"Berkeley, A City in History"
by Charles Wollenberg
Chapter 9 - Heritage of the Sixties
The mainstream of American politics is moderate-to-conservative, but there is also an important tradition of home-grown radicalism in the United States. Episodic rather than ideological, American radicalism usually appears attached to some great cause such as abolition, women's suffrage, trade union organization or pacifism. Never dominant in these movements, the radical tradition has nevertheless profoundly affected them, and occasionally profoundly affects the society and culture as a whole. Such was the case during "The Sixties," actually a decade stretching from about 1964 to 1974, when the issues of racial justice and the Vietnam War absorbed the nation. It was also an era of social and cultural rebellion against conformity and "the establishment." No place was more affected by the politics and rebellions of these years than Berkeley. The city's image as "the People's Republic of Berzerkeley" derives from this period and probably best expresses the common popular understanding (or misunderstanding) of the experience and heritage of Berkeley in the sixties.
Roots of Protest
By the late 1950s, the concept of mass higher education had been well established, and middle class students were arriving in Berkeley assuming that college education was a right rather than a privilege. Younger and less likely to be burdened with family responsibilities than the World War II veterans, the late 1950s students were virtually assured of a reasonably well-paid job on receipt of a Cal degree. They had more time for fun and games than the veterans, and in Berkeley the biggest single outpouring of student energy and emotion during the decade was a riotous "panty raid" on a hot spring evening in 1956.
But some students also had time for serious political and social concerns. The Civil Rights Movement had begun in 1955, exposing a terrible social evil and setting a heroic example of change achieved through direct action and non-violent civil disobedience. Questions about nuclear weapon development and America's support for right wing dictatorships undermined some students' faith in anti-communism and the Cold War. Professors often criticized the 1950s students for being a "Silent Generation" and urged them to speak out and become more politically involved. Much to the dismay of many of those same professors, some students were about to take that advice with a vengeance.
In 1957 activist students formed TASC, Toward an Active Student Community. The organization campaigned against racial segregation in student housing, opposed compulsory ROTC and supported participatory educational projects that promoted social justice, world peace and international understanding. Later in the year, TASC formed a new student political party, Slate, and ran a ticket of candidates in the Associated Students of the University of California election. In 1959 the party elected the student body president, and several Slate members won seats on the ASUC Executive Committee. The party also began publishing The Slate Supplement to the General Catalog, which contained candid and often highly critical student evaluations of individual courses and professors. In 1962 Slate achieved one of its primary goals when the Board of Regents abolished compulsory ROTC on UC campuses.
At the same time, Berkeley students were becoming involved in off-campus causes. Cal undergrads, particularly residents of the Barrington Hall co-op on Dwight Way, were part of the crowd of demonstrators protesting against the San Francisco meeting of the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1960. The committee hearings, held in City Hall, were designed to expose the nefarious deeds of alleged Bay Area communists, including two Berkeley public school teachers. KPFA commentator William Mandel was called to testify, and the committee found him something less than a friendly witness. "If you think for one minute, I am going to cooperate with this collection of Judases, of men who sit here in violation of the Constitution," Mandel proclaimed, "if you think I will cooperate with you in any way, you are insane."
When the demonstrators were not allowed into the committee room, they began singing and chanting. San Francisco authorities turned on the fire hoses and washed the protesters down City Hall's marble staircase before arresting them. Although a municipal judge later dismissed the criminal charges, the incident became notorious. Conservatives produced a film, Operation Abolition, which used newsreel footage of the demonstration and Mandel's testimony to show how Berkeley radicals were subverting the committee. Leftists answered with their own film, emphasizing the committee's reckless disregard for civil liberties.
In the early sixties Berkeley activists also participated in demonstrations against employment discrimination in the Bay Area. Huge protest rallies occurred along San Francisco's Auto Row, at Fisherman's Wharf and at the Palace Hotel. In Berkeley demonstrators targeted the Lucky supermarket on Telegraph Avenue for a "shop-in." Protesters filled shopping carts to overflowing, but when clerks rang up the bill, the protesters politely walked away, explaining that they had no money. The tactic brought business to a standstill and helped persuade Lucky officials that it was time to hire minorities.
