Allan Saunders: The Man and His Legacy 9780824846053

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Allan Saunders

Published with the support of the Maurice J. Sullivan & Family Fund in the University of Hawai'i Foundation

©2000 University of Hawai'i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 00

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Library of Congress Cataloging'in'Publication Data Allan Saunders : the man and his legacy / edited by Mary A n n e Raywid and Esther Kwon Arinaga. p.

cm.

"A latitude 20 book." Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Saunders, Allan F. (Allan Frederic), 1897-1989. Manoa—Faculty—Biography.

2. University of Hawaii at

3. Human rights workers—Hawaii—Biography.

I. Raywid, Mary Anne.

II. Arinaga, Esther Kwon.

LD 2222.35.A44 2000 378.1'2'092—dc21 [B]

99-054199 (acid-free paper)

University of Hawai'i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Book design by Kenneth Miyamoto Printed by Edwards Brothers, Inc.

Allan Saunders The Man and His Legacy m Edited by Mary Anne Raywid and Esther Kwon Arinaga

A Latitude 20 Book University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu

To the memories of Allan and Marion Saunders

Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction

1

Esther Kwon Arinaga

1. What Makes a Man a Legend? 2. The Man and the Context 3. Professor and Citizen

Mary Anne Raywid

Frank T. Inouye

6 27 36

Frank T. Inouye

4. Allan Saunders and the Teaching of Politics: A Personal Interpretation

Mickey McCleery

5. The Dean of Arts and Sciences

55 Frank T. Inouye

6. Retirement: Campus to Community

Frank T. Inouye

7. Allan Saunders: The Civil Libertarian 8. The Hollenbach Case

Mark S. Davis

11. Denouement

111

Compiled by 143

Esther Kwon Arinaga 10. Living with Allan

86 127

Samuel P. King

9. Selected Writings of Allan F. Saunders

74

Marion Hollenbach Saunders

Mary Anne Raywid

167 187

Notes

195

Contributors

199

Index

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vii

Acknowledgments

nearly a decade. Two authors to whom much is owed, Marion Saunders and Frank Inouye, have passed away. Marion contributed one of the essays and helped her fellow authors with research, locating many of Allan's papers, letters, and other memorabilia. She also served as publishing assistant throughout, typing and retyping chapters as requested and tracking down elusive footnotes. She hosted innumerable committee meetings with generosity and kindness and worked closely with the editors. A t the same time, she was careful not to intrude or interfere, and she did not participate in editorial decisions. Frank Inouye's friendship with Allan over four decades allowed him to observe Allan in many different contexts. Frank offered many helpful suggestions. He worked prodigiously to produce what became four essays, and he accepted the editors' comments and suggestions with grace and cooperation.

T H I S PROJECT HAS SPANNED

Our other authors not only contributed their own essays but also provided many useful insights into the character of Allan Saunders. To Mickey McCleery, Mark Davis, and Judge Samuel King, our deepest appreciation. Thanks, too, to Roger Fonseca, an attorney and friend who did early work on Allan and his connection with the A C L U . As so many of the chapters reveal, a host of former students, colleagues, and friends responded to the biography committee's request for anecdotes and recollections about Allan. They deserve much of the credit for the "color" in the book. Our thanks to them for their warm and factual remembrances. Many individuals assisted us with technical and other advice, including Bob Potter and Libby Oshiyama, a close friend of Marion's, who also generously took over typing tasks after Marion's death and produced much of the final manuscript.

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Introduction Esther Kwon Arinaga

arrival at the University of Hawai'i shortly after the end of World War II coincided with the beginning of unprecedented changes in higher education, politics, and social structure in Hawai'i. Over the next several decades Saunders himself played a quiet but influential part in the unfolding drama of Hawai'i's postwar development and its emergence as the fiftieth state in the union. Many appellations have been used to describe him, among them professor, teacher, administrator, civil libertarian, political gadfly, community activist, and public policy critic. The chapters that follow and the sampling of his writings in Chapter 9 validate all of these roles and affirm the belief that many of his former students and colleagues have long held: Allan Saunders was a "man in season" at a crucial time in Hawai'i's history.

A L L A N FREDERIC SAUNDERS'

The authors of this collective biography of Saunders are linked to their subject in one or more ways—from former student, university colleague, fellow civil libertarian, observer of the landmark Hollenbach case, close family friend, to lifelong partner and companion. They are also connected to one another by their shared experiences and their memories of the man they consider the conscience of their community. A group of friends and former students gathered at Saunders' Woodlawn home not long after his death on February 28, 1989, to consider the publication of a biographical memorial or tribute. The scene was reminiscent of evenings past: a cool Manoa breeze wafting through open windows; objets d'art from Asia, Pacific island nations, Africa, and Norway gracing the walls and surroundings; and Marion Saunders offering coffee and other comestibles to warm everyone's heart and mind, just as she had done for her husband's students some forty years earlier in a barracks apartment on the

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Introduction

campus of the University of Hawai'i. Allan's absence was keenly felt; yet, as the evening wore on and as each person shared personal anecdotal remembrances, the group realized how much affection and aloha Allan had inspired, not just on the University of Hawai'i campus but throughout Hawai'i. The challenge before them was to find a genre of biography to best describe and explain Allan's impact and stature. How could a Yankee professor from New England attract such awe and respect in a multicultural setting like Hawai'i? A biography project committee was organized to pursue the inquiry. The committee first considered the publication of a traditional biography written with customary distance and objectivity. Frances Saunders, Allan's daughter-in-law and an accomplished biographer, undertook the initial research in Hawai'i. After several months, however, she concluded that he had not left a sufficient "paper trail" on which to construct a fulllength biography. Her assessment was not surprising; those who knew Saunders well were already aware that his impact as a teacher stemmed from his influence and inspiration in the classroom and not from any recognition of his published writings. Her appraisal, while disappointing, prompted the committee to consider other biographical forms. A smaller committee consisting of Marion Saunders, Frank Inouye, one of Saunders' early graduate assistants, and two former students, Paul Yamanaka and myself, explored several alternatives, such as a volume of personal tributes or a festschrift. Eventually, the idea of a collection of essays in the form of personal memoirs took root. People who had known Saunders in various contexts during his teaching career or in community organizations and projects were invited to contribute essays on selected topics. The authors of these chapters thus all share a common trait: they knew Saunders intimately—many were longtime friends. The manner of inquiry reflected in these chapters is not usually found in biography; it is an approach more frequently observed in the work of anthropologists and sociologists. But the method is especially appropriate for a biographical study of Saunders, who so often insisted that "the written lacks the significance of the lived." The chapters thus combine personal experiences with the more objective written record. The chapters are not mutually exclusive. Some overlap occurs as the authors unavoidably comment on the same or similar events, incidents, and experiences. The editors have tried to minimize these overlaps, but where they remain, the differing perspectives often yield a far more expansive and full vision of Saunders as teacher or humanist or political activist. The

Introduction

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late Mary George—a longtime friend of Allan's and respected state legislator—once commented that Allan Saunders was a uniquely "seamless" individual, one whose activities defied easy separation into neat categories. And so, for example, his teaching skills are mentioned and assessed throughout the collection. Early on, too, it became evident that some re-examination from chapter to chapter was not only inevitable but desirable. The authors had observed Saunders from different vantage points, and thus their recollections and emphases invariably reflect their own personalities and perceptions. One author may be preoccupied with Saunders' ideological stance, another with his behavior, and still another with his ability to model and exemplify his beliefs and to relate to other human beings. Even as their portrayals of Saunders may vary, nevertheless certain constants and consistencies about him remain. Originally, the topics selected for this collection were intended to provide the context of Saunders' life in Hawai'i, with each chapter examining important events or milestones in both his public and private life. Later, an introductory chapter was added to look more closely at the mystery of his impact on Hawai'i. In this chapter Mary A n n e Raywid, educator and close friend of Marion and Allan Saunders, provides an overview as she examines the mystique surrounding Saunders' legendary status. Her chapter captures the voices of many associates—colleagues, former students, fellow activists, and public figures—all with stories to tell. Frank Inouye, who died before publication of this book, was Saunders' first graduate assistant in the Department of Government and a friend for more than four decades. In the first of his four chapters he describes the context of Saunders' early years in Hawai'i: the possible reasons for his migration to the islands; a description of his physical and personal characteristics; the nature of the University of Hawai'i campus in the mid-1940s; and Hawai'i's postwar political, economic, and social climate. In his next chapter, Inouye places Saunders in various milieus, offering early glimpses of the ways in which Saunders gained his reputation as a rebel, both on campus and in the community. Inouye suggests that while Saunders enjoyed his role as professor and the opportunities it gave him to be closely involved with students, he viewed his community activities as the most effective way to influence public policy. In the first of two subsequent chapters, Inouye looks at Saunders as a campus administrator. He shows that as dean of the College of Arts and Sciences in the mid-1950s, Saunders was able to pursue his desire to

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Introduction

"affect the shape of higher education in Hawai'i" by seeking a liberal or more general education for undergraduates at the University of Hawai'i. In his final chapter, Inouye describes Saunders' post-retirement years and the considerable energy and effort the retired professor put into such projects as penal reform and ethics in government. Mickey McCleery offers a personal interpretation and assessment of Saunders as a teacher. Calling up memories of four decades earlier, McCleery recreates the images and impressions of those years, describing the experience as "a haunting melody." He suggests that whereas other professors of government or political science might focus on institutions of power and governance, Saunders' "attention was on the ends of freedom, justice and peace [that] such institutions could serve." Two chapters enlarge upon Saunders' activism. Civil libertarian and attorney Mark Davis writes about Saunders' long involvement with the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) on both the national level and in Hawai'i. Overall, Saunders held membership in the organization for 69 years. This role perhaps made him best known in the community and enabled him to express his deep-felt convictions about liberty, democracy and freedom. Senior Federal District Judge Samuel P. King tells a littleknown story in his chapter on the Hollenbach case and the role he played in the resolution of the case. Cast during the period of "red baiting" in the islands, the Hollenbach case was closely tied to a crucial period in Hawai'i's history and to Saunders' first decade in Hawai'i. The central figure in the case was his wife, Marion Hollenbach Saunders, and her "association" with Saunders. Against the outcry and charges of "Communist" and "radical" can be heard Saunders' calm and deliberate expressions of democratic principles. The editors have compiled three groups of selected writings from Saunders' small written legacy. These include speeches, articles, and letters or comments. Though few in number, they illuminate both the man and his vision of a just society. Marion Saunders passed away in 1998, nearly a decade after her husband. Together they were an extraordinary couple. They shared many interests, sometimes sat on the same committees, and as several chapters in this collection suggest, often made joint presentations—sometimes as dialogues, sometimes with Marion documenting Allan's oral presentation with slides from her vast collection. In Marion's chapter describing her long partnership with her husband, she provides many intimate and personal glimpses of a man most people considered a very private person. In the final chapter, Mary Anne Raywid looks back on Saunders' last

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days, as his long battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), or Lou Gehrig's disease, drew to a close. She recalls his continuing concern for humankind, even as his weakened throat muscles left him unable to speak. With grace and objectivity she examines and weighs the many facets of Allan Frederic Saunders' career and resolves a number of questions that were present at the beginning of the project.

1.

What Makes a Man a Legend? Mary Anne Raywid

came to the Islands in August of 1 9 4 5 , on a one-year appointment to the University of Hawai'i's Government Department. He was not a young man—forty-eight—and by the usual standards he had not been an entirely successful one. Although an academic by nature and choice, he had been unable to settle into and become tenured at a compatible institution. And four years before coming, he and Dorothy Lynch Saunders, his first wife, had parted, ending a marriage of nineteen years that had produced two sons.

A L L A N FREDERIC SAUNDERS

Yet Allan Saunders found his niche in Hawai'i. He knew within a matter of weeks that this was where he wanted to remain. He stayed to become a much loved teacher and administrator in the university and a pillar of the community. His impact on the Territory, and on the young veterans returning from World War II, was enormous. Evidence of his remarkable influence can be seen today as permanent fixtures on the Hawai'i landscape: the Hawai'i chapters of the American Civil Liberties Union and the League of Women Voters, both of which he helped found; a revised penal code, which he helped draft; an Ethics Commission, which he helped establish; and the aloha shirt tradition, in which he fought successfully to make colorful shirts worn "tails out" an acceptable mode of dress. Saunders' enormous impact is something of a mystery. Although often controversial, by all accounts he was never bombastic, never dramatic or histrionic, and rarely even very assertive in a group. Instead, he gave the appearance of a quiet, reflective scholar more given to listening than to speaking in a group, and more disposed to questions than to declamations in a classroom. How, then, could such a person exert such an influence, make such a substantial impact on so many of those who knew him? When he died at

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What Makes a Man a Legend?

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ninety-one, after having been retired for more than two decades, Saunders was honored with a cartoon by Corky Trinidad (showing him at the Pearly Gates, aloha shirt-clad, and proudly bearing his ACLU card). An editorial in the Honolulu. Advertiser proclaimed: "Thousands of people in Hawaii who were his students and colleagues will miss Allan Saunders. . . . But thousands more who never knew him or never knew his name should mourn too. For Saunders, through his own actions and those of the people he inspired, helped make Hawaii a more progressive, tolerant, humane place." This chapter undertakes to answer the question of how Allan Saunders could be so influential. It does so largely through the eyes of people who knew him, and whose memories remain vivid. Soon after the decision was reached to undertake this collection, friends, colleagues, and former students were invited to send anecdotes and reminiscences of the man. This chapter weaves together the stories they recounted, in an attempt to give voice to as many as possible in displaying the sort of presence that was Allan Saunders. It borrows also from letters sent Allan over the years— many in celebration of his ninetieth birthday—and it looks also to some of the letters he wrote. It is quite probable that the accounts I include are biased—since many of the people represented here had self-selected themselves as friends. But they contain enough similarity from one to another, and they affirm enough otherwise documented claims, to suggest some degree of objective warrant. A good place to begin is with the campus environment in the Hawai'i of the late 1940s, as recalled by Liz Toupin, then Liz Ahn and a student: In 1947 one became aware of the presence of AUan Saunders, a malihini and a haole. He was the first university professor to hire a Nisei as an instructor in political science and the first to hire local Asian students as graduate assistants in the College of Arts and Sciences. These actions during a period when the duly elected president of the UH student government, an A]A veteran, was not permitted to represent the university at a national student conference because he spoke "pidgin English." A haole student government officer was sent instead. Against such a backdrop, Saunders' moves became important "talk stories" for a small community in a period of change. Downtown, Allan was also known as the haole who wore "aloha" shirts at almost all Island occasions—making a clear statement that one was no less deserving of respect because one didn't wear a business suit. At the same time Allan also gained the reputation of being one of the most inspiring political theory and philosophy teachers. His course was not easy, but it was worth the e f f o r t and one gained an invisible medal of honor for having been a participant in his seminar.

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Chapter 1 Allan seemed to operate from a vision of a dynamic social democratic society, but I never heard him articulate his ideals. Yet, he spent an enormous amount of time establishing grassroots organizations that provided "continuing education" on the Bill of Rights. These organizations not only renewed an interest in "inalienable rights," but stressed the importance of average citizens exercising their rights, of legislators hearing the concerned voices of their constituents and not just those with special economic interests. Allan stressed the importance of independent thinking and of independent organizations not committed to any political party. He was that rare human being in Hawai'i who could lead without dominating, by encouraging Islanders to develop and grow into leadership roles. The Students Constitutional Convention Committee was one of the organizations he nurtured with far-reaching effects. It was remarkable and memorable because it cast the young people of Hawai'i in such a novel role for them. While students all over the world have often played a political role in periods of major societal change, this had never been the tradition of University of Hawai'i students. Historically, Hawaiian students had never asserted themselves on major issues affecting the Islands, issues such as statehood, labor organizations, etc. They had never been encouraged to do so. And given the plantation mentality, the oligarchy, the dominance of interlocking directorates which governed all aspects of Island life in 1947, it is not surprising that students had sought no voice. Allan helped them find, develop, and express that voice.

The Teacher Allan identified himself first and foremost as a teacher—and only secondarily as either scholar or community activist.1 Clearly, he was a memorable teacher. When one considers that it has been 25 years since his retirement —and more than 40 since most of his teaching was finished (when he became dean of Liberal Arts and Sciences in 1955)—and that he only functioned as an instructor at the university for about a decade—the number of people who reminisce about his teaching testifies eloquently to how impressive a professor he was. Yet for most, it is not the classes they recall. It is the man, and what he was and stood for. As Ted Tsukiyama wrote in a ninetieth-birthday letter to Allan, "While I remember nothing of administrative law or Russian government, despite his valiant efforts to bring life to these deadly subjects, the memory of this remarkable pedagogue, a veritable 'Mr. Chips', was lasting." The upshot may be that Allan Saunders was one of those rare teachers who could successfully impart the long-term qualities that are education's aims, but that typically get lost in the detail of knowledge. He exemplified them. And through their exposure to him, Allan's students apparently were

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able to gain in such qualities as openness, compassion, tolerance, thoughtfulness, a sense of civic responsibility—and to recognize that they had grown in these qualities. His classes were always thought-provoking. He typically taught without notes and in a style that attempted to enlist students in discussion and dialogue. He was often amazingly successful in doing so. Colleague Bob Potter recalled his first real encounter with Allan, during Potter's first year of teaching at the university. I had a class of all women of oriental ancestry, and I was frustrated by my inability to get them to participate in class discussion. I was an experienced teacher. . . and I had never encountered such a reluctance . . . to respond to challenging statements. At the height of my frustration one day, Allan walked by my classroom door, and I called him in. The topic for that week was the politics of education. . . . I told Allan what I was trying to do and how poorly I was succeeding. He took over my class and in minutes had an animated discussion going. To this day, I cannot fathom just what kind of chemistry he created with that class, but I knew I was privileged that day to have seen a master teacher at work. Of course, not even Allan was always able to elicit overt participation from all present. Some students remained too shy or deferential or indifferent, and according to former teaching assistant Frank Inouye, some of his classes enrolled as many as 300. But it seems that even those who didn't speak in class were forced to reflect, rather than simply to absorb. There were evidently several ways in which he accomplished this. One was to respond to questions in ways that posed further questions—or, even more directly, to answer a student's question with one of his own. And as Frank Bourgin, one former student recalled, "Allan's Socratic questions could wind students into knots." According to Bourgin, another technique was "he set my mind into a turmoil by alternately having me read books each of which . . . contradicted the ideas of the previous week's assignment." Louie Steed reminisced about yet another strategy Allan employed: He had the maddening habit of adopting the beliefs of the theorist we happened to be studying. When studying Marx he was Marx; when Adam Smith, he was Smith. (Infuriating! C'mem, man, make up your mind!) In the end he always left me adrift, forced to row my own way back to shore. But what better way to teach than to lead a student into a thicket and force him to think his own way home? In such fashion, Saunders tried to affect the way his students thought and what they were becoming. He wanted to build both the inclination toward and the capacity for thought. And his exams as well as his teaching

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modeled this quality. They telegraphed quite clearly just where the priorities lay. Saunders' exams did not make the usual sort of requests for names, events, sequences. In one class he collected bluebooks on the first day, in which he had asked each student to define "communism" and "democracy," the subjects of the course. At the final exam, he returned the books and asked each student to critique, revise, and supplement his or her own definitions. Other exam questions asked things like • "Design a table of contents for a textbook appropriate for this course." • "What values are shared by Communism and the Capitalism that it portrays as enemy?" • "It is often stated . . . that there has been no conservative thread in the web of American political ideas. Present cogent evidence and argument for the truth or falsity of this statement." The focus was squarely on concepts, and the student always had to do something with them—to use, analyze, synthesize, critique them. Simply citing, describing, or defining them would not suffice. Saunders was evidently able to communicate such abstractions to all sorts of students, and to enable people to deal with them. Although Ted Tsukiyama remembers an advanced seminar in which there was only one person who really knew what was going on, Leo Falcam of Pohnpei insists that "Allan presented the complexities of Political Theories... in ways that a sophomore from Micronesia . . . could understand and follow easier than the traffic lights in downtown Honolulu." From their perspective, his students were convinced that Allan was helping them to become their own persons, themselves. "He didn't lecture at you," recalls Jim Anthony, "but rather seemed to say 'Come, let us reason together; let us converse, chat, explore at both the periphery and the center if our conversation takes us there.'" Unlike other professors, he did not seem to be out to fill heads and mold thoughts. As Louie Steed put it: "it was not his purpose to turn out, annually, 20-some junior Allan Saunders." And as Julian Paul phrased it, "he wasn't selling his own ideas or preaching; he was searching." From another perspective, however, Allan was of course trying to instill things. He wanted to impart an orientation and to create a set of capacities. The orientation was in general Humanism—the commitment to making the world a better place for all human beings—and the capacities pertained to the ability to use and enhance one's intellect.

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The Personal/Ideological Base Allan Saunders never fully explicated his position—either in terms of a political theory or a broader, more general philosophy—although as Liz Toupin noted, "he clearly seemed to operate from a vision of a social democratic society," and there was a great deal of coherence in the positions he took. It took particular events and situations to prompt Allan to articulate his underlying values and assumptions. Nevertheless, it does appear that he had an extensively worked-out position—one that may have evolved notably with his marriage to Marion Hollenbach. Colleague Dan Tuttle identified Allan as "an unapologetic Liberal" 2 and in the terms of political theory he clearly was that: a champion of minority and individual rights, a suspicious critic of government institutions and activity, protector of the private sphere against intrusion by the public. These are the pillars of classical Liberalism, with its fierce defense of the individual. In addition, however, Allan apparently had always identified himself as a Jeffersonian Democrat, which supplemented and modified the classical Liberal position somewhat. Jefferson had placed great store in education, and an egalitarian strain had softened the individualism and meritocratic expectations. Very little has survived of whatever Allan may have written prior to coming to Hawai'i. But there is cause to speculate that his thinking, along with his personality, underwent some important changes here. Prior to arriving in Hawai'i, he had been described by some as an aloof, remote, somewhat cold academic. In letters to his wife-to-be, Marion, he referred to himself as having been "isolationist" and "monastic." A t least one student remembering him from the period just before he left for Hawai'i, Sally Sedelow, described Allan as "dour" and "depressed." And there are several pieces of testimony to a powerful temper and a stormy first marriage, with frequent shouting from both parties. It is difficult to ascertain how accurate such reports may be. But it is fairly certain that such traits and inclinations never surfaced in Hawai'i. Instead of volatility, many speak of equanimity and stability and of an Allan who was, in Dorothy Kohashi's terms, simply "unflappable." Instead of a person who was dour and depressed—or remote and aloof—many speak of a ready smile, openness and receptivity to others, and frequent flashes of a gentle, often impish sense of humor. There is also evidence that his life in Hawai'i expanded Allan's sensibilities and enlarged his universe. He himself said that Marion had made

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him a social being, and family members agreed that she had taught him sharing, forgiveness, and concern for people. Frank Inouye concluded: "Allan became much more human, much more relaxed, open and accepting, and his sense of humor broadened." Two years prior to their marriage, in a courtship letter sent Marion in pre-Hawai'i days, he had displayed his image of himself (along with psychological naivete), saying: "Here are some of the i t e m s . . . which would I suppose illuminate me more than any other psychiatric technique." There followed a list of nine books—eight scholarly works and one novel (The Brothers Karamazov). Once in Hawai'i, however, it would seem that Allan rather quickly began the transformation from scholar to multi-dimensional human being. Although he had apparently always been active on the campus where he was teaching, community activity was new to Saunders. To all appearances he had previously been minimally engaged with other human beings, but now he willingly made himself accessible to large numbers of them and in various contexts. And not long after coming to Hawai'i, Allan and Marion traveled to Bethel, Maine, for training in group dynamics at its source, the National Training Laboratory for Group Development. Allan may well have been one of the many people whose behavior was changed by the Bethel experience. From that time on, he consistently included group dynamics, as well as political theory, as his special interests. Marion's influence was undoubtedly considerable. Allan foretold its direction in a courtship letter just six months before their marriage in which he contrasted their two perspectives: I hold the essence of mankind to be . . . The Intellectual; you would enjoy as you observe the wide gambit of human expression. I am eager to help them to humaneness; you to join them for the realities to be found everywhere. I would raze the slums; you would put flower boxes in the dankest closet. I seek the essentially human everywhere, convinced with Jefferson that it is not the monopoly of an elite, but to be found in all walks of life; you look for the universals that are common; I for the universal that is ultimate. Over the years, the contrasts blurred somewhat for both. But it was not only their impact on one another: Hawai'i itself was also a part of the explanation for the personal transformation. As Allan pointed out, it was a society in rapid transition, but on a small enough scale that one could not only watch but become part of the change. 3 That, of course, is exactly what he did. An ideological evolution of sorts may have paralleled the personal

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changes. Although there is no evidence of explicit change in Allan's political perspective, it appears that his lenses broadened noticeably—and that a primary identification with political Liberalism gave way to an equally strong commitment to philosophic Humanism. There was no contradiction between the two. Indeed, Corliss Lamont, who was perhaps the main explicator of Humanism, named Allan's intellectual hero Jefferson as "the natural leader of a humanist democracy." 4 But Humanism was a full world view, not just a perspective on governance and authority. It was also a normative position openly celebrating mankind and urging "the service of one's fellow-men as the ultimate moral ideal." 5 Lamont identified ten central propositions as the defining principles of Humanism: 6 • A naturalism that denies the supernatural. • Human beings as continuous with nature and hence the product of evolution. • Through reason and science, human beings can solve their own problems. • "[H]uman beings . . . possess genuine freedom of creative choice and action, and are, within . . . limits, the masters of their own destiny." • The goal of a Humanist ethics is the "happiness, freedom and progress... of all mankind." • "[T]he individual attains the good life b y . . . combining personal satisfactions and continuous self-development with significant work and other activities that contribute to the welfare of the community." • Awareness of beauty must be cultivated so that aesthetic experience can become a pervasive reality for all. • We must work for the establishment of "democracy, peace and a high standard of living" throughout the world. • The full social implementation of reason and science calls for "democratic procedures, including full freedom of expression and civil liberties, throughout all areas of economic, political and cultural life." • "Humanism . . . believes in the unending questioning of basic assumptions and convictions, including its own." All ten principles were reflected in Allan Saunders' life, and most were constantly recurring themes in his classroom. They constituted the underlying premises of what he said and stood for. Although he probably never explicated the full set, each principle could be established as logically presupposed in what Allan said and did. And the full set may be necessary to account for the consistency and coherence discernible in his activities. A t his memorial service, the late Mary George commented that one of Allan's

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most distinctive features was that he "was all of one piece." "Most of us," she explained, "are a patchwork; a collection of notions and eclectic ideas; taught, or caught by contagion, or borrowed, or stolen. Not Allan. He was seamless... ." It would appear that the seamlessness can be traced to the philosophy of Humanism that provided the unity suffusing Allan's activities, his interactions, and his classroom. It thus posed a challenge to the students who believed that Allan was not out to mold or shape them. Esther Arinaga probably more accurately captured his intent in a memorial statement: "While Dr. Saunders discussed political philosophy and the institutions of national, state, and local government in a classroom setting, his ultimate goal was to infuse his students with the passion to live and work by certain principles: to question our government and its actions, to insist on due process, to work for the common good, to be ever vigilant against seemingly benign intrusions on individual privacy, to value every member of a productive society, and to be accepting and tolerant of critics of our government." It is highly likely that he did, indeed, hope to impart his own most basic premises—the affirmation of life, the obligation to one's self and to one's fellows. He wanted to help the young to learn how to live, and these beliefs are what he thought central to it. So how to live a life is very probably "the curriculum between the lines" that he was teaching. Within this Humanist agenda there were perhaps three lessons that Allan most extensively exemplified and inspired. They are fully representative of the Humanist philosophy, but as filtered through and reflected in a particular personality. The lessons are the primacy of principle and adherence to it; the Humanistic regard—the respect and kindness—that others are due; and Liberalism as tempered by a strong sense of civic obligation.

T h e C o m m i t m e n t to Principle First and foremost is the meaning of principle and personal integrity. Allan was a man of principle and when principle was involved, the course to pursue was always clear. He knew and acted on what he thought right, irrespective of the personal costs. As his oldest son put it in a ninetiethbirthday salute, "The Allan Saunders I have known has always been on the side o f . . . standing for what is right even when it is easier to be wrong. It's a hard lesson to learn (I speak from experience), b u t . . . [he was] a master at teaching it." And principles, reflected in values, were a central part of what one is.

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As Allan's younger son reminisced, "When I consider the values I most admire . . . I realize that I have learned them all from my father. I'm not at all sure how he taught them to me, except by example." Several principles stood as uncompromisable guides for Allan. One was his commitment to justice, which was so strong as to have once prompted a cartoon by Corky Trinidad showing Justice, duly blindfolded and scales intact, leaning over to kiss Allan's cheek (see illustrations section). As Jim Anthony summed it up, " T h e most telling thing about him seemed to be his deep commitment to . . . being fair. He seemed to be the kind of man who if he was to write a great n o v e l . . . would give the best lines to the character he liked the least." Another fundamental tenet for Allan was that one must not only have principles but must consistently act on them, even when doing so meant inconvenience or sacrifice. Thus, during his Fulbright in Norway, Allan refused to accompany Marion to Spain because he was unwilling to extend to Franco even the relatively meager support a single tourist might provide. But, consistent with another fundamental conviction, he made no move to dissuade Marion from going. O n e mustn't attempt to override others' right to be and do in accord with the dictates of their own being. As student, later friend, Sita Nissanka noted, Allan "always gave others space to grow": "you advise, stimulate, and motivate those around you and you let them free." Or, as godson Allan Inouye wrote Allan in thoughtful appreciation, "I thank you . . . for letting me be myself. Emerson said we are wealthy in the number of things we can afford to leave alone. People as well as 'things'... Perhaps you have seen me as an individual whose rights m u s t . . . be protected... . Perhaps this is part of being civilized, being wealthy in the sense Emerson intended." That one must have the courage of one's convictions and act with integrity had a clear and direct effect on his teaching. T h e recommendations he wrote for those who requested them were always kindly, but not all were entirely positive. Even his son did not receive a recommendation without reservations for an appointment he sought. One student, Juliet Esterly, recalls that at the end of one fall semester at Scripps, Allan failed an entire class, save one. And although as one of those failed students she remained a friend for more than 50 years, she confessed decades after the fact that she had changed her major from political science to history because she feared she could not pass Allan's final examination. As part of an A C L U salute, Dan Inouye wrote that "Allan was an individual you both loved and feared, admired but at times avoided. He was more fearful than a conscience—you can always compromise with your

16

Chapter 1

conscience, but it was very difficult to compromise with Allan Saunders." The result was a man who was, indeed, in Mary George's terms "all of one piece." He knew who he was and what he stood for, and this core consistently and predictably determined his response to situations. There would be no waffling and no room for special pleading. Thus, as Dan Inouye suggests, Allan was not liked because he was an easy person. Nor was he an undemanding teacher, or one who failed to find fault. He could never have been found guilty of grade inflation or of evading what it might be hard to say. Professor Saunders could deliver harsh criticism and sometimes did. He could be caustic. For instance, to one student who had the audacity to register as an auditor in one of Allan's courses without the required permission, he wrote: "Please take the action necessary to w i t h d r a w . . . . I do not permit auditors in this course. Further . . . you have rarely, if ever, been in attendance, so that your auditing must be below the passable." And Sally Sedelow wrote that students in his classes who gave superficial responses to his questions when called on had "a cuttingly sardonic observation" to fear from the head of the seminar table. But more typically, perhaps, Allan's criticism was accompanied by a statement that softened and gentled it down—as, for instance when he concluded a scathing letter to the Advertiser with the sentence, "I must express my regret that such an irresponsible, rabble-rousing story should be reprinted in my favorite local paper."7 Thus, the resentments that such a strong sense of principle could generate were often dispelled by other traits.

Humanistic Regard Allan had a strongly humanistic orientation toward other people, evidently responding quite nondiscriminately toward everyone with respect, kindness, and compassion. It seems to have been the upshot of conviction— the dignity of human beings, their entitlement to respect, etc.—as well as of innate inclination. This was at least one of the reasons why even sharp comment was typically softened by wit and charm. The result was, in the words of Mickey McCleery, that "he demonstrated . . . the capacity to give criticism so gently as to have that accepted." And he was willing to see criticism used only to constructive and positive purpose. To a student who had written disparagingly of a colloquium and its members he wrote, "I miss in your paper the application of intellect, the lack of which you deplore in others. Easy it is for brainy people to 'criticize'; harder to analyze and to reconstruct."

