TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/election/60elect/60elect.15b

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                ║,$/              Æ<                                          ╚May 17, 1963

RACES

Freedom-Now


     The blaze of bombs, the flash of blades, the eerie glow of
fire, the keening cries of hatred, the wild dance of terror in
the night -- all this was Birmingham, Ala.

     Birmingham's Negroes had always seemed a docile lot.
Downtown at night, they slouched in gloomy huddles beneath
street lamps, talking softly or not at all. They knew their
place: they were "niggers" in a Jim Crow town, and they bore
their degradation in silence.

     But last week they smashed that image forever. The scenes
in Birmingham were unforgettable. There was the Negro youth,
sprawled on his back and spinning across the pavement, while
firemen battered him with streams of water so powerful that
they could strip bark off trees. There was the Negro woman,
pinned to the ground by cops, one of them with his knee dug into
her throat. There was the white man who watched hymn-singing
Negroes burst from a sweltering church and growled: "We ought
to shoot every damned one of them." And there was the little
Negro girl, splendid in a newly starched dress, who marched out
of a church, looked toward a massed line of pistol-packing cops,
and called to a laggard friend: "Hurry up, Lucille. If you stay
behind, you won't get arrested with our group."

     Finally, outlined against the flames that shot 150 ft. in
the air, there was the mass of Negroes barring with their
bodies and with a rain of rocks, bottles and bricks the firemen
who had rushed to save a white man's store.

     For more than a month, Negro demonstrations in Birmingham
had sputtered, bursting occasionally into flames, then
flickering out. Martin Luther King, the Negroes' inspirational
but sometimes inept leader, had picked this bastion of racial
inequity for the crusade, "because Birmingham is the symbol of
segregation." In the last six years, there have been 18 racial
bombings (Negroes call it "Bombingham") and more than 50
cross-burnings. Schools are totally segregated. So are
restaurants, drinking fountains, toilets. Birmingham gave up its
professional baseball team rather than have it playing
integrated teams in the International League. The Metropolitan
Opera Company no longer visits the city, because officials
refused to integrate the municipal auditorium. Parks were shut
down last year because officials would not integrate them after
a court order.

     Unquestionably, Birmingham was the toughest segregation
town in the South, from the Negroes' viewpoint. And it was
symbolized by Public Safety Commissioner Eugene ("Bull") Connor,
who had cowed Negroes for 23 years with hoarse threats and
club-swinging cops. It was against Connor's Birmingham that King
began secretly recruiting volunteers just before last Christmas.

     King and Connor clashed head-on. The commissioner had his
cops -- plus a pack of snarling police dogs and a battery of
high- pressure fire hoses. The Negro minister had only the
determination and courage of his people. He had mobilized
school- children for his freedom parades. Hundreds of kids were
in jail, and, as least week began, Birmingham was at the point
of explosion.

     "Forgive Them." On Sunday, the Negroes tried, as they had
before, to worship in white churches. But segregation in
Birmingham's Christian churches is nearly as rigid as in public
toilets: Negroes got into four churches, were ordered away from
17 others. Late in the afternoon, King called a mass meeting at
the New Pilgrim Baptist Church. Outside, Bull Connor massed 50
policemen and a fire truck with water pressure cranked up to 700
lbs. When the crowd of 1,000 poured out of the church just
before dusk, they lined up and marched toward the police. A
police captain demanded their parade permit. They had none.
Seeing the fire hoses, they knelt in silence as a Negro minister
solemnly began to pray: "Let them turn their water on. Let them
use their dogs. We are not leaving. Forgive them, O Lord."

     Suddenly, inexplicably, in a moment of overt mercy, Bull
Connor waved the Negroes through the police line. He allowed
them 15 minutes of hymns and prayer in a small park near the
city jail; inside, behind bars, hundreds of other Negroes could
hear the singing. Returning to the church, the demonstrators
were told that Negro children would march again next day -- and
should carry their toothbrushes with them to use in jail.