University President Clark Kerr, who succeeded Robert Gordon Sproul in 1958, attempted to adjust to the new era of increased activism by issuing somewhat liberalized rules governing campus political speech and activity. For example, political candidates were allowed to speak on campus for the first time since the 1930s, and Slate was permitted to sponsor an on-campus speech by Frank Wilkinson, a well-known radical who the House Committee on Un-American Activities had accused of being a communist.
The "Kerr Directives," as the rules were sometimes called, still prohibited most organizational political activity, however. Groups could not raise money, solicit membership or plan demonstrations and other political events on university property. In keeping with tradition, students carried out many of these activities on city sidewalks at the edge of campus. In the 1930s, Sather Gate had been the natural location, but by the 1960s, the campus had moved a block further south. Thus the sidewalk opposite the corner of Bancroft Way and Telegraph Avenue became the site of numerous card tables advocating various causes. In the summer of 1964, Oakland Tribune publisher William Knowland complained that student groups were using the area to organize against Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater. Investigating the complaint, university officials discovered that the sidewalk was in fact part of the campus. (The regents had voted to donate the area to the city, but the decision had never been carried out.)
The Free Speech Movement
When the students returned from summer vacation in September of 1964, they were confronted with notices informing them that the "Kerr Directives" would henceforth be enforced on the Bancroft Way sidewalk. Ironically, it was Clark Kerr who had originally recommended the property be transferred to the city, but since the transfer hadn't occurred, Berkeley Chancellor Edward Strong and Vice-Chancellor Alex Sheriff insisted the rules be enforced. In response, a broad coalition of student groups, from Slate to the conservative Young Americans for Freedom, protested what they considered to be a violation of free speech. Leftist activists, including some who had spent the summer working with civil rights groups in the South, decided to use direct action and civil disobedience to oppose the administrative restrictions. They set up recruiting and organizing tables at Sather Gate and in Sproul Plaza, openly violating campus rules. The activists also transformed the structure of the protest from a "united front" of organizations to the Free Speech Movement (FSM), a separate group with its own identity and highly informal governing process.
On October 1, former student Jack Weinberg sat down at an illegal table in front of Sproul Hall. When he refused to move, campus police officers arrested him and placed him in a police car. More than a hundred students then surrounded the car, refusing to let it move unless Weinberg was released. A standoff ensued, Weinberg remaining in the car for thirty-two hours. The vehicle became an impromptu stage for a very extended rally. Late in the evening, students opposing FSM, including some members of the football team, began to heckle the speakers and the non-violent mood was barely maintained. Finally, at about 7:30 p.m. the next day, a settlement was reached between the administration and FSM negotiators. Mario Savio, a philosophy major who had emerged as the leading FSM spokesman, climbed onto the roof of the police car and announced the agreement. He asked demonstrators "to rise quietly and with dignity and go home."
Any hope that the October 2 agreement had ended the conflict was dashed in November when the university began issuing disciplinary suspensions of FSM leaders. Matters steadily deteriorated, and on December 2 the FSM carried out a sit-in at Sproul Hall. "There is a time," Mario Savio told his compatriots, "when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part; you can't tacitly take part, and you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus and you've got to make it stop." With Joan Baez singing "We Shall Overcome," more than a thousand demonstrators filed into the building and prepared to occupy it for what turned out to be fifteen hours. Governor Pat Brown eventually ordered the building cleared, and at 3 a.m. on December 3, a six hundred-man force of campus and Berkeley police, Alameda County deputy sheriffs and Highway Patrolmen began carrying students out of Sproul Hall. It took nearly twelve hours to arrest all the demonstrators and put them in buses bound for Santa Rita County Jail. The remaining FSM leadership called a campus strike, and many professors and teaching assistants, particularly in the humanities and social sciences, canceled classes. Eight hundred faculty members gathered at an ad hoc meeting and called for an end to "the series of provocation and reprisal that has resulted in disaster."
On December 7, President Kerr called a university meeting in the Greek Theater to present a compromise solution crafted by a group of faculty department chairmen. After Kerr finished his presentation, Mario Savio approached the stage to address the crowd but was bodily blocked and hauled away by university policemen. The incident destroyed any good will that had been generated at the meeting, and the FSM rejected the compromise. Finally on December 8, the Academic Senate overwhelmingly passed a resolution that suspended any past university disciplinary measures against the demonstrators and limited campus regulations on political activity to reasonable rules regarding the time, place and manner. The content of events was no longer subject to university control. The FSM had won; the Kerr Directives were dead.