What Makes a Man a Legend?

17

One reason Allan could get away with such hard talk was that he evidently managed to project a warmth that told people he genuinely liked and cared about them. It is an unusual combination. As colleague Norman Meller put it in a ninetieth-birthday letter, "It is no mean feat to adhere steadfastly to a deeply-felt set o f . . . principles while living a life sympathetically attuned to that of your fellow man. That Allan Saunders succeeded in doing so is a tribute to his rarity." Allan managed it by conveying with extraordinary success that he cared about people as well as principle. As undergraduate Irene Nakamura put it, "somehow I thought he gave up his terrific mainland job just for the sophomores at UH. You see, I could sense that he really liked u s . . . . he used to smile at us and even said 'hello' when he saw us outside of c l a s s . . . . he treated us as though we were equally good; he asked us for our opinions, can you imagine that!" Others wrote of his extraordinary practice of inviting students to his home. Such a practice was unusual in the forties on the mainland, and largely unheard of in postwar Hawai'i. Professors were distant, formal in dress and demeanor, and reflected, if they were not attached to, the oligarchy that ruled the Islands. In a patriarchal society, the patriarchs remain remote, save under carefully prescribed circumstances. As Liz Toupin has commented, one reason for Allan's remarkable impact may have been that he was the first haole role model that many of his students had. He seemed to like them and he made himself accessible up close. For instance, the classes and other gatherings held in his tiny WaikikT apartment, or later in his barracks home, had everybody sitting elbow to elbow on the floor—a far cry from the formality of most student-professor encounters. Allan was willing to engage with students in a variety of contexts. When it appeared that Hawai'i would become the nation's forty-ninth state, he helped promote a model constitutional convention on the campus, inviting students to produce a constitution. It was a totally novel experience for them—not only because statehood was a novelty, but also because Hawai'i had had no tradition of young people contributing to serious political discussion. The story of the student constitutional convention on the University of Hawai'i campus in the spring of 1948 is told from several perspectives in this volume. Liz Toupin describes the events from the student perspective: I walked into Allan's office and said quite boldly, "I think you should run . . . and I want to be your campaign manager." Allan seemed pleased and amused. He said he would think about it. I had worked with him previously as

18

Chapter 1 we were both members of the Board of Americans for Democratic Action. I told my boss, Professor Harold Roberts, Chairman of the Economics Department, that I was going to run Allan's campaign for the Constitutional Convention. Harry then announced that he was going to run abo for one of the three delegate seats from the fourth district, and that perhaps we should have a joint campaign committee. Allan agreed. The Student Constitutional Convention Committee was composed of Ralph Miwa, Allan's graduate assistant; Daniel K. Inouye, a senior and an A]A veteran who was active in the Democratic Party; me [Liz Ahn]; and any other students who were willing to help work on this political, non-partisan campaign, to educate the fourth district. We concentrated our activities on the fourth district because we planned to run Allan and Harry as delegates from that area. It was also the district in which the University was located; decidedly Republican, and in 1948 primarily a middle class haole district. With the formation of the Students Constitutional Convention Committee, several things had occurred: the students themselves became part of the democratic process and became committed to statehood and to Jeffersonian principles. Professors Saunders and Roberts became mentors to these students, several of whom later were actually elected to write the Hawai'i State Constitution. Some of them considered Allan the Father of the Hawai'i State Constitution for his role in inspiring them to become duly elected representatives from their districts, and for the countless hours that he made himself available for consultation on every aspect of the constitution. Other faculty members were also involved, but Allan was the model. He was known for his ideals, commitment, and personal integrity. For him, the student and then the official constitutional conventions must have been like conducting a five-year seminar on the U.S. Constitution! The strategy of the SCCC was this: students would go to each house in the fourth district and ask the occupants if they knew anything about the coming constitutional convention. If they were interested, the student volunteer would engage them in brief conversation on the importance of achieving statehood by having Islanders initiate the process and present Congress with a proposed state constitution. A simple brochure outlining the statehood process and the importance of the constitutional convention was left with each household, along with a card identifying the two University of Hawai'i candidates. During the door-to-door campaign, in a small enclave of Japanese residents, an elderly Japanese woman announced cheerfully, "I'm going to vote for the two Japanese candidates, Fukunaga and Saunders." It was a story Allan never tired of telling. After much soul searching, one of the key student leaders of the volunteer group, George Akita, dropped out to run for the constitutional convention himself, hoping to become a delegate from the fifth district. Although George later blamed himself for withdrawing his help from Allan's campaign, Allan

What Makes a Man a Legend? was delighted that one of his students was sufficiently inspired to want to be part of the writing of the new state constitution. Two other things stand out. The first was a triumph. Ralph Miwa had worked very hard on the advertising and publicity on a limited budget. He had obtained some heavy silver rubberized fabric in army surplus and had carefully printed "VOTE for roberts and saunders, Constitutional Convention" and strung it across the entrance to the University on the corner of Metcalf and University Avenue, one of the main roads into Manoa Valley. Within 24 hours we were ordered by the University's Board of Regents to take the sign down. No such signs could be hung on University property. Not to be daunted, Ralph got permission to hang it across the top of College Inn, the variety store across the street on the same corner. That incident was the only act of overt disapproval by University officialdom—apart from a question raised by top administrators on our right to exist as an organization on campus. That challenge was handled by Allan and Harry. A continuing undercurrent was the "red baiting" of Allan and Marion Saunders. After Roberts and Saunders had announced their candidacy, the Republicans decided to run their strongest vote-getter, Hebden Porteus, in the general election. We were afraid this would split the Roberts-Saunders ticket. In Washington, McCarthyism was just beginning. But in Hawai'i, "red baiting" against the ILWU, or against anyone raising questions challenging the establishment, or advocating a dynamic social democracy, had been commonplace since ¡946. There were rumors, innuendoes, attacks and distortions of the liberal views of the Saunderses. Whenever rumors were expressed in the open, we could counteract them with fact. But they did not always surface in our presence. The attacks nevertheless persisted and they took a toll among the student workers who knew that in the end Porteus would be a winner and only one member of our Roberts-Saunders ticket would be elected. The students tried to rise above the rivalry, but feelings were intense. When the votes were counted, Saunders had come in third, but a close third. Then came Allan's statement, which was one of the greatest moments of the campaign. Allan announced to the student campaign workers that despite the outcome he had won; that the vote was not just disappointing but also heartening: The number of voters supporting him was sufficient to show that the red baiting tactics of the opposition had not worked. And it was this sort of victory, he insisted, that was ultimately what was most important to Hawai'i. All of us who worked on the student constitutional convention became bonded to Allan in a very special way, to his dignity and his respect for individual rights and freedom. He stressed the importance of community, and of supporting each other. But I think it was his total acceptance of who we were and most important, an inner belief of what we could become—conveyed in light but penetrating supportive remarks—that made Allan so special to all who knew him.

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The help requested of Allan for both the student and actual constitutional conventions is reflective of the assistance sought from him throughout his days in Hawai'i. Former students recall the kinds of questions and requests they brought to Allan. Louis Steed remembers coming one day with the classic query, "What is the purpose of life?" Allan's reply: "To grow." Dick Kosaki remembers: "As an undergraduate . . . I marveled at Allan's wide range of knowledge over several subjects. So I asked him for help in compiling a reading list so I too might become a 'learned' person. Allan responded in typical fashion: he promptly sat at his typewriter and pecked away till he had a list of authors and titles that covered a full page." There were 57 titles on the list (which Dick still has, having carried it in his wallet for years). The request was taken seriously, and the response was far more than the casual yield of a few minutes' time. Countless stories report Allan's willingness as both teacher and administrator to go out of his way to accommodate students. Years later, Bob Aitken could remember Professor Saunders' efforts to include him and make him welcome at the university when he returned after the war. He wrote to Allan: "Perhaps you understood that I felt lonely and excluded after almost six years of absence as a construction worker on Midway and Guam, and then as an internee in Japan. Perhaps you understood that friendly teasing and thoughtful acknowledgments of my tentative sallies would help to put me on my feet. Or perhaps you were simply treating me as you would most any undergraduate." Aitken may well have been right and he was simply being treated as Allan would respond to any student. As an administrator, also, Allan remained willing to see people as individuals, and thus to make exceptions and to waive requirements if they proved unreasonable in individual instances. Years later, his secretary Bea Sugimoto reminded Allan of "the many students who came to you at the office with sad troubled faces who after talking with you left with great big smiles." As a dean, Allan surprised a number of students with his willingness to listen and respond from reason rather than acting primarily from rules and regulations. Jim Anthony, for instance, still recalls: I had just arrived at the UH as a foreign student (from Fiji) and I needed a transfer out of an English course which I should not have been in. The deadline far transfers was over but Allan cut the bureaucratic red tape allowing me to transfer and take another course. At the stroke of his pen I was exempted from a year of Freshman English. I never forgot the gesture which was both the right thing to do and the one I least expected.

What Makes a Man a Legend?

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John Mangefel, who would later become the governor of Yap, was able to persuade Allan that for a Micronesian student interested in public life, it made more sense to take Japanese as a second language than to meet the official European language requirement. In another case, Allan upheld a returning student's plea to be exempted from the physical education requirement from which older students were freed. The delight Allan took in students often led him to undertake interventions that yielded small human triumphs. For instance, Ardith Betts remembers how Allan went to considerable lengths to subtly extract from her a record of her high school math grades, while carefully concealing that they were needed in order to consider her for early induction into Phi Beta Kappa. Allan genuinely liked people and was unfailingly courteous to them. Indeed, particularly after his hair turned white, he was often referred to as "courtly." But the dignity was disarmed by his baby-round cheeks and the characteristic twinkle in his eyes. His inescapable informality was widely recognized; as Ted Tsukiyama reported, "He never wears a tie if he can help it." Allan's receptivity to other people irrespective of their station was one mark of his Humanism. His respect for them was another. Tsukiyama also recalls that Allan found potential in people that was "indiscernible to the naked eye"—potential of which they themselves were often unaware; he then motivated them to strive for goals they thought unattainable or had not even dreamed of. As his daughter-in-law put it in a memorial poem for Allan, his insistent message was, "You can because you are." Allan's contribution to such becoming was in part inspiration and support, but sometimes it was more direct and forceful. Dan Inouye, for example, learned a powerful lesson by bearing the costs when he modestly assigned himself a grade of B upon being asked to assess his own performance. " 'If you believe you are mediocre, you will be mediocre,'" replied Allan. " 'You deserve an A, but I will give you a B.'" Senator Inouye has not forgotten. Years later he wrote, "the students whose l i v e s . . . [Allan].. . touched gained a sense of worth, and ambitions consonant with that sense of worth." Stanley Kim remembers that after graduating "I spent most of my time on the beach, surfing and canoeing.... One afternoon, Allan and Marion located me . . . [on the sand at Waikikl]... and Allan confronted me with . . . 'That's enough playing Stanley, you're going back to school.' And he handed me an application for the John Hay Whitney Opportunity Fellowship Program." Kim was awarded the fellowship, eventually earning a master's degree, and then a doctorate from Ohio State. "With that one act," he says, "Allan changed the direction of my life."

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Thus the commitment to principle, which might just be fear-inspiring to many, was offset by Allan's Humanism and personal warmth—and the gentle humor with which he conveyed them. Students loved him. A poll of one senior class named him the most liked professor,8 and he once reported at the beginning of a new semester that in two of his four classes the rooms were "filled to the windows." And graduates remembered him. As university vice-president Willard Wilson put it, " I f . . . a professor's major reward lies in the appreciative regard in which he is held by his former students,... you are a rich man." Many of his students became close family friends; others remained in touch across the miles—some for 50 years or more. Wrote colleague Professor Tom Murphy: "I've always marveled at the rapport between A1 and his former students. One doubts that many faculty have had such a close bond." Whether a matter of the need of Patsy Mink (then Patsy Takemoto) for help with a report on Hawaiian politics at her new school, Wilson College in Pennsylvania, or help with more personal matters, he unfailingly responded. In fact, he seems to have been the one to sustain some of these connections, in part with numerous short notes about particular accomplishments. His interest did not wane with their graduation, and he remained accessible for as long as a former student wanted to sustain the connection. One remarkable story, which began early in Allan's career and culminated 60 years later when he was bedridden, suggests the sort of associations he maintained and the kind of help he was willing to extend. Frank Bourgin was an undergraduate student whom Allan taught at the University of Minnesota. Allan inspired the young student to pursue graduate study in political science, and Frank followed him to Scripps College, where Allan helped him obtain a scholarship and where Bourgin was awarded his master's degree. He then went on to the University of Chicago for doctoral study in political science, and in the winter of 1944 Bourgin completed his dissertation. Unfortunately, however, by the time his study was finished, his adviser had retired. The new department chairman was both critical of and evasive about the work. Bourgin had dared to offer a new and startling interpretation of the economic orientation of the nation's Founding Fathers, and the chairman found it so far off the beaten track that Bourgin was not even allowed to defend his ideas at an oral examination. Instead, he was told vaguely that his study needed a great deal more work and he would thus need to return to the university, probably for another year of study and effort. With a wife and new baby to support, Bourgin could not afford such a luxury. With great disappointment and sorrow, he abandoned hope of an academic career and eventually made a success in the clothing business.

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Bourgin continued over the years, however, to correspond with Allan Saunders, who had commiserated with him over the fate of his doctoral work. About two years before Allan died, he read Arthur Schlesinger's Cycles of American History and realized that the new book was reminiscent and supportive of what Bourgin had written more than forty years earlier. Allan wrote to Frank immediately, suggesting that he contact Schlesinger. Bourgin did so, sending a summary of his work. On the basis of that statement, Schlesinger contacted the Political Science Department at the University of Chicago stating that a great injustice had been done. At Schlesinger's insistence, the 45-year-old dissertation was resubmitted, and this time victoriously defended. Bourgin—now seventy-seven years old and wheelchair bound—was presented his doctorate and hooded by Chicago's President Hannah Gray in June of 1988. His study was accepted for immediate publication by a respected scholarly press and was later reprinted.9 Allan delighted at Bourgin's triumph and shared his joy—and he also made clear his distinct pleasure in the humbling of an eminent institution by a lone individual. Without the mentor who initially inspired graduate study—and then, almost five decades later, had happened to read a particular book and to act on the recollections it prompted—the happy ending seems more than improbable. As Dr. Bourgin expressed it afterward, "you see what I owe to Allan, that at both ends of my life, at ages 18 and at 77, he made the difference."

Liberalism Plus Civic Obligation In addition to his commitment to principle, and his Humanistic regard, a third quality Allan Saunders consistently personified was civic responsibility. Both his political convictions and his sense of community required it. For a Jeffersonian Democrat, the polis can never be safe unless its citizens remain alert. "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," Jefferson had said. Thus, citizens have the obligation to keep themselves informed and to speak out when official acts and directions need correcting. The right to dissent is vital to freedom. It is the ultimate test of minority rights. But it is also an important service to us all, provided by the dissenters. "Our whole system of government... relies upon dissent to protect us from tyranny and to maintain options for the future," said Allan. 10 Dissent is thus "an essential instrument in the maintenance of the good life" and the responsibility of all. Sometimes the two concerns, individual and collectivity, were intertwined and it was difficult to tell which was uppermost. Allan was once

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dubbed "Mr. Civil Liberties of Hawai'i," with his courageous "aloha shirts" stand cited as testimony. On April 1, 1949, no less a figure than the president of the university, Gregg Sinclair, had sent Allan a memo saying, "I think I should pass on to you the fact that a great number of people have spoken to me of the informality of your dress, and have stated that a professor in the University should present a dignified appearance at least on all official occasions. This, I would assume, would include his appearance before his students, his appearance before any groups as a speaker; in fact, his appearance during the working hours of the day." Allan's sartorial customs proceeded undisturbed. But it is by no means clear whether he saw his stand primarily as a matter of personal freedom or whether its primary meaning for him was something rather different. Colleague Norm Meller thought it may have been: He challenged the dress requirements then observed on the Manoa campus, appreciating that the Aloha shirt was more attuned to Island life. Superficially this objection seems aimed at the personal comfort of the wearer . . . but there was far more at stake. At that time, the class lines drawn in Hawai'i differentiated the shirt wearer, complete with tie and . . . suit coat, from those in Island garb, the Aloha shirt. AI Saunders recognized that a dysfunctional symbolism was being flaunted, setting teacher apart from a student body mainly drawn from the Aloha shirt stratum of Hawai'i's people. As such the University dress code ran counter to his value premises as well as raised a hindrance to establishing the rapport necessary to accomplish the University's educational mission. Was he, then, defending private freedom and prerogative? Was he trying to eliminate some of the most visible symbols of class difference and status? Was he, as Liz Toupin suggested, trying to teach that the respect due individuals had little to do with the way they chose to dress? Was his intent primarily one of closing the distance between student and teacher? Whatever may have been uppermost for him in this instance, it seems clear that to Allan, the individual's civic obligation extended well beyond the responsibility to examine public questions and take issue with public decisions when indicated. It extended also to helping create, build, and sustain the public space. We are obligated to participate actively in community affairs. We are each responsible for enhancing the quality of the world we share. These two sorts of civic obligation—community enhancement as well as dissent—loomed large in Allan's scheme of things and directed much of his own activity. His belief in the need for an informed citizenry helps explain his role in the founding of the League of Women Voters, an organization whose main

What Makes a Man a Legend?

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function is to contribute to keeping the public informed. Allan's insistence on individual rights certainly figured prominently if not exclusively in the aloha shirt rebellion, and his reverence for dissent as both right and obligation led to his determination to launch an ACLU chapter in Hawai'i. A similar thread is visible in his campus activity. As we saw earlier, Allan was early elected to the University Senate and remained a leader there. He helped the student constitutional convention committee, and he lent strong support to a campus chapter of Americans for Democratic Action, in preference to the more radical Students for a Democratic Society. In the community at large, he helped revise Hawai'i's antiquated penal code, and he served on the Ethics Commission's panel to formulate guidelines for the conduct of officials. The penal code project alone demanded far more effort than most are prepared to contribute outside their own institutions or occupations. It met twice monthly for almost three years. But Allan also created less formal ways to enhance a sense of community in Hawai'i. One way in which community is built, say sociologists, is through the identification, acknowledgment, and rewarding of local heroes —of those who make contributions to their fellows. Over a ten-year period, Allan participated in a "conspiracy" to do just that, in conjunction with a former student, Paul Yamanaka. Paul was the curator of the Queen Kapi'olani Rose Garden, and the two men conspired to put the garden's beautiful yield to double use. Each week for more than a decade, they semisecretly awarded a Bucket of Roses to an individual they designated "Citizen of the Week." Paul would deliver the award to the lucky winner, and anyone who inquired about the auspices of such recognition was told only that he or she had been nominated by Allan Saunders. Allan never accompanied Paul and it was never revealed that he was an accomplice. Paul told this story of one such award: The ruling board of St. Christopher Episcopal Church in Kailua had had enough of their drunken padre. They had been carrying him for several years but finally gave up in disgust. They convened a final meeting on a Friday at noon to confront him and deliver the pink slip. All were shaken, nervous and anxious to get it over with and the pastor gone. As the board members gathered for the meeting, however, along came the curator of the Queen Kapiolani Rose Garden, bearing a bucket brimming with roses. Since he did not know the recipient he had to inquire and be directed to him as he stood at the edge of the gathering. Approaching the solitary figure, Paul intoned his customary announcement: "I am the curator of the Queen Kapiolani Rose Garden. Each week we give a bucket full of roses to the outstanding citizen of the week. This week you are the one. Congratulations!" In the wake of that sort of develop-

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Chapter 1 ment, the board couldn't bring itself to follow through; and for reasons never made explicit, it gave up the plan for firing the errant padre. He was Father Claude DuTeil, who went on to become one of the holy men of Hawai'i by founding the Institute of Human Services, a home for the homeless.

Personal Style As the preceding pages attest, Allan displayed a number of memorable traits, and those who came in contact with him recall them with remarkable similarity. Many note the man's moral courage and fearlessness. He not only had, and projected, a strong ethical commitment and a great deal of integrity, but it was mellowed by a prominent sense of humor. His personal style manifested charm, gentleness, kindness, and a genuine interest in others. He gave a person the sense that he was completely engrossed in what he or she was saying, recalls Esther Arinaga. Two years after a visit to Hawai'i, Arlena Jung, the teenage daughter of family friends, remembered just two things about the Islands: a black sand beach, and talking with Allan. He "treated me with respect and took me seriously. I remember how happy I was that somebody as smart as . . . [he] would want to hear what I have to say. It made me feel special and important." As succeeding pages show, Allan Saunders made a lot of people feel special and important. And he did so in ways that were both graceful and distinctive. These traits became part of the legend—as much so as what he sought, what he stood for, and what he accomplished for the Islands.

2.

The Man and the Context Frank T. Inouye

stepped off a hospital ship gangplank at Pearl Harbor in late September of 1945, he had already spent half of his adult life teaching at various mainland colleges and universities. A t forty-eight, he was at the height of his physical and intellectual powers, and his basic attitudes, beliefs, and convictions had been shaped and defined. Although he was not aware of it then, Hawai'i would be his last and permanent home.

WHEN A L L A N SAUNDERS

In appearance, he was above average height, of slender build, with a small mustache adorning his upper lip. His most striking facial feature was his eyes: bright blue and alive with intelligence. He carried himself well and stood erect. There was a reserve in his mien, an almost apologetic reticence, which was mirrored in his manner of speaking. When addressed, he would hesitate for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, and then would cough or clear his throat before responding. But his speech was always thoughtful, delivered in a clear and deliberate fashion, and rarely directed toward a simple affirmative or negative. His tone was courteous, even reserved, and while his manner did not invite casual conversation, neither did he reject being approached by anyone, whether colleague or mediocre student. He was what he appeared to be, an intellectual to the core, with an academic's manner of speech and thought, even appearance and bearing: open, frank, erudite, intellectually curious, but with attitudes and convictions born of two decades of teaching, reading, and reflection. A n d like many men of intellect, he was modest but not humble. He was also graced with patience: impatience was as foreign to his nature as open anger was. His patience, combined with an equanimity immediately apparent to anyone who met him, reflected an emotional stability manifested in a temperament avoiding outward expression of depression or

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Chapter 2

high elation. Gracious in defeat, he was modest in success. He was a man comfortable with others because he was comfortable with himself. If one trait characterized Allan Saunders, it was his quick, broad intelligence. His mind was like a well-organized file cabinet in which a prodigious amount of literary information had been neatly stored. He had in the three years preceding his arrival in Hawai'i read 366 volumes of history, political science, philosophy, geography, and classical fiction. And over the next 40 years, he would read another 1,610 volumes.1 The surprising fact was not that he read so much and so widely, but that he could recall, within a relatively short period of time, important parts of almost everything he had read. He seemed to be blessed with almost total recall. For a college professor this was an enormous asset. Yet, unlike many other academicians, he rarely volunteered this knowledge unless there was an appropriate use for it. One might wonder why, given these gifts of nature, Allan never ventured into the realm of academic research. His lengthy teaching career, spanning almost 50 years, and his love of reading made him a natural candidate for writing. He had, however, very early in his academic years decided that he would teach but not write. In a landmark letter to future colleague Gilbert Lentz, he wrote: "I love teaching and am not actively interested in that sort of 'research' that leads to publication. I have found that the stimuli of student and colleague are sufficient to prevent dry-rot."2 Much later, he confessed to a close friend that "writing is worse than wisdom-tooth extraction for me."3 Why did Allan Saunders, essentially a New Englander by temperament and upbringing, select Hawai'i for his permanent home? Was he, like the eighteenth-century New England clergymen who ventured into the Pacific to save the souls of the Hawaiians, drawn to the Islands by a similar (educational) mission? Or had he sensed an opportunity to "make a difference," to spread his academic wings in the limited confines of the Territory of Hawai'i? Or was it the lure of the tropics, that magic combination of warmth, hospitality, and "native" living that had earlier drawn Robert Louis Stevenson, Herman Melville, Jack London, and others to the shores of Waiklkl? One reason that Allan came to Hawai'i may well be that he had tired of moving from one academic institution to another across the country. He confessed in a letter seeking employment that "I am interested in locating in a community into which I can push my roots with comfort and happiness. Since 1940 I have been an academic transient and I have had enough of the (real) satisfaction of sipping: I want to drink deep and to

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stretch in economic security."4 But Allan was also intrigued by Hawai'i's multicultural environment. Such a society, he wrote, posed a hope for "Man's chances for peace and prosperity in o u r . . . One World."5 The Hawai'i of 1945 Unbeknownst to Allan, Hawai'i in 1945 was just emerging from a prolonged state of wartime martial law. It was still, to all intents and purposes, a colonial plantation economy controlled by a coalition of inter-related companies collectively labeled the "Big Five." Their wartime ally, the U.S. military, was also at the time a significant conservative force in the community. The Territory's political climate was as conservative as the outlook of the plantation and major business owners. Governors of Hawai'i were selected by the U.S. president; they were generally pro-business, and, during the war, pro-military regardless of party. Even the administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt, noted for its liberal economic policies, had little effect upon the monopolistic control of the islands by big business. The conservative Republican Party dominated the Territorial Legislature. For example, in 1945, in the 30-member House of Representatives, 21 were Republican, with only nine Democrats.6 In the fifteen-member Senate, eight were Republicans and seven were Democrats. This preponderance of Republicans was not to be altered until the election of 1954, when the Democrats, led by a coterie of young Nisei war veterans, swept into power. The Republican Party in Hawai'i was also the white man's party. It was controlled by business interests, through white pro-business legislators and a few "token" non-Caucasians. Any legislation adversely affecting those interests that managed to pass the legislative body faced the governor's assured veto. Political opposition to Republican rule was virtually nonexistent. The large population of Orientals, mostly of Japanese descent, constituted roughly 40 percent of the Territory's 500,000 population: however, the older Japanese could not vote, by virtue of their lack of citizenship, and their children had been raised, for the most part, on sugar plantations, where any vocal expression of opposition to the established (white) order was quickly suppressed. To all intents and purposes, Hawai'i was a colonial possession of the United States, held in thrall to a plantation system that monopolized its economy, its politics, and even its social life. The obvious comparison to pre-Civil War Southern plantations was inescapable.

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Nevertheless, by 1945 there were growing threats to the business interests' long-held monopoly on economic and political power. A militant labor movement, headed by imported mainland talent, was eager to test its strength on the waterfront and on the plantations, and even on the political front against the entrenched establishment. Led by tough, dedicated, far-sighted, and realistic men like Jack Hall and Arthur Rutledge, the International Longshoremen's and Warehousemen's Union (ILWU) and the American Federation of Labor (AFL) were able to invoke the National Labor Relations Act of 1936 to their advantage. Their basic weapons were the right to organize under that law, and the right to strike. Although these two powerful unions were mortal enemies of one another, they shared a common goal—to control the Territory's economy. Hall's ILWU even sought for a time to take over the minority Democratic Party. In the contest for ultimate economic and political power in Hawai'i, there was no room for dilettantes or academic theoreticians on either side. Both sides developed and supported effective financial and economic institutions. Business relied upon its Hawai'i Employers Council to counter union demands for higher wages and better working conditions, and upon an ultra-conservative community organization called the Hawai'i Residents Association, or IMUA (Hawaiian for "forward"). These two groups voiced conservative interests while waging open warfare in the captive press and radio against "Communist" influences. The extended crusade against labor unions had actually begun in the 1920s and peaked during the postwar years. The ILWU countered, in 1946, with a novel but effective political action committee (PAC), whose avowed purpose was to help elect as many pro-union Democrats to office as possible, to ensure favorable legislation. It was into this struggle for control over the destiny of Hawai'i that Allan Saunders stepped—this transplanted mainlander with a penchant for classroom teaching and a love of controversy. He became a brilliant participant and leader, inextricably involved in a contest with the forces of ultraconservatism, injustice, discrimination, corruption, and intolerance that would occupy much of his attention for the remaining years of his life. The cauldron began to seethe from his first years here. As Liz Toupin tells it, "In J 948 Hawaii was truly at a crossroads. The Hawaiian economic and political system was a powerful oligarchy as described by Dr. James Shoemaker in his ¡947 Report to the Department of Labor. Hence, it was not surprising that it took a team of militant outsiders to mold Hawaiian labor into a single labor union. In two years, 1945-47, Hawaii moved from the least labororganized sector of the U.S. economy to the most highly organized. All of its

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three basic industries, pineapple, sugar, and shipping, were organized by one union, ILWU. At the time, the ILWU was renowned for its left wing politics. Its influence extended well beyond the economic arena, and its political impact was felt throughout the Islands. The 1947 Longshoremen's strike was a turning point for both labor and management since it forced both to acknowledge that neither could cancel out the economic and political influence of the other. However, the power wielded by the ILWU and the Big Five left the average islander very wary. While he was unwilling to trust the "benevolence" of the old order, the new power broker—organized labor—was also suspect. Did union officials really hold the well-being and future of all the people of Hawaii as their primary goal? The election in 1946 of the slate of Democrats endorsed by the ILWU and the anti-communist crusade of Governor [Ingram FJ Stainback in 1947 raised the level of political consciousness, anxiety and skepticism throughout the Islands. The postwar period also marked an end to the plantation mentality and the myth of Hawaii as the "melting pot." While inter-racial marriage rates continued to move upward, it was clear that the Islands' population majority, Asian Americans, had never been treated as equals economically. Most had been farm workers. Given wartipie labor shortages, however, a few had managed to move to positions as bank tellers and payroll clerks in the pineapple canneries, first tentative steps into the middle class. After the war ended, the issue was how to avoid and resist any move for Hawaii to return to that paternalistic, not-so-benevolent prewar society. The challenge was how to move forward without jeopardizing one's newly won middle class status in a tightly organized, geographically isolated, social-economic island community. The Islands' community leaders of the past were already outmoded, but the new forces, AJA [Americans of Japanese ancestry] leaders, were not yet in place. Hence, while many were ready for change, few were willing or able to initiate the many processes necessary to transforming a highly authoritarian, controlled economy and society into an egalitarian one. For generations, Islanders had learned through their own Eastern cultures, and from talk stories, of the importance of not "making waves" and of not being identified as a "trouble maker"—whether one's role was as labor organizer or as high school teacher of American history.

The University of Hawai'i in 1945 Yet if Hawai'i was experiencing economic and political turmoil during the postwar years, its intellectual condition, as represented by its only university, was somnolent, even lethargic. T h e University of Hawai'i had been founded in 1907. In 1942 its president was Gregg M. Sinclair, who was to hold that position for twelve

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years, the second-longest tenure of all twentieth-century presidents of that institution. His term coincided, incidentally, almost completely with that of Territorial Governor Ingram Stainback. In 1945, the university's student enrollment was 3,553, 60 percent, or 2,142, of whom were day (nonboarding) students.7 Correspondence and adult education students increased the total to 5,515. The maximum capacity of the school, according to Sinclair's analysis, was 3,500 full-time students. He expected the university to reach that number by 1948. By mainland standards, the University of Hawai'i was a rather small institution. Its daytime enrollment was equivalent to a medium-sized Los Angeles high school, and it was dwarfed by state universities up and down the Pacific coast. Its primary purpose seemed to be to furnish qualified teachers for its far-flung public educational system, covering the four main islands, and to provide agricultural extension services through a network of stations and farm experts. To these basic functions a generous layer of liberal arts courses was added, with some emphasis given to science and business. Although modest in size and achievements, the university held a unique place in the affections of the local non-white populace. To the thousands of children of imported Asian plantation workers, for example, it provided the only visible escape from the drudgery of stoop labor or from only slightly less distasteful work in the pineapple canneries. They and their parents lived in primitive plantation housing, toiling under the hot tropical sun for low wages and minimal amenities, under the constant supervision of hated "lunas" (foremen) on horseback. They were sustained by their belief that with education they could break their almost feudal links to the plantation system. Education fit with the Asian immigrant ethos, in which it was a preferred means of advancement. However, in the 1930s and early 1940s, opportunities for these children of immigrant laborers to attend the University of Hawai'i were limited at best. Even for Orientals of urban Honolulu who had left the plantations and established themselves as small entrepreneurs, and whose children attended public high schools like McKinley, it was not always a simple matter to gain admission to the Manoa campus. Special requirements in basic English, written and oral, were imposed by the University, favoring students who had attended "English Standard" public schools.8 Even the presence of sympathetic principals like Miles Cary of McKinley High School could not entirely erase these barriers. According to the university Bulletin, as late as 1939 only 16.7 percent of Hawai'i's high school graduates enrolled in the University of Hawai'i.

