University of Virginia Library

9. NINE

The University
Rides the Storm

TURMOIL AND CONVULSION erupted across the campuses of
America in the late sixties, and the University of Virginia
was not immune. Many students were outraged over events in
the Vietnam war and were determined to show their feelings
by demonstrations and even violence. Small cadres of Marxist
revolutionaries seized upon the situation to promote their
goals. A few of these were operating in the shadow of the Rotunda.

Two busloads of University of Virginia students went to
Washington in the fall of 1967 and joined in a march to
the Pentagon by some seventy-five thousand others from
throughout the nation who were protesting the war in Vietnam.
There were arrests and clubbings on the Pentagon steps.
A few days later the Cavalier Daily published five columns of
letters, pro and con, concerning the war. One group of faculty
members signed a statement terming the conflict "immoral
and unjust," while another faculty group retorted that such
demonstrations as had occurred in Washington "tend to prolong
the war."

The Virginia Weekly, an ultraradical publication, began appearing
at the university in 1967, and the Student Council
made it a grant of $500. When the journal expired in 1972,
the Cavalier Daily said its purpose had been "forging a revolutionary
party capable of leading the working class to socialism."

Violence was escalating on campuses from coast to coast in

the spring of 1968, with Columbia University the focal point.
Vandals wrecked the office of President Grayson Kirk, whereupon
faculty members threatened to lie down to prevent police
from clearing occupied buildings. Kirk ordered the police
away. On other fronts U.S. Attorney General Ramsey Clark
was temporizing with looters, arsonists, sitters-down in public
thoroughfares, and other disrupters of the public business.

Aware that there was unrest at Charlottesville, President
Shannon issued a sweeping statement on May 3, 1968, designed
to prevent the spread of violence to the Grounds. It
contained the following provisions:

The foregoing had been put together following a conference
with student leaders. High praise was heaped on President
Shannon for his forthright stand, which was cited as
being in sharp contrast to the spineless surrender of some
other educational executives.

A few days after this manifesto was issued the students
elected two Anarchist candidates to the Student Council by
unprecedented majorities. Walker Chandler and Charles
Murdock wrote in a letter to the student newspaper on the eve
of the election: "We are not running as a joke. We selected the
title Anarchist because we intend to destroy the present style
of student government. . . . Gentlemen, we are NOT kidding."
Slogans for their campaign included: "What Has Order Gotten
You?" and "Political Power Grows Out of the Barrel of a
Gun—Chairman Mao." They said they hoped to bring about
student strikes and sit-ins and to employ "skillful use of the

threat of force, and force if necessary." Some students seem to
have voted for these men as a sort of lark, but Chandler polled
the biggest total in the history of Council elections down to
that time, while Murdock was not far behind and well ahead
of the third candidate. The following year the Anarchist party
became the Progressive party, and Murdock ran for another
term on the Council; he got an even bigger vote than Chandler
had polled in 1968. The Progressives elected their entire
slate, with one exception. The party, among other things, was
definitely antifraternity and stood on a "liberal" platform.

Unrest and disorder on campuses throughout the land were
intensified by the rioting that summer at the Democratic National
Convention in Chicago. Some of the same persons who
led the Chicago riots were active in the institutions of higher
learning.

President Shannon held the first of a series of two-day retreats
at Mountain Lake, Giles County, in September 1968
when selected Board of Visitors members, administrators, faculty,
and students discussed various problems with a view to
defusing rising resentments and getting to know one another
better. These yearly meetings were held later at Graves Mountain
Lodge, Madison County. Agitation among the students
for more active and aggressive recruiting of black matriculates
was a major topic at the first retreat. Another was implementation
of a rule that second-year men would have to live in the
dormitories. The latter issue aroused such antagonism that
the Visitors, on Shannon's recommendation, rescinded the
rule before the opposition could be fully organized. Editor
Gwathmey of the Cavalier Daily wrote later that "after one
meeting student members . . . were practically ready to go
back home and riot. . . . Happily some of the meetings after
the bitterest one were the most harmonious and productive.
The participants found that they could get along after all."