Broadening the Context
The regents' somewhat grudging acceptance of the essence of the faculty resolution ended the Free Speech Movement and its on-campus struggle. (Some poorly attended "filthy speech" rallies received media attention for a few weeks in 1965.) Henceforth, significant Berkeley demonstrations would be linked to broad national and world issues rather than local campus concerns. Even during the fall of 1964, Savio and other FSM orators attempted to put their campus conflict into a broad context. From their perspective, the university's conduct was typical of the great, coercive corporate and public bureaucracies that dominated modern life. Campus radicals called for new participatory institutions that promoted creativity and humane values. These concerns paralleled those outlined in the Students for a Democratic Society's earlier "Port Huron Statement." But while the SDS paper was distributed to a few true believers, the FSM rhetoric, and thus the message of what was going to be called the "New Left," reached millions of TV viewers. The Berkeley activists were members of the first television generation, and they knew how to coin sound bites and time their rallies for maximum exposure on the evening news. Jack Weinberg's line, "Never trust anyone over thirty," was broadcast into living rooms across the country and became a sixties icon.
National and world events seemed to confirm the activists' analysis. 1965 was the year of the Watts Rebellion, the first of the great urban upheavals of the late sixties. It symbolized a shift in the focus of the black protest movement from the rural south to the urban north and west, as well as an end to strict reliance on non-violent methods. In 1966 Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale founded the Black Panther Party. Headquartered in the East Bay, the party remained a source of militant rhetoric and action for the rest of the decade. Seale, in particular, had Berkeley roots, spending part of his childhood in the Codornices Village housing project.
1965 was also the year of the Delano Strike, a walkout of Mexican and Filipino farmworkers in the San Joaquin Valley. Berkeley sympathizers supported grape boycotts and formed auto convoys to transport supplies to the strikers. Delano made Cesar Chavez a national figure and a frequent participant in Berkeley events. The strike also promoted a new level of political activity and militance among young Latinos. It was a sign that the black protest movement was broadening to include other groups and become what the sixties called a "Third World Movement." During the decade, young Asian Americans began the campaign to win monetary reparations for victims of the World War II internment. The American Indian Movement's 1969 occupation of Alcatraz signaled the emergence of a new era of militant Native American protest activity. On the Cal campus, the Third World Liberation Front led militant demonstrations calling for ethnic studies programs and a "Third World College." The campaign failed to win the separate college but did lead to campus affirmative action programs and the establishment of ethnic studies departments.
Above all, 1965 was the year that President Lyndon Johnson decided to send combat troops to Vietnam. The Vietnam conflict divided American society more profoundly than any event since the Civil War. To campus militants and their allies, Vietnam symbolized the "establishment's" militarism and racist imperialism. Male students were painfully aware that they faced the draft and possible combat in Vietnam if they lost their deferments. Poor and minority Americans were usually ineligible for deferments and served in the military in disproportional numbers. Berkeley was the location of one of the nation's first large protests against the war, when the "Vietnam Day Committee" sponsored a "teach-in" that attracted more than 20,000 participants in May of 1965. Oakland police turned back two protest marches to the Oakland Army Base, embarkation point for many of the troops serving in Vietnam. Some of the marchers were accosted by Hell's Angels who yelled "Go back to Russia you fucking communists." Events in Southeast Asia continued to produce protest marches, rallies and even violent demonstrations for the rest of the decade. More than anything else, Vietnam was the glue that held the various parts of the sixties protest movement together.
Along with political protest came a cultural or lifestyle rebellion. Some people of color rejected what they believed to be white, middle-class values and attempted to construct separate ethnic or third-world identities. Many young whites also sought alternatives to the middle class way of life. For some it was simply a chance for "sex, drugs, and rock and roll," but for others it was a profound search for new forms of ecstatic and spiritual consciousness and new ways of expressing simple, youthful idealism. We have seen that Berkeley had been fertile ground for "alternative lifestyles" since the early twentieth century. During the 1950s, when San Francisco was the unofficial capital of the "Beat Generation," Berkeley was an important outpost of the movement, with poets Allen Ginsberg, Gary Snyder, Robert Duncan and author Jack Kerouac at one time or another living in the city. UC English professor Tom Parkinson was one of the first scholars to take Beat literature seriously. Similarly in the 1960s, when San Francisco's Haight Ashbury was the center of a new counter-culture universe, Berkeley was again a deeply affected satellite.