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For prospective college students on the Neighbor Islands in the prewar days, enrollment at the university was even more challenging. Inter-island transportation before the outbreak of war in December of 1941 was limited to slow Matson freighters such as the Humu'ula, which could take a full day to reach Honolulu from Maui, and longer from Hawai'i. Economical air transportation did not become available until after Pearl Harbor, when shipping in Hawaiian waters was curtailed. Then there was the matter of housing in Honolulu. Campus facilities for boarding off-island students were limited at best; even housing for faculty members was limited. And although tuition costs were not exorbitant, they were problematic for plantation families. Nonetheless, the drive to succeed and to escape plantation life fueled the dreams of the imin (Japanese immigrants) and their nisei (second-generation) children. To them, the University of Hawai'i was the gateway to success, wealth, prestige, and honor. In 1945 the university administration, from president down to department heads, was completely Caucasian. In fact, out of 150 faculty members listed in the university Bulletin that year, only eighteen were nonCaucasians, sixteen of them Asians and two Hawaiians. As might be expected, Asians were concentrated in two fields, Asian Studies and Agricultural Extension Services. T h e student enrollment, on the other hand, was predominantly Asian, with the nisei students in the majority. For example, of the 126 degrees awarded in 1945 in Science and Education, 108, or 86 percent, went to graduates of Japanese extraction. So dominant in number were they that the institution was referred to by local Caucasian residents as "Tokyo University," just as McKinley High School in Honolulu had come to be called "Tokyo High." Caucasian students of college age were sent off to mainland colleges and universities, with the result that the Islands boasted a surprising number of graduates of prestigious (and not so prestigious) schools. And because the University of Hawai'i did not then provide preparation in law, medicine, and other professions, it was necessary for local students to seek this instruction on the mainland. In 1945, prior to Allan's arrival, the Department of Government offered only six upper and lower-division courses, which were taught by four parttime professors. One was Paul Bachman, the dean of Faculties. Another was Karl C. Leebrick, the university vice-president and veteran's adviser. T h e others were Charles Hunter, a historian, and Gilbert G . Lentz, the director of the Legislative Reference Bureau at the Territorial Legislature, and a professor of Administration. It was to Lentz that Allan Saunders

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wrote, following his appointment, about his qualities as a teacher and his expectations. The University of Hawai'i, isolated physically and intellectually, was hardly a beehive of academic scholarship when Allan joined its faculty, except in a few areas directly related to the Territory's populace, among them Sociology, Anthropology, and Pacific Studies. Despite President Sinclair's avowed objective of turning the school into a major center of Asian Studies, that specialty could claim few known scholars or teachers. Realistically, the opportunities for research were limited; archival and other research depositories were almost nonexistent, and the university library was limited in scope and depth. Consequently, at the University of Hawai'i, unlike most mainland institutions, research was not considered the prime requisite for professors, and thus Allan could be hired, even while stating in his correspondence with the university that he was not research oriented. Like the community, the university faculty was heavily conservative, according to at least one professor who taught during those postwar years.9 Their conservatism seemed to coincide with the general outlook of the student body, whose largely Asian upbringing had stressed conformity, obedience, respect for those in authority, and general passivity—even docility of demeanor, especially toward teachers. Allan himself was to complain that the students were generally Republican and shamelessly conformist. 10 Even the postwar flood of returning veterans to the university did not fundamentally change the campus environment, except to raise the average age and experience levels of the student body. One prominent alumnus of those days, Ted Tsukiyama, remembers that "most of the veterans [were] sitting under the trees telling war stories."11 A general complacency seemed to mark the attitude of professors toward their student charges, and vice versa. After class lectures, professors simply disappeared into their offices, and the students dutifully closed their notebooks and hied themselves to their next class or wandered down to Hemenway Hall, their social gathering place, or to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. The university was unusual in its lack of national fraternities or sororities. Most of the students commuted to campus from their homes or boarding places by bus or on foot, and campus dormitories were limited to students from the Neighbor Islands. The lack of an organized campus life affected the way students regarded their professors and classes; their classes appeared to continue the high school regimen in which teachers did the talking and pupils took notes or just listened. In short, genuine professorstudent contact on the Manoa campus was virtually nonexistent, both within and without the classroom. With few exceptions, neither group met

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socially with the other, although some informal mixing could occur accidentally in the school cafeteria. Each group respected its own self-imposed boundaries, much like the plantation system in which workers and managers lived separate (and unequal) existences. In their attire, too, university professors and administrators reflected the innate conservatism of the community's leaders. A n unwritten rule governed what male teachers and administrators wore on campus. It called for full-length trousers, a suit coat, a necktie, and a long-sleeved shirt. This dress code was followed in all territorial offices as well; a directive from Governor Samuel King had banned aloha shirts for such workers as "not business like."12 The mayor of Honolulu, on the other hand, was quoted as remarking that "City Hall employees could wear breechcloths if they want to, so far as I'm concerned. We all work better when we're comfortable." 13 Unfortunately, this liberal and sensible attitude did not extend into the business offices in town, nor onto the Manoa campus—that is, until Allan Saunders took it upon himself to challenge the university's dress code. It was a challenge that came courageously early in his career in Hawai'i.

3.

Professor and Citizen Frank T. Inouye

The Early Days of Allan Saunders' first days in Hawai'i—of his arrival, or finding a place to stay, or of his earliest classes or reactions to his students. The available evidence does suggest, however, that his reactions were strongly positive and that his new situation prompted him to reach important decisions. He evidently concluded within two weeks of his arrival that Hawai'i was the place he wanted to stay. He had finally found a permanent campus home. And with that decision, he launched a campaign for Marion Hollenbach to join him here as his wife. FEW RECORDS REMAIN

The two had met when Marion was a WAVE1 officer stationed in Northampton, Massachusetts. She was teaching Naval officer candidates about war developments and Naval history, and Allan was teaching Army officers at Amherst. Marion had grown up in Michigan, the daughter of a high school principal who instilled in her a lively curiosity and an insatiable thirst for learning. Her father died suddenly when she was sixteen, so after finishing high school she went to work as a secretary, carefully saving money to attend college. After her savings account was lost in a Depression bank failure, her brother, several years her senior, helped finance her college education. She chose the University of New Mexico and graduated in 1935. Afterward she located in California, and earned a master's degree while working as a museum curator. In 1942 she joined the WAVEs. Marion had been an avid student, and she became a committed anthropologist and an enthusiastic traveler, whether alone or with companions. Friends and family wondered whether the independent young lady would find military life tolerable, but evidently she did. She and Allan began seeing a lot of one another in Northampton and kept in touch by mail after

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she was sent to Key West a year before the war ended. Several months later, she was assigned to California, where the correspondence with Allan continued. He had meanwhile come to Hawai'i in late summer 1945, and by fall Marion realized he would be staying. He was urging her to join him, which she did in March 1946. They were married in Honolulu a week later.

The Aloha Shirt Revolution Despite these decisions and changes in his personal life, in 1946 Allan launched a campaign that under the circumstances can be judged either foolhardy or highly courageous; it would come to be known as the "Aloha Shirt Uprising" (or "Revolution"). He found it strange that in this lovely tropical land of sun and warmth, men were expected to dress as though they were walking on Wall Street in the fall. Within a semester, he moved to do something about it. Some faculty members chafed, quite literally, at the unwritten but accepted tradition of coats and ties on campus, summer as well as winter. But it remained for Allan Saunders, the self-styled rebel, who virtually from the outset of his tenure ignored that archaic policy, to lead a successful revolt against the traditional dress code. In 1946, along with four other professors, he formed an informal club called "Faculty Wearers of Aloha Shirts." The names of those four allies deserve immortality, because, like Allan, they risked considerable public and campus censure for flouting the conventional, conservative male dress code. They included Leonard Mason, an anthropologist, Roderic Hearn, a graduate assistant in Government, Arthur Marder, a historian, and Ralph Hoeber, an economist. Initially this group wore comfortable, colorful, cotton short-sleeved shirts, like those worn principally by tourists, who found their colorful designs and loose fit uniquely "Hawaiian." It was de rigueur, however, to tuck the shirt tails in. But the Manoa dissidents considered even that concession to public mores an infringement on their freedom of expression, and three members (Saunders, Marder, and Joseph F. Maguire, a professor of Classic Studies newly added to the club) took to wearing their shirttails out—whereupon Allan revised the club's name to "Faculty Wearers of Aloha Shirts, Tails Out," or FWASTO. Allan then issued membership cards to the brave dissenters. The daily newspapers took prompt note of this bold departure and identified the brave trio, who, they reported, were "seen on the campus every day with colorful shirttails flying."2 During this shirttail flap on campus, territorial employees were still

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hostage to Governor Samuel King's ban on aloha shirts; among university administrators only one male—Karl C. Leebrick, vice-president—donned short-sleeved shirts. He wore them only when President Gregg Sinclair was on the mainland, however. Nor did Leebrick qualify for membership in FWASTO, because his shirts were a conservative white, and the shirttail was always carefully tucked in. The Aloha Shirt Revolution caught the imagination of the general community, the university students, and the campus faculty in a way that even Allan Saunders could not have predicted. His purpose in wearing aloha shirts on campus, he said at the time, was not directed against the Manoa dress code so much as intended "to encourage faculty to abandon self-imposed restrictions on sartorial wear."3 Years later, Allan would continue his campaign against restrictive and conservative dress, turning his sights on student campus leaders when they sought to impose dress standards. He attacked a Ka Leo O Hawed'i (student newspaper) editorial that equated clothing and grooming as important social and economic attributes, declaring that "colleges in America did not exist for social climbers nor to foster conformity, nor to ape the 'manners and outward appearance' of any particular class." He asserted that college is instead concerned with man's "inner clothing, with his knowledge and wisdom and spirit."4 As faculty members joined the cause, the university president also entered the scene. As earlier noted, in a memorandum addressed to the new professor, Sinclair pointed out that "a great number of people have spoken to me of the informality of your dress, and have stated that a professor in the University should present a dignified appearance at least on all official occasions." The memo ended on a semi-conciliatory tone, stating that "this [is] not an order, but solely... a suggestion that may improve the public relations of the University."5 A true rebel might have ignored Sinclair's memo, but Allan recognized that his campus role somewhat circumscribed his freedom to dress as he pleased off-campus, just as it circumscribed his public utterances. Thus, as late as 1948 and 1949, he was observed wearing a suit and tie at various university functions, and he even wore a suit while campaigning for a delegate's seat for the Territorial Constitutional Convention. Nevertheless, Allan's customary appearance without coat or tie was regarded as a significant step in breaking the grip of conservatism on the Manoa campus. Years later I suggested tongue-in-cheek that that act dramatically exposed a basic fault in the gestalt of Hawaiian life—its slavish adherence to missionary-type lifestyles and plantation-like mentality. Allan's

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donning of the aloha shirt effectively stripped away the scales that covered this community's eyes and prevented them from seeing a society living in the past. He was saying, in effect: "Be free of your preconceptions and your acceptance of the status quo." Allan had wrought... a major breach in the university's establishment. He had used a major weapon, called Reason, to dismantle a rigid, almost tyrannical, outdated, and semi-feudal academic institution, preparing it for a modern role in a modem 50th State.6

A department colleague, Norm Meller, looking back on that episode, declared that Allan had been responsible for creating on the Manoa campus a "classless society, as measured by dress," and that subsequently only the better quality of the cars driven by students distinguished them from the faculty. One is tempted to ask how long the rigid dress code of the university would have lasted without Allan Saunders? Probably for at least as long as Governor King's edict banning aloha shirts was in effect. But by 1953, the University of Hawai'i campus resembled in dress a floral garden of brilliant colors, worn by "free" faculty members. And with the departure of President Sinclair in 1955, the last bastion against aloha shirts on campus —the university administration—fell. Allan's Aloha Shirt Uprising was at last over and won. Historically it might not rival the Boston Tea Party, but on the Manoa campus it has long been regarded as a major Saunders gift to posterity.

Department Chairman of Government W h e n Allan Saunders was hired by the University of Hawai'i in 1945, he was the only full-time professor in the Department of History and Government whose teaching was limited to Government courses. With his addition it became possible to expand those offerings. Of equal import, however, was President Sinclair's decision in 1946 to make Allan chairman of a separate Department of Government. Considering that his "department" consisted only of himself and three part-time instructors, that designation could hardly have been deemed of major significance in the university's development. It was university policy to appoint department heads to three-year terms, possibly on the theory that longer tenures would create academic fiefdoms more attuned to the chairmen than to the overall benefit of the department or its students. Thus, Allan would serve from 1946 to 1949. His selection as department chairman was, in retrospect, an inspired if inevitable choice. He had the temperament, stability, and judgment to handle the multiple tasks required of an effective chairman. More impor-

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tant, he had a clear vision of the kind of department he wanted, and of the faculty members needed to man it. Allan discovered that the chairman even of a small department had a variety of responsibilities, not the least of which was the care and coddling of his faculty charges. Since a university is in the final analysis a peculiarly decentralized institution in which each instructor may be free to handle his courses as he sees fit, the reality of academic freedom is self-evident. Even colleagues may have little idea of what is occurring in an instructor's classroom. Consequently, the possibility arises for university instructors to develop good-sized egos. In 1946 the University of Hawai'i's relatively small size allowed an informality of departmental management in which monitoring of course syllabi and observations of the teaching of untenured professors were almost totally absent. Certainly, such "top-down" administrative features were anathema to Allan's nature. Thus, maintaining a balance between the narrow perspectives of the instructors and the somewhat broader requirements of the department, without disrupting either, called for the chairman to exercise tact and diplomacy without forfeiting his long-range objectives. In this respect Allan was superbly qualified by personality, temperament, and judgment. From long exposure to academic politics, Allan quickly established the guidelines that would govern his chairmanship. First and foremost, he would seek to attract young, teaching-oriented instructors who would fit into the cosmopolitan environment of the Manoa campus. Nonetheless, his first appointment, Edmund Spellacy, showed little interest in teaching introductory courses; his reserved, even aloof, manner was hardly in keeping with Allan's own personal and academic guidelines. Within the next five years, however, largely through Allan's influence, the department added three young and competent instructors: Norman Meller (with a joint appointment as head of the Legislative Reference Bureau) in 1947; Robert Stauffer in 1950; and Daniel Tuttle (also from the LRB) in 1951. All three were outstanding teachers, and Meller proved to be an incipient scholar as well. In addition to recruiting faculty members, Allan was also responsible in 1947 for hiring the first of a series of young graduate assistants, mostly Nisei. The first of these, Frank Inouye (this writer), who came with a master's degree in History from a mainland university, was hired after being rejected for employment by the Department of History's Charles Hunter, primarily because of his racial ancestry. W h e n he then inquired at the Government Department office whether an opening was available, Allan promptly hired him, thus breaking the established "color

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line" at the university for subjects considered too sensitive for Asians to teach. The graduate assistants, or teaching assistants (TAs), were utilized mostly to handle sections of the required Government 150 course. In that course, a professor would lecture to a large number of students in Crawford Hall and the assistants would later meet with smaller groups to go over the materials covered and to lead discussions on related subjects. It was a good apprentice system for developing future college instructors, and Allan's choices invariably went on to become such. Allan's insistence upon competent teaching over scholarly production, coupled with his own teaching prowess and high expectations of his students, quickly led to the Department of Government's spreading reputation on the campus as one of the best in the university. This reputation, richly deserved, emanated from Allan's growing repute and acknowledged leadership; long after his chairmanship ended, the Department of Government was still known as "Allan's department." As department chairman, Allan had numerous mundane responsibilities. They included administrative matters, including reports to his superior, the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences (then Thayne M. Livesay). These reports required the compilation and analysis of data on course enrollment, faculty teaching loads, proposed courses, and the like. In addition, he was also responsible for corresponding with mainland schools and for maintaining relationships with other university departments on the Manoa campus. Eventually an increasing number of former students migrated overseas for advanced professional degrees, and many of them sought his recommendation for entrance, scholarships, or even employment. Through his wide circle of mainland academic acquaintances, Allan was able to open doors and purses for a large number of these Hawai'i expatriates. His letters doubtless made the difference between acceptance and rejection, between being hired and not, and no letter requesting his assistance or advice went unanswered. In this latter activity, Allan revealed another quality that made him a strong administrator: his meticulous responsiveness to letters, memos, and notes, from whatever source. His files kept over the years reveal that he was a diligent, even obsessive, correspondent—perhaps as a result of his upbringing and his conviction that all matters brought to his attention deserved a fair and reasoned response. Chairing a department brought a somewhat reduced teaching load, which enabled Allan to direct his attention to matters outside the classroom, and outside his academic specialty. One of the areas of great interest to him was the University of Hawai'i Faculty Senate.

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T h e Faculty S e n a t e The faculty of the Manoa campus maintained formal contact with the administration through the medium of the University Senate. This body, originally composed exclusively of faculty members, was essentially an advisory body to the administration on matters relating to students, faculty promotions, and, according to its handbook, "General University Policies." In 1945, the senate was essentially a weak organization whose major function was to fix the academic calendar. The senate was led by its Steering Committee, composed of six members the majority of whom were of associate or full professor rank. This committee's primary task was to act as a liaison between the faculty and the administration and to stimulate the interchange of ideas among faculty members. The committee also had the responsibility of granting hearings on or conducting studies of problems affecting the university, the findings of which were to be presented to the entire senate. W h e n approved, these reports constituted faculty recommendations to the administration. Steering Committee seats were eagerly sought by the Manoa faculty, not only because of the prestige accorded committee members, but because they in effect projected the consolidated voice of the entire faculty. Members felt that the committee's voice would not be cavalierly ignored by the president or the Board of Regents, where the real power lay. In reality, it sometimes was. In 1948, after three years on campus, Allan was one of six candidates running for a seat on the Steering Committee; he was elected that year. His election was hardly a surprise, since by that time he was one of the most popular professors on campus among students, faculty, and even the administration. He was promoted to full professorship that year. A major source of Allan's widespread popularity was his willingness to undertake any number of campus tasks, most of which were shunned by faculty members whose interests lay in other directions. For example, in 1946, he had been asked to serve on a faculty committee to plan the fortieth anniversary of the founding of the university. In 1948, he was made chairman of the University of Hawai'i Radio Committee, charged with developing policies and programs for educational radio in the Territory. He was also asked to serve on a committee to study cheating on university examinations, and for his efforts was made chairman of the campus examination system. Still another of his important campus responsibilities was as a member of the joint faculty-student committee to study faculty ratings. This committee was appointed by President Sinclair in 1950 to implement a new

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evaluation system. Unfortunately, no records remain of the functioning or accomplishments of this group. In 1951 the University Senate debated a proposal to reconstitute itself. The body, by then grown to some 200 members, was not only unwieldy, but included a number of instructors and assistant professors who were ineligible or even unsuitable for promotion or tenure. The proposal was to restrict membership to those of associate rank or above, with the intent of strengthening the senate and its influence. With the urging of the Steering Committee the senate voted 36 to 30 to approve the proposal. But because only 76 of the 200 senators were in attendance at that meeting, the Board of Regents took no action on the matter. Thereupon, the Steering Committee polled the full faculty, yielding an 85 percent favorable vote. Even so, the regents rejected the proposal, although restricting the senate to tenured faculty. But at the same time they specified that "all persons on permanent tenure should be members of the University Senate" thus leaving the senate even more unwieldy. What these events revealed was that the regents were unwilling to accede to the faculty's reasonable demand that the senate reconstitute itself as a more efficient and effective body. It was only the first of several instances in which the faculty, represented by the senate, and the Board of Regents, representing the conservative elements in the community, were to clash. One of Allan's most important battles as chairman of the Steering Committee occurred when he assumed that position in 1951. At issue were the fears then rampant nationwide that the country's diplomatic service and intelligentsia had been infiltrated by Communists or fellow travelers. These charges grew out of the "Red Scare" campaign articulated by Senator Joseph McCarthy, and in Hawai'i by the anti-labor, anti-liberal IMUA organization, which was directed against all suspected Communists and alleged Communist sympathizers. University professors were not immune from such attacks. So obsessed was the community with the issue of Communism that the Territorial Legislature in 1950 mandated that all public officials, including teachers, swear an oath of loyalty. It also prohibited any public official within the Territory from advocating the overthrow of the American government, or from seeking election or other employment with the Territory. The following year the Legislature undertook to create in the lower house a Subversive Activities Committee, to parallel the U.S. House of Representatives' Un-American Activities Committee. Allan testified against this measure in the Senate Judiciary Committee, thereby drawing the ire of

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ultra-conservative elements. His testimony was even blamed for the Legislature's reducing of the university budget. Big Island Republican Senator William H. ("Doc") Hill even demanded that President Sinclair stop that "aloha-shirted professor from appearing in the Legislature."7 Allan's opposition to the creation of the Un-American Activities Committee took on the appearance of a public crusade. He prepared a statement or manifesto stating his reasons for opposing the legislative measure and had it placed on the door of the campus snack bar, where it attracted the attention and signatures of many faculty members. Summoned to the president's office, Allan was asked how he would feel if told his testimony had cost the university one million dollars. Paul Bachman, who was also present at this meeting, commented: "I know where I stand. I would sign the [manifesto]."8 This stand by the Dean of Faculties confirmed Allan's respect and support for him, which surfaced several years later when the university sought a successor to Sinclair. As these events suggest, the on- and off-campus developments associated with the Red Scare period became difficult to separate. President Sinclair's response to Allan's letter requesting clarification of the administration's policy on academic freedom pointed to four grounds for disciplining faculty members: disloyalty, immoral conduct, conviction for penal offense, and inefficiency. The president then quoted a section of the bylaws of the Board of Regents: "Whenever in the judgment of the Board of Regents the conduct of anyone connected with the University in any capacity is such as to reflect discredit on the University, or to be injurious to its welfare, the Board of Regents may take such action as it deems necessary, including suspension or dismissal."9 Still another battle between faculty and the Board of Regents began in 1951, this time over the cancellation of a speaking invitation extended earlier by the faculty to Dr. Linus Pauling. Pauling, one of the country's leading chemists and the future unprecedented winner of two Nobel Prizes, was also a leading opponent of nuclear weapons. His outspoken stance on peace made him an easy target for mainland and Hawai'i ultra-conservatives, who saw in him a Communist sympathizer of the worst stripe. Community opposition to his appearance on the Manoa campus, fed by the IMUA organization, led to the regents' refusal to allow Pauling to speak. By 1953, Gregg Sinclair's tenure as president was approaching its end. In 1955, he would attain the mandatory retirement age of sixty-five. Thus, in December he asked the University Senate to assist him in finding a replacement. The senate formed a Committee on the Presidency, an ad hoc advisory body of which Allan was a member. It was Allan who re-

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quested from the administration a set of criteria, or, in his words, a "profile of [the] qualifications" to be sought. Using that as a guide, the committee developed what it called "The Attributes of a President." This page-long statement summarized the four attributes that it felt a University of Hawai'i president should have: administrative and executive skills, leadership qualities, a scholarly background, and an unprejudiced spirit. The search for a new president involved the entire community, and suggestions were sought from a wide range of interested citizenry. To expedite its work, the University Senate decided to elect a small committee to act on its behalf. Of the 30 members who volunteered to run, Allan placed among the top third; he was eventually voted a member. Membership on this select committee was Allan's last formal task within the senate as a member of the Steering Committee, although his active participation in the senate continued until 1966.

The Campus Presence Even had Allan limited himself to classroom teaching, his reputation on the University of Hawai'i campus would have been well assured. But it was his participation in student affairs that aroused the deepest loyalties of the Manoa collegians. For example, in 1947 he made the time to serve on a committee preparing a constitution for the Hemenway Hall Board of Governors. While this was not a matter of earthshaking dimensions, it was important to the students because the hall was, to all intents and purposes, their only social gathering place, in the absence of fraternities and sororities. It was also the home of the student governing body and the student newspaper. Thus, his help with their lengthy struggle for control over the physical space and uses of this building demonstrated that Allan was clearly in the students' corner. He was frequently asked to serve as a judge in various student competitions. One was an All-Hawai'i Oratorical contest held on the Manoa campus in 1947. The winner was a young female student from Maui, whose topic was "Our Nation's Health." Her name was Patsy Takemoto (later Mink), whose later career as a Hawai'i and national congresswoman would, like that of U.S. Senator Daniel K. Inouye, span almost halfci century. A t the university, she was an active and vocal student leader and debater— and one of the many graduates Allan helped place in mainland graduate schools. Allan took special interest in student debating and helped form the Board of Debate and Forensics, composed of campus debaters. He was fire-

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quently asked to judge debates between Manoa and other schools. This society attracted some of the university's brightest and most ambitious students, many of whom went on to careers in law and politics. During Allan's early years in Hawai'i, he lived for a time in the university's bachelor quarters in a cheaply converted former army structure. The name given this "development" was Hale Kipa, but to its residents it was more commonly known as the "Gopher Hole." This housing facility was set on university grounds behind the permanent buildings, without paved roads or sidewalks. Following their marriage, Allan and Marion moved into slightly larger quarters, but still on campus. Their address was 2644 Rock Road, a somewhat misleading name in that the structures were laid atop dirt, which could become a quagmire in the rainy season. Nevertheless, it was Allan's decision to live on campus so that he could encourage and develop personal relationships with the students. Thus, for upper-division students attending his seminars, it became something of a regular evening affair to attend "classes" in this apartment, at which it was rumored that cider was served. The nature of his interactions with students was unusual. Allan never missed an opportunity to deliver praise and congratulations to deserving students, often in informal notes and never in a professor-knows-best manner. He treated students more as equals and as capable and responsible adults. W h a t student could fail to be uplifted by a note from a professor praising a campus program for having "lifted to new heights our confidence in the basic integrity... and social conscience of Hawai'i's youth." And, added Allan, "you have deepened and enriched the expectations of your university." His assistance was informal as well as formal, and no problem affecting the students was too small to escape Allan's attention. In 1950, for example, he jotted a note to the student body president indicating that Hemenway Hall could use some outdoor tables and umbrellas to enhance its utility and comfort. And for years he participated in the Freshman Orientation Conferences held at Camp Harold Erdman on O'ahu's North Shore. But what former students remember most vividly is Allan's participation in the 1948 University of Hawai'i Model Constitutional Convention (or "UH Con-Con"). During the latter half of the 1940s, considerable national discussion focused on the addition of Hawai'i and Alaska to the roster of states. The military disaster at Pearl Harbor, and the hundreds of lives claimed in that attack, as well as the brilliant military record in the ensuing war of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and the 100th Infantry Battalion, had

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all focused attention on the Islands as a worthy full-status member of the Union. Statehood sentiment ran high in Hawai'i: after half a century of Territorial status it was time, most Islanders felt, for Statehood. Indeed, a U.S. House bill (49) went to the Senate in 1949, whose passage would make Hawai'i the nation's forty-ninth state. On the Manoa campus this issue had been argued repeatedly by the university's debate team, and the arguments in favor were familiar to almost all students. It was thus a short step for student body leaders to propose a "mock" constitutional convention to help prepare Hawai'i for the crucial move into statehood. Delegates would be elected on the same basis as in the Territory's official constitutional convention, and they would wrestle with the same issues that a state constitutional convention would later have to face. Meanwhile, faculty members had also been engaged in countless discussions about the issues of statehood, none more so than those in the Department of Government, and none more eloquently and knowledgeably than Allan Saunders, then its chairman. The student leaders who planned the university's constitutional convention made up the brightest, most eloquent, and most capable on campus —including Richard Kosaki, president of the Associated Students of the University of Hawai'i (ASUH), Patsy Takemoto, Barry Rubin, Hideto Kono, Francis McMillen, Larry Tamanaha, Calvin Ontai, and Robert Silva. The faculty member assigned as adviser was Allan Saunders. Most of these students were also members of the Political Affairs Club, organized with Allan's advice and support. It met fairly often in the Saunders' apartment on Rock Road, or at Kosaki's. Thus, the group's members were known to one another, and the group became the driving force behind the UH Con-Con. Planning, organizing, and then conducting the UH Model Con-Con involved months of intensive work. The election of delegates (63 in all), the laying out of the crucial issues of the composition and powers of the several branches of government, the delineation of public participation— all were decided only after weeks of discussion and debate within committees organized for that purpose. In these discussions, Allan Saunders and other faculty played important roles, bringing to bear their experience and knowledge of the theory and organization of government. The import of the university's work was not lost on the general community, especially in the highest echelons of political power in the Territory. At the opening of the student convention on March 29, 1948, the Territory's Chief Justice, S. B. Kemp, swore in the elected delegates. The Reverend Edward Kahale, pastor of Kawaiaha'o Church, gave the invoca-

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tion. The featured speaker was Samuel Wilder King, chairman of the Territorial Statehood Commission. Other speakers included UH President Gregg Sinclair, Professor Allan Saunders, and ASUH President Richard Kosaki. Following the election of officers, the student convention delegates undertook two months of work to create their vision of a new state government. Considering the part-time nature of their efforts, the relatively brief period involved, and the inexperience of the participants, the resulting document was truly a "model" constitution. It addressed all the major areas of government, organization, the powers to be allocated to each branch, and a method for electing the people's representatives to the new state legislature. The final document was undoubtedly influenced by the existing Territorial structure, but with significant departures, notably in the elimination of any officer corresponding to the Territorial Secretary, and with secretary of state, treasurer, and attorney general named by the governor. The two house legislature was retained, but the number of electoral districts for both houses was reduced to seven. The voting age was set at twenty. One innovation was the provision for limited and indirect initiative, referendum, and recall. Another was selection of judges through a judicial council composed of judges and laymen, with each new judge to stand for re-election after serving a portion of his or her term. Another novel provision allowed the cities and counties to levy, assess, and collect taxes. In its enthusiasm and belief in their crusade, the ASUH Statehood Committee even sent its most eloquent member, Patsy Takemoto, to Washington to testify on behalf of statehood for Hawai'i. Ultimately, the work of the UH Con-Con, despite its careful efforts and dedicated students and professors, was to have little direct impact upon the actual constitution of the State of Hawai'i, as drafted two years later. Its lack of effect on speeding statehood was foreshadowed by the failure of the pro-statehood senators to dislodge House Bill 49 from the clutches of Hawai'i statehood opponents in the U.S. Senate in the spring of 1949. One reason for the defeat of the statehood drive that year was undoubtedly the fear among certain powerful U.S. senators that Hawai'i was a haven for Communists and Communist sympathizers. Nevertheless, as one University Con-Con observer noted, the students who participated in that effort gained experience and visibility, and many intensified their aspirations, already whetted for law, government, and public service. Allan Saunders' appetite for direct participation in the political process was, if anything, equally whetted by his involvement in the UH Model Constitutional Convention of 1948. And to honor him for his

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wholehearted support and assistance, the UH Model State Constitutional Convention conferred upon Allan the title of "Honorary Delegate." The Community Activist, Beginnings Allan's first community activity in Hawai'i came in the interests of peace and international organization. On October 25, 1945, about two months after he debarked in Honolulu, the United Nations had been founded. Its purpose was to maintain international peace and to foster international cooperation through the resolution of economic, social, and humanitarian problems. The formal charter had been drafted a year earlier, in San Francisco, with 51 founding member nations. In 1946, Allan, Miles Cary, Gilbert Bowles, and others founded the Hawai'i Chapter of the American Association for the United Nations (AAUN), to further the goals of the international peace organization. There was no dearth of opportunities to speak on behalf of the principles and projected programs of the new world organization, and during 1947 and 1948, he made no fewer than eleven related presentations to various community groups. He also participated in panel discussions on the UN on radio station KGMB. In 1948 Allan was elected chairman of the Hawai'i Planning Commission for the UNESCO Pacific Regional Conference to be held in San Francisco. The purpose of the commission was to discuss the agenda for the upcoming conference, scheduled in May, to which he was selected as one of three Hawai'i delegates. (The other two were Chester Wentworth, a scientist from the Big Island, and Albert J. McKinney, a University of Hawai'i administrator.) At the conference, attended by 3,000 delegates from all over the country, discussions emphasized how individuals and groups could help "construct the defenses of peace" in the minds of American citizens. In November of the following year, 1949, Allan was elected co-chairman (with Norris Potter of Punahou School) of the Association for the United Nations, Hawai'i Chapter. He was also the featured speaker at the conference held to observe the founding of that group. Allan and Marion formed a team, presenting dialogues on the purposes, achievements, and prospects of the international body to all sorts of community organizations, religious and civic. One of the issues facing the UN was the disposition and management of the Pacific archipelagoes that the Japanese military had used as naval or economic bases, which had been recaptured by the Americans with heavy losses. Considerable sentiment favored the United States' retaining these