     The march began a few minutes past 1 o'clock, led by
Comedian Dick Gregory, from the 16th Street Baptist Church.
When a policeman demanded his parade permit, Gregory spoke
softly -- in contrast to his wise cracking smart talk to cops
during last month's Greenwood, Miss., voting registration
demonstrations. Gregory and 18 teenagers in his protest platoon
were herded into a paddy wagon. In squads of 20, 30, and 40,
more youngsters left the church, were shoved into paddy wagons
and taken to jail. Bull Connor arrived and yelled at a police
captain: "I told you these sons of bitches ought to be watered
down." That night, to shouts of "Amen, brother, amen," a King
aide cried: "War has been declared in Birmingham. War has been
declared on segregation."

     The Negro leaders intended it to be a particular, pacific
kind of war. King had preached Gandhi's nonviolent protest
gospel ever since he arrived in Birmingham. The demonstrations
were meant to be an outgrowth of the passive sit-ins and bus
boycotts mounted in other Southern cities. But not every Negro
in Birmingham remained so placid before Bull Connor's ferocity.

     "Those Black Apes." So there was violence. It began shortly
after noon the next day. Connor's cops were relaxed, eating
sandwiches and sipping soft drinks. They were caught by surprise
when the doors of the 16th Street church were flung open and
2,500 Negroes swarmed out. The Negroes surged across Kelly
Ingram Park, burst through the police line, and descended on
downtown Birmingham. Yelling and singing, they charged in and
out of department stores, jostled whites on the streets,
paralyzed traffic.

     Recovering, the police got reinforcements. Firemen hooked
up their hoses. Motorcycles and squad cars, sirens blaring,
rushed into the area. Two policemen grabbed a Negro, shoved him
against a storefront -- and found themselves caught inside a
glowering circle of 300 Negroes. A voice growled menacingly:
"Let's free him." But demonstration leaders quickly broke into
the circle and managed to save the policemen.

     The riot ebbed -- and then, an hour later, exploded again.
In Kelly Ingram Park, hundreds of Negroes began lobbing bricks
and bottles at the lawmen. A deputy sheriff fell to the
pavement, shouting "Those black apes!"

     For two hours, the battle raged, but slowly, inexorably,
in truck and cars, the police closed in on the park. The Rev.
Fred Shuttlesworth, one of King's top advisers, yelled
helplessly at rioters from in front of the church, finally took
a blast of water that slammed him violently against a wall. An
ambulance took him away, and when Bull Connor heard about it
later, he leered in mock despair: "I waited a week down here to
see that, and then I missed it. I wish it had been a hearse."

     Now it was over. The Negroes were forced back into the
church, and Commissioner Connor glanced at the closed doors.
Said he: "If any of those guys in that church there is a
preacher, then I'm a watchmaker -- and I've never seen the
inside of a watch. They say they're nonviolent? I got three men
hurt today. Is that nonviolence?"

     That night, Alabama's ultra-segregationist Governor George
Wallace sent 600 men to reinforce Bull Connor's weary cops. And
Martin Luther King appeared before his followers to say: "We
will turn America upside down in order that it turn right side
up."

     Birmingham had already been upset -- and all but
overturned. Downtown merchants, plagued for more than a year by
a Negro boycott that was 90% effective, saw their profits
plunging even more because of the demonstrations. Birmingham's
racist reputation had long been bad enough to frighten away
potential industry; rioting by King's forces would further scar
the city's image. And, despite the headline-hogging prominence
of such racists as Bull Connor and Governor Wallace, there was
a significant number of moderates in Birmingham who wanted
peace, simply because they believed the Negro indeed deserved
better treatment than he was getting. In fact, last month
Birmingham had elected Mayor Albert Boutwell, 58, a relatively
cool thinker on racial affairs, over Bull Connor.

