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Thoughts on War
Your cover story (May/June) entitled “Lessons of War” was most enjoyable. Your come-on, “Can Professors Stop Wars?” reminds me of an earlier effort by a Stanford professor to do just that.
Henry Lanz was a philosopher and head of the Slavic languages department. In 1936, he submitted an essay to a Swedish international competition asking for answers to the questions, “Can an objective moral standard be set up in the present age? If so, on what can it be based?” The contest was driven by the expectation that Germany was about to begin a war in Europe, and the hope that a moral position could be found that would help stop that war.
The essay, entitled “The Problem of Ethical Objectivity,” was submitted anonymously; it was judged the prizewinner and subsequently turned into a book, In Quest of Morals (Stanford University Press, 1941).
Alexander (Sasha) Lanz, ’61
Richardson, Texas
If professors stopping wars involves the dismantling of our national defenses, where will you find a better example than at Stanford?
The early ’70s, at the height of the Vietnam War, revealed an incredible lack of leadership, both administrative and academic, at Stanford. Two professors took aim at Stanford’s ROTC program. One professed that Stanford should not be teaching “militarism” but rather “discussion” as the solution to international problems. A member of the academic senate, she apparently was unaware of Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s historic trip to Munich in 1938 to “discuss” peace in our time with the Nazis, whose panzers were poised to descend on Paris.
Meanwhile another professor was condemning the ROTC program for the lack of PhDs on its staff. As a parent of an ROTC student, which would you rather have teaching your child how to stay alive on the battlefield: a veteran officer with battlefield experience, as I had at Stanford, or an academic PhD who may or may not have ever heard a shot fired in anger?
Instead of counseling angry students as to who was the real architect of the Vietnam War, these professors aided and abetted the students in the deliberate trashing of a once-excellent rotc program, an important component of our national defense forces.
This is not to demean ivory tower cerebration on campus. We shall always need it for the big picture. This is simply an example of the performance of two professors on a college campus during wartime.
John J. Lodato, ’41, MA ’59
WWII Major, U.S. 3rd Infantry Division
San Andreas, California
Your special report notably omits any contribution from a professional military perspective. Is there a message here? We would not be surprised to learn that there are a number of well-credentialed professors serving at the Air Force Academy, the Naval Academy, the Coast Guard Academy and West Point who would most likely have something of merit to contribute toward a “balanced” report.
Draper Gregory, MS ’75
Chico, California
Parents, Let Go
I hope “Students on the Edge” was an eye-opener to parents (Farm Report, May/June). Although the article focused mostly on students, I’d like to address the parenting style that has led to this debacle. We have been told that great parenting means being super-involved with our children and being in constant communication with them. As soon as we feel they are ready to have a bit of independence, we give them cell phones so that they can call us the minute they need us. There are many benefits to this parenting style, including the close family relationships we have developed. We also know each of their homework assignments (and assist with a few of them), the drills they did at soccer practice (because we either coached their team or stayed and watched), and what they ate for snacks at school. The downside to our “helicopter” parenting, though, is that it makes it difficult for our children to develop their independence, problem-solving and decision-making skills.
Recently, the New York mother who allowed her 9-year-old to ride the subway was dubbed the “World’s Worst Mom.” I vote that the title go instead to the parents who “insist on choosing their child’s area of study and then show up to negotiate his or her salary after graduation.” Those poor kids probably can’t ride a subway alone at 20.
As the director of a children’s residential summer camp, where campers ages 7 to 14 attend for two weeks without their cell phones (gasp!), I spend a lot of my time educating parents about the value of giving their children opportunities for independence at an early age. During the adolescent years, parents need to slowly “let out the leash,” and give kids more responsibilities and more freedom, including the freedom to make mistakes and not be saved by a hovering parent. Perhaps by allowing our kids the chance to learn from early mistakes we won’t need to “call the dean’s office at 10 a.m.” to ask them to wake our sleeping college student. I hope this article shocks some sense into well-meaning parents who are failing at a key job of parenting—providing the launch pad for our children but not joining them on lift-off.