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strategic islands, and this concept was aggressively promoted by the editor of the Honolulu Advertiser. An editorial advocated retention of the islands because of the sacrifices suffered by American troops in the Pacific, arguing that the bloodshed justified incorporating them as American territory.10 In a blistering rebuttal, Allan likened the editor's thinking to that of the German Nazis, who justified their invasion and wartime control of central Europe on the basis of blood. He called, instead, for the establishment of UN trusteeships under the direction and support of the United States." Allan's peace-related activities continued, assuming various forms over the years. A 1952 sabbatical in Norway enabled him to discover that the Norwegians, although neighbors of Russia, held no fear of them. He also noted upon returning to Hawai'i that throughout the entire country of Norway he had seen only one statue honoring a military hero, but a great many memorials to men and women of letters, music, and science. 12 Following his European Fulbright, Allan lectured on "Socialism in Scandinavia" on the Manoa campus, and, with Marion, he spoke on Norway at various community groups, with illustrated presentations based on Marion's extensive collection of slides. But the search for peace following World War II rather quickly gave way to the Cold War, and peace-related efforts became tainted in the eyes of some. Allan's many campus and community appearances on behalf of the UN, and in furtherance of peaceful resolution of international conflicts, had the unfortunate result of creating in the minds of the more conservative elements in Hawai'i the idea that he was somehow aligned with, or sympathetic to, Communist-affiliated organizations. The fact that he was consistently identified as a Democrat—and had in fact not only attended the 1946 Democratic Party convention in Honolulu but even assisted in the preparation of several planks for the party platform—reinforced this view.13 It would take many years to dissipate this totally erroneous perception. Certainly the local newspapers, in particular the Star-Bulletin, rarely overlooked an opportunity to nurture it. Allan's community activities ranged far beyond the customary liberal support that academicians elsewhere tended to lend the cause of world peace. A prime example was his association with the League of Women Voters of Honolulu, of which he was the prime organizer. His wife Marion tells the story of how that came to pass: Launching the League of Women Voters locally was an early project of Allan's, soon after his arrival in Hawai'i. The League is the nation's oldest and most reputable of women's groups—an outgrowth of the Suffrage move-

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ment of the twenties that gave women the vote. Its combination of research and action appealed to Allan's intellectual spirit and his own devotion to fairness and balance was paralleled in the League's strict non-partisanship. He felt that the research and action the League might offer were very much needed in the budding state. In 1947 Allan gathered a small number of women, including myself, to discuss bringing the League to Hawai'i. Within the group was one woman who had experience in a mainland League, and she —Ruth Myers—became the first president of the Honolulu League, ably guiding it to a secure footing on O'ahu. But it took a visit of the National League President, Anna Lord Strauss, plus Allan's persuasiveness, to convince the national organization to extend League affiliation to this offshore Territory by 1948. Allan was, of course, the only male charter member, and he was "rewarded" by being made secretary. Some years later I helped establish local Leagues on Kaua'i and Hawai'i (never on Maui, strangely), and all chapters have become a force in Hawai'i for reapportionment, charter reform, education reform, water resources, campaign spending reform, and notably for transportation planning. Allan's role was as initiator of this organization which he had admired on the mainland and recognized as useful for Hawai'i. This action antedated the women's movement by decades, but is an example of the breadth of Allan's commitment to social and political action. The League initially addressed City and County problems and went on to action in the Legislature at the Territorial (and later the State) level. In 1988 the City and County of Honolulu passed a Resolution recognizing the League as an instrument of civic improvement with a record stretching over 40 years, and acknowledging Allan Saunders as founder-member of the illustrious organization. Allan not only founded the Hawai'i League of Women Voters, he was also one of the four founders in Hawai'i—and the only male founder—of WEAL, the Women's Equity Action League. WEAL was a national organization devoted to the economic advancement of women, the Equal Rights Amendment, and civil rights. In all of these the problem of equity for women was crucial. At its peak Hawai'i's WEAL chapter involved 60 women members and three men, among them the prime activists of Honolulu. A roster of their membership in 1975 looks like a prophecy of what women would do in the community in the decades to come! Allan served WEAL in legislative and political action areas and he did a long stint as treasurer of the organization. In June of 1948, Allan joined with a group of 75 local residents to form the Honolulu Chapter of Americans for Democratic Action (ADA). The national organization, founded in 1947, was headed by Leon Henderson, and its membership of 100,000 included liberals such as Mrs. Franklin Roosevelt and Hubert Humphrey, prominent labor leaders like Walter

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Reuther, and other distinguished Americans. The Honolulu charter stated that the local group would be "affiliated with national groups of citizens who seek by public education and by pressure on the government to increase the Four Freedoms for all Americans." It would, the charter continued, be explicitly anti-Communist and would carefully screen all members. Despite its stated anti-Communist position, in the climate of the times the ADA became suspect both nationally and locally. The local chapter quickly became the target of IMUA and of the two Honolulu dailies. On March 13, 1950, an anonymous letter-writer to the Honolulu Advertiser charged that both Allan Saunders as a professor, and the ADA as an organization, advocated socialism. In response, Allan categorically denied the charge and cited, from the ADA's charter, specific anti-Communist planks. He also lectured the editors on the intrinsic value of human rights over property rights, and the need for America to "make friends with the peoples of the world who are now endangered by international communism." To their somewhat startling warning that free speech could lead to "un-American" thoughts, he replied that the way to overcome Communism in America was by "fair and free public discussion."14 Unlike the ACLU and the League of Women Voters, the local chapter of the ADA did not survive the 1950s. Whether its demise was the result of the unceasing attacks by IMUA and other conservative elements in the Territory, the lack of a sufficiently broad base in the community, or other factors, it quietly disappeared from public view. It was one of Allan's few disappointments as an organizer of community public policy groups. The ultimate objective of all of Allan's community activities was to influence public policy, whether in defense of the rights of citizens against the power and authority of government, or in creating a more efficient, democratic, and responsible governing authority. But it was one thing to lead class discussions on the principles and policies of government in the abstract, or even to found and support organizations that monitored government; both were essentially indirect and unpredictable means of influencing public policy. It was quite another to participate directly as a political actor in policy formation. It was therefore no surprise that Allan decided, in 1950, to stand for election to the Hawai'i State Constitutional Convention, or Con-Con. The UH Model Con-Con of 1948 had provided Allan with the opportunity of advising students in their effort to create a constitution suited to the needs of a modern, full-fledged member state of the Union. To actually translate some of these concepts and principles into public policy, however, Allan first had to run for office, something he had never done.

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O n the surface, his qualifications for delegate to the Hawai'i Con-Con were impeccable and ideally appropriate. He was undoubtedly one of the Territory's leading authorities on the theory of government, and in his academic and community activities he had shown a flair for organization and participation that was effective and respected. Furthermore, his name was known throughout the community, thanks to his many public appearances and his numerous letters to the editorial pages of both daily newspapers. And on the Manoa campus he was the most popular professor, with a legion of dedicated followers. Caught up in the same wave of enthusiasm over the possibility of statehood that had electrified students, political officials decided they too would have a constitutional convention. With the executive and legislative branches of the Territory in agreement, plans were laid to hold a special election to select delegates to the convention to be held in 1950. For purposes of this election, the Territory was divided into 63 districts and sub-districts. That was to be the number of delegates elected. Candidacy was open to any qualified voter, including already-seated territorial representatives and senators. Although open candidacy meant that officeholding politicians would automatically be favored in view of their greater public exposure and prior support, the fact that the number of seats far exceeded the total number of elected officials guaranteed that the ultimate body would also include a supplementary group of community residents. The primary election was set for February 11, 1950, thus allowing ample time for all candidates to prepare their campaigns. Three University of Hawai'i professors were among this group. They included, in addition to Allan, Harold S. Roberts and Benjamin O. Wist. There was even one U H student (George Akita) in the running. In order for the professors to run, it was first necessary to obtain clarification from the Board of Regents on the question of whether under the laws of the Territory professors could run for and hold office in such a convention; second, it had to be determined whether the regents would grant a leave of absence for faculty members to campaign and hold office. With his typical foresight, Allan requested such clarification and permission well in advance of the primary election. 15 The attorney-general found no legal obstruction to professors running for or holding office in the convention, and with that hurdle overcome, Saunders, Roberts, and Wist formally submitted their names as candidates. Allan knew his campaign must be scrupulous about influencing students on the campus, if he was to avoid the charge of using his position to obtain their votes or those of their friends and relatives. But there was no

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way that he could prohibit their volunteer activities on his behalf. It was generally understood that he was the students' favorite candidate, and a core of students undertook to act as his campaign headquarters. Liz Ahn, one of Allan's staunch campus supporters, remembers the excitement and enthusiasm attending that activity. "For the first time in the history of the University of Hawai'i," she wrote, "students were organized for political action in the community." As she describes in Chapter 1 of this volume, Liz also volunteered to be Allan's campaign chairperson, even though she was then working for Professor Roberts. Ralph Miwa, another student, took it upon himself to design and print Allan's campaign brochures. Daniel K. Inouye, another of Allan's protégés and later to become a U.S. senator, offered to act as liaison with the local Democratic Party. Others went door-to-door in Allan's district, distributing brochures and urging support. George Akita had automobile banners made. News of Allan's victory in the primary galvanized support from a host of students from Hawai'i then living on the mainland. Their letters appeared in the newspapers with sufficient frequency that one reader accused Allan of having solicited their support. 16 O n a more ominous note, a series of letters signed "Voter" questioned Allan's fitness to teach and used his association with the A D A to document his socialistic leanings.17 Despite Allan's repeated letters to the editors, 18 the charges undoubtedly damaged his chances of election. So also did the unspoken, but general impression that he was too "pro-Oriental." And so it proved. In the runoff, Allan lost by a vote of 3,044 to 2,513. Doubtless he was disappointed. But as Liz A h n relates in Chapter 1, in characteristic fashion, he found positives in the election outcome, and he subsequently functioned as an adviser to the delegates—to the extent that some of them dubbed him "the 64th Delegate." Allan's expenditures for the Con-Con campaign totaled $171.21. His contributors donated $157.91, and Allan and Marion added $25.00 of their own funds. The campaign wound up with a surplus of $11.70. 19 Such was the level of campaign financing in 1950.

4.

Allan Saunders and the Teaching of Politics: A Personal Interpretation Mickey McCleery

Overture dull, dreary college classrooms, one stands out in my memory like no other. It is illuminated by light reflected from many engaged faces; the names are now forgotten but the enlightenment remains. A faint odor of chalk dust haunts that recollection, but no words appear on the board. Instead, the blackboard frames a tall, erect, distinguished figure in a bright aloha shirt. His manner of leading the class is so unique in his discipline that one hesitates to use the term "teaching" at all. O F ONE HUNDRED

He does not lecture. He does not dictate or impose. Yet he controls the process more firmly than any lecturer before a class of doodling note takers. His manner approaches that of someone conducting an orchestra, but doing so without gestures that draw attention to himself. Brief, probing questions draw ideas from us that we never knew we had. Brassy thoughts are harmonized with others elicited by further questions. Shrill or strident tones are muted by a gentle response. From the varied backgrounds of his students, he creates a feeling of fellowship in some larger purpose, a sense of something far greater than its parts, and an experience of values as intangible as harmony itself. This memory survives like a haunting melody, the words of which escape recall. Each attempt to summon particulars of that recollection from fifty years ago not only fails but makes the image blur. A symphony cannot be reduced to its notes, nor a poem to its punctuation. The image is not of one classroom, one group of fellow students, or a single inspiration, but several of those. Yet the figure of Allan Saunders remains central as the image fades into a sense of transformation and empowerment arising from sharing in the process of inquiry he directed.

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One cannot fairly speak for what others gained from their participation; that was surely colored by each individual's needs and personality. Each blew his own horn, and Saunders would not have had it otherwise. Their testimony indicates that they were touched and moved to achievements I can only envy. In my own case, an anger and alienation born of bitter experience were transformed into commitment to a mission still unfulfilled as I attempt this essay—to share a vision of what politics at its best might be. My attempt to look in detail at the substance of the man who worked that transformation makes the image blur again. His erect figure merges with the image of a bright emblem, the banner of some still mainly unexplored country of the mind where liberty and justice can exist for all. Though I forget my notes, the harmony he created remains the anthem of that ideal nation where much of my loyalty still lies. I can scarcely preserve or share the experience Allan Saunders created by banging on an empty drum of words. As far as possible, these words have been orchestrated, in Saunders' manner, with the skills and insights of others touched by his influence. Another of his students has wisely noted that "words are only words until you really see the meaning behind them." In the conventional teaching of politics, as in its practice, such terms as "freedom," "justice," or "peace" are too often simply sounds without meaning. Something more than teaching in that traditional sense and style is required to bring such words to life. This overture will close with one bold note. One basic premise seems clear in the life and teaching of Allan Saunders. It explains his delight in diversity, his defense of dissent, his incessant questioning, his unfailing respect for students and their opinions, and his reluctance to dictate or impose his views on others. That major premise was that the world is too round and his subject too complex to be adequately comprehended from any one point of view. In what follows, recognize that premise as true of the most well-rounded man I ever met. To a student's assertion that there are two sides to any issue, he replied: "There may be far more than that." In this, I offer one side of Allan Saunders, a teacher of politics.

Context Because Saunders became uniquely sensitive to the context of his teaching, let me briefly mention that here. Much of the evidence on his teaching in this chapter comes from the years shortly after World War II, as he and the era passed from the forties to the fifties. The University of Hawai'i remained a small, undistinguished, territorial institution with a few master's

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programs. Its social science departments, clustered in one building, employed three or four faculty at most. As its first full-time member, and as chairman of the Government Department, Saunders shaped its character in that era and became the focus of establishment complaints about disciplined analysis of its subject. Saunders' teaching was interrupted by his appointment as dean of the College of Arts and Sciences in 1955. W h e n he returned to part-time teaching in 1963, the institution had expanded fivefold and the Department of Government had assumed a different character. Reports on his work and its impact in that later period are minimal, but he sensed that his classroom effectiveness had declined in that changed context. The little available information about Saunders' pre-Hawai'i work in several prestigious institutions indicates that his teaching, if marked by less warmth than later, was always distinctive and memorable. Eschewing academic publication, he had had a relatively undistinguished professional career. However, he had earned the respect of outstanding scholars nationwide, which gave weight to his recommendations when his students here sought admission to the country's most exclusive and demanding graduate programs. Unlike some others in its ivory tower, Saunders quickly became aware of Hawai'i's colonial background and situation. Hence, let me note something of that broader context. He learned how, after the catastrophic decline of the native Hawaiians, Hawai'i's population consisted of diverse ethnic groups imported to work on its vast plantations. Although the immigrants were drawn from civilizations older than that of the oligarchy that had dominated the islands since annexation, their peasant backgrounds led them to expect little from government. The Caucasian governing class pursued a strategy of divide and rule to prevent the emergence of a cohesive labor movement. Provided with rude plantation housing and served (or exploited) by company stores, the rural population was segregated in separate Portuguese, Japanese, and Filipino camps. There, drawing on its own culture and language, each ethnic element worked out its own devices for conflict resolution. They developed the capacity to govern themselves and tolerate others, if only as required to preclude the intrusions of alien public authority. During and following World War II, the growing urban area of Honolulu retained much of that character of self-contained, ethnic neighborhoods. The most segregated of these ethnic groups—the Japanese—displayed an exceptional ability to sustain their own churches, schools, and associations. Under military government during the war, those institutions were

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closed and their leaders were interned. Nevertheless, the same JapaneseAmerican communities sent their finest young men to demonstrate their loyalty on bloody foreign fields. After the war, those who had learned that freedom is not free—many of them war veterans—constituted a majority of the students enrolled in Saunders' courses. It is not apparent that instructors elsewhere in the institution respected their concerns and maturity. Saunders did. During the war, Hawai'i had been the staging and supply base for the massive movement of troops and fleets across the Pacific. A labor movement had emerged from the docks and spread to the plantations. Wartime savings funded and attracted new commercial enterprises to compete with the old. Such events had set new social forces in motion—forces that the local establishment saw as threats to be repressed. However, Saunders saw those threats as opportunities with Hawai'i emerging from colonial status toward the brink of statehood. No other teacher in my experience has been so admired and loved by students as Allan Saunders. To be meaningful, love must be mutual. Saunders loved Hawai'i and his students. He loved Hawai'i's rich heritage of cultural diversity, the capacity for self-government and tolerance, and the discontent and questions that new social forces had generated. He saw, in those elements and in his students, the promise of a synthesis from which some finer civic culture might emerge. That shared aloha was an essential part of the context of his teaching. A survey taken in 1950 by Ka Leo O Hawai'i, the student newspaper, found him the most respected professor on campus. He had been discontented earlier with the smug complacency of a homogeneous society and elite campus. He had found both peace and challenge in Hawai'i.

Methods and the Man How is one to measure this exceptional teacher? The normal approach of biographers is frustrated by the almost complete absence of written records —of notes by classroom students or published material from the period of his teaching. That a man whose most casual expression was elegantly phrased, and whose profession rewarded publication above all else, refused to publish his views is a critical datum for analysis. If one cannot define Saunders by what he wrote, perhaps we can understand him by what he read. His intellectual roots were deeply set in New England and at Amherst, an outstanding liberal arts college there. Beneath his flamboyant attire was something of a Puritan—a man of the book.

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One able ex-student, sometime colleague, and lifelong friend suggests that Saunders may be understood by reference to the books he loved and shared. That friend has supplied a list, dated 1949 and tattered from long tenure in his wallet, of 50 works Saunders claimed he had "found stimulating." In addition to the classics of his discipline, the list draws from the widest range of man's cultural heritage, but it begins with John Herman Randall's The Making of the Modern Mind. Those books give some insight into the making of Saunders' mind. However, to understand him in this way might require a list from a later period and the erudition of Saunders himself. One can only see his books as building blocks of a personal construct—some shining city in his mind—from which he viewed the world. As Isaac Newton said of himself, Saunders stood on the shoulders of giants. What forces in his past drew this more gentle Ahab to the Pacific in pursuit of some great white thing must be sought in other chapters. The present focus is on the manner by which he recruited the crew for his quest. This chapter is mainly based on my personal observations as a student in Saunders' department from 1947 through 1950, and those of others from that era. I will first compare Saunders' teaching with the practice of his colleagues and that prevailing in his field. A concluding section will compare Saunders' perceptions of politics with what one sees in the current scene. I have shared this personal interpretation of such observations and, in part, revised it on the advice of other students and associates of Saunders from the period. If we make a strictly analytic distinction between method and substance, we may be able to clarify some of the unique quality of Allan Saunders' teaching by comparison. The contrasts drawn are matters of emphasis rather than absolutes. Saunders gained the respect or tolerance of vastly different associates by a command of their material at least equal to their own. But he did not display that command in the classroom as others did. The character of his teaching suggests that he perceived citizen rather than sovereign as the central figure in his field, and student rather than "government" as the primary object of his concern. To say that he accented questions rather than answers, and timeless problems above their transient solutions, is not to suggest that he neglected the subject matter of his discipline. It was there. It emerged in the learning experience. Dare one say that he grasped his subject by the right end of the stick? He surely perceived politics in unusual ways. It is sometimes said that Saunders taught students rather than subjects. It is true that his students were treated as citizens rather than as subjects —as active participants in the process of inquiry rather than as empty

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vessels to be filled. If he came to class with an agenda of his own, it consisted of no more than notes on a 3 x 5 card calculated to provoke response rather than acceptance. His class, his style, his mind, his office, and, often, his home were open to the concerns of students. His response to their concerns lent relevance to his instruction and authority to the ideas generated because of their application to a student's immediate interests and experience. Hawai'i was not yet a state. Much of the descriptive material normally presented on American national government was remote from local experience at best. Other faculty here as elsewhere delivered factual accounts of national institutions by the traditional lecture method, in a style akin to commands from the throne. The values and assumptions implicit in the selection of those facts—essentially those affirmed in any American Legion-approved, public school civics text—were given as beyond dispute. Obedience called for memorizing what was said or assigned for the next exam. The manner and dress of those scholars, even more than their brief and inconvenient office hours, seemed calculated to preclude all questions. This is not to say that those colleagues were self-conscious authoritarians. They may have been good neighbors and decent citizens. A student would not know. They simply taught as they had been taught—as civics had been taught to children from first grade on. That method conveyed its own implicit perceptions of government and citizenship. Saunders' method has been called Socratic. While that term seems as good as any, it risks inaccuracy. Most of what is known about Socrates comes through works in which Plato appended his own doctrinal answers to the questions Socrates raised. Saunders affirmed the method but rejected any doctrine. He seldom answered the central questions of politics he posed or drew from his students. He simply recast those questions in some broader context of fact and value that enlarged one's view of the issue or drew on other disciplines. When asked once how he could provide such brief but elegant replies to any question, he said that in years of teaching he had heard them all before. Perhaps others in his field had been exposed to those questions. How many had truly heard them? Rather than lecture, Saunders taught by demonstration and example that dialogue was an essential method for solving political problems or seeking the nature of political goods. If a student asserted that protection of property was the basic function of government, Saunders might ask if that assertion implied that people without property should be given some to provide them with a stake in that institution. To one who advocated unrestricted freedom, Saunders would ask if the right to swing one's arm

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extended beyond another's nose. However, if that concern for others seemed to confine freedom too narrowly, he might ask how far anyone is entitled to stick his nose into a free man's business. In the narrowest Socratic tradition, Saunders seemed disposed to take the side of humanity against the state and of justice against bad laws. O n the whole, however, for every answer, he had a question. Saunders' personal commitment to freedom and justice, and to democratic process as the means to those ends, was displayed in his teaching as in his life. Depending on their size, his classes had the character of a town meeting or legislative session. They demonstrated how problems of freedom and justice could be addressed. As is the custom in democratic assemblies, his student participants were treated with a dignity and respect seldom shown elsewhere in their institution or that society. The selfrespect thus encouraged was a key element in the enrichment that the students reported. Among the more memorable events on campus in those postwar years was the mock constitutional convention initiated by Saunders and his students and described elsewhere in this work. Equally memorable for many of his students was their voluntary participation in his failed campaign for a seat in the official convention held later. They plotted strategies and walked door-to-door with him through his district. Are there better laboratories for a democratic political science? In brief, his professorial colleagues presented ideas and institutions as matters to be memorized. Saunders presented them for discussion, examination, and evaluation—both in relation to the problems they had been designed to solve and to the issues of the present. His persistence in this unorthodox and suspect approach to teaching suggests a conviction rather than an eccentricity. It was more than a method of teaching: it suggests his belief that active participation in an open, unrestricted, public dialogue on political issues is the best method for enriching the quality of public life as well as for educating citizens. As an outcome of Saunders' methods, an unusual proportion of his students engaged in continuing inquiry into and active pursuit of the conditions of a good civic life.

A Content Conveyed In student testimony about Saunders, there is a near consensus that his method of teaching was unique, more memorable than any other encountered elsewhere, and personally enriching. However, it has proved nearly impossible to extract from that testimony or from his colleagues a coherent

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account of the substance of that teaching. It is true that he taught rather few of the expected facts about government that any interested student could find in a daily newspaper. Instead, he taught students to be interested. Although he said rather little about the politics of the day, he taught what politics at its best was about. It is that lasting sense of the possible that many of his students carried away. Where the standard categories of institutional analysis fail to file the content of Saunders' teaching, it is understandable that much should escape recall with the passage of years. However, other factors may combine to account for that absence of remembered content. One must credit Hawai'i's elite of that time with some foresight. If, as a defensive and intolerant local establishment charged, the implications of Saunders' teaching and the questions he raised were as radical for their politics as for their teaching methods, those may well have been expressed with caution or simply acted out. Saunders' refusal to publish and reluctance to deliver formal lectures need not imply that he had nothing of substance to teach. Instead, it implies a belief that what he had to offer could not be conveyed in those customary ways. He acted out and acted on his convictions more fully than he explained them. Even then, he expounded little more of his philosophy than was required to speak to specific points at issue. He had the good sense not to confront institutions based on different paradigms with the full implications of his views while he worked within these institutions to implement his values. Hence, his teaching by example requires the biographer to read backward from his behavior to his beliefs. Inferences thus drawn can be checked in his continuing correspondence with exstudents and the record of a few lectures given long after his retirement. Perhaps the most important explanation for the diversity of student recollections is the very nature of the learning experience and environment Saunders created. My own first reaction to a request for an essay was to say I had learned little from Allan Saunders in the sense of what teaching and learning are understood to mean in his field. I became aware of Madison, Jefferson, Holmes, Acton, Bryce, De Tocqueville, Laski, and others in his courses with no sense that I was required to do so. Others report different outcomes. His methods gave one a feeling of having discovered ideas in and for oneself—durable ideas to be employed for life rather than just retained for the next exam. That sense of discovery appears in reports by many students, but its inherently personal quality prevents finding a consensus about content. Many of the impressions students report are based on Saunders' teach-

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ing in introductory courses and the contrast it presented with what they had come to expect from "civics." Although he was always concerned with the way students were first introduced to his field, Saunders' favorite courses were those examining recent works on political economy dealing with the problems generated by industrialization. In treating nineteenth and twentieth century writers, he may have assumed that his students were aware of fundamental distinctions central in the ancient classics while actually they were not. Those distinctions, which I will note in the following section, may explain a "confusion" able students report about his courses. In dealing with the modern period, Saunders presented the concepts of socialist writers for examination along with those of others. This was in the era when the classic films of Sergey Eisenstein could be shown on campus only as an "expose of Soviet propaganda." Those in the local elite who equated any study of government with indoctrination charged Saunders with teaching the Marxist doctrine of dialectical materialism. In fact, he was only demonstrating dialogue as a method for examining any doctrine. The uninformed and hostile reaction by establishment figures illustrates the problem of imposing any label on Saunders' teaching. However, certain of his perceptions are as evident in his focus as in Saunders' method of teaching. As in the Jeffersonian tradition he so respected, he saw that an industrial economy involves imperatives of its own. The economies of scale, the concentrations of capital, and the systems of command and control implicit in any efficient mass production of material goods were different from and often at odds with the relationships needed for the preservation of political values. Though he would not use such inflammatory terms, Saunders was clearly at one with those ancient theorists who described a society organized and concerned only for obtaining material goods as a "city of pigs." Saunders' courses were reputed to be "tough," perhaps, in part, because their style and the type of thinking required were so unexpected. Some students reported being simply confused in those postwar classes and felt that their passing grade was generous. No one has recalled an exam on which students were required to repeat directly what Saunders or the authors he shared had said. He wanted analysis and evaluation. A student was permitted to think what he wished as long as he thought in some responsible way, stating his assumptions and basing conclusions on some communicable evidence. Repeating raw facts or ideas was not acceptable unless those had the character of evidence on some question. An essay exam in the introductory course began by asking students to propose in detail a table of contents for a text in that course.

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The only copies of Saunders' exams and grade sheets still at hand are from upper-level courses taught after he retired from the office of dean. The two or three essay questions still required evaluation and analysis of readings selected, and half of the final course grade was based on class work. At that time, when grading standards were declining elsewhere out of concern for the draft status of students, Saunders' grades seemed harsh by comparison. The grade average in four courses, recovered from university records, ranges from C— to C+. Those harsher outcomes may account for Saunders' personal sense of declining ability in that changed context and time. His standards clearly remained as rigorous as ever, but his ability to elicit the response he sought from that later generation of students had clearly diminished. With individual exceptions, we can explain the declining impact of Saunders' teaching in those later years, in part, by the changed character of the Department of Government and the students it recruited. Such student discontent as remained there focused on national policy and the Vietnam war rather than on the local scene. Although the leaders of Hawai'i's Democratic "revolution" were neglecting their promises and "doing well" in office, the local feeling was that the revolution was an accomplished fact. The climate had changed since his earlier teaching. But as other chapters of this book demonstrate, Saunders' effective participation in public life continued for another fifteen years after his departure from the classroom. The first and most often cited characteristic others saw in Saunders was the Hawaiian shirts he wore "tails out" despite peer and administrative pressure. To some, his style of dress signified nothing more than an eccentricity or a sign of temperamental rebellion. But it could be seen as a commitment to the society he meant to serve rather than to the formal establishment that signed his checks. His refusal to clothe himself in the traditional vestments of authority also reflected a perception that the only legitimate basis of authority for ideas or institutions lies in a democratic process. Such was the style and substance of his teaching. Though Saunders did not exploit his position as a professor to impose his values, his questions made values an integral part of the analysis he provoked. He recognized power, a central preoccupation of many political scholars, as a "producer good" essential for gaining higher values. But he considered power to be a legitimate object of ambition or inquiry only as a means to better ends. Perhaps he felt an emphasis on power would be redundant in his field. But he did not hold his own to be the only way. To the many students who wanted to confine their study to his courses, he

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insisted that they enroll with his fellows or in other disciplines and expose themselves to different views. In urging students to take the measure of all things, Saunders advocated the use of all the sciences for an understanding of political life. Where other teachers of political theory transmitted what ancient writers had thought about governance, Saunders saw his task as one of challenging students to think for themselves with every available resource. By his civil responses to students' opinions, Saunders demonstrated that the most powerful governing forces in our lives were often habits and the prejudices that rationalized them. His questions led us to recognize that the formal institutions of government existed based upon or in the context of other social, economic, or cultural forces that govern one's life. He conveyed a sense that the shifting of those underlying forces—by such events as industrialization or war—was like the movement of tectonic plates; it generated stresses, posed basic questions of politics, and demanded adjustments in formal institutions that would occur by force if reason and processes of peaceful change failed. The concepts above were central tenets of the classical heritage of political philosophy in which Saunders was well grounded. However, the basic problem addressed by classical thinkers was how to arrest an inherent process of decay from a more simple "golden age" toward anarchy. Saunders' view was more positive, that an informed electorate could exploit the forces of change to design more productive and responsive institutions. Progress was an option. Intelligence and education made it a possibility. In summary, while colleagues described institutions of power and governance under traditional, institutional categories of legislative, executive, and judicial—or federal, state, and local—the focus of Saunders' attention was on the ends of freedom, justice, and peace that such institutions could serve. His focus was on those goals that can move and enrich man, rather than on the state. Other than the conventional values implicit in their texts, his fellows offered few standards of judgment except "efficiency" and "economy," which apply to governing an internment camp as well as a soup kitchen. To repeat, there is little testimony and less agreement in the recollections of his students about the substance of what Saunders taught or what they learned. Several agree that what they learned from his practice of placing every question in some broader context of fact, time, and value was, in the final analysis, a way of looking at things. What one then sees depends, of course, on one's frame of mind. And all is filtered through the individual's needs and circumstances. What, then, did Saunders see through

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his way of looking at things that can account for his uniqueness as a teacher and citizen? An attempt to grasp his broader views of politics and education will be offered in later sections. By way of caution, one of Saunders' most sensitive students comments on diverse impressions held. He notes a similar lack of agreement among scholars who have devoted their lives to studying other master teachers of the past from Plato and Lao Tse on. He takes the diversity of opinions as a measure of Saunders' merit and of our inability to grasp the full meaning of a vision shared.