     The Pallid Peace. Even as Negroes fought whites on
Birmingham's streets, peace talks were under way. A team of
Justice Department lawyers, headed by Assistant Attorney General
Burke Marshall, went to Birmingham, began a series of meetings
with local businessmen. Of the white negotiators, Martin Luther
King made four demands: 1) desegregate all public facilities in
department and variety stores; 2) give Negroes equal job
opportunities; 3) drop all charges against the 2,500 Negroes who
had been arrested during the demonstrations; 4) set up a
biracial committee to establish a timetable for reopening parks
and other facilities which Birmingham's city fathers had closed
to avoid integration.

     The first meetings were held in deep secrecy, for the
white businessmen involved feared both economic and physical
reprisals from redneck hoodlums in Birmingham. Marshall attended
nearly all of them. Negroes were represented by a local
committee, including A.G. Gaston, one of the U.S.'s few Negro
millionaires. Sidney Smyer, a lawyer and real estate man, was
the chief spokesman for the whites -- and, at week's end, still
the only negotiator from that side who had the courage to permit
himself to be publicly identified.

     There were meetings on Sunday and Monday -- handled much
like union-management negotiations, with representatives
bringing results of the conference back to their leaders. To add
to the pressure, the crisis spurred dozens of pleading phone
calls from Washington and such Administration officials as Bobby
Kennedy, Treasury Secretary Douglas Dillon and Defense Secretary
Robert McNamara. Finally the businessmen gave halfhearted
agreement to King's demands -- but there was no assurance that
they could persuade Birmingham's segregationist politicians to
go along.

     "We'll Kill You." It was a truce -- but there was to be no
peace. Saturday night, after a Ku Klux Klan meeting near
Birmingham, two dynamite bombs demolished the home of the Rev.
A.D. King, brother of Martin King. The minister, his wife and
five children raced to safety just before the second blast.
Suddenly, the street filled with Negroes. They hurled stones at
policemen, slashed car tires. Within the hour two more bombs
exploded at the Gaston Motel, headquarters of the
demonstrations.

     And Birmingham went to war. Thousands of enraged Negroes
surged through the streets, flinging bricks, brandishing
knives, pummeling policemen. A white cab driver was knifed, his
taxi overturned and burned. A policeman was stabbed in the back
and a white youngster's arm was slashed from shoulder to elbow.
Negroes put a torch to a white man's delicatessen, fought off
firemen as they arrived to put out the blaze. Two Negro homes
nearby went up in flames, then three more white men's buildings.
The rioters, bathed in the flickering orange light of the
flames, looted a liquor store and screamed into the night:
"White man, we'll kill you!"

     Miraculously, there were no deaths. But Bull Connor's
cops, frazzled from weeks of pressure, were all but helpless.
Negro rioters ruled almost until dawn Sunday and calm came only
after 250 Alabama state troopers invaded the city.

     As the sun rose Sunday, a sullen peace descended on
Birmingham. There had been no winners in a war that had no
heroes. Bull Connor was by no means Birmingham's only shame;
the city's newspapers, for example, put the story of the
mid-week riot on an inside page. Yet at the same time, Negro
Leader King could be criticized for using children as shock
troops and for inciting the protests even as a new, relatively
moderate city administration was about to take over Birmingham.

     President Kennedy also came in for criticism. At his press
conference, Kennedy claimed that the Federal Government had
done all it legally could do about Birmingham. But that,
insisted other leaders, both white and Negro, was untrue. Said
Harvard Law School Dean Erwin Griswold, a member of the U.S.
Civil Rights Commission: "It seems clear to me that he hasn't
even started to use the powers that are available to him." Said
N.A.A.C.P. Executive Secretary Roy Wilkins: "White people in
Alabama make it impossible for us even to debate whether the
President should act. My objectivity went out the window when
I saw the picture of those cops sitting on that woman and
holding her down by the throat."

      Birmingham's Negroes were certainly not worried about
legalities; they were not worried about the niceties of
"timing," or even about the morality of using children as
troops. Instead, theirs was a raging desire to achieve equal
human status -- now, and by whatever means. Massachusetts
Attorney General Edward Brooke, a Negro, expressed it well: "The
pressure is mounting. It has been smoldering for some time --
many, many years. And it is a justifiable impatience." Bob
Eckhardt, a white and a member of the Texas Legislature, put it
another way: "The Negroes' goals are not in reach of court
decisions any longer."