Audrey Kremer Monke, ’88
Clovis, California
Brooksley Born Correction
Kudos for your fine article on Brooksley Born, whose early calls for regulation in the nation’s credit markets went largely unheeded (“Prophet and Loss,” March/April 2009). Her long record of achievement and dedication to her cause will stand as an inspiration for alumni of all law schools and for all of us who strive for fairness and truth.
While I applaud the writer’s careful investigative work into the various discussions between Born and Alan Greenspan, I must correct an error of fact which claims Ms. Born to be the “first woman to edit a major law review,” when she achieved that honor at Stanford in 1964.
That distinction goes to Mary Honor Donlon, who, 45 years earlier, was editor-in-chief of the Cornell Law Quarterly in 1919. Donlon (later Mary Donlon Alger) was a strong advocate for equal rights in education, a Republican candidate for the House of Representatives, and the first female judge on the United States Customs Court, where she served from 1955 to 1977.
Stewart J. Schwab
The Allan R. Tessler Dean and Professor of Law
Ithaca, New York
In mid-January 2009, upon receiving the January/February issue of STANFORD in the mail, I was both shocked and hurt to read Richard W. Lyman’s unfair, inaccurate and nasty attack on me (“At the Hands of the Radicals”). That attack, the magazine’s featured cover story, was part of Lyman’s longer memoir excerpt/case study, drawn from his then-forthcoming book on Stanford’s troubled late-1960s and early-1970s history.
Both in Lyman’s magazine version and in his book (only the paraphrasing differs), he charged that I had publicly, at a noontime rally in White Plaza on April 24, 1970, “thoughtfully” given directions to his house, and he strongly insinuated that such noontime words led to an attack on his house that night by assailants with a paint-filled Coke bottle and two rocks, who tried (he asserted) with the rocks to “maim, if not kill,” the Lyman-family occupants.
Not only are Lyman’s charges and insinuations about me nasty and incorrect, but they seemed very strange. In fact, he had never said any of this to me in the 38-plus years between April 24, 1970, and mid-January 2009, even though we probably had at least 40 and possibly more than 60 conversations in those many years. In view of all that, I felt that Lyman had for some peculiar reason chosen unfairly to blindside me in public with his harsh charges and related hostile insinuations—and without the decency of giving me any prior opportunity to defend myself in private conversation with him.
But in view of his out-of-the-blue attack, it’s difficult not to get personal and wonder about the psyche of Richard Lyman (born in 1923), now in his mid-80s, who could apparently harbor such ugly grievances for some years, decide never to talk to me about them, nor to seek to communicate them through a third party, and then to burst (without any warning to me) into print with them. That meant his publishing those contentions in STANFORD , with its reported circulation of about 185,000, and in his book. That’s a large audience for his attack on my reputation.
All that necessarily puts me on the defensive of having to play catch-up in defending myself, and presumably without my gaining a featured cover story in the magazine to broadcast my substantial response and my heavily researched critique of Lyman’s charges and insinuations.
My seeking in 2009 to persuasively rebut and refute Lyman’s now-published charges and insinuations about events of April 24, 1970, after the passage of nearly 40 years, is obviously a difficult matter for me. How, even if I still possessed my admittedly skimpy 1970 records (including a sketchy calendar of my activities, including public talks), which I casually discarded many years ago, could I firmly prove in 2009 to third parties that Lyman was wrong about these 1970 events? Probably most people, if so publicly assailed by Lyman, would have similar difficulties in mounting a full defense in 2009, with firm contravening evidence, about such charges involving events back in 1970.
This is a situation in which the attacker, as Stanford’s former provost and president and also the former president of the Rockefeller Foundation, would be deemed by most STANFORD readers as having the obvious advantages of greater authority and prestige. Many readers would easily assume, without probing consideration, that Lyman, if making such public charges, could not possibly be wrong, especially because he is generally trusted and because he was so specific—about the date (April 24, 1970), the place (White Plaza), the time (noontime) and the content of my alleged public words (directions to his house), and the troubling assault (a thrown red-paint-filled Coke bottle and two rocks) on his house on the 24th.
In the initial judgment of most trusting readers, there would be the rather likely conclusion: that Lyman must be correct, that he has very firm evidence, that he couldn’t possibly err in making such harsh (and perhaps legally questionable) charges, that he did the essential research on this set of April 1970 events, and that he wouldn’t be careless about the crucial facts in launching his public attack on a longtime fellow historian and Stanford colleague (me).