Students for a Free Society, a "New Right" organization, was
formed at the university as a counterweight to Students for a
Democratic Society (SDS) and the Southern Student Organizing
Committee (SSOC), both of which were active. The president
of the conservative organization dedicated to "reform
rather than revolution," was John Kwapisz, a second-year student
in commerce and Russian-Communist studies. He also
headed Young Americans for Freedom (YAF) at the university

and the following year would debate with both faculty and
student leaders in behalf of his firmly held views.

An eleven-point program drafted by the Student Coalition
was announced at a rally on the Lawn in February. Something
like one thousand students attended and heard speeches by
Professors William A. Elwood and Willie Lee Rose, as well as
Arthur (Bud) Ogle, a member of the Student Council and an
ordained Presbyterian minister; the Reverend Howard Gordon
and the Reverend David Ward, local clergymen; Robert
Rosen, a fourth-year College student who edited Rapier Magazine;
and others. The eleven-point program included higher
wages for university employees, their affiliation with national
labor unions with the right to strike, more black students,
blacks on the Board of Visitors, a Black Studies Program,
more aid for disadvantaged students, and a full-time black Assistant
Dean of Admissions. President Shannon's reaction to
the above proposals was regarded as unsatisfactory by the
sponsors. A delegation of students went to Richmond to seek
Governor Godwin's support but got no encouragement. He
told them that as students their role was to get an education
and not engage in social protest.

Rioting on the nation's campuses was intensified in the
spring of 1969, when Harvard and Cornell were centers of
agitation, and disorders of the year before erupted again at
Columbia. Harvard deans were physically ejected from their
offices by students, confidential papers were copied and made
public, and administration buildings forcibly taken over. At
Cornell about one hundred black students, many carrying rifles,
shotguns, and belts of ammunition left Willard Straight
Hall after the administration, apparently in order to avoid
bloodshed, met demands the students made when they took
over the building. At Columbia about two hundred students
occupied Philosophy Hall, barricaded the doors, and trapped
professors and other students inside. Various extreme demands
were made.

The resignation of C. Stuart Wheatley, Jr., from the University
of Virginia Board of Visitors was demanded by both SDS
and SSOC because Wheatley, as a member of the General Assembly
years before, had been a supporter of "massive resistance"
against integration of the races. The organizations
called for the appointment of a black in his place. In addition,

they demanded the resignations of several board members,
whom they termed "élitist." The calls for Wheatley's resignation
were echoed by various other student leaders and organizations,
who called his presence on the board "an affront to
the black community." Wheatley finally convinced his critics
that he had reversed his views on integration and the agitation
subsided.

In the fall of 1969 President Shannon received legal advice
that he felt made it necessary for him to modify his ruling of
the year before with respect to student demonstrations. He
was told that there was a considerable body of case law and
court decisions necessitating this revision. On Sept. 4 he accordingly
set forth the new requirements under which it was
no longer necessary that organizations holding demonstrations
be officially recognized by the Student Council, nor was
it necessary for them to obtain permission four days in advance.
Students were still forbidden to use university space in
a manner that is "physically destructive [or] unlawful" and to
"disrupt academic activities or any scheduled events." Students
violating the rules would be "subject to standing university
disciplinary procedures," including suspension, but due
process was guaranteed.

The Cavalier Daily, which had a series of ultraliberal, if not
radical, editorial executives during this period, had a new
setup in September 1969 with a publisher and also an editor.
Charles A. Hite III occupied the former position and Robert
B. Cullen the latter. The new management lost no time in taking
its far-out stance. "People leave because they find the university
socially childish, politically repressive, or academically
irrelevant and uninteresting," said the paper. Addressing the
first-year men, it declared: "We welcome you to the University
of Virginia, not with a call to seize the Rotunda (yet), but with
an urgent exhortation that you will strive to be activists in the
finest sense of the word, actively seeking to better yourselves
and your university."

Extremely sour notes concerning the 1969 Mountain Lake
retreat issued from the paper's sanctum, which apparently
spoke for a small minority of those present at the conference.
"The president's remarks reminded me of a father addressing
his children or a nineteenth-century plantation owner addressing
his slaves," wrote Publisher Hite. Shannon had told

the "60-odd persons in the room that he had poured his heart
and soul into the betterment of the university. . . . They believed
him and applauded. We sat, arms folded, and tried to
fight off the sense of hopelessness and frustration welling up
inside." Hite added that students had "the ability and right to
have a direct control in guiding their lives at the university. . . .
This was the root of the distrust at the conference."