     It Could Happen Anywhere. Birmingham therefore set off a
chain reaction -- uncontrolled. New lunch-counter sit-ins
started in Atlanta, Nashville and Raleigh. The N.A.A.C.P. called
for peaceful sympathy demonstrations in 100 cities. Jackie
Robinson, now a vice president of Chock Full O' Nuts, said he
would go to Birmingham to join in the Negro protest. So did
Floyd Patterson. Communism was having a field day. Gloated Radio
Moscow: "We have the impression that American authorities both
cannot and do not wish to stop outrages by racists."

     Perhaps most baleful of all, the Black Muslim movement
within the U.S. Negro community took full recruiting advantage
of the Birmingham riots. The Black Muslims do not seek
integration; they want total separation of the races, with
Negroes not only independent but, if possible, superior. Now
Malcolm X, top Eastern torchbearer for the militant movement,
could only sneer at Martin Luther King's gospel of nonviolence.
Said he: "The lesson of Birmingham is that the Negroes have lost
their fear of the white man's reprisals and will react with
violence, if provoked. This could happen anywhere in the country
today."

     Last week, at the crest of the crisis, a white Birmingham
waitress said to a customer from the North: "Honey, I sure hope
the colored don't win. They've winned so much around the South.
Why, you go down and get on a bus, and a nigger's just liable
to sit right down beside you. Oh, that's hurt Birmingham
somethin' awful."

     Neither Malcolm X nor the Birmingham waitress represents
the majority of their races. But they do represent and symbolize
two fixed positions: the Negro who looks with eagerness toward
a militant solution, and the unyielding Southerner who hopes not
to be further disturbed. There are many other positions, and
there is a long gaping valley of confusion and diffusion. It is
a great uncharted space where leaders follow and followers lead,
for there is no certainty of plan or purpose there. Negro
Author James Baldwin has illuminated this grey gulf with bolts
of intellectual lightning.

     Baldwin cries out in hopelessness and helplessness as he
gazes across the gulf. For that gulf cannot be bridged by law
alone; the law can furnish a foundation upon which Negroes can
build to achieve their rights, but it cannot provide education,
or cure poverty, or enforce understanding, or give body to an
old-fashioned thing called humanity.

_______________________________________________________________
June 7, 1963
RACES
The Revolution

     Spring 1963 will long be remembered as the time when the
U.S. Negro's revolution for equality exploded on all fronts.

     Negroes faced snarling police dogs. They went to jail by
the thousands. They risked beatings as they sat on
lunch-counter stools. They were bombed in their homes. They were
clubbed down by cops. They sent out their children to battle
men. In the week, months and even years to come, there will be
lulls in the revolution. But it will revive -- for, after the
spring of 1963, there can be no turning back.

     Pain & Silence. Last week, as in all week,s the center of
the revolution was in the U.S. South. In Jackson, Miss., sit-in
demonstrators entered a segregated five-and-ten lunch counter,
sat stoically on the stools as white roughnecks crowded around
them. At first there were only insults. Then the whites seized
catchup bottles, mustard and sugar dispensers, spattered the
stuff all over the demonstrators. Still there was only that
stolid silence.

     Infuriated, a burly ex-cop dragged Negro Memphis Norman,
21, off his stool, slugged him to the floor. As the Negro lay
there, the white man kicked him in the face, kicked him again
and again and again. Later, Norman was sent to a hospital -- and
charged with disturbing the peace.

     The demonstration continued for three hours. A white
college professor joined the sit-in demonstrators; he was beaten
by the white hoodlums until his face was raw. He stayed hunched
over the counter, flinched but did not fight back when his
tormentors poured salt in his wounds.