His Broader Views One colleague holds that Saunders' commitment to dialogue made that medium his only message. However, as noted above, Saunders expressed no more of his views than was necessary to address specific questions. His broader perspective must be gleaned by reviewing many such occasions. They appear in his extensive, continuing correspondence with former students, in rare public lectures given when the context precluded his normal teaching style, in his few, brief, journalistic essays, in conclusions he endorsed and well-marked books he shared. This section explores Saunders' way of looking at things. A concluding section will illustrate the perceptions thus created. In seeking Saunders' basic convictions, one must avoid simplistic labels. The most comfortable and conservative of Saunders' students could not believe the charge of Communist sympathies raised against him. In a rare resort to a blackboard, Saunders once diagrammed the range of political perspectives normally seen on a line from "left" to "right" with a circle. O n that circle, he placed "radical" and "reactionary" as close together as any other pair. If someone is inclined to place Saunders in a category, it may lie somewhere between those last named. While Saunders demonstrated his belief that democratic processes and the values thus produced were the best way to address problems of political life, he did not see existing institutions of government or education as perfected instruments for realizing a freedom and justice adequate to our time. Hence, he did not see his academic field, Government, as "an organized body of knowledge" to be presented without question or as sufficient to our needs. His practice declared that political institutions, and the discipline that studies those, could both be seen and should be taught as always imperfect, normally dated, and sometimes co-opted, problem-solving processes. Thus, all such institutions must be constantly evaluated in terms of what they contribute to the realization of some political good. To

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the Socratic maxim that an unexamined life is not worth living, he added that unexamined institutions were not worth living in. Behind, if often obscured in, the modern works on political economy Saunders shared is a distinction between the tangible, material products of an economy and intangible, political goods. T h a t distinction, fundamental in the ancient classics, is one he demonstrated more clearly than he explained. Economic goods and the means of their production may be seen, and held, as private property. However, such political goods as power, security, freedom, justice, or honor are intangible qualities that cannot be counted or weighed, held as private properties, distributed like checks in the mail, or preserved behind locked doors. Where they are achieved through political activity, they exist only as relationships among people, and they constitute the invisible bands of a community. They can exist only in res publica, as public things, and as a "common wealth." Idealistic scholars may feel that this distinction between economic and political goods is too obvious to mention. It is not so in an age when such basic terms have lost their meaning and politics has deteriorated into a struggle for material entitlements. Empirical scholars may feel that concern for such intangibles involves useless metaphysical abstractions. But the social distance between people—between rulers and ruled or rich and poor—is as much a fact of life as any other. Saunders demonstrated that the social distance that denies legitimacy to individuals or institutions can be narrowed by a good-faith exchange of views. T h a t political goods are of value can be known by the fact that men still pledge their lives and fortunes to secure them. T h a t such goods are perishable can be seen in any reading of history if not in one's personal experience. A sense of those intangible goods of citizenship was something Saunders conveyed in and through his relationships with students, rather than by expounding definitions. T h e "polity," the sum of those associations and activities that produce a good and more humane life, constituted the subject matter of Saunders' teaching and the object of his civic action. It was the polity, as something distinguishable from society, the economy, or simply government, that his probing questions served to help students see. In contrast to the legal or institutional approaches of his colleagues, his perspective made it clear that the operative "constitution" of a society involved its structures of social action and ideas as well as its formal document. Hence, the practical impact of our American Constitution differed in Mississippi, Minnesota, or Hawai'i. In his teaching as in his civic activities, Saunders was obviously in-

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volved in creating the type of associations requisite to realizing political goods. He saw some social conditions as brutalizing and others as enriching or civilizing in their impact. He believed with the classical theorists that it was their public participation in making decisions and judgments that distinguished "Greek" from barbarian, citizen from subject, and fully human being from natural slave. His evident belief in and respect for persons was not an eighteenth century faith in their inherent rationality or good will; it was a faith in their potential for humanity under proper conditions. A s asserted in his correspondence, the essential feature of those conditions is, as Kant and one of Saunders' students insists, that persons be treated as "ends" rather than "means." A s other chapters will indicate, Saunders joined many political theorists from Plato on in being as concerned with education as with politics. He felt that the problems of education for a democracy remained unsolved. A n idealistic former student turned cynic once wrote that he had become disillusioned with the behavior of sophisticated associates, dropped out of medical school, and returned to a simpler life. In reply, Saunders agreed that "there is much in man that is sly, tawdry, and mean" in "educated" as well as in simple folk. But, he continued, "civilization is not essentially degrading. Thus, when we encounter learned sub-humans we are the more distressed because they have had more chance to grow up to the human status of which all healthy specimens of homo sapiens are capable." Saunders expressed commitment to liberal, as opposed to technical, education throughout his university career. Other of Saunders' basic perceptions appear in lines from a journalistic essay taking stock of the year 1940. "Changes . . . have led us toward the belief that economics is not a set of inexorable laws but a flexible instrument for achieving non-economic goals." Later, "that most American of philosophers, William James, was right in insisting that concepts are cultural products of the creative interaction of 'mind' with 'mind' and of 'mind' with 'matter,' and that therefore we must be constantly revising our concepts in order that they fit perceived reality." His essay ends with the hope "that we shall learn the social and moral value in times of stress of tolerance of the unpopular and untested." Such perceptions are developed in one of the few formal lectures Saunders gave of which a full transcript is preserved. That elegant and powerful lecture given thirty years later in his seventy-second year dispels any thought that he avoided lecturing because he could not do it well. That talk, titled "Dissent," is reproduced elsewhere in this volume (see Chapter 9).

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In that lecture, and in studies he strongly endorsed later, Saunders recognized that massive bureaucracies were inevitable in the conduct of public as well as private enterprise. He knew that such organizations involved and perhaps required elaborate systems of command and control. Those systems communicate assumptions to their participants that generate a logic and momentum of their own, creating institutional cultures alien if not positively hostile to humane ideals and public purposes. Hence, given the arrogance of power and a tendency for institutions to enact environments for their own advantage, one cannot expect static institutions to reform themselves. In those views, he was at one with classical theorists in recognizing that corruption and decay within institutions, as in individuals, were as natural as life itself. Thus if democracy is to resist the tyranny of its own institutions, Saunders argued, the perceptions and insights that give rise to dissent must not be repressed but incorporated in the practice of democracy. His defense of dissent may have defined Saunders more clearly than these pages can hope to do. Something more of Saunders' views may be seen in his prejudices as well as his preferences. Although the essay "Small Is (Still) Beautiful" (see Chapter 9), was addressed to the local Democratic Party, it could have been directed to his university as well. He preferred institutions that were humane in character and human in scale. He contested academic specialization. Although his recommendations gained admission for his students to leading law schools, he disliked the practice of law in which "justice" often appears only as the preface to a proper name. He resisted recommending a favorite student to law school on grounds that her outstanding service in the office of citizen was more significant than what could be accomplished in law. He nonetheless wrote her an effective recommendation. He disliked specialization in bureaucracies where narrow institutional means and constraints assumed the character of ends in themselves. He resented and resisted specialization in his field when it diminished the discipline's capacity to sustain a dialogue within itself or to offer guiding concepts and needed criticism to the public in comprehensible terms. He contested the reduction of political science to economics or to statistical analysis of polling results, and he objected to the fragmentation of liberal arts into noncommunicating professional fields. By insisting that politics and governance be seen in wider contexts of fact and value, he presented politics—and the teaching of it—as more an art than a science. He opposed a political science modeled on physics, and

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he believed the discipline should include the needs and purposes that politics serves. T h e art of Saunders' teaching was neither a descriptive, photographic realism nor the obscure, subjective extravagance of modernistic painting. By placing elements of his subject in harmony and proportion, he projected a vision of what politics might be. In addition, he reflected a perception of politics founded on the heritage of Western political thought as it applied to the issues of the day.

His Impact In evaluating teaching, one may fairly look beyond pedagogy to its outcome. One outcome of Saunders' teaching was an extraordinarily durable fellowship among his students. His letters from students in law or graduate schools were filled with concern or information about their fellows from college days. T h e letters reported many instances of help given to associates and to later arrivals at institutions where competitive behavior was the norm. That fellowship was also reflected in mutual aid shared among his students throughout their careers (and evident in their contributions to this chapter). Their fellowship is bonded by certain values held in common by persons of varied occupations, ethnic backgrounds, and places of origin. O n Saunders' part, these included affection for Hawai'i, his concern for humane ideals in politics and education, and his commitment to civic participation and skepticism about the ways such values become distorted in public institutions. A second, perhaps related, outcome is the remarkable set of achievements by Saunders' students of the postwar era. His class rolls represent a "who's who" of Hawai'i's public life in ensuing years. T h e list includes many who have distinguished themselves in high offices of the state and nation and others whose contributions as private citizens have been no less substantial. It includes scholars who went beyond their own fields to fulfill Saunders' hope of extending the resources of the university to the farthest reaches of the state through community college and continuing education agencies. T h e vast majority exercised their influence for public purposes and contributed to the store of common wealth. Equally remarkable is the fact that their achievements were earned after something other than the type of undergraduate training normally considered the foundation for success in their fields. It appears that the many students who claim to have been enriched by Saunders' teaching were also empowered by that experience. T h e impact of Saunders' teaching was entered into the Congressional Record by one ex-student, Senator Daniel Inouye, who reported:

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Dr. Saunders had the ability to motivate, to inspire, and to make government meaningful. In short, he was an outstanding teacher who infused his students with an enthusiasm for participating in government. His students went on to guide the political, business, and social history ofHawai'i. [After listing several of Saunders' civic activities and initiatives, Inouye continued:] There are few individuals who have contributed as much as Dr. Allan F. Saunders to the building of modem Hawai'i as a place of equality, social fairness, and progressive democracy. I am proud and truly fortunate to have learned much about American government from Dr. Saunders, and to be given the opportunity as a member of the U.S. Congress to meaningfully utilize his guidance in the principles of democracy and civil liberties. A l l of this is well and good. But can one conclude from it that Saunders' work is done? Has he anything more to say to his society and the discipline in which he taught? That depends on how he, his field, and his society are seen.

Current Implications Some among Saunders' students and associates understand him and his impact as the product of a unique, charismatic personality, even though they believe another like him is needed now. It is true that Saunders displayed a temperament consistent with his views. That enabled him to demonstrate his convictions and earn the affection of his students. He himself has said he had "rebellion in his genes," and that, of course, might explain much. But what young man does not have rebellion in his genes until it is repressed by his instruction? A simple explanation in terms of personality has little import. It is futile to wait for another such eccentric character to be born, to be attracted to the study of politics as it is now taught, or be employed by an institution that prizes academic publication far above teaching or public service. To explore the explanation in terms of personality, one can argue that Saunders' personality and convictions were both influenced by his education, just as many were enriched by the experience of his teaching. He studied at Amherst during the presidency there of a radical educational theorist, Alexander Meiklejohn. In a letter lauding Meiklejohn, Saunders noted that man's practice of opening his home to students and his reluctance to lecture. He attributed to Meiklejohn his own frequently cited maxim, "We must agree to disagree." A speech by Meiklejohn that Saunders kept contains a dozen principles by which Saunders, too, lived and taught. Those include a belief that any public institution should reflect democratic principles in its practice. Thus, it seems clear that

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Saunders' education influenced his personal manner and that education can make a difference where it is done and taken seriously. That view has implications for teaching. The point of this chapter is that there was a method in Saunders' "madness." In this accomplished political theorist, one may assume and seek reasons for what he did. A letter written just before his arrival in Hawai'i asserts that he had given serious thought to his subject and its teaching. He was, indeed, a striking and distinctive personality in that he demonstrated the courage of his convictions. Those convictions and that courage may be needed now. Others who respect the impact of Saunders' early teaching may now believe that Hawai'i's tightly intertwined economic, political, and educational institutions are quite sufficient to its needs. There are few implications in Saunders' teaching for those who hold such views. Above, I have tried to reconstruct Saunders' way of looking at his subject, his sense of what politics might be as well as what it is, his concern for individuals and the relationships among those which make for a good life. To the extent that this interpretation is valid, my concluding notes will attempt to apply his way of looking at things to the current scene. One of Saunders' later letters reports that he was asked to speak about "political development in Hawai'i." In response, he explained his belief that the state was "undeveloped." That assertion, in what amounts to a wide-ranging essay on Hawai'i's governance written near the end of his life, conveys the view that the failure of Hawai'i's institutions reflects its character as an emerging, third-world state. As in many societies that gained independence at the time of statehood here, the state's long-entrenched, one-party system, powerful executive, and overcentralized, overstaffed bureaucracies have proved insensitive to a deteriorating quality of life. If that perception seems ill-informed, ungenerous, or extreme, it is not evident that faculty in Saunders' field have addressed these issues. Looking at politics as Saunders did, we see today what is little more than a struggle for entitlements and protection of vested material interests. One observes the deterioration of political dialogue into an attack on persons instead of a discussion of issues. Looking at Hawai'i's politics, one sees again an aging establishment with its financial base in corporate contributions and its electoral base in unresponsive bureaucratic agencies of its own creation. One sees cynicism or alienation replacing responsible citizenship. One sees few grounds for smug complacency or neglect of the immediate situation, and that too has implications for scholarship. Looking at political science as Saunders did, one sees a discipline seem-

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ingly modeled on physics rather than responsive to the nature of its subject matter. One sees increasing specialization in "value-free" studies communicated in terms beyond comprehension by the public. One sees the publication of such studies emphasized to the exclusion of concern for teaching or civic leadership. One finds the value-laden heritage of political theory treated, if at all, as a historical curiosity and ignored in the practice of instruction. Teaching by lecture and promotion by "objective" tests are best seen as a system of command and control. Such systems in any institution appeal to and attract persons comfortable with their implications and content to say or do anything required to get ahead. They do not encourage students to think for themselves or their society. One wonders what this value-free discipline contributes to—or who it attracts to— the production of political values, the creation of a common wealth, or the realization of a just and humane society. As we have seen, the substance Saunders' teaching served, among other things, as a diagnostic tool with which to examine the health of the body politic or any public institution. Thus, his opposition to developments in his discipline and university that moved him to assume a role in its faculty senate and administration—as well as his devotion in the last decades of his life to associations required to preserve freedom, justice, and peace—are explained. The experience of Saunders' teaching suggests one basic conclusion. Only when politics is introduced in a way that respects questions, responds to human concerns, encourages criticism, and engages students in an inquiry into values will it recruit to its academic study or to public life the type of minds and personalities required to address the problems with which those must deal.

5.

The Dean of Arts and Sciences Frank T. Inouye

IN 1955, A l l a n Saunders had been in Hawai'i for a decade. He had made a name for himself on the Manoa campus and in the community as an effective teacher, a motivated activist for liberal causes, and an energetic committee member. A t the university, as department chairman, and as an active leader of the Faculty Senate, he had been appointed to a faculty representative committee to find a successor to President Sinclair, whose retirement was announced in 1954Allan's preference was to find a mainlander to fill Sinclair's post, but after a lengthy search he and the other advisory committee members finally decided upon Paul S. Bachman, then dean of Faculties. Even though Allan and Bachman were friends, Allan admitted later that he had arrived at that choice with some reluctance. 1 But Bachman's eventual selection by the Board of Regents confirmed the wisdom of Allan's vote in several ways. For one thing, as president, Bachman was the antithesis of Sinclair. Where the latter had tended to reflect the conservative views of the Regents, the ex-dean was much more liberal. He had on more than one occasion supported Allan and other like-minded professors, especially during the trying days of the early 1950s when the Communist issue had provoked attacks on both A l l a n and Marion Saunders (see Chapter 8). Bachman, like Allan, viewed the Faculty Senate as a legitimate and responsible source of ideas for improving the university, and in several lengthy meetings with the Steering Committee he discussed his ideas for revamping and improving administrative procedures. One of them was to give the faculty a greater voice in university policy-making. Doing so would revolutionize the entire system by which the institution was managed. Bachman was also concerned that the university become more engaged in research, in order to attain a position as a leading academic establish-

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ment. To that end, he supported those faculty members who argued for a larger role for the dean of the Graduate School, under whose jurisdiction major research projects would operate. Suggested names for this deanship included, among others, Allan Saunders. Allan, however, was not interested. The stimulation of research was not high on his agenda. What he was interested in, however, was the deanship of either the College of Arts and Sciences or of the Faculties, Bachman's former position. His somewhat diffident explanation for his interest, as told to a close friend, was: "If I'm to be used on so many committees, I cannot do the teaching job I should do . . . so I might as well have the [dean's] title." 2 There was no question that the university faculty welcomed Allan's decision. In fact, it supported him quite openly for the position, support that was not lost on the administration. Bachman's full support was also assured. He had been a valued colleague, a professor of Government, for many years. And decades earlier, in 1931, he had warmly recommended Allan for appointment for a Columbia University internship. The friendship between the two men was based on mutual respect and a common view of many issues facing the university. They were personal friends as well. In fact, Allan and Marion's wedding had taken place in the Bachman residence in Manoa valley. So there remained only the question of the Board of Regents. This conservative body, recalling Allan's aloha shirt campaign and his 1951 testimony to Senator Hill's committee, placed two conditions on their consent to Allan's appointment: dispense with aloha shirts for himself and put an end to his legislative lobbying. Allan, in deference to Bachman's position, agreed to don a coat and tie. No record remains of the outcome of the second condition. Thus in July of 1955 Allan Saunders was duly appointed dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. In his letter of acceptance the new dean outlined his goals for the college. He called for greater "structuring" of lower-division courses, construction of more programs "around student interests and capabilities," and increased dissemination of information about the Arts and Sciences college to the community. 3 Allan's ascension to the dean's position meant that his efforts would now be directed toward administrative goals rather than teaching. He retained his professorial rank, and would, upon retirement as dean, return to the Department of Government. Meanwhile, as dean, he would continue to teach one course, if he chose to do so. This sudden and unexpected departure from his first and greatest love —teaching—mystified some of Allan's closest friends and former students.

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Some wondered whether he could achieve as much satisfaction and pride within the academic establishment as he had in the lecture halls and seminars. Others wondered whether the community voice of the Manoa Activist would finally be stilled. Allan's acceptance of the deanship might be considered a departure from his long commitment to teaching if one views teaching purely in terms of classroom instruction. But anyone who has studied his career and his correspondence would recognize that his commitments ranged beyond college classrooms to the way institutions of higher learning were organized. They also ranged beyond campuses. Moreover, his teaching was founded upon the belief that truly educated people had responsibilities extending beyond their immediate professions and callings into the communities of which they were a part. To him, teaching did not cease at the classroom door or even at the edge of the campus but extended into the arena of public affairs. Thus, to Allan, becoming a dean was not a renunciation of teaching; it was rather an opportunity to extend his academic influence into a broader arena. What then of his silent acceptance of the regents' second condition, that he abstain from "legislative lobbying"? Did he agree to be muzzled? Or had Allan set aside his role as community activist for a more direct and effective influence on university affairs?The evidence seems to indicate the latter. His activities related to ethics in government and state penal reform did not begin until 1966, after his tenure as dean ended and he had retired from the university. But meanwhile, he had been able to serve from a supplementary vantage point a number of the purposes he had sought for education on the campus. Allan's lengthy absence from the public arena did not, however, curtail his interest in community activities. Despite heavy administrative duties he continued to read widely, correspond diligently, and to attend private and public functions relating to local, national, and international affairs. Moreover, if his calm, reasoned, and judicious presence was missing from legislative hearings, his influence could increasingly be seen and heard through the voices of his former students who now occupied important positions from Hawai'i to Washington, D.C. As his several roles of community activist, political "gadfly," and civil libertarian illustrated, Allan was convinced that the ultimate purpose of civic life was to affect public policy through active involvement—and that the teaching of Government led inevitably to the political process, in one way or another. (Hence his earlier campaign for a seat in the 1950 Hawai'i Constitutional Convention.)

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Further, he was aware as a teacher that the university's "public policies" were defined and actuated largely by its administrative officers, including the deans. After some 30 years of teaching, it was time for him to move into the academic corridors of power in order to effect the changes needed to improve the institution. There is no evidence that his decision indicated he had been seduced by visions of academic authority and power, or that he had even higher aspirations. There is, on the other hand, evidence that he had definite ideas about what a college education should be, and about the nature of the ideal institution for offering it. Allan had a clear picture of what a liberal arts education ought to be. In characteristic fashion, he never fully explicated his vision, although he may have come close in an article he published in the Star-Bulletin in March 1957. In reply to the question "What Is a 'Liberal' Education," he declared it a process dedicated to "laying a foundation of deepened awareness, heightened sensitivities, intellectual capacities and widened imagination." A liberal education is directed at preparing "citizens who are competent to work effectively with ideas." To do so involves exposing young people "to a wide variety of studies basic to an understanding of modern civilization." It also involves providing them with an environment "where the student may re-examine his prejudices and rearrange his value-scale at the same time that his understanding of the world is enlarged." This happens through exposure to knowledge of man's physical and biological nature, of his physical and social environment, of the history and processes of human and social development; through the acquisition of skill in language, in thinking critically, in decision-making, in effective action; and through coming to appreciate beauty, differences between people and among societies; and through experiencing curiosity and awe. This vision of what a general education should be fueled Allan's interest in the post of dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. The early influence of Alexander Meiklejohn at Amherst College—a man who had debated educational philosophy with John Dewey—had attuned Allan to such questions and stimulated his consideration of them. His own experience at experimental colleges—as a student in the University of Wisconsin's Experimental College and as a teacher at Deep Springs in California —had further pushed Allan to reflect on education and its purposes. Thus, the move to the deanship meant a different, but not an entirely new, set of questions for Allan to focus on. It also meant a broadened opportunity to affect the shape of higher education in Hawai'i. It was this vision of what a liberal education should be that had shaped Allan's view of what a teacher should be: not primarily an expert or au-

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thority with insights to bestow, and not primarily a researcher dedicated to increasing mankind's store of knowledge or a scientist dedicated to its systematic confirmation—but a communicator committed to interacting with and stimulating and guiding the young. Thus Allan's ideal institution of higher learning resembled a liberal arts college rather than a university. His own ideal with respect to the way education should be structured called for beginning the college experience after the eleventh (not the twelfth) grade and having it last three years instead of the customary four. Its curriculum should consist solely of interdisciplinary courses. Only at the end of this baccalaureate program would professional education, or the pursuit of a major (the beginning of graduate study, in Allan's judgment), commence.4 The institution offering this education should reflect both decentralization and democracy in its organization. Educational policy would not emanate primarily from a central location and it would not be top-down in genesis. It also followed that "The transfer of responsibility and of power to the several colleges . . . [would make]... much of the central administration redundant," and that both deans and the president would be elected for set terms by the faculty. The power of the Board of Regents would be "reduced to the minimum,"5 and perhaps eventually this body might even be abolished, since its major functions could be distributed among other bodies to advantage.6 Few deans can afford to pursue such a radical agenda, and it may be more than mere coincidence that Allan's published formulations of it, including those quoted above, did not appear until after his retirement from the university. It thus remains uncertain just how much of the platform antedated his deanship and how much of it represented conclusions reached only during and after that experience. In any event, his career as a university administrator appears more staid than the above might augur. Even so, in becoming a dean Allan was running the risk of exposing himself to a wider spectrum of possible campus criticism. As a teacher his security was assured through tenure and his strong ties to the students and the faculty. As an administrator he would be forced to make decisions that might irritate or even anger professors, chairmen, or other administrators. And there was no guaranteed tenure for a dean. If Allan had any reservations about taking on his new position, he did not reveal them, at least publicly. His earlier service as chairman of the Department of Government, from 1946 to 1955, hardly seemed adequate training for a deanship. There, he had managed a handful of instructors and their minimal administrative concerns; now, he was in charge of some 30 departments representing the largest college in the university, with each

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of these departments looking to him to redress their many complaints, monitor their operations, and support their claims for increased staffing, courses, and budgets. Allan's basic common sense and instinctive fairness, coupled with his ability to quickly grasp the essence of even the most complicated issues, more than offset his lack of administrative experience. He was able to turn his attention to the demands of his new position with the same assurance, optimism, and good humor as ever. Further, he had the most important qualification for his post: integrity. He was not "Machiavellian" but, in his own words, a "square-dealer." Allan dove into his new job with a strenuous schedule of meetings with different departments in order to acquaint himself first-hand with their programs and problems. These meetings led to thorough departmental selfassessments of their own courses. He managed to increase the amount of humanities exposure of students in the Teachers College (later renamed the College of Education) and in Applied Science, requiring a greater concentration in English and History. Allan also considered ways and means for shifting out of his college students who had no intention of earning an A.B. degree. To implement one of his stated goals for the college, he quickly formed a Curriculum Committee under his chairmanship, consisting of seven department chairmen representing diverse specialties. The committee also concerned itself with instruction and proposed to change the way European languages were taught, by adding laboratories in which students could use recording instruments to monitor their own language skills. This method of language instruction had been tested and proven highly effective by the U.S. military. While fairly standard in today's academic institutions, at that time it was a revolutionary change in language instruction. Much of a dean's job, Allan soon discovered, did not lend itself to solutions through a Curriculum Committee. Most of it, in fact, required direct communication with the department fiefdoms, many of which were inclined to go their separate ways, and sometimes with little self-discipline. The tendency to expand their own course offerings was endemic, and the result as Allan saw it was often chaotic duplication, to the detriment of the students and an added financial burden to the university. For example, there was a danger of course overlapping between the College of Business Administration and the Department of Economics in the College of Arts and Sciences. Where should courses in economics lie? Both colleges argued that these courses were essential to their curricula, and the chairman of Economics naturally sought to delineate his "territory." This seemingly arcane matter was more than a mere "turf" struggle be-

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cause it involved, in Allan's eyes, an open attack upon the legitimacy of economics as a liberal arts offering. It also led, in 1961, to a fractious and demoralizing inter-college struggle, when the dean of the Business College attempted to transfer the merged Department of Economics and Business (the Business segment was later dropped) to his jurisdiction. The following year, when a new dean was sought for the Business College, Allan issued a warning to the university president that "a second effort to withdraw economists and economics from Arts and Sciences must not be permitted." 7 Beyond his vigorous defense of the place of liberal arts in the university, another aspect of Allan's deanship deserves notice: his openness to new ideas and procedures and his encouragement of faculty-inspired innovations in teaching. In 1958, for example, he asked the chairman of the Department of Psychology to share for the benefit of others an explanation of a new honors program, the first at the university, involving superior student majors in independent projects and special reading assignments. In another instance, he asked a professor at Carleton College in Minnesota to forward any findings or recommendations he encountered on the use of mathematics for social scientists; Allan noted that "I find the usual academic resistance to novelty is retarding our effort toward improvement." 8 When an enterprising mathematics instructor proposed the use of laboratories comparable to those of language departments, Allan was immediately interested, and invited further information on projected instructional and financial costs. And he was quick to express his support for an English instructor's proposal for improving his sophomore literature course with changes in course objectives and content. He even visited classes, when invited, to observe superior teaching methods. And he encouraged the hiring of instructors with nontraditional backgrounds, at least in some areas. He recommended to the English Department that instead of limiting itself to professors steeped in traditional methods, it might offer more "Exemplars of Creative Writing," whether they were fully accredited or not. "One learns chiefly by inservice training," he argued, "and creative writers can learn, too. Besides," he added, "Every college needs nonconformists; we have too few."9 Allan's elevation to the deanship did not change his famous "Open Door Policy" where students were concerned. His secretary, Beatrice ("Bea") Sugimoto, recalls that she made every attempt to accommodate them, sometimes at the expense of other appointments. Allan remained people-oriented and never allowed the deanship to enlarge his ego. She noted, for example, his family-oriented conversations with her about his

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sons, their families, and their children. Nor did the dean lose his sense of humor. Once an Army colonel, upon receiving from Bea instead of Allan a response to a question he had posed, demanded sarcastically, "When did you become dean?"—whereupon Allan got on the phone and said, "This is Mr. Saunders. I'm acting dean. The real dean was correct." 10 But there was another side to Allan's administrative personality. When he felt it warranted he could and did make decisions countermanding those of department chairmen. In one notable case, he overruled the History chairman's assigning of a failing grade to a student who had cut more than the professor's allotted number of absences from class. "I am not aware," he informed the chairman, "of any University regulation which professes to authorize a reduction of grade by virtue of non-attendance upon course meetings." 11 In another instance, he recommended against the offering of a course on the American South, on the grounds that there were already too many offerings in American History, and that the subject matter was not overly significant for Hawai'i students. Allan also lectured the chairman of the Psychology Department about using students as "guinea pigs" for faculty projects. 12 And when a department exceeded its annual budget, he was quick to point out such instances of administrative misconduct. Nevertheless, Allan was careful to inform department chairmen that although his enumerated powers were wide-ranging on matters relating to administrative and academic matters within the college, he would rarely exercise those powers. He believed in giving chairmen the authority to match their responsibilities, and he delegated those powers wherever and whenever possible. The untimely death of Paul Bachman in 1957, barely three years after assuming the presidency, shocked Allan as much as it shocked the rest of the university. Bachman had been enormously popular among the faculty and administrators, and his plan to strengthen communication and open power had had a positive effect upon faculty morale. His successor in 1958, Lawrence Snyder—a visiting dean from the University of Oklahoma Graduate School and an internationally recognized scientist—was regarded by some Manoa academicians as a step backward from Bachman's democratic rule. If Allan shared this concern he kept his opinion to himself. His relationship with Snyder seems to have been cordial and correct, if somewhat formal. Notes and memos addressed to Snyder from Allan reflect this formality. Statehood, finally achieved in 1959, seemingly brought the promise of total renovation of the university. That revolution had actually begun, so it seemed, with the election of William Quinn, a charismatic Republican,

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as the first governor of the fiftieth state. Upon his accession to power, Quinn ousted the entire Board of Regents and replaced it with men selected for a more moderate socio-political outlook, such as Herbert C. Cornuelle, the new board chairman. Cornuelle was a widely respected officer of a major Island corporation, and his selection was viewed as the beginning of a new era in university history. Allan Saunders was one of those on campus who believed in this prospect wholeheartedly. In a letter to one of the new regents, he reminded Morris Shinsato that he had been his first superior student at the university, and that this selection foretold that the university would again be full of intellectually alert and socially responsible students and faculty members.13 Allan's optimism for the institution was also expressed in his 1961-1962 annual report to the university president. He pointed to the foundations he had laid the previous year, labeling it "the Year of Preparation" for a much more efficient and organized operation. The addition of an assistant dean to handle fiscal and course matters (John Hoshor), while Allan handled faculty matters, was a step in that direction. Decentralization was the key concept in Allan's deanship. To implement this policy, a Charter Drafting Committee was organized under Douglas Yamamura to organize the college faculty. Meanwhile, the Arts and Sciences faculty had organized a separate senate, with some 40 elected members. Committees were formed for curriculum, budget, student, and intercollegiate and community relations concerns. To improve communication within the college, Allan initiated a newsletter called The College Prospect. It contained information of interest to department heads, requests for service or assistance from faculty or departments, and news of scholarly activity and interest. Curriculum matters were high on Allan's list of concerns, and he appointed ad hoc committees to study and recommend cross-disciplinary study programs, such as American Studies. Consultants were brought in to make recommendations on strengthening Asian and Pacific languages. Additional undergraduate majors were added, while others were deleted. With 43 disciplines now within the College of Arts and Sciences, there were heavier student enrollments and the possibility of indiscriminate course proliferation, something the dean opposed. In keeping with his convictions, Allan's administration could generally be viewed as highly decentralized, democratic, and open to faculty concerns and aspirations, while retaining in the dean's office the ultimate authority and responsibility for the direction and operation of the college. The delegation of course and program design and recommendation to faculty com-

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mittees was in sharp contrast to previous college administrations, which had tended to establish policies by executive fiat. Despite the promising beginnings, however, the 1960s were a turbulent and upsetting time on most of the nation's campuses, and the University of Hawai'i was no exception. Nor was Allan Saunders immune to the era and its distractions. The resignation of Lawrence Snyder as president in 1961 led to another lengthy search for a successor. The choice was Thomas Hale Hamilton, former president of the State University of New York, who, in his inaugural address, outlined his hopes and vision for the Pacific institution. It was obvious from his words that he would pursue a much more dynamic and enlarged role for the Manoa campus. It was not long before Hamilton's vision of a great Pacific university— echoed and fully supported by John A. Burns, elected governor in 1962— began to conflict with Allan's assumptions about how an institution of higher learning should operate. Where Allan was committed to decentralization and the inclusion of the Faculty Senate in the formation of university policy, Hamilton practiced a policy of more centralized administration and control. 14 He did not hesitate to reward his favorites, even at the expense of protocol, sometimes bypassing both deans and chairmen. 15 Hamilton's call for a greater university had been perfectly in tune with the realities facing Hawai'i's state university. There had been an enrollment explosion—from 1,900 students in 1945 to 7,500 in 1960—and this increase had been attended by the construction of new facilities. The EastWest Center, heavily subsidized by the federal government, was itself in a major growth phase, offering programs for Asian and Pacific scholars, which in turn drew heavily upon the faculty resources of the university. In some of its aspects, the East-West Center represented a separate instructional program paralleling and rivaling programs of other colleges in the university, especially Arts and Sciences. The relationships between the two institutions as to instructor pay, course offerings, and handling of center grantees, were, in Allan's words, "complex, confused and unsettled." 16 Allan's relations with the East-West Center were thus often troubled and frustrating. They included questions about specialized courses requested by the center—courses which he felt were inadvisable or impractical, redundant or too narrowly focused. He also felt that foreign students at the center were offered too much special treatment, at the expense of the university's standards, curricula, and budget. Much of Allan's concern focused on the center's use of the university's English Department, which was asked to provide instructors for eight courses ranging from introductory English to English composition for center

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graduate students. 17 Since these courses were sometimes financed by the center—even if manned by Arts and Sciences instructors—the center felt justified in dealing directly with the English Department about the use of such positions, without consultation with the Arts and Sciences dean. Allan's reaction was immediate and predictable. He challenged the center's right to deal with the departments over such center-financed positions because that "would wreak havoc with lines of administrative responsibility."18 He contended that the proper locus of any questions concerning such matters belonged to his office. Not until the spring of 1963 was the frustrating struggle with the center finally resolved. It came in the form of a memorandum from the center's vice chancellor, Henry Birnbaum, formally outlining the center's projected needs and requesting the Arts and Sciences dean's plans for the year in the interests of reconciling the two programs.19 With this communication, academic conflicts between the two institutions were avoided, and the matter was resolved, removing the threat to the integrity of the university's established procedures and standards. Allan's last annual report as dean was submitted to President Hamilton in the summer of 1963. In it, he pointed to the increasing maturity and effectiveness of the College of Arts and Sciences Senate. It was now ready, he stated, "to assist the college dean in clear-cut development of educational policies appropriate for Hawai'i in mid-twentieth century." Such democratization of control marked genuine progress and achievement in Allan's scheme of things. He also sought additional help for students and more support for department chairmen. In typical Saunders fashion, Allan closed his final report with an expression of appreciation to the university administration for "the patience and understanding with which you have dealt with this reluctant Dean. My relationships with the other University administrators have uniformly been pleasant and educational. I hope to be able to experience such affect next year when I join the traditional Opposition!" 20 A t age sixty-five, Allan had reached mandatory retirement age and was required to step down from his deanship. Looking back on his eight-year stint as dean, he retained the convictions he had brought to his administrative position. "One of the most important things about being dean," he had told a student newspaper reporter during his tenure, "is trying to be accessible to students who think the dean can be helpful. I don't want to be thought of just as a disciplinarian.... My second aim as dean is to help faculty members attain the educational objectives they want, and to relieve them of the administrative overload." 21

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Major steps forward, he pointed out, were the decentralization and democratization occurring in the separate college administrations, and the Faculty Senate now working through committees to develop curricula. "This is the way it should be. Faculty are the firing line of education, and they should decide what students should study. This is not a dean's job; he's not supposed to be a scholar."22 As to improvements still to be made, Allan supported rearranging the curriculum so that students would study fewer courses more intensely. And he advocated "more learning outside the class [to] reduce the wear and tear of giving and listening to lectures." Moreover, "students should be more adventurous and be encouraged . . . to explore new frontiers." His was a list that remains current, with the kind of recommendations favored by today's educational reformers. The University Senate noted Allan's retirement by expressing its collective appreciation for the lengthy and productive years he had given to the university and its administration. In its May 1963 meeting, it unanimously adopted a resolution commemorating him: Allan Saunders was almost forced into a deanship by a faculty which for many years gave him little rest by their persisting in electing him chairman of the Standing Committee and by asking of him many other University duties. Thus he fled into the more orderly life of a dean. For the last eight years he has developed and guided the College of Arts and Sciences; until in the reorganization of 1962 he became dean with a faculty as well as students. He has demanded that his faculty assume useful and democratic duties in the college society; he has offered skillful leadership in guiding the college into new patterns. As teacher and as representative of the faculty and as dean he has given many excellent years to the University.