In an effort to obtain this much-discussed "student power,"
a group of undergraduates launched a movement the following
week to "reform the University Senate" so as to include
student members along with administration and faculty. Student
Council approved the plan unanimously, and its president,
"Bud" Ogle, was named chairman of a committee to
work out the details. A senate with student representation had
been set up at Columbia University following the riots there.

The faculty of the College of Arts and Sciences at the university
voted to admit representatives of student publications
and the two university radio stations to its meetings, but only
as observers.

An electronic "bug," or eaves-dropping device, was found
attached to the underside of the table in the room where the
Board of Visitors was meeting in October 1969. It was not
known how long the bug had been there. An investigation was
launched, but the guilty party or parties were never discovered.

The so-called Vietnam Moratorium was observed nationally
a few days later, Oct. 15. About three hundred students and
others gathered the evening before in front of the first-year
dormitories, and marched, carrying candles, to University
Avenue and Rugby Road. President Shannon joined them at
their request, and spoke briefly to them, saying: "I come to
join with you in what I know is your desire and my desire for
a peaceful resolution of this war. I understand your interest
and your concern . . . to give consideration to all aspects of
our foreign policy and the aspects of our responsibility and
your concern as citizens of your country. And I do wish you
well." He walked with them partway on their procession
through the Grounds. As the marchers passed, some residents
of the Alderman Road and Observatory Hill dorms chanted
verses from "Dixie," yelled "Win the war!" and waved Confederate
flags.

96. Linda Howard, black president of the Law School,
1972-73, in conversation with another student.

Talk of canceling classes for the moratorium had begun the
previous month, and Chairman Kwapisz of Young Americans
for Freedom announced that legal action to prevent it would
be taken if such a move were tried. President Shannon announced
early in October that classes would not be canceled.

"Many students exercised their right to stay away from
class" on Oct. 15, the Alumni News said, "opting for formal and
informal discussions of the war, for chapel services, or perhaps
study."

The main event of the day was an address from the Rotunda
steps at noon by Karl Hess, speech writer and campaign
aid for Barry Goldwater in the 1964 presidential campaign.
About one thousand persons heard Hess hail the moratorium
as a "reassertion of our rights as citizens. . . . It tells Mr. Nixon
much more than just the fact the war must end. We must become
citizens again."

Ceremonies signalizing the climax of the university's yearlong
sesquicentennial observance—treated more fully in
Chapter 11—took place the following week. When these were
concluded, President Shannon accepted a prestigious award
from the Danforth Foundation for two months at Oxford
University. He had declined a similar offer the year before because
of the pressure of events at Charlottesville. Those events
left him very tired, according to Frank Berkeley, his executive
assistant, and he needed a rest. However, Berkeley said further,
in his oral deposition concerning these happenings, that
"if he had been here at home, and had his ear to the ground
better, I think a lot of things would have worked out
better. . . . There were things building up at the university that
he did not have his ear to the ground on." When Shannon
returned he had to plunge into hearings before the General
Assembly.

If he did lose touch, to some extent, with events at the university
while he was in England—which he denies—he says he
benefited greatly from the restful sojourn abroad. It enabled
him, he declares, to stand the "continuous strain and virtually
sleepless nights" which he endured during the demonstrations
that erupted in May.

Another huge demonstration against the Vietnam war took
place in Washington in mid-November, and some seventy-five
university students attended. They gathered under a Virginia

banner, took part in peaceable demonstrations at the Capitol,
and marched to ceremonies at the Washington Monument.
They were not involved in violence that broke out at the Department
of Justice.

Meanwhile, at the university Rep. John Marsh of Virginia
and Mayor G. A. Vogt of Charlottesville addressed a "Tell It
to Hanoi" rally of over one hundred students called by Young
Americans for Freedom at the Barracks Road Shopping Center.
They stressed the need for telling Hanoi to begin serious
negotiations looking toward an end for the war and demonstrating
support for President Nixon in his efforts to "achieve
a just and lasting peace in Southeast Asia."

Somewhat typical of the times was a letter to the Cavalier
Daily from Jeremy Kahn, a fourth-year student, berating the
paper for "prominent placing" of the Episcopal HighWoodberry
football score. A small box on an inside page with
"Episcopal High School 21, Woodberry Forest 0" was all that
was published. Kahn commented, "It seems that the past represented
by these exclusive schools is even more evil than that
represented by today's bourbon drinkers."