Perhaps nowhere did the political and cultural rebellions of the sixties come together more completely than in Berkeley. South of the UC campus were neighborhoods where activist students, counter-culture "street people" and black militants shared more or less adjoining turfs. The area was dotted with communal living groups committed both to radical politics and new social and cultural experiments. Telegraph Avenue became contested territory, claimed both by "establishment" merchants and police on the one hand, and the counter culture in all its guises on the other. By the late sixties, the focal point of demonstrations and violent confrontations had moved off campus and onto the Avenue.
The greatest of all of Berkeley's sixties confrontations was over control of an unimpressive lot located just east of Telegraph Avenue between Haste and Dwight, a patch of land that came to be known as People's Park. As part of its massive expansion into the South Campus neighborhood, the university purchased the property in the 1950s and cleared off the existing buildings in 1968. The result was a muddy, trash-filled mess, used as an informal parking lot. In the spring of 1969, activists began discussing the idea of turning the area into a park. In April, one of the era's first and most influential alternative newspapers, The Berkeley Barb , called on people to build "a cultural, political, freak out, and rap center for the Western World." The Barb said "We will police our own park and not allow its occupation by an imperial power."
This was not exactly what the university had in mind for the property, and before dawn on May 15, campus contractors built a chain-link fence around the site. Later in the day, ASUC president Dan Siegel urged spectators at a Sproul Plaza rally to "go down and take over the park." Some did and all hell broke loose. Demonstrators battled Berkeley and campus police and Alameda County deputy sheriffs. One onlooker, James Rector, was killed by a sheriff's shotgun blast, and more than a hundred other people were injured. Governor Ronald Reagan called in the National Guard and placed Berkeley under military curfew. A few days later, a guard helicopter dropped a tear gas bomb on a campus rally and the wind blew the noxious fumes over parts of North Berkeley, forcing the closure of Oxford Elementary School.
Led by Pat and Fred Cody, owners of Cody's Books, some people of good will attempted to intervene between the counter-culture and the establishment and bring about a peaceful conclusion to the May confrontations. The result was a giant Memorial Day march that attracted at least 25,000 participants. The event was more a sixties "love-in" than political protest. Marchers danced, sang, smoked dope, placed flowers in the barrels of guardsmen's rifles and laid sod on Haste Street, symbolically reclaiming the pavement for the earth. The Codys and others also worked on the Telegraph Summer Program, which established a number of "free" institutions and programs to serve the community. (Some of the Avenue habitués were so used to living by their wits that they continued to steal items that were being given away at the Free Store.) One of the program's most important institutions, the Free Clinic, still exits more than thirty years after its founding. But the final status of People's Park remained unsettled. It has been the subject of community conflict and the scene of occasional confrontations ever since the sixties.
Twilight of the Sixties
The U.S. expansion of the war into Cambodia in 1970 produced the last of the great Berkeley protests of the "sixties." While periodic demonstrations and "trashings" occurred on Telegraph Avenue after 1970, none had the energy or large popular base of the great sixties rebellions. By the time that the Symbionese Liberation Army assassinated Oakland school superintendent Marcus Foster and kidnapped Patricia Hearst (Phoebe's great-granddaughter) from her South Campus apartment in 1974, it seemed that some of the surviving elements of the New Left had lost touch with moral and political reality.
Many other former activists had gone on with their lives, raising families, starting careers and, in effect, rejoining the great American middle class. Others left the city for rural communes, and still others burned out on the excesses of the counter-culture lifestyle. Some were the victims of political repression, including the FBI's infamous COINTEL program. The winding down of the war and the end of the draft, as well as the adoption of New Left ideas by establishment politicians like George McGovern, took additional wind out of "The Movement's" sails. Ultimately, the cultural rebellion of the sixties may have had greater social impact than the decade's political radicalism. For better or worse, "sex, drugs, and rock and roll" were well adapted to the realities of the Great American Marketplace and profoundly affected mainstream cultural values and practices.