Starting in winter 2009, after reading Lyman’s public attack, I did rather quickly move to refute and rebut him by gaining some evidence and by querying easily available people whose Stanford experience dates back to April 1970. That meant talking to 10 Stanford-connected people (mostly retired faculty, and two of their spouses) from the spring 1970 period. None of them could recall any such public words at White Plaza by me in spring 1970 involving my giving directions to Lyman’s house. Unfortunately, even a total of 10 such recollections, after nearly four decades, is certainly less than adequately persuasive on such a factual matter involving Lyman’s very specific charges.
In early May of this year, I queried five more faculty (mostly retired), two spouses of former faculty, and a dozen former student activists (both men and women) from the April 1970 period. Same results: None recalled my giving such directions at a White Plaza rally. So, in total, I checked with nearly 30 people from April 1970, and there was no evidential support for Lyman’s published contentions.
But the burden should not be on me to disprove Lyman, but rather for him to prove his contentions with very solid, even unimpeachable, evidence. His article provided absolutely no evidence—only his assertions and his linked insinuations. The version in his book had no endnote on this and, like his article, no evidence. Thus, his published presentation seems markedly inadequate, when judged by the essential criterion—evidence.
I decided, in part, to deal directly with him on these distressing matters involving his charges. That meant asking him privately for his evidence, because the issues between us did seem crucially to involve his evidence. He replied, privately, about his “evidence” (my quotation marks).
His reported “evidence” was, in my judgment, remarkably both flimsy and self-serving. Here it is: that he and his wife now remember that on April 24, 1970, someone had told them about my public White Plaza words, but that the Lymans, after so many years, could not remember (he told me) who their source had been on April 24, 1970. Richard Lyman added, however, in his private reply to me this winter, that he did vividly remember the attack on his house that very night of April 24, 1970, and his feeling then that the attack was my fault.
His uncritically relying upon such memory after nearly 40 years, and especially for people in about their ninth decade, as in the case of the two aged Lymans, seems surprisingly perilous, if not actually reckless in both personal and legal ways. And his relying upon such memory, when he and his wife, by his own report, cannot even remember who gave him/them the (alleged) information on April 24, 1970, seems even riskier and, indeed, even more remarkably irresponsible. And his tying that basically unsourced “memory” to what he defines as an intentionally maiming or killing nighttime attack on April 24, 1970, seems even more reckless—especially because his home address was public knowledge. His street address on campus was not something secret, or even hard to find.
After receiving his reply that he had no firm source, I might have quit my systematic effort to further rebut him. After all, he had admitted, in effect, that he had no evidence other than, simply, “memory.” But I feared that many people, if being told that Lyman was relying solely on memory, might still choose to trust Lyman’s memory, and I thought that perhaps I could do more in my effort to undercut his published claims—really, an attack on me.
I decided to seek to gain substantial leverage on the set of problems involving Lyman’s contentions and insinuations by doing what a trained historian often does—significant library research on the period and on the key events at issue. In doing such research, by checking more than eight pro-Lyman Stanford archival collections (in Special Collections in Green Library), the Stanford News Service press releases that are available in various places on campus, and at least seven Bay Area newspapers (including, among others, the Stanford Daily, the Palo Alto Times, the Campus Report, the Stanford Observer, the San Francisco Examiner and the San Francisco Chronicle), I could find no mention that I had even spoken at any such White Plaza rally on the 24th. And it seemed very likely, moreover, that there was no noontime White Plaza rally that day. Thus, the easily available published record, buttressed by the archival materials left by pro-Lyman Stanford people of the time, seemed to support my claim that Lyman was incorrect, and significantly to undercut Lyman’s contention.
But, in my research, I discovered far more of great relevance by checking through the newspapers of late April and early May 1970: The attacks that Lyman firmly claimed, by memory, as occurring on his house on the 24th had not actually occurred then. They had occurred five or six days later! (See Palo Alto Times, May 2, 1970, Campus Report, May 6, 1970; and Stanford Daily, May 1, 1970.)