Richard M. Kleindienst, deputy U.S. attorney general, appeared
at the Legal Forum in December. The Cavalier Daily
urged that he be given a courteous hearing, since "if his
speech is disrupted, the effect will be to give the administration
. . . evidence that it is the Left, and not the Right, which
is intolerant and repressionist." He was interrupted repeatedly,
and "outbreaks of verbal harrassment occurred frequently."
Tom Gardner, a fourth-year College student, one of
the principal agitators during this period, was a leader in these
disruptive activities.

The left-wing Progressive party captured the four Student
Council seats up for election. Judy Wellman, editor of the
radical Virginia Weekly, was chosen by a big majority from the
Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.

A strike was in progress at the General Electric plant in
Waynesboro, and Tom Gardner exhorted students to aid the
strikers. He solicited financial contributions. Thirty university
students picketed the plant and distributed strike leaflets.

Corks and Curls for 1970, material for which was prepared
during the 1969-70 session, was permeated throughout with
extreme leftist doctrine, and the prominently featured article

in the front of the volume was by "Bud" Ogle. Among other
things, he said: "The promise is great. And administrators
and `student leaders' are frittering it away. Our mentor Karl
Marx [italics supplied] once said: `Until now philosophers have
only sought to understand the world. The point, however, is
to change it.' The point is to change it."

The foregoing is one more illustration of the fact that a
group of extremists at Virginia had gotten control of important
organs of student opinion and other agencies, as happened
at a number of institutions. They worked while the average
undergraduate slept. The surprising thing was that so
many of the rank and file seemed to acquiesce in their plans,
or at least not to oppose them. The students, as we have seen,
voted these Marxists and other radicals into important offices
on the Grounds. Undoubtedly some of this was due to a perverse
desire on the part of college youths to oppose the Establishment
"for kicks." And there is the further fact that the climate
of opinion in most colleges and universities in those few
years was much more leftist than at any time before or since.
The Vietnam war was a prime factor in bringing about this
condition.

In all this turmoil Rector Frank W. Rogers was spokesman
for the conservatives on the Board of Visitors. He remained
staunchly opposed to unwarranted concessions to the radical
student agitators. He was also uninhibited in expressing himself.
On the eve of his retirement as rector in February 1970,
Rogers was quoted by the Associated Press as contrasting the
current situation with that which prevailed eight years before
when he went on the board. "Eight years ago you couldn't
conceive of that terrible bunch of thugs that now make themselves
so articulate" at the university, he declared. Rogers was
referring to the handful of Marxist agitators on the Grounds.
By contrast, some of the other leaders in the demonstrations
were remarkably courteous.

J. Harvie Wilkinson III, the student member of the visitors,
asked the Student Council for help "in making student opinions
known to the board" and said he was "available to talk
with any of you about matters concerning the university."
Wilkinson added: "I might not agree with some of your views,
but I think I could convey your ideas to the board, whether I

agree with them or not." Several members of the council expressed
satisfaction with his offer.

A peace fast, sponsored by the Vietnam Moratorium Committee,
was held April 13-15 and was endorsed by a large
number of presidents of undergraduate organizations and by
student publications.

This relatively quiet situation became explosive when President
Nixon announced the bombing of Cambodia. Soon
thereafter four students at Kent State University were shot
and killed, and nine wounded, by Ohio national guardsmen.
These events aroused outrage on campuses from coast to
coast and intensified unrest at Virginia and many other colleges
and universities. Students everywhere in the United
States had been tense and on edge since the preceding fall,
when the draft lottery was instituted, with consequent termination
of student deferments.

Students held a rally at the Rotunda on the night of May 4,
the day after the Kent State killings, whence several hundred
marched to Carr's Hill and read President Shannon a telegram
they were sending to President Nixon. Shannon indicated
that he shared their concern, but he refused to sign the
telegram.

Some of the students marched thence to Maury Hall, headquarters
of the naval ROTC, and tried to take it over. David
Morris, president of the College, and Dave Bowman, vicepresident,
stood in front of the door for about fifteen minutes
and refused to let them pass unless they agreed to be nonviolent.
They agreed, and were admitted. President Shannon
had had an injunction drafted in advance, to be ready for such
an emergency, and this injunction, ordering evacuation of the
building, was issued that night by Judge Lyttleton Waddell. It
was delivered to Maury Hall by the police at about 4:30 A.M.,
and the students vacated the building without resistance.