6.

Retirement: Campus to Community Frank T. Inouye

T h e P o s t - D e a n Years stepped down as dean in 1963, he could have retired to his and Marion's comfortable home in Manoa valley, there to spend the rest of his days in reading, travel, and contemplation. Instead, he was promptly reinstated in his former department, now titled the Department of Political Science, with the rank of senior professor. He was also given his choice of courses to teach. Considering the fact that the required retirement age for professors was sixty-five, this appointment was a significant testimonial to Allan's stature. WHEN A L L A N SAUNDERS

The chairman of the department at the time was Richard H. Kosaki, who had been one of Allan's brightest and most competent students and the student body president during the 1948 Model Constitutional Convention. In his memorandum requesting Allan's placement, he wrote: "Dean Saunders remains an alert and able teacher, keen of mind and youthful in spirit." With characteristic vigor and enthusiasm, Allan assumed his new position. Memos and letters flowed from his office to all parts of the campus and beyond. He undertook to teach a non-credit seminar on American Studies directed at Asian students. And for the spring semester of 1964, when Kosaki was elevated to a special position in the president's office, Allan was again asked to serve as department chairman. Allan's "retirement" teaching appointment was extended for an additional two years, until 1966, with reduced teaching duties. But it was not the department he had known. He noted in a letter to former University of Hawai'i professor Ralph Hoeber that the growth in his department, now numbering fifteen members, "was typical of the whole University.. .

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exploding into graduate work and all that in America goes along with that relationship. This is to me a bit regretful," he added, "but I remind myself that times do change." Indeed, times had changed on the Manoa campus, especially with the administration of President Hamilton, whose interests were, Allan told Hoeber, more "mechanistic than humane." He was especially upset about the effect of Hamilton's "rationalistic" policies on the faculty. One member, Daniel Tuttle, one of Allan's earliest recruited instructors and close friend, had resigned from the department because, in Allan's words, the chasm dividing "his social idealism and temperament, on the one side, and the hard, harshly rationalistic procedures of his university, on the other side, is too clear, too d e e p . . . The switch in the department's name from Government to Political Science in 1962, reflected, in the eyes of Ralph Miwa (another of Allan's early appointees), the behavioral thrust of a new breed of instructors who were bent on emphasizing the study of government in "dynamic" or scientific, empirical terms. This direction would certainly not have been to Allan's liking. In his final years on the campus Allan became increasingly critical of trends and developments. He even suggested to a dean at another university that the Manoa campus would be a fruitful place from which to recruit faculty "because a sizeable number of us undergraduate teachers are becoming restive under the current preference here for 'research' and for graduate instruction." 2 As dean, Allan had witnessed the influence on the university's academic programs of the East-West Center's emphasis on graduate students—which pressured the Department of Political Science to satisfy the needs of the expanding graduate student body to the extent that it acquired the largest graduate student enrollment at the university, and, indeed, one of the largest in the nation. Allan's appraisal of Hamilton's handling of departmental matters had been formed during his deanship and did not improve. He wrote to a close friend that while the university president might "be influenced" by a department's "negative decision" about a faculty appointment or tenure candidate, he refused to consider that decision as binding. He referred to one incident in which Hamilton had rejected Dean Saunders' recommendation even though it was supported by other administrators. In another case involving the Department of Political Science, Allan cited Hamilton's ruling that a professor who had accepted an administrative position could return to the department at any time, despite a long-established tradition that departments held the prerogative of deciding who their faculty mem-

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bers would be. This ruling was, Allan wrote Ralph and Hilda Miwa, a violation of academic "due process." Allan's increasing reservations about the direction of the university administration—the movement toward growth and centralization of authority in Bachman Hall, where the top administrators had their offices—were evident in his references to that building as the "Big House," and to the university itself as the "New Leviathan." He referred to his successor as dean, W. Todd Furniss, as an administrator who "goes with the Empire Builders."3 Allan especially deplored what had happened to his beloved department. Where once it had been staffed by student-oriented teachers, it was now filled with men he saw as "Aggressive Climber(s)" assuming "the face that is brassy Establishment." He lamented the diminished "Forlorn Band who seek to maintain the University as a fellowship of scholars who, by deed and word, offer to their masters The Public a better life than grubbing for More." 4 What he found distressing in the department was the presence of a "group of hard-working and well-trained scholars, whose members sought diligently and almost invariably to act and vote on the side of self promotion." These professors saw the department and the university "solely as temporarily convenient instruments for personal advancement," he wrote Ralph Miwa. Such attitudes, he mourned, are far from those "that in the past made ' T h e Department of Government' a term of praise, a term of wonder, a term of political power, and a term representative of an affectional relationship among staff that was reflected in the ideals of our departmental ties." Another dispiriting situation was the dispersal of Allan's original group of young, idealistic, motivated faculty appointees. Bob Stauffer and Norman Meller had both earlier moved to the East-West Center to assist temporarily in its operations, and had apparently been motivated to remain there over the years. Dick Kosaki was now working in President Hamilton's office, obviously destined for broader and more responsible administrative duties. Ralph Miwa, another Saunders protégé, was also being tapped for administrative duties, and Dan Tuttle had already indicated his intention to resign from the university. All things considered, Allan confessed to Miwa, he was "disheartened," and "pessimistic, but not fatalistic, re the human attributes of UH." But if he found the department's and university's immersion in and worship of growth, power, and aggrandizement unpalatable, there was another arena in which he could find fulfillment—the Faculty Senate. There, surrounded

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by his longtime teaching friends, he again assumed a host of committee assignments. In 1965, he served as chairman of the Program and Curriculum Planning Committee. He also was elected secretary pro-tem of the senate, and was asked to serve on the Senate Committee on Excellence in Teaching. One of Allan's most interesting senate projects was his report recommending the adoption of an obscure Scandinavian institution called the "ombudsman." This government agency, which traces its history back to 1809, was designed to protect the rights of individuals against arbitrary administrative action. It served primarily as an advisory body composed of former judges. Allan's report was based on the book The Ombudsman, Citizen Defender, describing the experiences in several countries that had adopted the Swedish model. T h e Senate Executive Committee was interested in the possibility of such a position in order to protect students from arbitrary and unfair administrative edicts. T h e fact that the State of Hawai'i created the office of the Ombudsman in 1967 and named Herman Doi, an attorney and one of Allan's former students and teaching assistants, to that position two years later is more than simple coincidence. Doi had undoubtedly conferred with Allan about this institution, and he had written a report on it while he was in the Legislative Reference Bureau. T h e university belatedly established an ombudsman in the early 1970s, but the office did not survive the brief tenure of its first and only occupant, Charles James. Nevertheless, there is some justification for assuming that Allan helped inspire the State Oifice of the Ombudsman, even though he could not establish such a post at the university. But even engrossing and challenging activity in the Faculty Senate could not compensate for the changes in the more immediate circumstances of his department. And whether one considers Allan's orientation the wiser one—or embraces instead the empirical, research-oriented direction the department had taken—he was clearly out of step. Moreover, it would appear difficult even for an Allan Saunders to conceal differences and disappointments as fundamental as those he expressed in his correspondence. Thus, it is not surprising that the arrangement with his former department did not last. As Harry Friedman, then chairman, put it, Eventually, there were faculty eager to teach the courses Allan was teaching and [who] also wanted to establish an atmosphere in the department different from what was prevailing. . . . Eventually, the subject came up in a meeting and it was decided by most of the department that it was time for Allan to retire . . . from all teaching. The tot fell to me to speak to him about it.

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Chapter 6 . . . When I went to see him and fumbled around for the right words, he helped me out by admitting, whether it was true or not, that he was having difficulty remembering the subjects, the reading assignments, the students, etc. and he agreed it was time to give it up. I found that to be a very difficult situation and I was relieved that he .. . made it a little easier. Such a response to the conveyer of such tidings is what one generation

might call "extraordinary grace"—and another, "a class act." Immediately following his meeting with Friedman, Allan typed out a letter of resignation, explaining: I find that body is overtaking spirit. I find that in class, I reminisce, I wander from the subject, I assume to myself an unjustified part of the time available. These are troublesome findings; for they point toward pedagogic senility, wherein the Professor believes himself more important than the process of learning. I have seen senility develop in associates (some older than I, some considerably younger). I don't like it any better in myself, and propose to arrest its growth. That means: I retire from the Faculty at the conclusion of the present contract. Thus ended Allan's 21-year association with the University of Hawai'i — a n d his 44-year career in higher education. With characteristic grace, he apparently never told anyone—not even his wife—of the events that had prompted the letter of resignation. With his decision to retire, Allan was accorded the special title of Senior Professor Emeritus of Political Science, in response to a request from Harry J. Friedman, chairman of the department.

The Community Activist If 1966 marked the end of Allan Saunders' days in higher education, it opened a new phase in his career as community activist. Throughout the years prior to his departure from the university, Allan had made two sorts of community contribution. T h e first, and most continuous, had been in the role of gadfly: through formal testimony at the Legislature and through informal testimony delivered largely through letters to the editor, he had been a frequent commentator on and critic of official policy and activity. He had also taken on specific projects, like support of the United Nations, and the launching of Hawai'i chapters of the League of Women Voters and the American Civil Liberties Union. After leaving the university, he almost immediately began investing the time retirement made available in more sustained and demanding community activity. Three ventures in par-

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ticular were to claim countless hours over the next several years: the first was the presidency of the Hawai'i chapter of the ACLU; the second was penal reform; and the third was arriving at a code of ethics for public officials. Within a year after his retirement, Allan was elected president of the Hawai'i ACLU. In Chapter 7 of this volume, Mark Davis describes some of the highlights and more dramatic events of his administration: the Oliver Lee case, re-visitation of the Reinecke case of the 1940s, the campus upheavals of the late 1960s and early 1970s. But one of the projects that extended over a longer period of time was state penal reform—a venture growing out of concern about the Honolulu Police Department.

Penal Reform Charges of brutality were often leveled against the Police Department, and were routinely forwarded up the administrative ladder to the Police Commission, a body of civilians appointed by the mayor of Honolulu. In the fall of 1967, for example, on behalf of the ACLU, Allan had written to the Police Commission to complain about police brutality. In response, the commission asked the ACLU to provide facts or "documented complaints" to substantiate its allegations of police beatings of citizens. Allan responded that a full report, which would "reinforce our position," was being prepared. Thus, Allan's introduction to the need for penal reform was the direct result of his leadership role in civil liberties. With statehood, Hawai'i had entered a new phase in its development that called for modernizing its ancient and confusing system of governance. Nowhere was this more obvious and pressing than in the field of penal reform. The penal code of Hawai'i traced its ancestry back to the period of the Hawaiian monarchy. Over the years, it had been revised in piecemeal fashion, so that its philosophy, contents, and penalties remained totally unsuited to a modern state. Its only useful attribute lay in its listing of crimes in alphabetical order. Its negative aspects were numerous and obvious, including arbitrary and illogical penalties. Thus, punishment for burglaries committed at night was heavier than for those committed during the day. Laws against sorcery and fortune-telling were still on the books but never enforced. "Blue sky" laws against such practices as fornication and cohabitation, or the wasteful use of money, were also on the books, reflecting the mores of an earlier and more Puritanical age, hardly in keeping with the twentieth century. William S. Richardson, chief justice of the Supreme Court of the State

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of Hawai'i, a close friend of Governor Burns and a respected jurist, led the battle to reform the penal system, and in 1966, the Legislature allocated $130,000 to finance the study. The Judicial Council of Hawai'i, under Richardson as chairman, was given the responsibility for preparing for the Legislature a complete revision of the penal laws. The Judicial Council included fifteen community, political, and business representatives and three judges. This council, in turn, appointed an eight-person Committee on Penal Law Revision, with Judge Masato Doi as chairman. Included as a member of this panel was Allan Saunders. Frank B. Baldwin III, a former University of California-Davis law professor, was the project director, and Don Jeffrey Gelber was the reporter. Staffing was provided by various law students. The committee composition was heavily weighted, as might be expected, by jurists and lawyers. Five of the eight members were one or both of these, and the director was also a member of the legal profession. That balance was to affect the final result, even as the committee's composition and stature contributed to its final success. As one of only two "civilian(s)" in the group, Allan joked that he was "surrounded by lawyers."5 The work of the committee was onerous, tedious, protracted, and undoubtedly at times contentious. Meeting twice a month, the members would tackle sections of the old code and through discussion amend them. As each chapter or section was amended, drafts were submitted to members of the bar, judges, state and county agencies and other parties who had expressed an interest in the project's work. In all, it took the committee more than 70 meetings, over a period of three years, to complete its work. W h e n the revised penal code was finally completed in 1970, it consisted of twelve volumes. Its foreword stated the purpose and results of the committee's lengthy efforts: "The proposed Code is not a patchwork project which refurbishes existing law, but is entirely new in structure and form, containing substantive changes in concept ranging from the mild to the drastic in an effort to bring criminal law in step with modern penological thinking." The Introduction concluded with its hope that "The proposed Hawai'i Penal Code . . . will improve the quality of our penal law and the administration of justice in criminal cases."6 The changes wrought replaced the archaic code of old Hawai'i with a modern one that substituted logic, reason, and modernity for a discarded and irrelevant morality. For example, it allowed abortions, decriminalized adultery, fornication, and homosexuality. It legalized social gambling and even addressed ethical standards for government personnel. The new code also systematized punishment for crimes on the basis of

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their significance and severity. An important part of this system lay in its "General Principles of Penal Liability" chapter, which defined the elements of criminal behavior in specific detail. As finally drafted, the document was submitted to the Judicial Council, which, on November 21, 1969, approved its transmittal to the Legislature and strongly recommended that the new code be adopted. To examine the final committee document, the Legislature held a series of open hearings to hear the reactions of interested parties. Allan Saunders was a conspicuous attendee and speaker at these hearings. Appearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee, he urged its members to focus on the early part of the code dealing with the restructuring of the criminal law. He identified that section "a statement of principles for Hawai'i for the last quarter of the 20th century."7 Finally, the revised Hawai'i Penal Code was passed by both houses of the Legislature and signed into law by Governor Burns; it became effective on January 1, 1973. Years later, reflecting on the work of the committee and its final product, Allan noted some major defects that he felt the new code had not properly addressed. (He expressed his thoughts in a paper he titled "The Ito Report," rather than "The Doi Report," because the committee document's preface had declared that "the observations, conclusions and recommendations . . . are those of the project staff," and Alvin Ito was the only project staff member who happened to be named. This was a typical Saunders touch of irreverence in an otherwise serious essay on Hawaiian penology.) Offering detailed analysis, the "Ito Report" critique concluded that criminal rehabilitation in the prison system had not succeeded, since recidivism (repeat offenses) had not decreased. "Participation in prison . . . shows no significant results in reducing recidivism," it noted. The indeterminate sentences sanctioned in the report yielding disparate punishment for a given offense made matters even worse. Allan's own conclusions about criminal rehabilitation were to doubt "the ability of any prison system, no matter how humane, to reduce significantly the negative aspects of imprisonment and to bring about an offender's 'cure,' whether or not [the] sentencing system [is] indeterminate." 8 And he was convinced that the differing sentences that resulted were fundamentally unjust: "Disparate sentences do not merely offend an abstract concern for uniformity; they deny the principle of equal justice under the law and [have] considerable impact on the inmates, especially when [they are] confined together and placed in a position to compare themselves." 9

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But even more fundamentally, Allan charged that the "Ito Report" was defective and flawed because it rested on a faulty premise, namely that diversity and uniformity are justifiable ends in themselves: "Diversity of sentences does not demonstrate injustice. Nor does uniformity of sentences denote just treatment. Justice, equal and proportionate justice, is individuated treatment. Equal justice does not require identical treatment, but treatment measured by the uniqueness of each case." 10 He also lamented that in revising the code there had been no testimony from two significant components in the criminal justice system—the prison inmates and the Hawai'i Paroling Authority. Unfortunately, Allan's commentary on the "Ito Report" appeared too late for its insights to be reflected in the Hawai'i Penal Code of 1973.

The Ethics Committee If penal reform was a basic requirement for a modern state, there was another issue on which almost all citizens in Hawai'i could agree—the need for ethics reform in government, at both state and municipal levels. This matter had long been a concern of community groups, the daily newspapers, and a host of concerned citizens. T h e newspapers during the 1960s were full of stories about Honolulu or state officials involved in obvious conflict-of-interest activities that infuriated the public. In early 1960, for example, the Honolulu Advertiser revealed that the chief of the city's refuse collection service, Llewellyn Hart, was the owner of a firm that derived its sole income from a private dump into which much of the city's refuse ostensibly was deposited! 11 In another celebrated case, Hon Hoong Chee, an engineer in the City Planning Office, had personally affixed his stamp to 575 house plans, none of which he had designed himself. T h e obvious conclusion was that he had used his official position to approve many construction plans for building permits on behalf of private clients, a clear violation of acceptable conduct. He defended himself by arguing that he had actually done the work, but on his own time, after regular working hours, and that it was "an old practice." 12 And in 1961, Mary K. Robinson, a commissioner of the Hawaiian Homestead Commission, was found to be booking all of the board's travel arrangements through her travel agency.13 That same year, another commissioner, William K. Sing, was reported to be selling fire insurance to the tenants of Hawaiian Homestead Department lands.14 T h e following year,

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the Honolulu Star-Bulletin reported that certain state officials were getting bargain rentals on state-owned homes.15 What was obviously lacking were codes or standards of ethics at both the state and city-county levels. Community reformers had long advocated changes in the existing Honolulu charter and the creation of a special commission on ethics in state government. Daniel K. Tuttle, the executive secretary of the Hawai'i Education Association, was one such advocate. He had, in 1961, spoken out on the need for ethical standards in government, and pointed to the problem of low rents granted to state aides as an instance of ethical problems.16 Powerful community forces became involved in the movement to strengthen ethical standards in government. The League of Women Voters of Honolulu was a most prominent and effective voice calling for reform. Indeed, for much of the 1960s the league and the issue of government ethics were inseparable. The ethics reform movement of the 1960s focused on two levels: first, amending the City and County of Honolulu's 1959 charter, which incorporated a Code of Ethics (Title XI), and second the preparation of a comparable code for the state government. Honolulu's Title XI consisted of only two brief sections on one page, purporting to define standards of conduct for elected, appointed, and employed officials and employees. These sections were so loosely drafted that conduct such as that of Hart and Chee and others was not illegal, nor grounds for any punishment. Under constant pressure by the League of Women Voters and the two dailies, both levels of government took steps to deflect the rising anger of the electorate. In 1962, Governor William Quinn announced a seventeenpoint code that attempted to specify acceptable behavior for state employees. Unfortunately, it sought only voluntary adherence by the State's departments and commissions; it included no oversight agency; and it had no legal status. Most important, it was not to apply to the legislative branch of government! Meanwhile, Honolulu Mayor Neal S. Blaisdell, no supporter of ethics reform, appointed a ten-member Special Advisory Committee headed by Rabbi Roy A. Rosenberg and including Norman K. Chung, the reputed "brain" behind the Blaisdell administration. The committee's official purpose was "to consider maintenance of desired high standards of conduct for City officers and employees, and to examine the Code of Ethics in relation thereto." 17 Unfortunately, this auspicious beginning of ethical reform at the muni-

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cipal level was rudely derailed by the disclosure the following year that the city's managing director, Charles G. Clark, along with Norman Chung, the mayor's trusted adviser, had been engaged in soliciting investment funds from city workers for the purpose of purchasing prime real estate in Honolulu. The properties purchased were then presented to the city's Planning Office for subdivision approval. 18 Blaisdell promptly fired Clark and removed Chung from the Special Advisory Committee. But weeks later, amid secret arrangements and communications between the committee and the mayor, Chung was reinstated. The only explanation given by the committee was that his participation in Clark's transactions was "above reproach." 19 In 1965, the League of Women Voters published its own twelve-point ethics code for the City and County of Honolulu. For the first time, it defined conflicts of interest involving public officials, and argued that officials in conflict of interest situations should be prohibited from acting in any manner affected by the conflict. It also tightened and clarified the language in Article XI to eliminate the loopholes used by Hart and Chee. 20 The league's proposed code was forwarded to the mayor's office, where it ran into immediate opposition from the city's corporation counsel, Stanley Ling. Ling argued that the league's code contained ambiguous language, that it was already covered by Article XI or by reports from the Advisory Committee, and that parts of it were illegal. Even the shocking revelation, in May 1965 of an obvious conflict-ofinterest situation involving the City Planning Commission failed to budge the mayor's opposition to ethics reform. The scandal involved Alfred A. Yee, a commission member. Mr. Yee, head of a structural engineering firm, had for three years been a consultant to the developer of a proposed Diamond Head project—a fact that he had not reported to the other commissioners, permitting him to cast a vote in favor of that project in a secret session.21 W h e n even such revelations failed to move Blaisdell, Rabbi Rosenberg abruptly resigned from the Advisory Committee after sharply criticizing the mayor's inaction. 22 By the time Allan Saunders joined the league's battle for ethics reform in 1966, there had been scant relevant change. Honolulu Hale was still governed by the outmoded and ineffective provisions of Title XI, and the State of Hawai'i was still without a mandated code of ethics. Given the economic stakes involved, the mayor's and even the City Council's reluctance to press for more desirable standards of conduct for municipal employees was understandable. As George Cooper and Gavan

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Daws clearly revealed in their exposé of the connection between land development and politics in Hawai'i, many city councilmen in the 1960s and 1970s were real estate investors or developers or both. They were tightly linked to attorneys, architects, realtors, accountants, and financiers who held interests in land, and in acquiring land-use changes or subdivision approval from the city's Planning Office. 23 In late 1965, the league changed its tactics. It created a Citizens Committee on Ethics in Government, composed of 31 prominent community activists, including former governor William F. Quinn, Allan Saunders and other university professors, attorneys, ministers, a prominent labor leader, government representatives, and media people. The committee's purpose was to seek community acceptance of a revised code of ethics to replace Article XI of the City Charter. This code was to be submitted to the City Council as a proposed amendment to the charter in the 1966 general election. As chairman of the nominating committee of the Ethics Committee, Allan presented a slate of officers, and George G. Akahane, a JapaneseAmerican community leader, was elected chairman. Allan was elected chairman of the subcommittee on finance. In addition to raising funds for the committee, it was his responsibility to keep all members apprised of work in progress. His enthusiasm and conscientiousness maintained the momentum and effectiveness of the committee. Thanks to the diligent efforts of a subcommittee headed by attorney Robert O. Dodge, a draft of the proposed ethics code was completed by February 1966. A month later, final modifications had been completed and the proposed code was ready for submission to the City Council. It required a two-thirds majority or six of the nine council members to be enacted. Uncertain about the reception the code would receive in the City Council, the league also planned a major drive to collect 16,000 voters' names on a petition to have the proposed code placed on the November 1966 ballot and decided by referendum. And, as a third avenue, it lobbied the State Legislature to change the city's code of ethics. Allan Saunders was the league's prime speaker on the proposal before the vital House and Senate judiciary committees. When the league's code revisions were finally submitted to city officials, they met with less than an enthusiastic reception. The Mayor's Advisory Committee studied the standards of conduct for several months before rejecting them, as did the City Council. Instead, the mayor created an

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autonomous ethics commission with subpoena, initiative, and investigatory powers. This body would supersede the Advisory Committee. The City Council unanimously approved the mayor's plan, which explicitly excluded elected city officials from ethics provisions! Twice frustrated by City Hall, the league undertook still another study of ethics code revisions. T h e shelving of its proposed code by the City Council effectively eliminated any chance of its getting on the election ballot in November, and its drive to enroll sufficient voters to force resolution of the issue in the election had stalled with slightly less than half the required 16,000 names. But there still remained the avenue of ethics reform via the state legislative route. The potential for success in the State Legislature appeared much greater than in City Hall, with its entrenched interests. One reason was the reaction of influential legislators to the continuing reports of unethical behavior on the part of elected city officials and city employees. One state representative stated publicly that he had heard there were "bag men" in Honolulu Hale who collected money for favorable zoning decisions. He extended his comments to include City Council members, adding that "there are some rascals there." 24 Yet despite his desire to end unethical behavior on the part of officials, in his appearances before the Legislature, Allan often found himself trying to rein in zealous legislators who seemed bent on passing severe restrictions upon city officials and employees. In this respect, he was even at odds with members of his own Citizens Committee. For example, both his committee and the House Judiciary Committee favored an ethics board with the power to dispense appropriate punishment for violations of code regulations—up to and including outright dismissal. Allan's view was that the ethics board or commission should be an independent advisory group only, interpreting code provisions and rendering opinions. "I do not favor making the board a penalizing body," he testified. Ever the civil libertarian, Allan also opposed the public naming of accused violators of ethics code provisions. "The major sanction," he argued, "would be publicity. Opinions rendered by the board should be published, with [the] deletions needed to prevent disclosures of the identity of the person involved." 25 It was his belief that widespread publicity of cases involving conflicts of interest or outright illegal activity by municipal officials and employees would act as a deterrent to would-be perpetrators. In Allan's scheme of things, there were two considerations to be honored: the need to provide ethical guidelines in government, and the need to protect the individual rights of all citizens to

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privacy unless and until judged guilty. Unfortunately, his attempt to separate civic responsibilities from personal rights proved an elusive goal then, and continues even today to vex the legal establishment. In Allan's view, there was no need to prevent former city officials or employees from appearing before government agencies for a specified period of time. Publicity, he felt, would be sufficient deterrence against unwarranted and improper behavior. Allan even opposed measures that would prevent city officials from voting if placed in a conflict-of-interest position. He supported full disclosure of such conflicts but argued that "a law maker is supposed to make laws—he is supposed to vote." 26 Allan, who had become chairman of the league's Citizens Committee, committed his group to a continued effort for revisions in the city's ethics code. "It is our intention," he declared to the House Judiciary Committee, "to resume our attempts to gain an amendment to the City Charter." But, he added, codes of ethics were also needed at both the state and county levels. At the state level, the road to ethics reform proved simpler and quicker, thanks in part to the interest and support of Governor John A. Burns, but also to the continued pressure from the Citizens Committee. These efforts culminated in 1967 with a much-publicized conference in Honolulu in February, designated "A Conference on Ethics in Government," sponsored by the League of Women Voters, its Citizens Committee, and the University of Hawai'i's College of General Studies. The conference, heavily publicized by the daily newspapers, had the full endorsement of Governor Burns and featured participation by powerful legislators, judges, elected officials, university professors, government and business executives, and media representatives. From the outset, the conference focused on proposed state ethics legislation for the 1968 session, and its speeches and panel discussions covered a range of topics, including election campaign practices and contributions, conflicts of interest, interpretive boards and commissions, citizen participation, and perhaps most important, legislation on ethics in government. This last topic generated considerable discussion among the panel members, who included Lieutenant Governor Thomas P. Gill, Senator Duke T. Kawasaki, Senator Wadsworth Yee, and Allan Saunders, representing the Citizens Committee. While Gill, Kawasaki, and Yee wrestled with the development of an overall format for a state ethics bill, Allan offered an interpretational perspective. It was his view that Hawai'i had moved out of its "pre-war, feudalistic, pre-American" stage into what he described

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as the "post-feudal, Darwinian stage—involving struggle for survival of the fittest," as many sought to scramble up the ladder of success by the quickest, if not always the most desirable, means. When set in a period of technological and social change, and within a welfare state, this race for success made for a more intensive and complicated set of relations between individuals and government. These forces, he noted, were moving Hawai'i in new, exciting, yet uncertain directions with deep social implications. A code of ethics, according to Allan, wouldn't solve these social problems, but, he stressed, it could set standards and guidelines of proper and expected conduct that would prove useful in dynamic times of change, even to the "go-getters."27 To the troubling question of appropriate punishment for violators of conflict-of-interest regulations, his solution was "pitiless publicity," exactly the same medicine he had prescribed for municipal ethics code violators: "To endeavor to write these ethics regulations into criminal law, to enforce them as misdemeanors, is futile. The penalty should be publicity, full publicity, opportune publicity."28 Again, it should be noted that Allan was referring to publicity about cases and examples of ethical wrongdoing but not about individuals. His position was as difficult to accept as it was to apply, which may account for Allan's inability to convince and convert his own committee, or legislative committees, to his point of view. Nevertheless, spurred on by the widespread publicity attending the 1967 conference, the Fourth Legislature two months later passed "An Act Relating to Standards of Conduct for State Legislators and Employees." Unlike prior brief efforts, this bill consisted of six parts and nine pages. Among its major provisions was the establishment of a State Ethics Commission, whose five members were to be chosen by the governor from a panel of ten persons nominated by the state Judicial Council. The adopted state ethics code, like the City and County code of 1966, was full of shortcomings. For example, it exempted legislators and judges from its provisions; there was no requirement that lobbyists register; and nothing was said about prohibiting former legislators or state officials from appearing before state agencies immediately after having left them (while even the City and County's code prohibited such appearances within a year). The section relating to disclosing conflicts of interest required such disclosure "only if (the legislator) has a controlling interest in or a substantial financial interest which he believes may be affected by a state agency."29 Nevertheless, the 1967 state code represented a major advance in government ethics reform, and Section 15 included a paragraph on legislative

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sanctions against violators of its provision that seemed to have been copied from Allan's earlier statements: "The Legislature feels that the greatest sanction that can be imposed upon a public official is that of publicity and this section is drafted to provide for some adverse publicity if the Legislature finds that the charges are true." 30 The act also contained a section requiring that each county "shall prescribe a code of ethics applicable to the respective county officers and employees."31 Thus, for the City and County of Honolulu, time had run out on its determined opposition to ethics reform. The general election of 1968 brought new political faces to Honolulu Hale. Frank F. Fasi, the new mayor, had campaigned vigorously on the issue of ethics reform. His had been the only critical voice raised in the City Council during the Diamond Head Planning Commission conflictof-interest issue—even though also seated on the council was Mary George, immediate past president of the League of Women Voters, who had made ethics reform her primary campaign issue. Largely due to her efforts and those of the Charter Review Commission, the voters of Honolulu in 1972 decisively approved a new charter for the municipality, including longdelayed changes in the outdated code of ethics. The lengthy and often frustrating struggle to eliminate the loopholes of earlier codes of ethics had finally been won. Even with the many revisions and amendments added, the State and City-County codes of ethics were far from perfect, and in the years ahead their continued improvement would occupy the energies of the respective ethics commissions, and concerned politicians—plus the vigilance of political gadflies like the League of Women Voters and Allan Saunders. Looking back on the years of dedicated effort directed at ethics reform, ex-State Senator Mary George recalled the role played by Allan Saunders as chairman of the Citizens Committee: "Allan counseled our group against coloring our committee and our standards of ethical excellence, with religious b i a s . . . . [He] always counseled and guided; never insisted or directed, so it worked out well." She added her personal perspective on the issue by noting that "I can't say that our small crusade . . . resulted in perfect ethical practices in our public service. But both the public and the public servant, I think, now have a better understanding of ethical standards and recognize when they aren't being met." Summarizing Allan's contribution, she concluded "Allan Saunders played a central role in this small victory. He was counselor, advisor, teacher, reviver of flagging spirits, conscience and friend." 32 The establishment of a meaningful set of ethical expectations for

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public employees, like the accomplishment of penal reform, had taken years to bring about. Allan had worked steadily at both. And according to the accounts of those who worked with him, his role was always that of the teacher—again in the words of Mary George, "he was a teacher always and everywhere until the day he died." Through both of these long-term efforts, as well as in the events that had concerned him as A C L U president, the thread of two of his most fundamental sets of convictions is consistently visible: the commitment to civil libertarianism, with its individualism softened by the commitment to civic responsibility—all of us are obligated to contribute to the improvement of our collective existence.

