Page 4-Thursday, September 28, 1978-The Michigan Daily
4
y
a. R
Gregg Krupa Our segregated schools
Eighty-Nine Years of Editorial Freedom_
Vol. LIX, No. 19
News Phone: 764-0552
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan
Students deserve more say
nnew 'U' president
THE MICHIGAN Student Assembly
(MSA) struck a blow for students'
rights Tuesday night. It stood up to the
Regents and demanded adquate
student representation in the selection
of a new University president and
promised not to participate until the
process was made more democratic.
But the action will be a hollow gesture
unless the faculty also insists on
playing a greater role in selecting a
new president.
At their weekly Tuesday meeting,
MSA members expressed concern that
students were not being given fair
representation in the search and
selection of a new president to replace
out-going President Robben Fleming.
Many members complained that
students and faculty, would actually
have no voice in the process.
As it now stands, the Regent's plan
calls for three committees to outline
the goals and needs of the University
for the next 10 to 15 years, and based on
that to make recommendations for a
new president. There would be one 10-
member student committee, a 10-
member alumni committee and a 15-
member faculty committee.
Each of these groups would hand its
recommendations to Secretary of the
University Richard Kennedy who
would then compile biographical
information on each candidate. This-
information would then be dispersed to
all three committees. This process
would be repeated an unspecified
number of times, until each group had
pared down its list to a manageable
number. These lists would then be
submitted to the Regents, who would
choose the new president.
The problem with this process, used
to select Robben Fleming, in 1967, is
that the Regents would not be bound to
select a president from the student,
faculty, or alumni lists. The Regents
could develop their own list and as
MSA member Julie Greene said at the
meeting on Tuesday "nobody's going
to have access" to it.
In a meeting between several MSA
members and four Regents on Monday,
night, Regent Thomas Roach (D-
Detroit) tried to allay fears that the
board would develop a secret list of
presidential candidates. But Regent
Dean Baker (R-Ann Arbor) warned
that the board could have its own list
arid, of course, choose from that list.
Regent Baker's candid
troublesome. Despite
remarks are
the best
intentions of the Board, the current
process for selecting a new president
has no assurance that a secret list
would not be developed. There is
nothing wrong with the Regents
making their own recommendations
for president, but the process should be
open and democratic. The Regents
must be more accountable for their
decision.
This appointment process is unique
on this campus. In. most cases,
students and particularly faculty
members have considerable input in
the appointment of administrators. In
choosing deans, for example, the
Regents must select someone from the
compiled recommendation lists.
MSA's decision not to participate in
the Regents' plan is wise, and based on
solid arguments. The Regents and
others may say that by refusing to
participate, students will forsake any
chance of affecting the board's
decision, but as MSA member Irving
Freeman said at Tuesday's meeting:
"We haven't got anything
now ., . we're not going to lose
anything."
How right Mr. Freeman is. Students
risk nothing by boycotting the selection
process. On the other hand, they have
everything to gain. Although unlikely,
the Regents may alter the selection
plan to provide adequate student
representation, and at least, MSA will
gain new credibility and respect from
the students and the rest of the
University community.
Faculty members should take their
cue from MSA, and seriously threaten
to boycott the selection process unless
a new, more democratic method is
developed. The faculty, like the
students, has little to lose. Outside of
the fact that the Regents may pay
more attention to their list than the
students list, faculty members still
have no assurance the board will not
ignore everyone's recommendations..
MSA deserves and needs active
student support to force the Regents to
change. This is an issue that will effect
all of us; this is our University.
Students and faculty will be more
directly affected by the decisions of the
president. We and the faculty should
have an adequate voice in determining
who that person will be.
I
There was a time, in the not too
distant past, when the subject of
race and discrimination based
upon race was a national preoc-
cupation.
The urban disorder of the 60s
and the civil rights movement
focused the nation's attention
on a problem that had been
brewing since the first slave
traders landed on the African
coast.
But we do not talk much about
race or discrimination these
days. The fad has worn out. The
shock of hot summer nights and
days in the ghettos of Detroit
and Los Angeles has worn thin.