About half of the group had gone back to Carr's Hill, arriving
at around 3:30 A.M. They yelled "Strike!" and knocked on
the door. President Shannon was not there, but Mrs. Shannon
was. She came out and faced the crowd, told them that they
would awaken the children, and insisted that they go away.
They did.

A memorial service to the Kent State victims was held in
Cabell Hall at about noon, on call of President Shannon and
James Roebuck, black president of the Student Council. At
the ceremonies Shannon expressed agreement with the students
as to the Kent State shootings but stressed the necessity
for nonviolence. He had been up all night, and when he spoke
of his love for the university and the need to preserve its traditions,
tears came into his eyes. The press reported that he
was crying, which gave a distorted picture.

A strike committee, numbering about three hundred fifty
students, was urging a "strike," or boycott, of classes. The term
strike, as used by them, it is important to note, had no relationship
to the sort of strike that takes place in industrial plants.
The Student Council endorsed the plan unanimously and
called on all students to stay away from classes. Twenty-nine
of the thirty-three fraternities also endorsed the boycott; three
of the remaining four had clauses in their constitutions that
prevented their doing so. Over one hundred fifty faculty
members supported the students' right to boycott. Some professors
did not hold classes on May 6, although there had been
no cancellation by the administration.

In an effort to calm the rising discontent, President Shannon
and his advisers decided that it would be wise for the
president to announce on that day that he had made arrangements
with Senators Harry F. Byrd and William B. Spong to
see and talk with students from the university the following
Monday. He made the announcement to students gathered in
front of Alderman Library. Professors Charles Whitebread
and William Harbaugh, who had the confidence of the dissidents,
were requested to follow Shannon's remarks with supportive
statements. They did so. "Their appearance enabled
the president to leave the rally," said Provost Frank Hereford.
"We were genuinely concerned that there might be violence,
particularly because of the large group of outsiders on the
Grounds."

Weeks before these developments, radical student organizations
at the university had invited William Kunstler and
Jerry Rubin to speak in University Hall on May 6. Kunstler
was defense attorney for the Chicago Seven, whose violence
had disrupted the Democratic National Convention, and
Rubin was one of the seven. Appearance of these men only

two days after the Kent State shootings could not have happened
at a worse time for the cause of law and order at Virginia.
Their inflammatory remarks were like pouring gasoline
on a smoldering fire. Kunstler, who had led the protests at
Columbia, said: "We must now resist to the hilt. These fists
have to be clenched, and they have to be in the air. When
they're opened we hope it's in friendship, not around the trigger
guard of a rifle. But if we're not listened to, or if the issue
is forced, they may well open around trigger guards." "Yippie"
Jerry Rubin then delivered a rambling, hour-long harangue,
interlarded with innumerable obscenities, that turned
off the audience. Many walked out while he was speaking.

After this program had been concluded a crowd estimated
at two thousand, some of whom carried Viet Cong flags, assembled
in front of the President's residence on Carr's Hill.
Kunstler stood on a chair and all but told the shouting gathering
to rush the building. He quoted Marie Antoinette's famous
"Let 'em eat cake." President Shannon was conferring
inside with university officials and student leaders. About
thirty student marshals were lined up across the front of the
house, determined to prevent any mob violence. After Kunstler
finished speaking, nothing much was happening for several
minutes. Somebody called out, "On to Maury Hall!" and
the crowd melted away. In the group were a number of persons
unknown to the university authorities who had come
from elsewhere.

A couple of hundred of the demonstrators went to Maury
Hall. After they had occupied it, a small fire broke out in a
mattress in the basement, causing considerable smoke. This,
coupled with a rumor that the police were coming, caused
evacuation of the building.

Shannon had established various "command posts" and he
moved from one to the other, "so as not to be a focal point,"
he said later. One of his temporary headquarters was in a
room at the hospital where there were desks and telephones.
A fantastic rumor got out that he was ill or having a nervous
breakdown, and had entered the hospital for treatment.