Marion and Allan at their wedding, March 16, 1946.

The Student ConCon leadership group. Those identifiable are, from left to right, George Akita, Eichi Oki, Liz Ahn, Harry Roberts, Allan Saunders, Dan Inouye.

Allan with his first teaching assistant, Frank Inouye, and Professor Tom Murphy.

Allan greeting Adlai Stevenson at a reception.

"Big Allan" and "Little Allan" Inouye, his godson, at 'Akaka Falls on the island of Hawai'i, 1954.

Student ConCon workers with their two candidates, Harry Roberts and Allan Saunders, who are standing in the back row.

The Saunderses immediately following the awarding of Marion's second master's degree, University of Hawai'i, 1960.

Allan and Marion surrounded by Marion's East-West Center students, here a group from Burma in the late 1960s.

Allan with friend and former student Bert Kobayashi at the ACLU dinner, February 7, 1981. Photo by Chris McLuckie.

Corky Trinidad cartoon of Allan displaying his ACLU membership card at the gates to heaven.

The House of Representatives of the S>tate of Hawaii hereby presents to: DR. ALLAH F. SAUKDERS

House 'Resolution 'No. 155 entitled: HONORING DR. ALLAN P. SAUNDERS AND RECOGNIZING HIS CONTRIBUTIONS TO CIVIL LIBERTIES IN HAWAII adopted this 5th

day of February 1981

szrfj em r • S^akrrfithc'HMUT (¿Iffk ot thr

The Eleventh

Legislature

One of many honors Allan received over the years for his extensive record of civil rights advocacy.

7.

Allan Saunders: The Civil Libertarian Mark S. Davis T h e vitality of civil and political institutions depends on free discussion. T h e function of free speech is to invite dispute. It may indeed best serve its high purpose when it induces a condition of unrest, creates dissatisfaction with conditions as they are or even stirs people to anger.

WILLIAM O .

DOUGLAS

To MOST, he was the founder of the American Civil Liberties Union of Hawai'i. But to the many people who were deeply involved in the birth and struggle for survival of this fledgling organization, Allan Saunders was its conscience, its moral authority, and its institutional memory. Even in the later years of his life and in declining health, when the A C L U began to publicly recognize his many contributions, Allan was never content to assume the role of a white-haired figurehead. H e was far more comfortable doing what he had always done, whether it was a mundane fundraising task, editing a position paper, or challenging the reasoning of an articulate lawyer on the Board of Directors. From the moment he moved to Hawai'i in 1945, Alan Saunders was the catalyst behind the civil liberties movement in Hawai'i. His early vision for the establishment of the A C L U of Hawai'i was met by apprehensive disdain in a country overcome with Communist paranoia. His was a courageous but lonely voice linking support of the Bill of Rights to the most fundamental precepts of patriotism. "Dissent," as he would later write during the campus protests of 1969, "is as American as apple pie." Allan was forty-eight years old when he arrived in Hawai'i and applied his lifelong dedication to the protection of civil liberties to Hawai'i. Among the material accumulated about his life, little has been found about his early years and the factors that may have contributed to the development of his social conscience and abiding commitment to individual rights. He joined the American Civil Liberties Union while he was a young graduate student, in almost the very year that the national organization was founded. A t the time of his death, he was one of the oldest members of the A C L U .

Ill

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In 1974, on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the ACLU, Allan was interviewed by the Honolulu Star-Bulletin and was asked about the birth of his "liberal leanings." He attributed much to a lifelong admiration for his mother, who defied her Scottish parents and ran away from their home in the Ohio River valley to New York, where she became one of the first women in America to become a registered nurse. But the tumultuous political events in America, which must have dominated Allan's conversations with fellow Amherst College undergraduates, were dramatic examples of repressive and overzealous governmental intrusion into the rights of the individual. Amherst was only a few miles from the location of the infamous Palmer Raids that took place during Allan's senior year. Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer ordered a series of raids on the homes of aliens and suspected radicals. Thousands were arrested, jailed, and summarily deported. The raids followed a long series of civil liberties violations imposed on dissenters' opposition to World War I, and it was these events that prompted the formation of the ACLU by some of America's greatest social activists, Jane Addams, Helen Keller, Rabbi Judah Magnes, Arthur Garfield Hayes, Norman Thomas, Crystal Eastman, and Jeannette Rankin. Simply the decision to sign on to ACLU membership, which Allan did in 1920, must have been an act of some courage as well as an important statement of conviction. The director of the Justice Department's Bureau of Investigation (now known as the FBI) called the ACLU a "radical element . . . Bolsheviks." The state of civil liberties in 1920 was also quite different. When Allan joined the ACLU the right to strike did not exist, and there had never been any significant decision of the Supreme Court upholding the right of free speech or the right to peacefully assemble. Allan could not have known then, when he added his name to the membership rolls of the ACLU, that he would during the course of the next 70 years observe and even preside over a massive national expansion of individual rights. Allan arrived in Hawai'i to assume his teaching position at the University of Hawai'i in 1945. As he would soon learn, it was a time of economic, political, and racial turmoil dominated by a xenophobia directed at organizations imported from the mainland that even hinted at any protection for Communist viewpoints. Hawai'i's economic structure was centered on plantation life and advancing the financial concerns of the "Big Five" sugar and pineapple companies. Hawai'i's courtrooms were a battleground for the burgeoning labor movement and the haole elite. The ILWU and other large mainland labor organizations were sending young lawyers such as Har-

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riet Bouslog and Myer Symonds to Hawai'i to defend the hundreds of labor strikers facing criminal charges. The devastating longshoreman's strike of 1946 brought charges of "communist infiltrators" and demands for investigations by the House Un-American Activities Committee. Smith Act prosecutions directed at local labor leaders dominated the news. Even in Allan's academic community, the UH proposed loyalty oaths and the termination of "red" professors. It is not surprising that within one year of his arrival, Allan sensed an urgency to establish an ACLU affiliate in Hawai'i. Nor is it surprising that this first attempt to organize, in 1946, would be doomed to fail under charges that advocates were Communist sympathizers. Allan invited a wellknown West Coast civil rights lawyer, Abraham Lincoln Wirin, who happened to be in town, to attend a meeting at the Richards Street YWCA. Wirin was counsel for the ACLU and famous for his powerful oratory. He delivered a fiery speech about the Bill of Rights, which Allan later recalled "scared the daylights out of everyone." After Wirin's powerful speech, the meeting discussed organization. The Hawai'i Digest provided one news account of that early formation attempt. It characterized the meeting as concerning "itself with tentative plans for forming a local affiliate of the American Civil Liberties Union, an organization recently termed suspect of Communist leanings by federal authorities." U.S. Attorney General Tom Clark published the Justice Department's 91 suspect groups of "totalitarian, fascists, communist or subversive organizations." As Allan explained in a 1948 letter to the Honolulu Star'Bulletin, many of the organizations on the attorney General's list had similar names, such as the National Federation for Constitutional Liberties and the Civil Rights Congress. He also argued, as he would over and over in defense of the ACLU, that the national organization had determined in 1946 to prohibit Communists from serving as officers of the organization. He wrote in December of 1949 to the newspaper, "There is no organized group of the ACLU members in the Territory of Hawai'i. The ACLU is not now and never has been affiliated in any way with any organization in the Territory purporting to defend civil liberties." Attorney General Tom Clark's infamous list helped destroy Allan's dream to found an ACLU in Hawai'i in 1946. But the score was evened 34 years later in 1980, when his son Ramsey traveled to Hawai'i to help raise money for the organization as the guest speaker at the ACLU annual dinner. Allan's organizational efforts were opposed not only by anti-Communist and anti-labor forces; there was also serious opposition from those among the Americans of Japanese Ancestry (AJA) community who resented national ACLU's failure to respond to perhaps the greatest civil rights travesty

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in history. Allan had lived in Southern California among the fears of Japanese submarines off the Pacific Coast when President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 requiring the internment of 110,000 JapaneseAmericans. Even though A C L U lawyers prosecuted the f(orematsu and Hirabayashi cases challenging the legality of evacuation, its board limited their funding and participation in the legal battle, having set the condition that the constitutionality of Executive Order 9066 not be questioned. T h e organization's compromise of its own principles in this situation has haunted its efforts at membership development ever since. Even as recently as 1985, Allan was called o n by the A C L U Board to articulate a plea to bitter AJAs to forgive the sins of the past: "It is improper, unfair to condemn A C L U because of past actions. A C L U is in the forefront of progress, pushing us toward achievement of the American ideal." ACLU's failure to respond to Executive Order 9066 was only one of the organization's positions that would h a u n t Allan in later years. In 1947, Farrington High School teacher John Reinecke was suspended, and deemed a year later "not possessed of the ideals of democracy." H e and his wife A i k o were accused of being Communists. Both were fired when they refused to answer questions about membership in the Communist Party. U H undergraduate Steve Murin formed the Hawai'i Civil Liberties Committee and urged Allan and the A C L U to come to the defense of the Reineckes. Although Allan saw the attacks on the Reineckes as a vicious, unprincipled assault o n two idealistic people, he did n o t see it as a civil liberties issue. Many believe that Allan may have actually been sympathetic to the Reineckes but that he was determined to defer to the national A C L U position. ACLU's abandonment of the Reineckes left a deep scar and resentment toward the A C L U that would never be forgotten among some Hawai'i labor leaders. In 1977, 30 years later, the Reineckes sued for retroactive vindication and won a negotiated settlement with the state in the amount of $250,000. Some thought it was ironic that they be honored as recipients of the "Allan Saunders Award." But Allan's admiration and respect for the Reineckes were genuine. In 1982, on the occasion of John's death, Allan wrote for the A C L U Board: John and Aiko Reinecke have been a standard in our community by which to measure the need for response to injustice. They have been a compass, by which to steer our course in the preservation of civil liberties for the oppressed and the disadvantaged. Their presence and their record of suffering in the pursuit of human freedom has served us as a constant reminder that eternal vigilance is the price of civil liberty for all.

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By the late 1940s and early 1950s, investigating "un-American" activities seemed to be a national pastime. Even Hawai'i's 26th Territorial Legislature in 1949 proposed its own formation of a committee to investigate Communism. Jack Hall of the ILWU and Henry Epstein of U P W testified against the bill. Allan was the next witness. He identified himself as a professor of government and suggested several changes in the bill in the interest of protecting all witnesses. As he testified, a group of U H students applauded vigorously and were reported to have made derogatory remarks whenever one of the senators challenged the witness. T h e editor of the Valley Isle Chronicle on April 1, 1949, wrote the following: Our observation of the situation was one of profound shock for here we saw what higher education is doing for some of our children. It appeared quite evident that these youngsters had swallowed whole, the malarkey on civil liberty above loyalty to the country. We certainly felt like most of the legislators who sat in on the meeting, that it is high time the University of Hawai'i Board of Regents make a thorough investigation into their affairs. It was a disgusting spectacle. In 1950, Allan ran unsuccessfully for election to Hawai'i's State Constitutional Convention. He was constantly dogged by the political liability of being associated with the A C L U . O n e voter wrote to the Honolulu Advertiser in response to Allan's campaign brochure supporting a strong bill of rights: "I ask, rights for whom? T h e Communists whom his A C L U wish to protect, or rights of us who want protection against the Communists?" Allan consistently rejected Communism while defending the civil rights of Communists. O n March 21, 1950, he responded to a letter to the editor of the Advertiser, from an individual identifying himself only as "Voter": I stand for the constitutional civil rights of e v e r y o n e . . . . When a teacher presents biased or one-sided materials or otherwise seeks to propagandize in the classroom, then that teacher, whether Communist or Fascist, should be disciplined. . . . Voter and I agree that Communists are dangerous to America. We disagree about the most effective and American way of meeting the danger. He would deny them rights; I would oppose that because it is a Communist type of action. During the campaign, Allan received a personal letter from Riley H. Allen, editor of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, mentioning that he had heard that as a member of Americans for Democratic Action, Allan believed in the socialistic state and thought the state should take over the primary means of production. Riley Allen asked for a reply and enclosed a stamped addressed envelope. These were the days of McCarthy, when a request for

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a denial was tantamount to an indictment. Allan issued an emphatic declaration, published in the Star-Bulletin along with the anonymous accusation. "Neither Americans for Democratic Action nor I, Allan Saunders, believe in the socialistic state." As to the allegation that he had abused his privilege as a teacher in order to indoctrinate his students, the paper was filled with testimonials and letters from former students in Hawai'i and on the mainland. Allan wrote: "Never before has such an accusation been made against me, and I hope there never will recur such a baseless statement." Word of the allegations reached some of his former students at law school on the mainland, including Paul Yamanaka at Northwestern Law School. Yamanaka wrote to Allan in 1950: "[W]e are growling mad . . . and we want you to know that we are prepared to defend you (as potential lawyers) on that charge, which to us is completely without foundation or truth! Socialism, indeed! . . . please rest assured that there will be forthcoming from Chicago a blistering attack on the issue." In 1953, Allan tried a second time to organize a Hawai'i affiliate of the ACLU. Sixty people showed up. Bylaws were prepared and the Reverend Harry Komuro was elected president. Allan was elected vice-president. But this was the era in which Joseph McCarthy continued to dominate the national scene, while Allan was demanding that Communists be defended by the ACLU when their civil rights were violated. Allan wrote, "Unless people in a community are willing to defend the civil liberties of others, they will be lost for everyone." This was unpopular dogma, and by the time Senator Eastland had decided to convene his infamous committee to investigate communism in Hawai'i a few years later, the ACLU group had folded. The Eastland Committee hearings seized the attention of the media, the labor movement, and civil libertarians. Some courageous labor leaders refused to testify before the committee. Allan published a letter to the editor of the Advertiser in December of 1956 identifying some Eastland comments as "smacking of Hitlerism." He wrote, "The Bill of Rights stands as permanent reminder that in America we must always be alert against the tendency of government to restrict and invade the realm of private judgment." As the witch-hunting turmoil of the fifties began to subside, Allan sensed a new center of focus for his civil liberties efforts. McCarthy had been discredited. The Smith Act prosecutions were over. The labor movement seemed to be making real advances and the hobgoblin of communism was placed in a more realistic perspective. More important, the community began to appreciate, on a more popular level, the importance of the pro-

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tection of constitutional rights. After all, Hawai'i enjoyed a liberal, multiethnic environment. The community had witnessed firsthand the horror of internment, Smith Act prosecutions, labor repression, and racial conflict. The time was rapidly approaching for the permanent formation of the ACLU. Allan recognized the importance of intellectual support for his civil liberties organization. He turned to the University of Hawai'i and his students to encourage some of the efforts for popular support. In 1964, the Associated Students of the University of Hawai'i, under the leadership of Simeon Acoba, sponsored Civil Rights Week. Acoba, who later became associate judge of the Intermediate Court of Appeals of Hawai'i, received a letter of commendation from Allan: "And how careful were the student leaders of the rights of each of their speakers, whatever the political position of the guest! . . . you and your fellow students have lifted to new heights our confidence in the basic integrity and social conscience of Hawai'i's youth. And you have deepened and enriched the expectation of your university." A year later Allan wrote to Paul Yamanaka supporting his idea for a capitalized people's chair within the university, explicitly for building democracy. He wrote, "For the people of Hawai'i have begun to look towards their University for the intellectual and social guidance and the University to respond positively." Allan correctly sensed that within the university community and beyond, a strong core of support for civil liberties was emerging. The time had finally come for the permanent establishment of the ACLU-Hawai'i. The opportunity occurred on February 4,1965, at the downtown YMCA. (The earlier failed attempts had taken place at the YWCA, and Allan never explained his decision to try another venue for the final attempt.) It was the year that civil rights lawyer Madalyn Murray visited Hawai'i for a year; she was deeply concerned about the lack of an active affiliate within the state. A n avowed atheist, she had achieved fame as the plaintiff winning the U.S. Supreme Court decision banning prayer in the public schools. As controversial as the issue is today, she was in those days characterized by newspapers as "the most hated woman in America." Fifteen members from Hawai'i were already enrolled with the national ACLU, but 43 people showed up to that first organizing meeting. Murray gave a powerful speech that ultimately led to a formal organization meeting, at the Saunders' Woodlawn Drive home. Allan later said, "[W]e were sitting right here in this living room, loudly throwing names about for the officers and board of directors. Suddenly we all heard a voice shouting from the

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bedroom. It was my wife, Marion: 'And not a single woman.'" Allan described the group as "red faced" and the discussion began all over again. There were four women on the first board, and the first president turned out to be Margaret E. Holden (later Setliff). Allan became president a year later. T h e first minutes of an A C L U Board meeting bear the date, June 16, 1965, and reflect the events of the meeting held at the Unitarian Church at 2500 Pali Highway. T h e members present were Gene Bridges, Robert Browne, George Chaplin, Yoshiaki Fujitani, Margaret Holden, Allan Saunders, and Robert Zumwinkle. Holden was elected president at that meeting. They had recruited about 100 members and in order to finance the initial expenses of the organization, the first solicitation of Board members occurred at that meeting. Together they donated $35.50, which was turned over to the treasurer. T h e priorities of the newly formed affiliate were reflected in the minutes: The general membership, she (President Holden) said, had indicated they felt priority should be given to the Madalyn Murray extradition case, the bus subsidy to private school students, and Gottfried Seitz' claim of discrimination. They also expressed interest and concern about: press coverage of criminal trials; activities of private detectives; censorship issues arising out of Customs Bureau, Post Office and Legislative (Yano's Bill) activity; the constitutionality of Christmas, Easter and baccalaureate services in public schools; reapportionment and efforts to limit the authority of the Supreme Court; H U A C , Hawai'i Subversive Activities Commission and government employee loyalty oaths; legislation re vagrancy and lewd, lascivious conduct; homosexuality and a need for "A Little Wolfenden Report"; F C C and equal time; employment application question: "Have you ever been arrested?" some questions asked school children when the information is available to faculty and not parents. T h e A C L U of Hawai'i was finally on solid organizational ground just in time for the dramatic conflicts that grew out of the campus revolts of the late sixties. Allan, as the president of the A C L U , spoke out from his new platform on civil liberties violations as he had never done before. By the mid-1960s, the A C L U had established national credibility. T h e organization was active in the civil rights movement and free speech issues. It was constantly appearing before the U . S . Supreme Court and Congress. Its views got national and local attention. G o n e was the confusion with the Communist-affiliated organizations as well as the broad fear of those associating with the organization. Hawai'i was the 34th affiliate, and the activities of the mainland state affiliates encouraged Allan and his colleagues.

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Allan published numerous articles, position papers, and columns on a variety of controversial issues. Draft card burning at U H Manoa had caused a stir. Allan published the A C L U position that it was a non-verbal, symbolic act of political dissent and therefore protected by the First Amendment: While the message intended by the burning of a draft card may not be crystal clear, it certainly is an expression of political dissent. Nor does the burning endanger national security, nor create a clear and present danger of the violation of any other law. Thus, it is a protected expression in the ongoing and indispensable debate of governmental policies. It is to be hoped that Hawai'i will preserve unstained the shield of the public, freedom of speech. Allan had spoken out at the Constitutional Convention to place due process guarantees in the proposed wiretap and eavesdropping bill. He argued for a civilian review board to review charges of police brutality and for public investigations into cases of unnecessary use of force. He questioned the U H conduct code and spoke out in defense of long hair styles for students in a published challenge to a teacher's criticism of the A C L U . He ended his article: "Miss Robb's freedom to express her opinion is unchallenged; as a teacher, I wish that she were better informed and more concerned that our schools encourage the unity that rises from diversity e pluribus unum." In 1966, Congresswoman Patsy T. Mink, one of his former students, wrote to Allan to express her support and encouragement of his efforts on behalf of the ACLU. He reported to her the recent activities of the chapter: Our first (court) case came this week, when the magistrate's court found guilty of "desecrating the flag," ex-student Lombardi and EWC (EastWest Center) grantee Kent. We hope to obtain from the Circuit Court a finding of unconstitutionality. In our first year, we have helped the community to look more deeply at such matters as the censorship of pornographic literature, police brutality, church-state relations. Now we are seeking the road to elimination of the loyalty oath. By 1967, the university and Allan (who had by this time retired) became embroiled in a first amendment/academic freedom controversy that gained national attention and ultimately resulted in the resignation of the president of the university. Personally, it was a complex struggle for Allan because it pitted his own loyalty to the First Amendment and academic freedom against his academic standards. Frank T. Inouye researched the events of the Oliver Lee case and described them as follows:

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A young professor of political science named Oliver Lee, of Asian-German ancestry and a former U.S. serviceman, took it upon himself to openly criticize American policy in Vietnam. Whether he used his classes as venues for his views—a clear violation of academic and administrative principles—was not clear. What was clear, however, was his strident opposition to continued American presence in Vietnam. He spoke at a number of student campus rallies, and became the faculty advisor to a group of student radicals calling themselves the Student Partisans Alliance (SPA). He was also co-chairman of the Hawai'i Committee to End the War in Vietnam. News of Lee's outspoken criticism of American policy in Vietnam quickly spread throughout the community, thanks to generous television and newspaper coverage of his activities. Conservative groups, led by the American Legion, the Lions Club, and We, The Women, openly called for his dismissal from the University. President Hamilton, reflecting the more liberal consensus of the faculty, wrote: "Assuming that [Lee] states the basic historical data about this area, it seems to me that he should be able to draw his own conclusions about whether our current action is right or wrong." As for Lee's activities outside the classroom, Hamilton argued that "the professor has the same right as other citizens as long as he does not claim that his position is representative of the college or university at which he teaches." Inevitably Allan Saunders and the ACLU became involved in what they saw as an issue of free speech. It also opposed the request to remove Lee, and its board of directors adopted a resolution proclaiming that "the board expresses its confidence in the University faculty and administration to judge through appropriate due process the competence of faculty members." It went on to assert that "external pressures to restrict freedom of inquiry and expression at the University do not contribute constructively to such judgments and threatens [sic] a fundamental principle of American higher education." What concerned Saunders was "the continuation of the attacks upon the exercise by Professor Oliver Lee and by student Noel Kent (a vocal supporter of Lee) of the right to dissent from the official opposition on the war in Vietnam." He warned of the "increasing danger to the exercise of the Constitutional right of freedom of speech and discussion." Like Hamilton, Allan defended Lee's (and Kent's) "right to exercise their privilege as citizens to express their disagreement with government policy." Saunders' interest and position on the Lee case was much broader than Hamilton's, and focused on the importance of what was at stake: "Without such criticism (in time of crisis) there is danger of authoritarian decisionmaking, " he argued. What began as an issue of freedom of speech for a college professor became intertwined with the injection of a separate but equally potent controversy involving academic due process when W. Todd Furniss, Saunders' successor as Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, reversed himself on granting Lee tenure, in 1967-

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A year earlier, Lee had petitioned for tenure. The department was divided on whether to grant Lee tenure. There were clearly some reservations among his peers about his academic performance. Action on the request was deferred as a result of Lee's teaching and publishing "weaknesses." In J 967, however, when the young professor again petitioned for tenure, the department voted 7-1 in his favor, whereupon Fumiss notified Lee, in writing, that he was approving it. Meanwhile, the public outcry against Lee had increased in volume and anger. The Waikiki Lions Club, for example, threatened a march on the University. It was joined by denunciations of Lee from the Kiwanis Club and We, The Women, all demanding Lee's ouster from the University. Two days after, Furniss had forwarded his approval of Lee's tenure to President Hamilton, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin printed a statement issued by the Student Partisans Alliance, of which Lee was the advisor. The group expressed its support of "all forms of struggle including armed struggle . . . necessary for the peoples o f . . . capitalist countries to overthrow and destroy the (capitalist system)." It also called for the infiltration of the U.S. military and "sabotage of the U.S. war effort (in Vietnam)." Finally, it urged "desertion, disposing (of) and destroying weapons, (and) eliminating officers and non-coms in combat." Two days later Furniss, with President Hamilton's concurrence, withdrew the letter of intent to grant tenure to Lee, and Hamilton publicly announced his decision to reject tenure, on the grounds that Lee's actions as advisor to the SPA showed a lack of "maturity [and] judgment and [a] sense of responsibility toward the University." If Lee's anti-Vietnam pronouncements infuriated the community, Hamilton's decision to deny him tenure angered large segments of the faculty. The Honolulu Advertiser added tinder to this campus fire by printing a story that Hamilton had originally approved tenure for Lee, thus making it appear that he, like Furniss, had changed his mind, ostensibly because of community pressure. The ACLU, under Saunders, held that Lee's civil rights had been violated, and that the absence of a clear University policy on what constituted such a violation weakened its case. The Board of Regents decided that since tenure was a matter of administrative responsibility, it would not interfere in Hamilton's decision. But it also ruled that Lee had the right to appeal to the faculty senate if he felt his "rights and privileges" had been abridged. Lee promptly did so. The Senate Faculty Committee on Privilege and Tenure, to which Lee's case was assigned, recommended in favor of Lee's tenure, but also requested that a 5-member senate hearing committee conduct a hearing or trial at which counsel for both parties would argue their cases. The administration's counsel argued that Lee's actions showed a lack of judgment and responsibility, and that he should not have been recommended

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for tenure originally. Lee's counsel argued that his right to due process had been violated along with his academic freedom (of speech). The primary issue at stake was whether the administration had sufficient reason to revoke Dean Furniss' letter of intent to grant tenure to Lee. In December 1967, the hearing committee forwarded its findings to Hamilton. It decided in favor of Lee and against Hamilton. It concluded that while it could not recommend tenure for Lee, "his conduct as advisor to the SPA did not provide reasonable cause for revoking the letter of intent to grant him tenure. Therefore, it recommends that the letter of revocation be rescinded. ..." Despite this report the Regents then refused to grant Lee tenure, and in May of 1968, announced that he would not be allowed to teach at the University. Whereupon the faculty senate narrowly adopted a resolution calling for "reconsideration of the announced decision of the Board of Regents on the Oliver Lee case, on the grounds that it runs counter to the recommendations of a duly-elected faculty body." Upon receipt of that resolution, Hamilton resigned from the University presidency. He had become a victim of the pressures exerted upon his office by the community on one side, and by the faculty on the other. The Oliver Lee case dragged on until 1970, at which time he was finally accorded tenure. Allan had ambivalent feelings about Oliver Lee. Although as president of the ACLU he supported him, for undisclosed reasons he was not anxious to appear as a witness on his behalf. There is some evidence that, in 1966, while still a faculty member, Allan had had reservations about Lee's teaching abilities. And he surely must have pondered whether a teacher with such strong and vocal opinions on such a controversial subject could retain an objective perspective in the classroom. But in June of 1968, while on a trip to California, he had written a lengthy, handwritten letter to Lee. In it, he wondered whether the social scientists should "reconsider the processes of social change; and cause the humanists to reaffirm the Irony of History. . . . We believe that organization and institutions are man-made and for man's use, that they are purely instrumental in value tho' anti-human in essence).... But victory has gone to those who believe that Man and Institution are one, that indeed Organization is life, the Medium is the Message. The Regents, as humanitarians, have voted you a year's pay, presumably in order to ease the pain of removal. The Regents, by approving you for summer teaching, have waived any doubt of your pedagogic competence—indeed, thereby voice its adequacy. What is left to debate1 . . . I want you to know that I believe, as did the Greeks and the early Marx, that man is made to defy his Fate, and that even Icarus had elements of greatness." As usual Allan had the last word, and it was not only appropriate, but vintage Saunders: witty, cogent, penetrating, and philosophical.