The most important California political figure produced by the sixties was not a Movement participant like Tom Hayden, but Ronald Reagan, a very conservative Republican. Reagan's role was leader of the "backlash" against the activism and rebellion of the era, including "the mess in Berkeley." This helped propel him into the governor's office in 1966 and eventually the presidency in 1980. In spite of their vehement dislike for each other, Reagan and the Berkeley activists shared at least one common antagonist: liberal UC President Clark Kerr.
Due to the efforts of journalist Seth Rosenfeld, we now know that FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover profoundly influenced Reagan's attitudes toward Kerr. Beginning as a student reporter for the Daily Californian and continuing as a writer for the San Francisco Examiner and San Francisco Chronicle, Rosenfeld waged a seventeen year battle to obtain documents regarding the FBI's activities on and about the UC campus. He found that throughout the Cold War the bureau had informants in Berkeley and kept dossiers on a number of campus personalities.
Hoover disliked Kerr's liberal politics and apparently blamed him for an entering student essay assignment that portrayed the FBI in an unfavorable light. Like most conservatives, Hoover believed Kerr had seriously mishandled the FSM upheavals. Shortly after he took office as governor, FBI agents briefed Ronald Reagan on these matters. Hoover also discussed Kerr with former CIA director John McCone, a Cal alumnus who passed on the FBI's concerns to members of the Board of Regents. On campus the anti-Kerr campaign was promoted by some conservative faculty members, including Psychology Professor Hardin Jones and Vice Chancellor Alex Sheriffs (who subsequently served as Reagan's educational advisor). In 1967 Reagan engineered Kerr's dismissal, ironically on the grounds that the president had "coddled" the very student activists who had fought against the Kerr Directives and condemned the Kerr's concept of a "multiversity." Years later when UC took control of the former School for the Deaf and Blind site on Waring Street, the Board of Regents honored the man they had previously fired by officially naming the complex "The Clark Kerr Campus."
Heritage of the Sixties
The New Left helped promote the growing political influence of people of color and produced important social and cultural spin-offs, including new eras of feminist and environmental activism and the new political and cultural force of gay and disabled "liberation movements." The latter had a particular Berkeley dimension, with the founding of the Center for Independent Living by disabled activists Ed Roberts and Phil Draper in 1972. The center eventually moved into the old Cunha Pontiac building on Telegraph Avenue and became one of the largest and most influential disabled service and advocacy groups in the country. But while the spin-offs of sixties activism were important, the New Left as a whole did not survive as an organized movement and coherent political force. Perhaps its original anti-institutional bias and its reliance on moral indignation rather than pragmatic coalition-building doomed it as an on-going organizational entity.
Except in Berkeley. Berkeley was indeed the exception that proved the rule, for it was in Berkeley that the New Left established an institutionalized presence and became a significant part of the political landscape. Liberal politicians had long urged campus and city radicals to pursue their goals through electoral politics rather than direct action. Much to the liberals' dismay, some activists accepted the suggestion in 1966, running graduate student (and future journalist) Robert Scheer for congress. Scheer's opponent was not some conservative Republican, but incumbent Congressman Jeffrey Cohelan, a liberal Democrat who supported Lyndon Johnson's policy in Vietnam. Although Cohelan survived the challenge, Scheer polled 40 percent of the votes in the Democratic primary, including a majority of the votes cast in the Berkeley portion of the congressional district. Cohelan was clearly vulnerable, as City Council memberr Ron Dellums proved in 1970. Combining the votes of the Berkeley left with solid support from the African American community, Dellums defeated Cohelan in the 1970 primary and went on to win the general election. In 1971 Dellums began a twenty-seven year career as the nation's most radical member of congress.
The Dellums victory encouraged the left to enter city politics with new energy. In 1971 three members of the leftist "April Coalition" slate won city council seats. Although two of them were subsequently recalled, the 1971 election established the left as a force in the local power structure. In 1973 traditional liberals and business conservatives buried the hatchet and formed a unified slate to oppose the left. For the next decade, Berkeley politics were dominated by what amounted to two local parties, almost completely unrelated to national partisan organizations. Each of the local party's support began at the city's liberal center, with "progressives," institutionalized as the Berkeley Citizen's Action, attracting votes to the left of that mark, and "moderates," variously known as the All Berkeley Coalition or the Berkeley Democratic Club, picking up votes on the right. The electorate was fairly evenly split between the factions, with African Americans being the major swing vote. This encouraged both groups to include black candidates on their slates, thus dramatically increasing the clout of black voters. Between 1973 and 1986, no one was elected to local office in Berkeley who was not endorsed by one or the other of the two local parties.