An important asset for him in all this turmoil and confusion
was the relationship he had with Jim Roebuck, the black president
of the Student Council. "We didn't always agree," Shannon
said, "but we had confidence in each other as human

beings. . . . I felt that I could keep him advised of what I was
thinking, what I was planning . . . and I sought his advice as
much as possible. . . . Jim was concerned that the university
not be damaged, and was absolutely trustworthy."

Students began interfering with traffic at the intersection of
Route 250 and Emmet Street on the night of Thursday, May
7. The city police called for help from the state police, and
there was a confrontation between students and law enforcement
officers on Emmet Street below the Monroe Hill dormitories.
When Dean Alan Williams announced on a bullhorn
that the police were leaving and that the students should do
likewise, they dispersed.

President Shannon, who had kept in touch by telephone
with faculty and student leaders in the crowd and with the
police, saw that there might be trouble the following night. "I
made arrangements," he said, "for the State Police to be in the
area Friday night in force, and to be responsible for security."

That night a large group of students congregated behind
the stone wall on University Avenue in front of the Rotunda.
Contrary to Shannon's wishes, Charlottesville Commonwealth's
Attorney Jack Camblos arrived on the scene and invoked
the Riot Act, with the result that state police charged
the crowd and arrested sixty-seven persons, mostly students.

The precise circumstances surrounding these arrests are in
dispute, which is probably typical of such situations when tensions
run high. On the one hand, it is stated that police pursued
students to the Lawn, entered some rooms, and arrested
those who lived there. Also, in the University Avenue area student
marshals who had volunteered their services in helping
to maintain order on the Grounds were taken into custody, as
well as such innocent bystanders as a senior employee of the
university and a man delivering pizzas. There was a sense of
outrage on the part of many professors and students, who felt
that the police exceeded all proper bounds.

On the other hand, there are those who contend that the
police did not behave irresponsibly, but were simply carrying
out orders in pursuing students who had been warned repeatedly
that they would be arrested if they did not disperse.

All those taken into custody were released immediately on
bail, and the commonwealth's attorney later nol-prossed the
charges.

With the Riot Act in effect, it was unlawful for as many as
three people to congregate, and police cars were parked
bumper to bumper along University Avenue and below Carr's
Hill. President Shannon persuaded Captain Boone of the
state police to withdraw his men from the central grounds in
order to let scheduled university activities proceed on Saturday
afternoon and evening. These included a political rally,
baseball and lacrosse games, and a formal ball.

D. French Slaughter, Jr., president of the University of Virginia
Alumni Association, sent a telegram on Saturday, May 9
to parents of all the undergraduates, urging them to "call your
son or daughter expressing confidence in them to act
thoughtfully and responsibly in this critical situation." The
message said that students and outsiders were using the war
in Southeast Asia "to demand that the university be closed
down," and that "we feel this is no solution of the problem."
Slaughter went on to say: "The administration is determined
to do all it can to avoid violence, to keep the university operating
while maintaining orderly and free discussion. Whether
these objectives can be accomplished rests primarily with the
student body." Many students resented the sending of the telegram
and the student Council formally censured the Alumni
Association for doing so.

President Shannon addressed students and faculty from the
Rotunda steps on the afternoon of May 10. He had put his
speech together hastily, with the aid of several persons, and it
was poorly received, until near the end. At that point he attacked
President Nixon's invasion of Cambodia, and said he
would send a statement on the subject to Virginia's senators
the next day. This brought loud cheers.

Copies of the message were left on the steps of Pavilion VIII
on the Lawn so that anybody wishing to sign could do so. It
expressed grave concern over "many evidences of anti-intellectualism
and growing militarism in the national government"
and went on to say:

Nearly five thousand students and faculty signed the letter
within twenty-four hours, and a delegation of students delivered
the communication to the senators in Washington.

Explaining why he sent this message, Shannon said long afterward:
"I was prepared to feel that the president shouldn't
get into major public positions that have political implications,
[but] that at this juncture it was really important and necessary
to do so and appropriate to do so." He said his speech at the
Rotunda, stating that the message would be available for signatures,
"tended to turn things around. . . . This took the student
pressure off me. . . . We were all together. It tended to
pull the university together instead of having factions."