     Jackson police stood outside the store, did nothing to
stop the brutality, and the sit-in protesters left only after
the manager shut up shop. When other pickets appeared later in
the week, Jackson officials ordered Negro prison trusties out
of their cells to carry arrested Negro and white demonstrators
to police cars and paddy wagons.

     Jackson kept growing tenser. A gasoline bomb exploded in
the carport of an N.A.A.C.P. leader. Negro leaders walked out
of a meeting with city officials after a misunderstanding with
Mayor Allen Thompson about their demands. The Negroes prepared
for more demonstrations, and Mayor Thompson ordered a hog-wire
enclosure, able to handle 10,000 prisoners, set up on the state
fairgrounds.

     To the Hogpen. As school let out on Friday, hundreds of
Jackson's Negro students gathered in the Farish Street Baptist
Church and at Brinkley High School. A minister collected knives,
pencils and other sharp objects as the kids filed into the
church. Then they were sent into the street.

     Carrying American flags, the first demonstrators headed
toward a phalanx of 60 cops four blocks away. A police captain
shouted through a bullhorn that they would be arrested if they
did not have a parade permit. The marchers stopped. A cop
smashed a Negro above the knees with his night stick. And many
demonstrators obediently climbed into trucks for the trip to
the hogpen prison.

     But hundreds more were already jamming the streets. After
half an hour, state police, armed with repeated shotguns and
carbines, arrived. Negro demonstrators sprinted into alleys and
the cops followed, swinging their clubs. Scores of Negroes were
caught and herded into garbage trucks. In all, 500 Negroes were
arrested Friday. On Saturday, another massive march was
launched and police arrested another 100 -- including N.A.A.C.P.
Executive Secretary Roy Wilkins. But at week's end Jackson Mayor
Thompson succumbed to the determined onslaught and acceded to
several key demands for equal Negro employment opportunities in
municipal jobs.

     Other Southern towns were seething too. In Tallahassee,
Fla., Negro students paraded, clapping and singing, before
segregated theaters. Police moved in quickly, broke up the
demonstrations by arresting 257 and dispersing the rest with
volleys of tear gas. In Clarksville, Tenn., 300 Negroes,
including Olympic Track Star Wilma Rudolph, crowded around a
segregated restaurant demanding that they be served. In Baton
Rouge, 100 Negro children marched in protest hymn segregated
public facilities. In Oklahoma City, scores of Negroes sat
stubbornly for nine hours to buy a meal in a segregated
restaurant.

     Beyond Dixie. Yet if the U.S. North thought it could view
the South's spectacle with any complacency, it was wrong. The
Negro revolt had burst all regional boundaries. In Philadelphia,
Negro pickets battled with helmeted policemen during a week of
demonstrations against job discrimination at a school
construction site. Knives and broken bottles flashed, more than
20 people were hurt.

     True to the fever of the season, this violent outburst was
run by the N.A.A.C.P. -- normally a mild-tempered organization.
Herbert Hill, national labor secretary for the association,
made it clear that things had changed: "The arena of combat for
the N.A.A.C.P. has shifted from the courtroom to direct mass
action." And he snapped that there would soon be big protests
over job discrimination in Boston, St. Louis, Chicago,
Washington and New York.

     In Chicago, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., leader of
last month's Battle of Birmingham, appeared before 5,500
excited people and brought them shouting to their feet when he
said: You must defeat segregation in Chicago because the de
facto segregation of Chicago is as bad as the de jure
segregation of Birmingham. We're through with tokenism and
gradualism and see-how-far-you've-comeism. We're through with
we've-done-more-for-your-people-than-anyone-elseism. We can't
wait any longer. Now is the time."

     The fever was everywhere, and every act seemed to fan the
flames in another place. Fifteen hundred Chicago Negroes
picketed a cemetery that had refused to cremate one of their
race. In Michigan, a resort shut down when 50 pickets arrived
with signs charging segregation there. In Baltimore, eight
people went to jail after picketing a segregated amusement park.