For most of this period, moderates controlled the city council, but progressives set the political agenda with a series of controversial ballot initiatives. In 1973, for example, voters supported a measure that created a strong civilian police review board. In the same year, voters also favored the Neighborhood Preservation Ordinance, which substantially slowed "ticky-tacky" development in residential areas. The new preservationist consciousness expressed by the ordinance was institutionalized in the seventies with the establishment of the Berkeley Architectural Heritage Association and the Berkeley Historical Society. Both groups honored (and sometimes idealized) the city's historic commitment to a special sense of civic consciousness and quality of life.
In the early eighties, the BCA managed to get city elections changed from April of odd-numbered years to November of even-numbered years, coinciding with state and national elections. This increased student voter turnout, and in 1984 leftist mayor Gus Newport and his allies captured eight of the nine council seats. In 1986 the moderates retaliated with a charter amendment that returned the city to district or ward elections for council for the first time since the turn of the century. The effect was to restore the close balance of power between the factions on the council but reduce African American representation on the body. For the next eight years, progressive Loni Hancock served as mayor as part of a narrow leftist majority.
The most controversial issue in these years was rent control. During World War II and the immediate post-war years, Berkeley was covered by federal price controls on rents. Even when the controls expired, substantial apartment construction kept up with the housing demand, and rents remained relatively low. But by the seventies, residential down-zoning and the Neighborhood Preservation Ordinance combined with a poor business climate to slow new housing construction. The city's demography changed, with more single adults and couples and fewer families with children in the population, and this in turn created a greater demand for rental housing. Berkeley was also affected by a rapid rise in regional housing prices that occurred throughout the Bay Area. Finally, the university neglected to build new dormitory space to accommodate the steady increase in students. The result of all these factors was sky-rocketing rents and a growing demand by renters for relief, and rentals made up about 60 percent of the city's individual housing units.
In the late 70's the moderate city council majority, which had substantial landlord support, was unwilling or unable to respond. Housing activists therefore went directly to the electorate, and in 1980 the voters approved a progressive initiative measure establishing rent control. The law was strengthened by subsequent initiatives, especially Measure G in 1982. Since the initiatives were written by rent control advocates like leftist activist Marty Schiffenbauer, it is hardly surprising that each succeeding measure gave greater protection to renters. By the mid-eighties, Berkeley had some of the toughest rent control policies in the nation.
Some landlords advocated civil disobedience, while others withdrew units from the rental market. In the end, property owners went over the city's head, fighting the rent control laws in court and the state legislature. In the 1990s, the courts allowed landlords substantial rent increases and the legislature passed "vacancy de-control," allowing landlords the freedom to reset rates without regard to rent control each time a unit becomes vacant. In a city like Berkeley, with a large, ever-changing student population, vacancy de-control dramatically reduced the clout of rent control.
What was striking about Berkeley's passionate debates over rent control in the 1980s and 90s was the extent to which both sides used arguments based on broad moral principle---the basic right to shelter versus the basic rights of property. It was as if rent control was an issue equivalent in moral weight to free speech, racial justice or the Vietnam War. The transformation of often mundane matters of local administration into issues of high moral principle is surely one of the legacies of the sixties.
In 2000 an attempt by the national Pacifica Foundation board and administration to censor KPFA content and fire some of the station's most popular commentators produced still another episode reminiscent of the sixties. KPFA listeners staged massive protests outside of the station's Martin Luther King Way studios and organized a popular "Save Pacifica" movement. In the end, Pacifica management backed down, many of the offending board members and administrators resigned, and the network's governing processes and structure were substantially changed. Nonviolentt direct action had won the day; the sixties spirit seemed alive and well.
Berkeley's on-going legacy of the sixties has promoted laudable popular involvement in community affairs and a willingness to defend important values and promote useful social experimentation. But it has also led to a self-righteous style of politics that sometimes gives greater weight to passion than wisdom. In either case, it is clear that at least in Berkeley, the sixties are not quite over, the style and substance of that decade not quite old hat.