Time dims the brilliant
spotlight that illuminated a
nationaltcancer. And crafty
administrations know that the
publics attention can be held by
an issue for only so long before
it grows frustrated, weary, or
bored.
People have been talking
about desegregating Ann Ar-
bor's schools for 15 years. In
1963 some concerned black and
white citizens addressed the
school board and pointed to
sometalarming statistics that
reflected a disturbing racial
imbalance in the city's schools.
In 1978 the statistics are still
alarming. Inthe intervening 15
years things have gotten no bet-
ter.
In 1963 a citizen's committee
was formed and charged with
developing plans to desegregate
the schools. The committee tur-
ned up a number of possible op-
tions including redrawing the
school boundaries, busing
students, and eliminating
discrimination in the city's
housing market.
The recommendations of the
citizens' group were ignored..
Members of the board of
education admit the recom-
mendations were ignored.
"Unfortunately, what hap-
pened to that committee's
recommendations is . what
usually happens to recommen-
fations made by most of our
citizens committees," said
current board president Wendy
Barhydt in September of 1977.
Barhydt said the recommen-
dations fell by the wayside.
"That's why citizens are
reluctant to work on commit-
tees and often. drop out," she
said.
On August 30 of this year the
state Superintendent of Schools
John Porter met with Assistant
Superintendent of Ann Arbor
achools Robert Potts and told
him that accordingto state
guidelines Ann Arbor's schools
are "racially identifiable." That
bit of bureaucratic jargon sim-
ply means that several city
schools have minority
enrollments that are 15 per cent
more than the district wide'
minority enrollment figure.
The percentage of black
enrollment in the city's schools
is 15.1 per cent. White
enrollment in the system is 78.1
per cent.
Five elementary schools in
the system are "racially iden-
tifiable." Mack has 51.1 per
cent black enrollment. Bryant
has a 46.7 per cent black
enrollment and Northside a 50.2
per cent black enrollment.
In addition two elementary
schools are identifiably white
according to the state standard.
Lakewood elementary has a
94.1 per cent white enrollment
and Freeman Elementary a
98.4 per cent white enrollment.
These percentages reflect last
year's enrollmentbut sincetno
steps have been taken by the
school board to correct the
racial imbalance, the figures
will be about the same this
year.
The state board of education
also has a category of racial
mixture for schools called
"racial impaction" - a bit of
bureaucratic jargon that sim-
ply means the schools have
minority enrollments over 50
per cent. The city's racially
"impacted" schools include
Mack, Northside and Bryant.
What action the school board
will take now is unclear. The
guidelines set by the state are
not enforcable by law. The only
possible means of enforcement
would be a lawsuit initiated
by tne federal Civil Rights
Commission.
The school board, at best, will
establish another citizens
committee to develop alter-
natives to move the schools
closer to the state's guidelines.
The work done by such a com-
mittee would be a repetition of
the work done by the committee
of citizens appointed in 1963.
The statementsmade by the
school administration officials
recently and the results of a
vote in September of 1977 on a
desegregation proposal before
the school board leaves little
hope that the recommendations
ultimately made by the new
citizens committee will have
any more effect than the
recommendations made by the
committee in 1963.
In September of last year
Trustee Kathleen Dannemiller
offered a generally stated
proposal to the school board.
The proposal was intended to
show the board's concern for
the problem in a vague, non-
committal frame of reference.
Dannemiller's proposal was
met with statements of
paranoia-the paranoia of
recalcitrant whites who fear
that their little children will be
put in grave danger when they
are bused to predominantly
black arear of the city.
Regent Cecil Warener said
discussion of desegregation
commitments opens a Pan-
dora's box that could eventually
lead to busing.
Trustee Paul Weinhold ad-
mitting outright that he was
afraid of Dannemillers proposal
to the "point of being
paranoid."I
Trustee Clarence Dukes
amended Dannemiller's
proposal to elinimate all the red
flag words and reduce it to a
statement supporting
desegregation of Ann Arbor
schools. His. colleagues, with
the exception of Dannemiller
and Trustee Mary Pence, tur-
ned the proposal down.