     In the Courts. But not all the battles were waged in the
streets. Last week, in an opinion written by Justice Arthur
Goldberg, the U.S. Supreme Court slapped down segregationist
notions of stalling on integration. Wrote Goldberg: "The basic
guarantees of our Constitution are warrants for the here and
now, and unless there is an overwhelmingly compelling reason,
they are to be promptly fulfilled." The decision came in a suit
against segregated recreation facilities in Memphis. The Supreme
Court ordered that they be immediately integrated. And at week's
end Memphis officials grudgingly complied, except for swimming
pools, which were shut down.

     Although the civil rights revolution had been building for
a long time, its intensity in the spring of 1963 caught the U.S.
by surprise. Now the Kennedy Administration finds itself hard
up against its most urgent domestic crisis. Georgia-born
Secretary of State Dean Rusk labeled it "one of the gravest
issues that we have had since 1865." In a Memorial Day speech
at the Gettysburg battleground, Vice President Lyndon Johnson
said: "The Negro today asks justice. We do not answer him, and
we do not answer those who lie beneath this soil when we reply
to the Negro by asking `Patience.'"

     But at the White House, there was an air of frustrated
urgency. President Kennedy and Attorney General Bobby Kennedy
are both earnest workers for civil rights. But they are also
acutely aware of the political problems that confront them in
the Negro revolution: the Administration badly needs Southern
congressional votes for its legislative program this year;
moreover, there is always the white Southern vote to consider
in next year's elections.

     The President and the Attorney General have therefore made
every effort to iron out civil rights disputes in behind-the-
scenes negotiations. Bobby has attended dozens of closed-door
meetings with white and Negro leaders. They have not all been
successful. At one, in New York, the Attorney General sat down
with a group of Negro intellectuals led by Author James
Baldwin. Bobby was stunned by the militance of the Negroes,
particularly when one said that many Negroes might not fight for
the U.S. against Cuba because of the lame Administration stand
on integration thus far. When the group suggested to Bobby that
the President might help the situation by making a dramatic
public appearance -- such as personally escorting a Negro into
the University of Alabama -- the Attorney General laughed in
his disbelief that it could be a serious proposal. Dr. Kenneth
Clark, Negro psychologist at New York's City College, said
later: "There was no communication. I think we might as well
have been talking different languages."

     Deals and Bargains. Still, the Kennedys persisted in their
efforts at private persuasion. Bobby met with Southern theater
owners, department store managers and other businessmen, hoping
to convince them that desegregation hurts them economically. The
President called a meeting this week of some 100 Southern
businessmen to apply this same technique of persuasion.

     In their present mood, Negroes were hardly satisfied by
the Administration's efforts at deals, bargains, and
closed-door negotiations. But as of last week, about the best
they could expect from the Administration was a bill, to be sent
to Congress, proposing to use the interstate commerce clause of
the Constitution as a weapon to bring federal suits against
private segregated firms and stores. Because nearly every
imaginable item -- form films for theaters to catchup for
restaurants -- moves in interstate commerce, such a law would
bring nearly every kind of business in the country within reach
of a federal suit after a refusal to integrate.

     Cracks in the Wall. Despite disappointments in the
President's failure to rally the great moral and political force
that his office and prestige can command, Negroes could count
some breakthroughs last week. The University of Kentucky became
the first school in the Southeastern Conference to open its
athletic program to Negroes. Atlanta announced it would
integrate its swimming pools. Negroes were allowed to lunch in
five Charlotte, N.C., hotels and motels that were previously
segregated. Harold Richardson, the first Negro to run for office
in Maine (where Uncle Tom's Cabin was written 112 years ago) was
elected a trustee of the Portland water district. Across the
nation, Negro boycotts of U.S. businesses had forced new
equality in job opportunities.