So Lyman’s memory on that key subject was wrong, decidedly so—and provably so—as at least three 1970 newspaper reports can establish.
Those April 1970 physical attacks on Lyman’s house had apparently occurred, according to then-President Kenneth Pitzer as reported in the Stanford News Service’s newspaper (the Campus Report, May 6, 1970), along with similar attacks the very same night on retired Provost Fred Terman’s campus home, on April 30, 1970. It is impossible to believe that Pitzer on May 1, in openly addressing the Stanford faculty including then-Provost Lyman, greatly erred on this subject of dating these then-very-recent attacks.
Because Lyman probably did not know when the U.S. invasion of Cambodia first occurred (U.S. time), and thus apparently misdated it in his book as May 1970, he failed to recognize that the attacks on his house, as well as on ex-provost Fred Terman’s house, had occurred in the very last day or two of April 1970 after President Nixon’s policy in Cambodia heated up. Undoubtedly, those attacks on the two houses were triggered mostly by Nixon’s policy.
Lyman’s easily provable errors and omissions undercut—by my research work and related conclusion—all of his major claims and insinuations involving (Friday) April 24, 1970, and me. Probably much of his treatment of any related events of that week and the next half-week in late April 1970 should be treated suspiciously by readers. Lyman’s memory, to repeat, on key matters was provably poor. His research, if any research was actually conducted on that April 1970 period, was greatly flawed.
In dealing with April 1970 events, Lyman in his STANFORD excerpt, as in his book, managed also to misquote his own words from April 27 on KZSU (I listened to the recording) and he even erred by nearly a week in dating an attack on the Center for Advanced Study (I checked some newspapers on this). In addition, on page 45 in the magazine, Lyman also plagiarized at least 45 words from the Peninsula Observer. Those various errors, aside from his serious errors on me, mean that in a segment of about 65 lines, he managed to misquote himself, badly misdate a key event, and substantially plagiarize about nine lines. That is, frankly, deeply troubling, and warrants, I believe, a clear public apology to STANFORD readers and, in the case of the plagiarism, to the original authors.
Based on my checking about a fifth of Lyman’s book, I can assert, with incontrovertible documentary proof, more than 30 errors in his recent volume. That includes at least five more cases of plagiarism, a few surprising mistakes on ex-President Pitzer’s pre-Stanford background, confusion on at least five people’s names, and quite a few marred, massaged or mangled quotations. Collectively, all that, especially with the book’s repeated plagiarism (presumably unintentional by Lyman) is stunning and dismaying.
Lyman, even though now retired, should not be exempt from firm, public criticism—and even significant public rebuke—on plagiarism. Indeed, he certainly warrants harsh criticism for such plagiarism, whether it was unintentional (as is highly likely), or not. His motivation cannot be proved by me—and any explanation, even if plausible, by him could be self-serving and less than correct. But the clear published evidence—more than 215 words involving six cases—cannot be wished away, or effectively denied. He, and others, must confront those painful facts.
For those who would like to check Lyman’s book text against the relevant sources on the documentable evidence, start with the following four cases of plagiarism. Thus, see: (1) Lyman, pp. 36-7, and Stanford Daily, May 20, 1966: (2) Lyman, p. 41, and David Harris, Dreams Die Hard, p. 84; (3) Lyman, p. 147, and Peninsula Observer, issue dated as through May 19, 1969; and (4) Lyman, p. 149, and Peninsula Observer, issue dated as through May 19, 1969. The coup de grace occurs on Lyman, p. 154, where about a quarter of Lyman’s entire page of text, in two different paragraphs, is not his, but actually plagiarized (presumably unintentionally) from the radical newspaper, the Peninsula Observer, the issue dated through May 29, 1969.
In view of the deep hostility between Lyman and the Peninsula Observer four decades ago, and probably still lingering dislike between him and some of the Observer’s former staff, it’s fascinating that at least four of the documentable cases of his plagiarism involve his use, without the necessary quotation marks, of that politically radical newspaper’s prose. Probably Lyman owes that paper’s editors, and the plagiarized authors, a public apology and a clear explanation of how and why so much was plagiarized from that paper.
