Professor Charles Muscatine on the Free Speech Movement
Professor Charles Muscatine
In October of 1999, a University of California symposium (“The University Loyalty Oath: A 50th Anniversary Retrospective”) explored the loyalty oath fifty years after its imposition on university employees. Historians, university administrators, non-signers, bystanders all gathered in Berkeley for two days of reflective discussion on the meaning and consequences of this event in California. One of the symposium participants was Professor Emeritus Charles Muscatine. In 1949, he was a young assistant professor in the English department; he joined the stalwart Group for Academic Freedom, all of whom refused to sign the oath, and lost their faculty positions. “It was a violation of academic freedom as well as the Constitution. Besides, I had an obligation to my students. How could I tell them to tell it as it is if I had signed something that went so much against my conscience?” The oath was declared unconstitutional in 1951 (Tolman v. Underhill).
Charles Muscatine returned to Berkeley in 1953, where he taught until his retirement in 1991. The Regional Oral History Office of The Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley, undertook a series of interviews with six individuals who participated in this controversy. What began as one interview about Charles Muscatine’s loyalty oath activities led into a discussion of his involvement with the Free Speech movement, English literature, and innovations in higher education. In the brief passage that follows, Muscatine describes how the Free Speech Movement proved to be a moment of awakening not only for Berkeley’s students, but for tenured professors like himself too. Professor Muscatine died in 2010 at the age of 89. Read the complete interview transcript of the interview conducted by ROHO historian Germaine LaBerge in 2000.
What's your first remembrance of the protests?
Well, I saw Jack Weinberg in the police car.
Had you known him before?
No, no. One of the curious things about my whole relationship to this movement is that I never, never had a conversation with any of the real principals of the Free Speech Movement. In the faculty there were persons, people who did talk to those students and knew them probably because they had them in class, but I, oddly enough, never had any—none of the ones that you've heard about—Bettina [Aptheker] and Mario [Savio]. I was strictly on the outside of that. Nor was I sufficiently into the administration to have any contact with them that way.
So you saw Jack Weinberg in the police car.
And do you want to just describe what was happening—what was going through your mind?
Well, I thought Jack Weinberg was terribly pleased—very surprisingly pleased [laughs] with the situation. And I was still in that stage—I've talked about it elsewhere—I'll repeat it for this record, but I was still sort of shocked. I mean, I really had a kind of ivory tower mentality. I thought of the students in terms of their right to organize and so on on campus, but I didn't regard them as citizens of the campus. [It seemed to me] they're only here four years and not full years anyhow, you know. We're [the faculty] the ones who are here all the time. It's our place. I thought: why don't they be active in Hayward or Sacramento or wherever the hell they come from? And it took me a little while, gradually during the Free Speech Movement, to accept the fact that this was their place, and I'd forgotten that when I was an undergraduate, I regarded it as my place. [laughs] And even up to the momentous meeting when Mario Savio was dragged off by the cops when he tried to intervene in Clark Kerr's speech—
At the Greek Theater.
Greek Theater [December 7, 2000]. Even at that point, although I was, generally speaking, in favor of the Free Speech Movement, at that time I still remember myself being horrified that Mario would try to interrupt these civilized proceedings by walking onto the stage. So I was very slow, I think, as a participant, although my political sympathies were with them right from the start. I still remember a kind of outrage I felt, that order was dissolving. Of course after I got tear-gassed once or twice and my little daughter got tear-gassed on the way to junior high school, I felt more militant. [laughs]
And was this during this period, or later?
No, no, this was later. This was later.
Well, it was different from the loyalty oath protest [1949-1952], which was orderly.
Yes, yes, definitely very different.
And yet, did you see the issues as being somewhat the same when you could step back and look at it?
Oh, yes, I appreciated the issues. I don't think that I was—as I say, I was in sort of a scholarly cocoon in those years, and I didn't think I was as fully and as sensitively aware of what was going on in the country—what was going on in the South. Of course I was outraged by some of the things that happened, but I was really, you know, in the ivory tower a good deal of that time.
Continue to Coming Up!
David Blackwell, Likely the First African-American to Earn Tenure at Berkeley
David Blackwell was born in 1919 in Centralia, Illinois. He went on to become a great mathematical thinker and made fundamental contributions to the areas of probability theory, mathematical statistics, set theory and logic, and of course, game theory, to name a few. When Professor Blackwell came to UC Berkeley in 1954 after a decade at Howard University in Washington D.C., he became, we think, the first African American ladder rank faculty person system-wide.
There is so much important history throughout this series, but I am drawn to this early passage featuring Blackwell’s commentary on childhood when he was growing up as compared to more recent generations.
Wilmot: How would you describe yourself as a child?
Blackwell: I liked to play games. Checkers, chess, marbles, and more active games like baseball or softball. Track and field—we used to organized track meets. I think I may have mentioned this before, but the children organized things that the adults had nothing to do with. We had a Southtown baseball team that played the Northtown baseball team. And adults had nothing to do with that at all. We organized it ourselves and played ourselves. Organized track meets ourselves. When I look at how much parental supervision there is nowadays, I feel sorry for the poor kids. They don’t know what independence is like. I didn’t want to grow up. I really enjoyed being a child.