     Such advances create chinks in the walls of segregation,
but do not crumble them. That can be achieved only when the
U.S. Negro, with the same zeal that marked his revolution in
the spring of 1963, actually earns acceptance that cannot be
legislated, or ordered by courts, or won in the street battles.
Whites -- and not just Southern whites -- point to high Negro
crime, indigence and illegitimacy rates. Yet it may be fairly
said that the Negro cannot overcome his handicaps until he is
given at least his legal rights -- the right to equal education,
the right to vote wherever he may live, the right to equal job
opportunity. Given these, it will remain for him to take, and
deserve, his place in American society. Only then will the Negro
revolution be really won.

     The Next Stand. Wherever the revolt of the Negro may lead
in the long run, one direct clash looms dead ahead. Alabama's
Democratic Governor George Corley Wallace, 43, a fiery ex-Golden
Gloves featherweight, is looking toward a showdown next week
when two Negroes will attempt to enter the University of Alabama
for the summer session.

     Wallace intends to defy a federal court order for the
enrollment of Vivian Malone, 20, at the university's main
campus in Tuscaloosa, and David McGlathery, 27 at the school's
Huntsville extension. Wallace's plan, as outlined to
confidants, goes like this: 1) he will ring the Tuscaloosa
campus with highway patrolmen; 2) escorted by a large force of
patrolmen, he will go to the campus himself; 3) U.S. marshals
will presumably bring Vivian Malone to the campus, and Wallace
personally will bar the way; 4) if the marshals attempt to push
past, Wallace may order his state cops to remove the Negro girl
bodily from the premises. After that, not even George Wallace
knows what will happen, but the results are not apt to be
pleasant.

     Slight Victory. To enforce federal court orders against
Wallace's defiance, the U.S. Government stands ready to use not
only marshals but at least 2,500 riot-trained troops. Many of
those troops, sent to Alabama at the peak of Birmingham's riots
last month, have since been removed. But they can return on
short notice, as nobody knows better than Wallace. He recently
filed a suit with the Supreme Court insisting that President
Kennedy had threatened "a military dictatorship" by ordering the
soldiers into Alabama in the first place. Last week the court
brushed off the Governor's suit in one terse paragraph, which
said that the presence of troops was part of "purely preparatory
measures," and harmed no one.

     At the same time, Wallace did win one slight victory. A
Federal Court in Birmingham ordered Wallace to appear at a
hearing on an injunction against his threat to interfere with
university integration. Two marshals chased Wallace all one
day, trying to serve a subpoena on him. Wallace kept 16 armed
state cops surrounding him constantly, and the marshals could
not break through. They finally gave up and handed the subpoena
to the Governor's maid.

     "Call to Arms." It is Wallace's boast that "I am a
professional Southerner." But he by no means represents the
whole South, or even all of Alabama. Last week he forced a
resolution through the state legislature giving him a vote of
confidence in his stand at the schoolhouse door. But before it
passed, State Senator James E. Horton Jr. cried to his
colleagues: "The presence of Governor Wallace will by
implication attract a mob which by comparison will make Oxford,
Miss., look like a Sunday-school picnic." And Senator George
Hawkins warned, "This resolution is a call to arms to every
hoodlum in the state."

     For months, Wallace had been deluged with pleas from
clergymen, businessmen and educators that he take a moderate
stand in the university's integration. Last week 212 Tuscaloosa
business and professional leaders signed a petition urging him
to carry on a fight for segregation "by whatever legal redress
you choose to seek -- but we respectfully urge that you do not
carry out your announced intention of personally and physically
interfering with the order of the United States Court."

     Moreover, unlike the spineless, stand-aside attitude taken
by the University of Mississippi faculty during last fall's
bloody Oxford riot, the University of Alabama faculty seems
determined that there will be no student violence on their
campus. President Frank Rose, an able educator and a moderate,
months ago called in student leaders, pledged strict
disciplinary action against segregationist demonstrators. Last
week, with most of the main campus' 9,000 students already gone
from Tuscaloosa for the summer, there seemed little inclination
toward violence on the part of those who remained. Said one
young man: "We're not going to let just one person stop all the
rest of us from getting an education."

     He meant Vivian Malone. But as things now stand, the one
person who seems most likely to disrupt education at the
University of Alabama is the Governor of the state.