The ,callous attitude of the
school board was also exhibited
by Assistant Superintendent
Robert Potts' reaction to Por-
ter's visit. Potts said that since
20 of the 28 school districts in
the state have racially iden-
tifiable schools the city is really
not doing all that badly.
But the fact is that the school
board has avoided the
segregation problem for 15
years. They will continue to
avoid the problem unless
groups in the community with a
vested interest in quality
education take some action on
their own.
The pros and cons of
education in an integrated en-
vironment have been debated
since the Brown decision in
1954. During the Civil rights
movement of the sixties heavy
pressure was brought to bear
upon recalcitrant school boar-
ds.
But the intensity of the stam-
pede toward equality in
education has faded just as our
memories of burning inner
cities has faded.
America still has a race
problem. Black students sit
with black students in Univer-
sity dormitory cafeterias,
whites sit with whites. Accor-
ding to several of their coun-
selors the majority of the seven
per cent of the student body at
this University that is black feel
alienated by the environment
on this campus.
Leaders in the blackfcom-
munity, such/as Vernon Jordan
and Congressman Ronald
Dellums tell us the country has
done little to accomplish the
civil rights goals of the sixties.
They caution white America
that the racial conflict lies just
below the surface. Blacks still
feel alienated, they are under
employed and under educated.
But the school board moves
with undue caution. In 15 years
we have moved from the4
recommendation of one citizen
committee to the possibility of
forming another citizen's group
in October - maybe.
The challenge of racial
equality is still with us. The
schoolboard's record in con-
fronting the challenge is pain
fully inadequate. Justice
delayed is still justice denied.
The consequences of union busting
-~v
For 20 years, "Big Jim" Farley lived the
good life of the transplanted Southerner in the
industrial North. The social and economic
forces that over the decades drew hundreds of
thousands of workers into the teeming fac-
tories of the Northeast and Midwest gave
Farley, and others like him, a good home, a
happy family life, a decent income and what
seemed to be a secure future.
But what took decades to build took only a
few years to ruin. The firm Farley worked
for, Federal Mogul Corp., became one of a
growing number of companies that closed
plants in the North and now are operating in
the South to reduce costs and increase profits.
The too short, happy life of Jim Farley is the
tragic tale of many.,
Farley's fellow workers at Federal Mogul's
roller bearing plant on the east side of Detroit
called him Big Jim. They liked the soft-
spoken yet tough manner in which he
represented them as a union committeeman.
And they liked his willingness to sit down over
a shot and a beer at a nearby Office Lounge
and listen to their problems.
Jim Farley came North in 1954 from
Eastern Kentucky because mechanization of
the mines and a slumping demand for coal
made finding work there impossible.
What he had heard about Detroit was true:
companies were hiring. Farley went to work
as a grinder operator at a plant that supplied
bearings to the auto industry. The work
wasn't bad and the pay was good-the plant
had been organized by the United Auto
Workers (UAW) in 1941 and had prospered in
the years after the war. And Jim Farley
prospered, too.
But in the early 1970s Federal Mogul an-
nounced that it would phase out its Detroit-
operations and move to Alabama. Farley, say
those who knew him, became a different man
almost overnight-tense, moody, withdrawn.
A month after the announcement he suffered
a heart attack. Physically, he recovered
rapidly. Mentally, things got worse. His
family and friends called it "nerves."
By Don Stillman
He returned to the plant after his illness,
but began looking for work at other com-
panies in Detroit. With 20 years at Federal
Mogul, the thought of starting over again-in
an unfamiliar job, with no seniority and little
hope for a decent pension-was not pleasant.
But Farley had little choice. Three times he
found work,. and three times he failed the
physical because of his heart problem. The
work posed no difficulty, but none of the com-
panies wanted to risk high workers' compen-
sation and health insurance premiumq when
there were plenty of young, strong workers
seeking jobs.
