PSU Magazine Spring 1996

... As classes proceeded [on May 11, 1970, PSU President Gregory B.] Wolfe and the strikers reached an agreement that the barricades would be removed later that day. Some could not wait, however, to remove the hated objects. In the morning, 50 to 100 students tried to destroy one of the barricades, but were held off by strikers. Frustrated by this rebuff, the attackers went to City Hall and demanded that Mayor Terry Schrunk remove the barricades immediately. The mayor agreed with them and worked out a plan whereby city sani– tation workers would remove the barricades supported by unarmed police. Ominously, however, the mayor also ordered a unit of the Tactical Operations Platoon [the Tac Squad], a special forces unit, to stand by on the Park Blocks if needed. The barricades were removed without DAYS OFRAGE of the operation ... agreed with the strikers about the permit. So too did President Wolfe. Both men advised Mayor Schrunk and Parks Commis– sioner Frank lvancie not to have the tent tom down. Wishing for a symbolic victory to appease their angry constituents, in a decision that led to tragedy, the two officials ordered the tent tom down. The decision, in any context, except for pandering to a segment of the public, was unneces– sary. The campus was quiet, classes were meeting, all buildings were open, the barricades were gone. About 5:40 in the afternoon, the Tac Squad marched from their assem– bly station behind Shattuck Hall north on the Park Blocks to the tent. They ordered the strikers to disperse from around the tent, but the strikers remained, with arms locked together. The Squad then attacked with their violence, although during the process the strikers hurled obscenities at the police. Only the hospital tent now remained standing. The strikers had a valid city permit to allow it to remain until the next day, and the strikers insisted that the permit be honored so that the tent could stay as long as possible as a final symbol of defiance. The regular police officer in charge four-foot billy clubs. In two minutes, 30 strikers were beaten to the ground, and 27 people were admitted subse– quently to Portland hospitals. The Tac Squad dispersed, leaving shock, horror, and anger in its wake. his draft not by longhand, but on a computer. He set himself the task of writing 2,500 words a day every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, the days he was not teaching. For the early years, he proceeded chronologically through PSU's struggle to become a viable institution. Later chapters focus on social issues, economics, changes in curriculum, athletics, and other broad categories. The student protests of the 1960s have a chapter as do the movements for racial and gender equality. One surprising period Dodds d iscovered dealt with racism and PSU sororities in the early 1960s. Although the sororities were ostensibly abiding by state anti-discrimination laws, no African-Americans had been pledged to any national sorority on campus. In 1964, PSU asked the six campus sororities to agree to "nominate and Excerpt from The College That Would Not Die, by Gordon Dodds select members without regard to race, color, religion, or national origin." The national organizations chose to move the Portland chapters off campus rather than agree with the request. "I never felt there were any taboos," says Dodds, "on what I could write." H is only regret, the consum– mate researcher says, is that even with eight years, he feels he didn't have enough time for his project. How he wou ld have loved to read every faded transcript in every archival box. Or interviewed every person who could be identified as having a role in the shaping of PSU history. The University of Wisconsin, where Dodds earned his doctorate, has the enviable staff of three professional historians, an oral historian, and several graduate students and support personnel working on a similar project. Still, as his manuscript neared completion, he could begin to allow himself a satisfied moment now and then, although he is quick to point out that one always wants another inter– view, another archive, another day to work on whatever project is at hand. For in truth, Dodds loves research– scrolling through miles of microfilm, digging through dusty archives, or interv iewing dozens of eyewitnesses to history. He gladly leaves the sunl ight and birdsong of summer for it. "History was my only interest after going to college," he says. "I had no other possibilities. If I hadn't become a historian, what else could I have been?" D (Melissa Steineger, a Portland freelance writer, wrote the article "Cramming for Clinton," which appeared in the Fall 1995 PSU Magazine.) SPRING 1996 PSU MAGAZINE 9