Provoked by a simple but terrific question from interviewer and project manager Nadine Wilmot, I find in Blackwell's response a profound perspective lamenting the loss of children organizing their own neighborhood games and events. How do children of today develop the crucial skills of leadership, cooperation, and self-organization if their entire existences are scheduled and monitored?
This is much more richness in Professor Blackwell's extraordinary life journey. You can read the full transcript of ROHO’s interview with David Blackwell here.
--David Dunham (email@example.com)
From the Archives—Spring 2014
“Mormons, Missions, and Sleeve Knives: David Pierpont Gardner and Preparation for a Career in the University of California System”
Oral histories have a way of justifying themselves. They reveal the variety, contingency, and texture of human experience as much as they show patterns and path dependence. This is true even of histories of university presidents. Although it is a foregone conclusion that the material discussed in these histories will touch on the world-changing events that happen in and around universities, what university administrators do in their “other lives” outside of the academy is often equally fascinating and of interest to historians and the public.
Prior to his career in academia, UC President Emeritus David Pierpont Gardner had an early exposure to nerve-wracking challenges and international intrigue at the height of the Cold War. As a young Mormon graduate of Brigham Young University, Gardner felt it was his duty to go on a mission overseas for his church. Unfortunately, such service was potentially in conflict with his duties as US citizen who might be drafted at any moment to serve in the US military.
In order to avoid the possible interruption of future plans, Gardner decided to enlist. When he met with the enlistment officer, he was surprised to learn that Mormons were in particularly high demand for certain kinds of work. Gardner had expressed an interest in counterintelligence – which is the prevention of foreign intelligence-gathering on American activities – but was told their quota for this specialization was full. As Gardner was leaving the office, the recruitment officer asked where he had gone to college.
He said, "Are you a Mormon?"
I said, "Yes."
He said, "You're in."
I said, "Well, you just told me a minute ago that it was filled."
He said, "Well, it's not filled for you."
I said, "Are you a Mormon?"
He said, "No, no. But we've found Mormons to be less subject to blackmail. They don't drink, they don't
womanize, and they're a very good security risk, and we would like to have you in." So I got in. 
Once he finished his basic training, Gardner was shipped to Japan, where he was told he would no longer be trained in counterintelligence. Instead, he would be trained in the “positive intelligence unit,” which entailed gathering information on foreign entities on foreign soil. He was going to become a spy, in the hostile environment of South Korea, in 1955. Gardner said that he matured quickly from his two years running agents into enemy territory, and was undertaking what he felt was necessary service to his country.
Gardner: I was less frightened out in the field than when I was rendezvousing with agents in Inch’on at two in the morning. Inch 'on, on the Korean west coast, was the smuggling center of the Yellow Sea, had been for years. We would rendezvous with our contacts and agents in safe houses in Inch 'on. These were always in miserable sections of the city and always in the dark of night. I would go up to meet with them, and there were no street lights. I remember the cut glass that people had over their shops and homes there. They would blow and make noise because of the wind off the Yellow Sea, and rats scurrying around. I was scared to death.
Ann Lage, Interviewer: And there's nowhere to hide yourself.
Gardner: Oh, no.
Lage: You must have stood out terrifically.
Gardner: Oh, sure but not so much at 2:00 am. That's why it was at night. We were well armed. I had a .45 on my hip and a .38 under my arm, a sleeve knife on my right arm and a black-jack in my coat
pocket. And I knew how to use them.
Lage: Did this prepare you for the regents' meetings?
Gardner: [laughs] Yes, well, the student protests seemed rather tame in comparison.
Gardner’s career in intelligence would last until he unexpectedly had to return to the US in 1957.
Gardner: One of our agents, my agent, in this instance was either a double agent or sold out or was captured in North Korea, I don't know which.
Lage: A person that you worked with.
Gardner: Yes. My cover name was broadcast over Radio P'yongyang and Radio Peking. When that happened, my commanding officer came and he said, "You've got two hours. Pack up your stuff. As far as we're concerned, you don't exist. So you pack up your stuff and you're out of here in two hours." They flew me to Tokyo, I got on a plane in Tokyo, and I flew to the Bay Area, and the next day
I was out of the army.
Gardner: Just in time to enroll in summer session at Berkeley. And this was 1957.
Gardner and Lage jokingly intimated that this experience permitted him to weather both bureaucratic meetings and student protestors at UC Santa Barbara during the 1960s with a certain equanimity. But this brief excerpt also illustrates the role of chance in life: the casual question about where one attended college, the daily intensity of a dangerous environment that spared Gardner but not many of his friends, and a moment of betrayal that propelled him to a new life with a new purpose. Interviewer Ann Lage was careful to show interest in the story without putting the narrator’s guard up, as Gardner was concerned about revealing information that might still be classified. But she deftly posed questions to allow him to tell his story on his own time, and in a way that illustrates something valuable about his character and experiences that shaped his career as an administrator and a leader.
You can read the full transcript of ROHO’s interview with David Pierpont Gardner here.