But if a substantial majority of the students and faculty were
in accord with the president in this matter, many alumni were
in violent disagreement. Gov. Linwood Hilton said, "I disagree
with President Shannon's position." The recently chosen
rector of the university, Joseph H. McConnell, '31, one of the
leading business executives in the United States, president of
Reynolds Metals and former president of Colgate-PamolivePeet
and the National Broadcasting System, was an immediate
dissenter. When he learned in Richmond of Shannon's speech,
he called the president on the telephone to say that the speech
should have been cleared with him in advance, and that he
would never have agreed to its delivery.

Shannon said later that the principal thing that bothered
him about his remarks at the Rotunda was the fact that somehow
"the word `frightening' got in there." He had referred to
the "frightening fashion" in which students had shouted outside
his home shortly before. The word frightening should
have been menacing, he said, since "I wasn't frightened. . . . A
lot of people thought I was scared to death." He was trying in
his speech to explain "why the police had to come in." In Shannon's
behalf, it should be said that anybody who, as a naval
officer, had taken part in half a dozen of the most desperate

Pacific landings in World War II, and had gone down with the
Quincy when she was sunk off Savo Island, would hardly have
been "frightened" by a group of students.

Alumni Association President Slaughter wrote Shannon,
apropos of the telegram to parents that the "overwhelming
majority" of alumni "are opposed to any officials of the university
taking a stand on political issues in a context which
would indicate that this represents the views of the university
in any way."

Shannon contended that the letter to Byrd and Spong "has
been misunderstood and misinterpreted as criticism of President
Nixon's decision to enter Cambodia," whereas "it referred
to the `announcement' of the decision being `used' for
personal public relations purposes." However, this appears to
be "a distinction without a difference," since Shannon himself
said in the oral deposition he made years later that his Rotunda
speech was "pretty critical of Mr. Nixon."

Thousands of letters from alumni poured in to Shannon's
office, according to Frank Berkeley, his executive assistant.
While many were extremely critical of the president, and
some even demanded his resignation, more than 80 percent
of those received in the first few months were favorable,
Berkeley stated.

Elements of the press attacked the Shannon letter to the
senators, and argued that there was a lack of punitive measures
at Charlottesville against obstreperous students, in contrast
to the arrest and jailing of more than one hundred students
at VPI.

The comparison with VPI was not a fair one. The 108 VPI
students who were arrested and jailed overnight had occupied
Williams Hall and refused to leave when ordered out by the
police. They did nearly $1,500 worth of damage to Williams
Hall, and materials for making fire bombs were found there.
Of those arrested, 101 were fined $50 and given a 30-day suspended
jail sentence, while several others were fined $100 and
made to serve five of the 30 days. The University of Virginia
students had left Maury Hall promptly and peaceably when
Judge Waddell's injunction was read to them. No arrests or
fines were necessary.

While the disorders at the university were led by a relatively

97, 98. Gravestones side by side near the entrance to the University
Cemetery commemorate the devotion of the students to their
two mascots "Beta" and "Seal."

small and tightly organized group of radicals, the extent to
which the student body seemed to sympathize with some of
their principal "demands" is surprising. On May 13 the students
voted on ten issues raised by these agitators, including
nine "demands." The Student Council had voted, 11 to 10, to
submit the demands to the students in a referendum. Six of
the demands were given overwhelming approval by the students.
These included revocation of Judge Waddell's injunction;
prohibiting university officers from carrying firearms
and outside law enforcement officers from coming on the
Grounds; and public support by President Shannon "for the
right of university employees to strike and bargain collectively."
By 6 to 1 the students approved a demand "that the
university include women on an equal basis with men in both
recruitment and admissions for all schools at the university";
and by over two to one that the university "publicly commit
itself to a goal of 20 percent for the enrollment of black students
and an allocation of $100,000 for black admissions programs."
A demand that was rejected called for the abolition of
the ROTC and defense-related research.

Gov. Holton said it was "time for the students to go back to
class," and Senator Byrd criticized Shannon for a "lack of
firmness." A minority of the university's administrators and
professors agreed with Byrd. They believed that sterner measures
should have been employed by the president.

In a public statement on May 13 President Shannon declared
that "several hundred major universities" had been
drastically affected by the events in Southeast Asia and at Kent
State, and "most [of them] have been forced to suspend operations
for varying periods of time, or to close." One that
closed in early May for the rest of the session was Princeton.
"The university [of Virginia] is still open," the president went
on. "I am determined to keep it open. . . . All schools and departments
are open. . . . No person has been injured on the
university Grounds, and no serious damage to property has
occurred. . . . The Students' Strike Committee has adhered to
the university's provisions in the scheduling and location of
the planned rallies. The responsible university committee
temporarily suspended its rules for several impromptu gatherings
that appeared reasonable under the circumstances. . . .