As Farley's layoff date appr9ached, he
grew more and more apprehensive. He was
41; what would happen if he couldn't find
another job? His wife had gone to work so the
family would have some income. But Farley's
friends also were being laid off, and most
hadn't been able to find work yet either.
Finally the day arrived when, he said, his
nerves were so bad that he couldn't go to
work. His sister-in-law, Shirley Farley, stop-
ped by late that morning and found him
despondent. Shortly before noon he walked
from the kitchen to the bedroom and closed
the door.
Mrs. Farley recalled hearing a click, the
sound of a small-bore pistol. She rushed to the
bedroom and pounded on the door. There was
no response.
Almost 20 years to the day after Farley left
the hills of Eastern Kentucky, his dream of a
secure life for his family was dead. And so
was he.
Federal Mogul's decision to close its Detroit
bearing operation threw more than 2,000 men
and women out of work. Many, such as'
Farley, had spent their entire working lives
there.,The average seniority was 21 years, the
average age was 51.
The pink slips-and the mumbled apologies
that accompanied them-were not accepted
graciously. One man refused to leave the
plant when his last shift ended, pretending to
continue his automatic screw machine until
family members and a doctor led him crying
out the door. Another hijacked a golf cart
foremen used and tried to run down any com-
pany officials he could spot before the guards
caught him.
By closing the plant when it did, Federal
Mogul succeeded by five months in avoiding
responsibilities it would have had when the
pension reform act (ERISA) passed. Some
workers did receive pensions, but most got
termination payments amounting to $275 for
each year of service, an average of about
$5,800 per worker. That was the largest phase-
out settlement the UAW had won at that time,
hut the uinn tnok FederaI Mnul to ncnt In
And as for the profitability of the operation
the company reported record sales and mor
than $14 million in profits the year it shut
down the Detroit plant.
The company's employees, however, didn't;
fare so well. In the aftermath of the closing, at
least seven of Farey's fellow workers tooke
their lives. * * *
RUNNING AFTER THE RUNAWAY
'federal Mogul opened its Hamilton, Ala.,,
plant paying an average of $3.40 an hour of
nearly half what it paid UAW workers irt
Detroit.
Federal Mogul's Alabama plant was a
runaway shop, and, as such, top priority for
UAW organizers in the South. The company
launched a vigorous drive to keep the UAWt
out. James McLeod, the plant manager-
exhorted business and community leaders in
May 1975 to join the fight against UAW efforts
to organize the Hamilton plant. Lists of the
workers' names and addresses were
provided: the business leaders were urged to
"speak out, counsel, and explain why in you-
opinion the UAW would be bad for the em
ployees, the company and the community."
At the plant, McLeod conducted 27..
meetings with small groups of workers. Hlj
recited the dangers of union activity and
claimed that in the two previous months
customers had canceled $1,449,419 worth of
orders from the plant because of rumors ol
union activity by workers there.
When union buttons and literature turned-
up in the plant anyway, Federal Mogul enw
couraged foremen to threaten and intimidate:
workers who showed pro-union leanings. E&:
sel Emerson, a setup man in the automaticIr
department, was interrogated by his general
foreman, Douglas Todd, who told him hi;
support for the union endangered his job anal
his future.
The next day, Emerson asked his foreman
"What are we going to talk about after th.
election?" The foreman replied: "Not
anything, because you are not going to bt,
here." Later, following an absebce of worlk
because his son was ill, Emerson was fired. .
Such violations of labor law led to the an,
nulment of the representation election, which
the uaw lost, 200 to 237. In a later election",
the 500 Federal Mogul workers chose th@:
UAW to represent them. Ultimately, the
union struck Federal Mogul for 140 dayst
"Our people were fully aware that the
Hamilton plant was a runaway," recalled a
key UAW bargainer. "They knew Federal:
Mogul had come South looking for law wages:
so they were determined to win fair treat.,
ment." Finally the company gave in, and'
workers won major benefit improvements
and a $1.50 an hour increase, moving the
average wage to more than $5 an hour (good:
for the area, but still behid what would have,
ean girls} 0 1ne.ni -eoa