Lyman may also owe his book’s readers and other readers such an apology, and that would definitely include STANFORD readers, because page 45 (middle column) of his magazine article includes one of those cases of plagiarism from the Peninsula Observer—more than 50 words.
Lyman’s book has so many documentable errors, and some are of such a distressing character, that I privately advised him in late April 2009 to check everything in his book this spring, move promptly to have the [Stanford University] Press (his publisher) issue the necessary, lengthy “erratum” list, and probably this spring withdraw this very flawed book from sale. After thorough revision, it might be reissued, but with his candid acknowledgment of what went awry in the winter 2009 edition and why that edition had to be withdrawn.
His rather lame private answer to me in early May 2009 seems to be: He will not do the full checking work; but if I provide the evidence of his errors, he implies that he will assess that evidence and (he implies) consider issuing whatever corrections in his judgment seem warranted. That, frankly, is not good enough—and I have no reason to trust his judgment, based on his book and article.
He must do a thorough independent job of checking, and put together his public report on what he got wrong. I’m willing then to help supplement his findings with my own work, if he has truly done the appropriate checking. But he must be responsible, act responsibly, and take responsibility by doing serious work to correct his errors.
His recent volume, as judged by my discoveries, is deeply and broadly defective in its craftsmanship, even aside from his mistreatment of me and his annoying factual errors on Pitzer.
My publicly expressed assessment of Lyman’s provably defective work is sustainable regardless of whether one likes or dislikes Lyman himself, and likes or dislikes his book’s politics, and feels sorry for him or not, and even wishes that he had not publicly stumbled so badly. His book, in my judgment, constitutes a clear violation of reasonable standards in academic scholarship, and presumably of standards in memoirs published by a major university press—in this case Stanford University Press.
Why Lyman’s book manuscript was not properly fact-, source-, and quote-checked prior to publication is somewhat puzzling, especially because the book’s stated sourcing (as even a glance at its fragmentary endnotes reveals) is rather spastic, at best. Very probably, the careful checking of any 25 to 30 pages of his manuscript text and his related endnotes would have uncovered various serious problems—raising a warning “red flag” and presumably leading to complete checking of his entire manuscript.
STANFORD —apparently, naively—trusted Lyman’s work by uncritically publishing his memoir excerpt/case study, and reportedly did no prior fact checking even on Lyman’s version of April 24, 1970, events. That seems unpardonable—and possibly even reckless.
In my judgment, STANFORD , like Lyman, violated the reasonable standards of both caution and prudence when dealing with a controversial matter by their apparently not doing the necessary prepublication checking. They have made themselves very vulnerable—in multiple and surprising ways.
Any defense by STANFORD that it has a policy of not checking articles and excerpts if they are not for-hire writings seems unwise—or worse. To justify an unwise policy, by citing it as a policy, is not an adequate defense. And certain volatile subjects, especially if presented by the author (as with Lyman) with some venom, and thus clearly engaging the author in bitterly fighting old battles (as in Lyman’s article), should have propelled the magazine to be very careful about facts and sources—scrupulously so.
All this prompts me to consider giving a public seminar at Stanford in the early autumn on issues of evidence and craftsmanship. That would deal heavily with Lyman’s recent work, and possibly broaden to a general discussion of how to write history and how not to write history, and how the media treat history, including memoirs. These are important issues that, rather surprisingly, seem often to be minimized, if not slipped over, in the modern university, including at Stanford.
Putting matters bluntly, let me say: Carefully checking and assessing evidence and sourcing in doing and evaluating history scholarship is essential. Interpretation based on nonfacts and the wrong evidence can be somewhat like building a house on quicksand. Lyman has publicly, but presumably unintentionally, helped to prove that point. STANFORD has, unfortunately and unwisely, helped him in his ill-constructed venture, which is now publicly available for judgment and for a discussion of accountability in publishing.
Barton J. Bernstein
Professor of History
Palo Alto, California
Editor’s note:
Professor Bernstein’s contention that the magazine did not fact-check the excerpt from President Lyman’s book is correct. This is conventional practice among publishers of memoirs, which typically hold the author responsible for any inaccuracies. In this case, in which an excerpt from a memoir is reprinted, the same principles apply.
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