Disciplinary measures . . . are being initiated . . . and some
persons (not all of them students) will be subject to prosecution."
A former student, charged with attempted arson, was
prosecuted, at Shannon's insistence.

The administration provided various options in the spring
of 1970: A student and teacher could arrange any of the following
for the undergraduate: (1) Complete work on time and
take examination on the scheduled date; (2) accept the grade
up to May 1 as the final grade; (3) take the exams during the
following semester up to October 1; (4) substitute another requirement
for the exam by June 1. The more active agitators
left the university for Washington or worked in the community.
Those wishing to leave without taking exams had to sign
the following: "Because the dictates of my conscience do not
allow me to continue academic work in this time of crisis, and
because I feel that each person must actively contribute toward
the solution of our pressing problems, I pledge my
honor as a gentleman that I am actively working toward the
goals of peace and the objectives of the Virginia Strike Committee."

While there was criticism of the foregoing arrangement, the
fact remained that disruption at Charlottesville was much less
than at numerous other institutions. No classes were canceled
or suspended. As President Shannon expressed it: "Class attendance
remained normal in many departments and schools,
and returned to an essentially normal level by May 13 in all
schools. A total of 1,974 students met the deadlines for their
degree requirements and were graduated on schedule. . . .
The work of student leaders and marshals was outstanding;
our tradition of student self-government was strongly reasserted,
and the rights of all were respected." At Finals President
Shannon received a standing ovation from the graduating
class.

It was a time of high tension, with Marxist agitators seeking
to foment revolution, and under the circumstances, it was almost
inevitable that mistakes would be made. The Board of
Visitors placed its stamp of approval on Shannon's actions
during the period. By an 11 to 4 vote it commended him for
keeping the university in operation, maintaining its academic
standards, preserving the right of free speech, and "avoiding

the violence experienced elsewhere . . . despite individual differences
of opinion as to methods used."

The session of 1970-71 witnessed a cooling of the revolutionary
fires at Virginia. The National Student Association,
with which the Student Council was affiliated, called for a general
strike in February to protest the escalated bombing in
Vietnam, but there was no strike at Charlottesville. About two
weeks later Dr. Benjamin Spock addressed a student group at
the university, and urged them to work for revolution. He
said, however, that if they sought to achieve it now, they would
be "reduced to grease spots." The following month the student
newspaper stated that "this year [at the university] there
were no demonstrations, only the most feeble protests against
the war." The 1971 Corks and Curls continued to express a farout
leftwing viewpoint, but its tone was one of resignation, if
not despair, since things were drifting back to the status quo
ante.

There was a mild uproar a year later when U.S. Solicitor
General E. N. Griswold spoke at the university. About eighty
students walked out soon after he began and then returned to
question him concerning the government's handling of the
antiwar demonstrations. The question period was punctuated
with "shouts and heated protests." Next day a few students
picketed the Charlottesville draft board, and a score were arrested
in Washington for taking part in civil disobedience disturbances.
About a year after that, in the spring of 1972, the
Student Council, in a telegram to President Nixon, unanimously
protested the stepped up bombing of Vietnam, but
this was far milder than the riots at Harvard, the University of
Maryland, and elsewhere.

The fact was that most of the steam had gone out of the
radical movement at the University of Virginia, which at one
time threatened violent disruption of the institution. It was
refreshing in the fall of 1973 to note the words of the Cavalier
Daily, then under the direction of Tim Wheeler, editor in
chief, and William B. Bardenwerper, editor. Commenting on
the student attitudes of a short time before, the paper said:
"Our frequent categorizations, blanket accusations and arrogant
assessments were shallow, and the rut we had fallen into
of thinking slogans rather than ideas only furthered [sic] to
illustrate our fits of immaturity."

That about sums it up. Thanks largely to President Shannon's
leadership, the radicals had been thwarted, the university
had survived the crisis of 1969-70 better than many institutions,
and Jeffersonian principles of academic freedom and
freedom of speech had been kept inviolate.