--Paul Burnett (firstname.lastname@example.org)
From the Archives—Winter 2013
The Interview That Started It All: Alice B. Toklas in 1952
Alice B. Toklas, left, with her companion Gertrude Stein and their dog
Basket II, near Belley, France, ca. 1941.
Photo courtesy of The Bancroft Library.
Two years before the Regional Oral History Office (ROHO) was established, James D. Hart, then director of The Bancroft Library, commissioned an interview with Alice B. Toklas. Ms. Toklas, already in her mid-70s, was still residing in an apartment she once shared with Gertrude Stein in Paris. The interview, which took place at the end of
Autumn 1952, was relatively long—more than six hours—and covered a wide variety of topics, including Toklas's and Stein's childhoods in California, the Paris arts scene, and the difficulties of living under Nazi rule in wartime France. The most compelling element of this interview, though, is Toklas herself, who emerges from Stein's long shadow and proves herself to be a remarkably thoughtful, intelligent, opinionated, and feisty woman in her own right. Some attribute this interview as establishing a "proof of concept" which soon led to the founding of ROHO. Although available to researchers in the Bancroft archives for decades, this interview transcript was made available broadly to the public only this year in junction with The Bancroft Library Gallery exhibit, “A Place at the Table: A Gathering of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Text, Image & Voice.”
Listen to a clip from the interview or read the entire transcript.
From the Archives—Fall 2013
Leaking National Secrets Then and Now:
Ben Bagdikian on the Pentagon Papers
Chelsea (née Bradley) Manning and Edward Snowden, who recently leaked millions of bits of data exposing cover ups by the military and the wholesale gathering of personal information of US citizens, have touched off a fierce debate on the public's right to know and the state’s right to secrecy on issues of national security.
A similar debate dominated American discourse more than 40 years ago, in 1971 when Daniel Ellsberg leaked 7,400 pages of government documents revealing a secret history of US involvement in Vietnam. In a pre-digital age, these were documents he had laboriously and surreptitiously xeroxed while he worked as an analyst for the Rand Corporation. Ellsberg had sent the papers to the New York Times, but a federal court enjoined the newspaper not to print them.
Ellsberg then turned to Ben Bagdikian, national editor of the Washington Post with whom he had worked at Rand in the late sixties. In Bagdikians’s 2010 interview for ROHO, he recounts a cloak and dagger tale of Ellsberg getting a copy of the papers to Bagdikian, who then spent the next forty eight hours in the home of Post publisher Katherine Graham preparing the documents for publication. The interview provides an eye-witness account of Graham’s and managing editor Ben Bradlee’s discussions with legal council and board members about the political and moral implications of publishing the Pentagon Papers, and then narrates the subsequent legal consequences. The interview situates the story in the context of the polarized political climate over the War in Vietnam and the Nixon administration’s attack on the press. See, especially, interview 5 on the Pentagon Papers.
Bagdikian is a former dean of UC Berkeley's Graduate School of Journalism, with an extensive background as an investigative reporter who wrote about the civil rights movement, exposed horrendous conditions in prisons and became a leading critic of how media became controlled by monopolies.
Ben H. Bagdikian, “Journalist, Media Critic, Professor and Dean Emeritus, UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism.” Conducted by Lisa Rubens in 2010. Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft Library, University of California Berkeley, 2011.
From the Archives—Summer 2013
Health and Disease in Saudi Arabia:
The Aramco experience, 1940s-1990s
In June 1947 American medical entomologist Richard Daggy stepped off a plane in Dhahran onto a tarmac strip melting in the over-100-degree heat. The airport was a quonset hut separated from the runway by a sand dune. It had taken him several days of air travel to get there and he knew almost nothing of the famously private desert kingdom. He was sent there to help eradicate malaria, but there was only sand as far as he could see. “I was puzzled as to why a good, self-respecting malaria mosquito could make it in Saudi Arabia,” he recalled.
He joined a small group of doctors who were building a western-style health care system from scratch. Aramco’s original medical mandate had been to provide health care for their foreign workers, but it quickly grew to include local hires and their families, then everyone in the area. Basic health care for young, healthy adult workers quickly morphed into large-scale health initiatives to benefit the entire region and population. Diseases nearly eradicated in the US were still common in rural eastern Saudi Arabia. Infant mortality, malnutrition, malaria, tetanus, small pox, and trachoma took terrible tolls on the population.
Soon Daggy would be joined by his equally adventurous family and several other Aramco nurses, doctors, researchers, and epidemiologists who would become his colleagues. ROHO’s Carole Hicke interviewed more than a dozen Aramco medical professionals in 1996. Their experience spanned decades, from the early years after World War II when most of the local population were either nomadic bedu or oasis villagers, to the early 1980s when oil wealth had created modern cities, highways, and universities. Their stories capture unique perspectives of an isolated, old culture in transition and the doctors who moved half-way around the world equipped with little more than a sense of adventure to treat them.
This collection of interviews can be read online.
Our office conducted an earlier set of oral histories, “American Perspectives of Aramco, the Saudi-Arabian Oil-Producing Company, 1930s to 1980s” which can also be read online.
-- Julie Allen