus during the spring of
’66, the student activists were better prepared to mount protests, but as it
turned out, a significant part of the campus population was also ready to
counter-demonstrate on behalf of the war. Under a newly formed campus umbrella
organization, the Committee to End the War in Vietnam (CEWV), a coalition of
groups led by Jim Wallihan, Destiny Kinal Handelman, and brother Jeff for SDS; Professor Jim Dinsmoor,
who was hoping to run for Congress as a peace candidate; and others, devised a
different strategy for General Taylor’s visit in March.
Instead of protesting the general’s appearance on campus, a
demonstration was organized in support of Indiana’s junior senator,
Vance Hartke, who had come out publically against the war. Signs were made,
marchers were urged to wear jackets, ties, skirts; and Taylor was greeted by a
neatly dressed, orderly group of young people vocally supporting a Washington
opponent of the war.
In May, General Hershey was met by a traditional demonstration
that unexpectedly provoked a raucous counter-protest. Again, CEWV put out word
and had no difficulty in bringing some 350 protestors to demonstrate in front
of the auditorium. The general had recently changed the regs, advising draft
boards they could begin considering student performance, i.e., those with poor
grades could be drafted.
General Hershey and IU students ‘66
The demo, which moved on to Dunn Meadow, also included antiwar speakers who found themselves
confronted by a crowd of 1500 to 2000 hecklers – including many fraternity boys
-- waving American flags, throwing eggs and water balloons, and calling into
question the demonstrators’ patriotism. Jeff, speaking as an ex-Vietnam GI, was
hit by an egg, but, unfazed, he issued
the shouters a forceful challenge to put their money where their mouths were since they were so gung ho for the war. Years
later a fellow activist, Russell Block, remembered “the courage of the Vietnam
vet and the cowardice of the frat rats who were all for the war as long as
someone else had to fight it.”
Protesting General Hershey ‘66
By early ’67, it was evident that the only visiting speakers
who were going to grace the podium of the campus auditorium with glowing introductions
by President Stahr would be supporters of the war. In an exchange of public
letters with the IU president, Jeff, by then doing his turn as SDS president
along with vice president Bob Tennyson, challenged Stahr on the university’s
one-sided speakers’ policy, but to no avail.† Jeff had graduated and moved on to the University of Chicago
by the time Rusk was welcomed to campus that fall. As a member of LBJ’s war
cabinet, the antiwar students decided his appearance required a different
strategy for opposing Vietnam policy.
CEWV, SDS, and the campus Progressive Reform Party (PRP), a
New Left group led by Guy Loftman victorious in the previous spring’s student body elections,
decided that heckling Rusk would be the best way to get the community’s
attention, far more so than simply marching in front of the venue with signs,
so-called speech on a stick. In an interview in the campus paper the day
before, a protest leader made clear their intentions, saying that in view of
the magnitude of the war issue, “a breach of good manners seems of rather
little consequence.” In effect, he argued, “social nastiness to combat the
nastiness of war.”*
The next day some 200 activists donned black armbands, briefly marched around the water fountain in front of the auditorium, then entered the building uneventfully, dispersing themselves among the 3,000+ people in attendance. As the Secretary of State spoke, individual black armbanders in various parts of the room would stand up and yell things like ‘liar’, ‘murderer’ and the like. By that point in the war, Rusk was no doubt accustomed to interruptions, and he continued speaking in spite of the cacophony of shouts. At the end he left by a side door under police escort.**
The next day some 200 activists donned black armbands, briefly marched around the water fountain in front of the auditorium, then entered the building uneventfully, dispersing themselves among the 3,000+ people in attendance. As the Secretary of State spoke, individual black armbanders in various parts of the room would stand up and yell things like ‘liar’, ‘murderer’ and the like. By that point in the war, Rusk was no doubt accustomed to interruptions, and he continued speaking in spite of the cacophony of shouts. At the end he left by a side door under police escort.**
Dean Rusk at IU, a perturbed Elvis Stahr
behind him, ‘67
The universal embarrassment about the behavior of the
protesters was, however, to a degree counteracted by a protest which had
occurred the day before Rusk’s arrival. Corporate recruiters from Dow Chemical,
manufacturer of deadly napalm, were due at the Business School (B-school) that day,
and it was decided by the New Left leaders that the visit should not pass
unchallenged. A few weeks earlier the company had attempted to interview job
candidates at the University of Wisconsin, a far more actively antiwar campus,
where a full-scale melee ensued – complete with tear gas and dozens of
demonstrators and police alike sent to the hospital. Events in Madison made the national news, and
the IU security chief laid plans to avoid anything similar on his watch.
Secretly, campus security scouted the interview venue,
coordinated with local and regional law enforcement, and even reserved a
university bus to transport arrestees if necessary. Unaware of the university’s
preparations, approximately 40 activists showed up at the B-school to meet the
Dow recruiters. Campus cops tried to block their access to the room, but the
students pushed their way forward and,
led by the newly elected head of SDS, Dan Kaplan, began a sit-in. That triggered phase two
of the security plan with city police and deputy sheriffs decked out in riot
gear arriving on the scene.
The occupiers were ordered to leave peacefully and get on
the waiting bus for police processing. Most did so, but four young men refused,
and the forces of law and order moved in with swinging riot sticks, putting two
of the students, Dwight Worker and George Walker, in the hospital. It was clearly a police over-reaction; as news
got around in the papers the next day, the occasion of the Rusk visit, there
was outrage at the administration and the cops in some quarters. Thus, for two
days in the normally placid heartland, there was uproar over a war thousands of
miles away. To some extent the dueling outrages precipitated by the back to
back Dow and Rusk visits mitigated each other depending upon one’s politics.
However, the cumulative protests were eventually too much
for Elvis Stahr, who publically criticized and demonized the campus New Left. A
former senior officer in WWII and member of the government, and, above all, a
Rhodes Scholar long accustomed to a string of unruffled successes, Stahr couldn’t
take the dissonance of university life in the midst of a divisive war and resigned
in bitterness at the end of the academic year.
*Quoted from the Indiana
Daily Student in M A Wynkoop, Dissent in the Heartland: The Sixties at
Indiana University (2002), 55.
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