With the Oliver Lee case in the headlines and university campuses across the country raging with protests, sit-ins, and violence, Allan was in-

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vited to speak at the Hawai'i State Conference of Law Enforcement. He ventured into the "lion's den" and chose the most timely topic for the Oliver Lee case and the campus conflicts, dissent. "Dissent is as American as apple pie. Dissenters landed on Plymouth Rock. . . . Sam Adams, Tom Jefferson, Ben Franklin," he argued, "were glorious in dissent." He lectured the police crowd that America has dangerously slipped away from her traditional welcome to the social critic. "The dissenters may be equally ignorant, equally gullible. But then again—and this is the message history teaches—maybe they see more clearly than does the Establishment what is wrong and where lies the road to fulfillment of America's dream of Liberty and justice for all." (For the entire statement, see Chapter 9 in this volume.) While Allan was speaking out on civil liberties issues in Hawai'i and on the U H campus, ACLU nationally was rapidly establishing itself as the preeminent organization at the lead of the civil rights revolution of the sixties. ACLU lawyers descended upon the Warren Court and generated one landmark case after another. They established the right to counsel in criminal cases involving minors and indigents. The one person, one vote doctrine was established by ACLU lawyers, as well as a recognition of the constitutional right to privacy. ACLU lawyers succeeded in abolishing the death penalty in 1965 and upholding the right to interracial marriage. Numerous First Amendment cases upheld the right to symbolic speech, the right to assemble, and even the right to advocate the overthrow of the government. President Kennedy recognized the work of the ACLU when he spoke to its national convention in 1962. The organization had now achieved national recognition and legitimacy. In 1973, when the country and the ACLU were debating the fate of President Nixon for his Watergate transgressions, it suddenly seemed that the decades of ACLU warnings concerning overzealous police activities and intrusive government had indeed come true. The national ACLU board voted to support the impeachment of the president. But Allan, although in favor of impeachment, argued strongly that the ACLU should not get involved. Allan thought that the organization must stand true to its principles, defending the Constitution. Impeachment was a political issue and one that did not implicate the Constitution. Taking a stand for or against a partisan cause would jeopardize the ACLU's egalitarian support of the Bill of Rights. As social activists on the board tried to expand the scope of ACLU activities, Allan moved more cautiously. Some argued, for example, that economic rights should be an ACLU concern. Poor people, it was said, simply could never realize their political rights guaranteed by the Consti-

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tution if they were shackled by their poverty. Allan remained skeptical, not out of any lack of concern for pressing social issues of the day, but because he recognized the limitation of resources. He reminded the board that A C L U could not solve all of the world's problems. Allan was not a purist, however, when it came to civil liberties issues as was often revealed during the frequent board meetings that erupted in boisterous debate over policy issues. Some remember that during the seventies, "it was not uncommon for Board members to be shouting at each other on issues of policy and civil liberties battles in the community." Allan would argue with lawyers on the board who advocated strict adherence to the Constitution. Although Allan felt an unwavering allegiance to constitutional principles, he also recognized that they must be tempered with justice, fair dealing, and equality. He had, perhaps, his greatest clarity on racial issues. Allan understood without question the importance of racial equality and affirmative action, and his relationships with and support of his many students certainly bore this out. Many of the lawyers on the board would take issue with what they viewed as his deviation from purist civil liberties doctrine. Should the Constitution be defended when the results would be incorrect or unjust? Many felt that it should, even if it meant defending the rights of Nazis to espouse their hatred with impunity. Allan rationalized that it is a "misstatement that it [ACLU] defends unattractive, indeed undesirable people. A C L U doesn't defend or attack any person. It is defending existing rights, we don't seek causes." Allan recognized, however, that certain imperfections in consistency must be tolerated in the business of seeking justice. He thought that in dealing with government and society in general, fair dealing and democratic principles must be considered. Democracy is a recognition of majority rule, and it is frequently the antithesis of civil rights doctrine that recognizes protection of the individual regardless of the wishes of the democratic majority. A t any given time, democratic principles must strike a balance with the protection of individual rights, and it is that balance upon which most of the debate between Allan and the board centered. In 1973, Roger Baldwin, the revered founder of national A C L U , visited Hawai'i. It was Baldwin who, after being himself imprisoned for his First Amendment activities during World War I, single-handedly formed the A C L U . Baldwin and Allan were a similar age, and those who attended could not help but be struck with the similarities in foresight and wisdom that these two great founders bestowed on their respective organizations in the interests of protecting civil liberties. Perhaps it was that visit that

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reminded the Hawai'i leadership of Allan's great contribution to civil liberties in Hawai'i. The following year, the board established the "Allan Saunders Award," which is the highest award given by the ACLU to a person outside of the organization for contribution to civil liberties. A dinner tribute in honor of Allan's "devotion to furthering individual rights and liberties" and in honor of the 25th anniversary of the Hawai'i ACLU was held at Paradise Park. Former Saunders student U.S. Senator Daniel Inouye gave the keynote speech and discussed his remembrances of Allan, his best professor. Hawai'i Supreme Court Justice Bernard Levinson was the first recipient of the Allan Saunders Award. Throughout the heyday of ACLU activism in the 1970s, Allan served as president, board member, fundraiser, and chair of the Education Committee. He stayed in close contact with Congresswoman Patsy Mink on issues of national concern, and her letters to him reflect her appreciation for his thoughts and input. He felt most at home as the head of the ACLU Education Committee, sponsoring forums on civil liberties issues and essay contests. Allan was also not afraid to ask his friends and colleagues for financial help for the ACLU. He provided lists of potential contributors to contact, noting "what to tell them," and even gave generously himself to the many ACLU fundraising events. In 1972 he saved the ACLU from one of its many flirtations with insolvency, when he organized a committee of twelve people, each of whom was to contribute $750 during one of the months of 1973. In 1981, Allan was formally honored again by the ACLU. At eightythree, he was clearly suffering the ravages of declining health. He received tributes from state Senator Mary George, retired Circuit Judge Masato Doi, Margaret Setliff, and Dr. Richard Kosaki. Kosaki said, "Throughout his life he was a valiant fighter for freedom for the human in man, especially for freedom for the mind to function fearlessly on the frontier of knowledge and folkways. No one excelled his intellectual combat; no one drew more delight from it; few equaled him in the capacity to stimulate others to go forth and battle for the Lord in man." Even as Allan's health failed, he remained remarkably active and involved in ACLU activities. He attended board meetings and committee meetings, and even testified on numerous occasions at the Legislature on proposed penal and sentencing reform measures. Yet as his health failed and his speech became impaired, the conciseness of his labored speech led to a certain artistic diction that became even more convincing in arguments on policy at board meetings. A t board debates when he spoke, in his late years at low volume, one could sense the stillness in the room and

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the intensity with which his views were heard. As board member Neil Hulbert observed, "Allan was always clear, articulate and, more often than not, correct." On February 28,1989, Allan passed away. The Honolulu Star-Bulletin ran a Corky Trinidad cartoon of a smiling Allan holding his ACLU membership card at the pearly gates. Emmett Cahill, longtime head of the John Howard Association and former ACLU board member, commented on the cartoon, "I know not nor care not, what religious affiliation, if any, that Allan claimed. But for his care and compassion for the poor, the oppressed and the afflicted, and for his ability to dispense justice like a Solomon, Allan surely received a royal welcome when he passed through those pearly gates." George Chaplin, editor of the Honolulu Advertiser, called him a "strong pillar in the never-ending fight for men to remain free and to receive a fair chance to obtain justice." Senator Inouye wrote, "As long as there is injustice to be righted, a defenseless person to be aided, or a just cause to be argued, we can be certain that Allan Saunders will be at our side to urge us on." Allan was a member of the ACLU for 69 years, and there is little doubt that its fundamental principles were principles to which he devoted his life, both as teacher and civil libertarian. Those principles—the right to free expression and the freedom to dissent from official view and majority opinion; the right to equal treatment regardless of race, sex, religion or physical handicap; the right to fair play in encounters with government institutions, courts, schools, police bureaucracies; and the right to be let alone, to be secure from spying, from the promiscuous and unwarranted collection of personal information and from interference in our private lives —were the goals of the ACLU when Allan joined in 1920 and when he passed away in 1989. They were goals to which he had unwavering allegiance and on which he would accept no compromise. Allan's ashes were scattered at Monticello, the tomb of his lifelong hero, Thomas Jefferson. As Margaret Setliff, the first president of ACLU of Hawai'i, observed, "Allan like Jefferson had 'sworn eternal hostility against every form of tyranny of the mind of m a n . ' . . . Our best tribute . . . is to go on with the work."

8.

The Hollenbach Case Samuel P. King

came to be known as the "Hollenbach case" was played out against a background of local and national concern over Communism. Locally, one of the arguments used to deny immediate statehood to Hawai'i was that Communists were in too many positions of power, especially in the leadership of the International Longshoreman's and Warehouseman's Union (ILWU), which had enrolled a large number of dock workers in Hawai'i. Harry Bridges, the union's international president, had a reputation as a Communist, and local leaders of the ILWU were alleged to be, and later indicted under the Smith Act for being, Communists. In 1946, three years before the Hollenbach case erupted, the ILWU struck the Hawai'i sugar industry over wages and working conditions. The strike lasted for 79 days. On May 1, 1949, the ILWU called another strike in six Hawaiian ports. This strike lasted into October 1949. The effect on Hawai'i's people as the strike continued was considered to be so serious that the governor called a special session of the legislature to attempt to deal with the problem. That session convened on July 26, 1949, and adjourned on October 15, 1949. Among other laws, the Legislature passed an act designed to allow consignees of unloaded cargo on ships in Hawaiian ports to get immediate possession of their shipments through court action. In the wake of the strike, businesses failed, feelings ran high, and anti-Communism became an urgent subject of discussion.

T H E TRAGICOMEDY THAT

The same special session created a Subversive Activities Commission to investigate and report on subversive activities. While the immediate threat in mind was Communism, the persons to be investigated included all who "seek to undermine the stability of American institutions or individual rights, liberties and freedoms." As with every definition, people with differing agendas interpreted this language with different dictionaries.

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The two ILWU strikes had provoked the formation of local antiCommunist and anti-strike groups, among them the Citizens' Committee, the Hawai'i Residents' Association (IMUA), and the Broom Brigade. Concerned small businessmen, mothers, and parents were prominent actors in these organizations. The Citizens' Committee had brought in Edward Gibbons to emphasize the "red menace" with nightly blasts against Communism on radio station KHON. Between these two strikes, local concern over "Communism" had led to misguided efforts to prove to the Congress, where statehood was pending, that Hawai'i was not "dominated by Communists." One of these efforts was the administrative trial and dismissal of John Reinecke from his teaching position at Farrington High School and of his wife Aiko Reinecke from her teaching position at Wai'alae Elementary School. They were dismissed because it was found, after a hearing that began in August 1948 and lasted for 33 days, that they were not "possessed of the ideals of democracy."1 Others, including Yoshiko Hall, wife of the head of the ILWU, suffered a similar fate but without a trial. This statutory requirement for a "teacher in any school" had turned up at the Hawai'i Legislative Special Session of 1920, no doubt in response to World War I hysteria, as "An Act: To Prescribe Certain Qualifications for School Teachers for the Purpose of Safeguarding American Citizenship in the Territory of Hawaii." Meanwhile, nationally, on October 20, 1947, the House Committee on Un-American Activities had opened hearings on Communist influence on the motion picture industry. On July 31, 1948, the House Committee publicized investigations into high-level officials in the federal executive department. Whittaker Chambers' charges against Alger Hiss became public on August 3, 1948, and the hearing continued to December 15, 1948, when Hiss was indicted. Senator McCarthy was in full voice throughout most of 1950. On September 23, 1950, over President Truman's veto, Congress overwhelmingly passed the Internal Security Act of 1950; it required registration by Communist organizations and authorized the attorney general to round up and detain any suspected subversives during a time of national emergency. International developments fed the fears. In October 1949, the openly Communistic People's Republic of China was founded by Mao Tse-tung and Chou En-lai and their victorious Communist associates. On February 3, 1950, British authorities arrested the distinguished nuclear scientist Dr. Klaus Fuchs for espionage. 1946—1950 were not good years for the voices of reason. Political pessimists opined that if a constitutional convention had been held in the

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United States during that time, the Bill of Rights would have been repealed! Nevertheless, one of the voices of reason was that of Dr. Allan Frederic Saunders. He publicly criticized the establishment and program of the House Committee on Un-American Activities and other excesses of antiCommunist fervor. He was the Hawai'i representative of the American Civil Liberties Union, and he supported the United Nations. His stands and statements brought him into conflict with the more zealous anti-Communists in Hawai'i. At least some of these figures extended their disapproval of Dr. Saunders to the person most closely associated with him, his wife. On March 16, 1946, newly demobilized WAVE Lieutenant Marion Grace Hollenbach married University of Hawai'i government Professor Allan Frederic Saunders. The ceremony was performed by the Reverend Henry P. Judd. Having already established herself in the field of education, Mrs. Saunders, with her husband's concurrence, chose to continue to use her maiden name in her professional life. For the next three years, Miss Hollenbach worked as assistant director of the adult education division of the Department of Public Instruction, during which time she conducted programs in leadership training and democratic group methods. When her government job ended, she was employed directly by the Hawai'i Congress of Parents and Teachers beginning November 1, 1949, as community consultant to develop a leadership program for the PTA. Within three weeks, she became the target of a group of persons, including members and non-members of the FTA, who sought to have her removed from her new position. This astonishing development took place during November and December 1949, with echoes throughout 1950, and was promptly dubbed the "Hollenbach case." In retrospect, what occurred illustrated both what was disturbing and what was commendable in Hawai'i's community interactions at the time. The hiring of Miss Hollenbach by the Hawai'i Congress was not a lastminute inspiration. In June the O'ahu District had voted that a leadership course under the direction of Miss Hollenbach was desired. Several local PTAs had also specifically requested such training. An impetus for this type of training had been provided by the organization's National Congress president and regional vice president, both of whom had advised leadership training as the Hawai'i organization's greatest need. As Miss Hollenbach was then in adult education with the Department of Public Instruction, her services to the congress could have been free. When her

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government position was deleted from the state budget, the Executive Committee of the Hawai'i PTA Congress in September appointed a special committee to seek private funding for her employment. By late October the special committee had succeeded in obtaining a grant of $5,000 for this purpose from the Mclnerny Foundation. It was only after receiving this grant that the Hawaii Parent'Teacher News Bulletin for October could report in a special "flash" that the Hawai'i Congress "will be able to develop a program in parent education, which is urgently needed to integrate the rapidly increasing number of new members." Throughout the course of this activity, the Executive Committee had remained unaware of any reservations or objections to their actions in this regard. The hullabaloo had been unanticipated by others as well. The first inkling that Miss Hollenbach had that she was being dragged into a controversy concerning her employment came when reporter Margaret Young asked whether Miss Hollenbach had any statement to make about "the meeting." She asked: "What meeting?" "Why, the meeting where your resignation was asked for." The Honolulu Advertiser for Saturday, November 19, 1949, cleared up the mystery. Under the headline "Ouster of FTA Aide Sought" the story read in part: "A group of 30 representatives of local FTAs and members of the Hawaii Congress of Parents and Teachers executive committee met Friday at the Nu'uanu YMCA and adopted a recommendation that the executive committee of the Hawaii Congress be asked to terminate the services of Miss Marion G. Hollenbach (Mrs. Allan F. Saunders) immediately." The Honolulu Star-Bulletin's afternoon story, under the headline "Marion G. Hollenbach under Fire from Group in FTA," stated that "Oahu members of the executive committee were present at the meeting." The press had been invited by someone to cover the proceedings. Henrietta Rutsch, one of those opposing Miss Hollenbach's employment, stated at a much later time that she had invited reporter Margaret Young. The meeting in question, referred to thereafter as "the November 18 meeting," had been called by the Parent Education Division of the Hawai'i Congress. The reason given was "rumors" regarding some earlier action taken by the Lincoln School FTA on November 14 that had come to the attention of the Hawai'i Congress office. The action had been instigated by Mr. and Mrs. Marcus R. Colburn, Jr. Mrs. W. B. Herter presided at the November 18 meeting as director of the Parent Education Division. The Reverend Adolph Meyer, president of the Hawai'i Congress, was in attendance. The tone and quality of the discussion may be gathered from the following excerpts from a transcript of notes taken at the meeting. As will

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be seen, the attempts by Walter Gordon to introduce a saner note went largely ignored. (Gordon was the principal of Farrington High School, and as a member of the Adult Education Association he had worked with Marion Hollenbach.) Marcus Colbum: As president of Lincoln [PTA], I for one will not accept Mrs. Saunders because she and I don't coincide in our ideas. I think exactly opposite of what she thinks. That's the way I think. That is my American right to think that way. I don't think I'm the only one feeling that way. Mrs. Herter: You think this is quite prevalent? M. Colbum: I think so. I may be wrong. There was a lot of talk before she was put in this position. Walton Gordon: I've worked very closely with her in Adult Education. I've never heard a thing. M. Colbum: The only people who attend meetings where these things are talked about are the same individuals, the majority of them here. I attend Communist seminars and other meetings and the same individuals attend all the time. I make it a point to attend every meeting. More than the majority don't go to these meetings, so you don't know anything about it. The same thing has been going on all over the place. There's no sense keeping it under cover. People talked about it. They have wondered about Mrs. Saunders, or Miss Hollenbach. W. Gordon: Do you have any specific evidence or is it a matter of opinion? M. Colbum: Matter of opinion of all the people here. W. Gordon: We have to be awfully careful of accusing people just because they don't believe the way you do. M. Colbum: There was no accusation. There was inference but no accusation. W. Gordon: You might just as well have come out and said it. M. Colbum: You just can't come out and say what you want to say. You can't say it. I wouldn't want to say it. M. Colburn: A few other local presidents here would like to voice their opinions. If it can be proven to my satisfaction that Mrs. Saunders is not what I think she is, perhaps we will avail ourselves to her talent. But otherwise I will stand on my prerogative as president of my local not to avail myself. W. Gordon: I think a thing like that is very serious. M. Colbum: I realize that. I was not trying to show that the inference here was to hurt Mrs. Saunders. I want to call her Mrs. Saunders even if some people call her Miss Hollenbach. Lot of people are wondering. Possibly the group of the executive committee felt Mrs. Saunders

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was the person. Probably her boss figured she is the person. I disagree with Miss Hollenbach's ideology. Mrs. Strombeck: ... was wondering just by whose authority and why Miss Hollenbach has sent questionnaires to principals of schools. Was that part of her job? W. Gordon: The Principals' Club asked her if she would put on a program at a meeting that comes on this afternoon. The questionnaire she sent them was to get from them an idea of what they would like to have taken up. Mrs. Strombeck: I am wondering who is going to get anything out of it. This is a question in the questionnaire: "Is there a need for a restatement of purposes and directions of the educational program of the DPI?" What does that mean to you? If that isn't double-talk, I have never heard it. If that is an example of the type of group dynamics she teaches, I am just wondering what kind of confusion will be sown in the minds of people who take these courses. Johnstone: I am a member of the Kailua FTA. I am no officer and I told the president I was coming as an individual. If she is an example of PTA philosophy, I would like to keep her out of the Kailua FTA. I firmly believe that probably she is not a Communist. However, she is anti-"anti-Communist." Anyone who is trying to protect the people from a fifth column treachery and gets up and does everything possible to oppose anybody that's trying to straighten this out, I don't think that is the philosophy that should be developed. I have debated Dr. Saunders on the radio on the un-American Activities Committee and Mrs. Saunders sat in the audience and asked questions which made it obvious to see what she was trying to get. That was a public meeting. If she would make a statement in public, I have a perfect right to oppose it. I think that the restatement of principles that she might be interested in are not the ones I am interested in. I just don't agree with her philosophy and I will oppose her in every possible way. Mrs. Colbum: It amazes me. I expected to sit through this meeting very calm. How can intelligent people like you sit here and discuss back and forth and be on the defensive for Miss Hollenbach when her name is in question? If I was an officer in the executive committee and a person who is going to teach FTA members has just a question against her name, you think I wouldn't investigate it? Do you think I would take it sitting down? I would go out and investigate that person myself. This is very serious business. Our children are involved here and their hands are just dying to get on the little ones so that they can rear children so that they would be so stubborn-headed that they can't sway them. That is the[ir] way of teaching. "Get into the PTA" they are told,

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so that they can contaminate the whole thing. They were told time and time again that they work through the FTA. They work through foundations. They work all through these sorts of things. The people who are at the head of these foundations are tools of the Communists, so that they can get their people into their organizations. Open your eyes to these things. Communists are using force to kill people, keeping people prisoners. We go out and attend meetings. We listen to any rumor that goes on. We are trying to tell you the rumors. Find out if her husband or she is questionable. This is Americanism. There was more of the same. One person was "interested in the reason why Mrs. Saunders was called Miss Hollenbach in the paper." Another, Mrs. Kellerman, expressed the thought that "whether or not Miss Hollenbach is a person detrimental to our aims, her effectiveness is now gone." J. Carleton moved that Miss Hollenbach be fired. That was amended to a recommendation to the Executive Committee of the Hawai'i Congress "that the termination of the employment of Miss Hollenbach from this position be obtained immediately." Mrs. Strombeck got in her final word: It is not only rumors. Her husband belongs to both these groups that I mentioned, the Americans for Democratic Action and the American Civil Liberties Union. Both of these organizations are working to defend communism or anyone else from law-abiding people [sic]. They have a pamphlet all ready to go for distribution as soon as this unAmerican Committee is formed. Those are not rumors. If you associate yourself with those ideas, how can you be considered anything else except sympathizing with that type of thinking. It is worth noting that these passages from the record are not atypically opaque quotes detracting from the major thrust of the session. They were its major thrust: an assortment of vague, unsubstantiated claims and groundless suspicions—accompanied by a willingness to assign guilt by association or innuendo, and to exact penalties even without assigning guilt! One can only infer from what was said at the meeting that Miss Hollenbach represented a threat to what her detractors believed to be "Americanism" because (1) she used her maiden name professionally, (2) she used group dynamics as one of her teaching methods, (3) she was a member of the Americans for Democratic Action, the American Civil Liberties Union, and the League of Women Voters, and (4) she was married to Allan F. Saunders and supported him publicly! If this meeting had taken place in Salem in 1692, Marion Grace Hollenbach would most assuredly have been hanged as a witch.

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What of her "involvement" with Dr. Saunders? From September 1947 through June 1948, Dr. Saunders had appeared before several audiences of from 20 to 300 persons addressing questions such as "Does the Veto Endanger the Future of UN," "What Is Russia After," "What Is Communism," and "UNESCO: Words or Fact." Several of his public addresses Dr. Saunders had characterized as a "Dialogue with Mrs. Saunders." Among the audiences were those who approached these subjects emotionally rather than rationally with the predictable result that speaker and listener were often talking past each other. To passionate anti-Communists gripped by the temper of the times, anyone presenting a balanced discussion of such subjects was immediately suspected of being "Un-American." In response to the November 18 meeting, the Advisory Committee on Parent Education of the Hawai'i Congress set about attempting to determine and investigate charges that would reflect upon Miss Hollenbach's fitness for her job as a Community Consultant. They experienced great difficulty in their effort. The Honolulu Star'Bulletin editorialized on November 24, 1949, that "General Accusations Won't Do—Let's Have the Particulars." The transcript of the November 18 meeting had not been made public, so that the editorial could state that "[n]either the identity of those seeking her removal nor the grounds on which they seek it have been openly stated." It referred to "reliable reports" that some group believed Miss Hollenbach was a "left-winger" and therefore should be dropped. It concluded: "Loose charges involving the loyalty of Americans are dangerous to the community and the nation. They are dangerous to Hawai'i. And if the charges are not loosely made, let's have the facts to back them up." The Advisory Committee wrote to those most directly involved in this matter requesting information. Their letter to Miss Hollenbach asked her to "please affirm or deny the rumors stated in the transcript of the meeting" of November 18. The transcript could be inspected in the office of the Hawai'i Congress. Her response was desired on or before December 6. In a letter dated November 28 to Marcus Colburn and others, the Advisory Committee requested "that you list your specific objections to Miss Hollenbach, citing places, times and circumstances in a written and signed statement" to be returned to the Hawai'i Congress office on or before December 3. Members of the "November 18th group" were also contacted by telephone. Mr. Colburn responded for himself and eleven others who signed his letter. He had no specific charges. He reiterated that Miss Hollenbach should voluntarily resign or be removed for the good of the FTA and for the sake of harmony among the members "who are eager to get on with

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the j o b without the inescapable handicap of an individual who is personally under the shadow of many rumors which, whether correct or incorrect, are nevertheless persistent and quite widespread, and, in many cases, of fairly long standing." It is not clear whether Mr. Colburn was referring only to Miss Hollenbach or confusing her with Dr. Saunders or just padding his rhetoric. T h e Honolulu Star-Bulletin on December 5 made an appropriate editorial c o m m e n t on the Colburn letter. Nothing more clearly than this letter could illustrate the tendency in these troubled times to let rumor and gossip take the place of fact. Nothing could more graphically show the danger of permitting the process of gossip and rumor to strike at the very vitals of American democracy. Nothing could be better designed than episodes such as this to put men and women of independent thought and fearless speech under an evil cloud, and to place them in peril of becoming outcasts in their own community. T h e men and women who are out to "get" Miss Hollenbach are doing so on the profession of being stalwart Americans. Presumably they subscribe wholeheartedly to the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights. They are express opponents of all forms of communism and of "fellow-traveling." Yet this process of rumor-and-denouncement is precisely that practiced so assiduously in the Soviet Union, and a universal prelude to its purges—often bloody purges. First, start the adverse rumors—then go after the individual—that's the familiar formula. W i l l B. Johnstone, Jr., explained his position in a letter to the Honolulu Advertiser printed on December 10. H e wrote that he had n o t initiated any rumors about Miss Hollenbach but had been asked by Mrs. Herter to investigate "such rumors." He asserted that his investigation showed that "because of Miss Hollenbach's c o n n e c t i o n with the A . D . A . and the A . C . L . U . that there was some basis for opposition and that Miss Hollenbach's affiliation with these organizations were the main reasons for her being a controversial figure." T h e Report o f the Advisory C o m m i t t e e on Parent Education on the Marion Hollenbach Case dated December 7 , 1 9 4 9 , listed the results of their investigation and attempts to garner facts. T h e y summarized the rumors and complaints, and what they had learned about them.

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(1) It was alleged that Miss Hollenbach was dismissed from the Department of Public Instruction for leftist tendencies. This allegation was emphatically refuted by the Superintendent of Public Instruction. (2) There were some persons who cited the questionnaire Miss Hollen' bach sent to members of the Principals' Club in preparation for an afternoon program as a perfect example of Communist type doubletalk. Actually, Deputy Superintendent of Public Instruction Deal Crooker had asked Miss Hollenbach in a letter dated October 10, 1949, to use her "fertile mind" to "try and get our principals to understand the possibilities of good group process in working with their teachers." He thought it possible that she could "stir them up enough to want to study the process in a series of meetings." That is how she came to be meeting with the principals and why she had asked for their input. (3) Somewhere the charge was made that the League of Women Voters had sponsored a talk in which a statement was made inimical to the interests of the United States and that Miss Hollenbach had been instrumental in organizing this group. This charge was duly contradicted by the president of the League, who no doubt found the charge not only outrageous but also rather amusing. (4) Miss Hollenbach is a member of the ADA which is alleged to be a Communist organization. More precisely, perhaps, Mr. Johnstone, who was supposed to be "well-versed" on the ADA, during a discussion on "the Hollenbach case" in connection with a PTA Executive Committee meeting on December 7, described the ADA as not a "communistic organization" but a "Marxist organization." He explained: "By Marxist, I mean the ADA is in favor of Fabian Marxism." As Dr. Saunders tried to point out, and as any dictionary will inform the reader, the Fabian Society was organized by English socialists to bring about socialism by gradual reforms rather than revolutionary action and thus is not a Marxist organization. Actually, it had been fairly well documented that Communists considered socialists to be enemies of the dictatorship of the proletariat. Furthermore, the A D A is neither a subversive, Marxist, nor socialist organization, but one that believes in democratic action. (5) Miss Hollenbach's husband, Dr. Allan Saunders, spoke on Russia to the Men's Faculty Club at the University of Hawai'i and engaged in a

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fist fight there, echoes the ideas of identified Communist Charles Fujimoto, and participates in activities of groups which collect money to defend labor leader and leading Communist Harry Bridges. Married couples may find this form of guilt by association unavoidable! In this case, Miss Hollenbach makes no excuses for being Mrs. Saunders, and Dr. Saunders responded for himself. In a letter to Mrs. Herter dated December 1 in response to a request from the Advisory Committee, Dr. Saunders denied having engaged in fisticuffs with anyone at any time, "at least since boyhood days." He denied having given a lecture on Russia in the Faculty Men's Club. He did refuse an invitation from the Hawai'i Civil Liberties Union (a different organization from the American Civil Liberties Union) to debate Charles Fujimoto on the subject of the indictment of twelve Communists in New York because he too was against the indictment and further because he thoroughly disapproved of the activities of the HCLU. In his letter to Mrs. Herter, Dr. Saunders wrote: "I regarded the Smith Act, under which the Communists were indicted, and later on tried and convicted, as a violation of the Constitutional Bill of Rights guaranteeing freedom of speech and political belief." This was a position that the Supreme Court later adopted except as applied to a few top leaders. With respect to the HCLU, Dr. Saunders pointed out that there was absolutely no connection between the HCLU and the Hawai'i chapter of the ACLU. Early in the unfolding of these events, I contacted Miss Hollenbach, whom I considered to be a friend, expressed my outrage at what was being charged against her, and offered my services in whatever way I could be helpful. Actually, she and I were in the same boat. In a report to the presidents of all FTA locals from the Hawai'i Congress Executive Committee, President Meyer had pointed out that: "On June 1, 1949 the Oahu District voted that a leadership course under the direction of Miss Hollenbach and Mr. Sam King Jr.2 was desired." My contribution was to have been to conduct workshops on parliamentary procedure. She accepted my offer, and we met at her home to draft her reply letter, which had been requested by the investigating committee. Dr. Saunders left us to our own devices, although he undoubtedly reviewed our product before it was forwarded. Miss Hollenbach's response to the Advisory Committee was a straightforward letter dated December 5. She detailed her background, which included having been born into a staunchly Republican family, and having served in the United States Naval Reserve for most of World War II. She pointed out that she was still a member of the

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Naval Reserve. She stated that part of her training in group dynamics had been at two workshops in leadership training and democratic group methods sponsored by the National Education Association. She made no excuses for using her maiden name professionally. She wrote: "I am proud to be Miss Hollenbach. I am proud to be Mrs. Saunders." She noted that her reading of the transcript of the November 18 meeting revealed nothing specific enough to permit reply. Regarding the general charges about her political leanings, she stated: I believe my whole life demonstrates my devotion to democratic principles. Democracy means to me respect for the individual, respect for his rights, respect for his contributions to society, respect for his good name. Democracy means, further, the freedom of each individual to express his ideas freely and to assist in bringing together differing ideas. I believe it is basic in democracy that there be respect for facts. Democracy is not a body of fixed ideas—it is a way of arranging our human relationships so that each individual may grow to his or her greatest reach. The genius of democracy, that makes it "the last best hope" of the world is that it is built on growth . . . growth rising out of the free play of man's ideas, imagination, hope. That there are challenges to our democratic way of life we all recognize. I believe the evils we oppose in Communism can best be resisted by a positive working to strengthen democracy. I am quite willing to state unequivocally that I am not now nor have I ever been a Communist. My own resistance to Communism parallels the expression of belief which President Truman made in his Chicago speech of June 4, 1948 when he said: "I do not under-estimate the challenge of Communism. It is a challenge to everything we believe in. Communism exalts the state and degrades the individual; Communism holds that the duty of the individual is to conform to the state's definition of what is good for him. "This we are against. We must resist it. . . but we cannot resist it with our full strength unless we all work for the success of our democracy." Hawaii needs "a new birth of freedom" that will make clear and strong the cherishedrightsand freedoms of our democratic heritage, and create a democratic climate where frank and honest exchange of ideas will be welcomed. For these reasons I welcome the opportunity to work with people from all walks of life and of varied opinions in helping the Parent-Teacher Association to be a bulwark of democratic principles and democratic methods which I believe it is and can be. That is the way I feel I can contribute most effectively at the present time to the building of democracy in these United States. T h e Advisory Committee reported that the organization would have been justified in dismissing all claims as idle rumor-mongering because of

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the failure of "the complaining group" to make specific charges in a written and signed statement. However, in the interest of PTA harmony, they had undertaken "to investigate such rumors and insinuations of unfitness as could be sifted from the transcript of the November 18 meeting and any other rumors which were passed to us." In every case, they found the rumor to be baseless. They expressed their complete confidence in Miss Hollenbach and thanked her for her cooperation despite the fact that it was not incumbent upon her to answer unspecified charges. The Committee concluded unanimously: "THEREFORE: We recommend that the Executive Board of the Hawaii Congress reject the resolution which was passed by the unofficial group which met November 18." The Executive Committee considered the Hollenbach report at its meeting at Central Intermediate School on December 7, 1949. The anniversary date of the attack on Pearl Harbor lent an unintended significance to their deliberations. The meeting was very well attended indeed. In attendance were, besides the members of the Executive Committee, Marion Hollenbach, Dr. Saunders, members of the complaining group, the deputy superintendent of public instruction, the lawyer who drafted most of the constitution of the local chapter of the ADA, the executive secretary of the Hawai'i Residents' Association (IMUA), a student from the University of Hawai'i. A majority of the audience was considered to be antiHollenbach. Prior to the meeting the report was discussed at a "seminar" and when it came up on the agenda the matter was further discussed. The discussion, which lasted some 90 minutes, was characterized in a press report as "a stormy one that strained at the leash of parliamentary procedure." The statement before the PTA Executive Committee by Mr. Jenkins, the executive secretary of IMUA, demonstrates the warped mental bias of what historian Richard Hofstadter called "the paranoid style" in American public life.3 Regarding the resolution adopted at the November 18 meeting, Jenkins said: This group met on November 18. After a 1 1/2 hour discussion, a resolution was passed. The resolution as reported is not complete, nor is the wording proper. A resolution had been passed by a group of American citizens who felt they had a right to select a person to teach group dynamics. A resolution was passed to the effect that it was the belief of the group that because of rumors—unfounded as we admitted, regarding the philosophy of Miss Hollenbach—not her ability to teach, but [sic] her ability to teach was well accepted. Had she been less able no question would have been asked. We were aware of her high ability to

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teach group dynamics—ability to inflict and pass on to the same group the philosophy of the individual involved. We were opposed to the philosophy of Miss Hollenbach based on her association with Dr. Saunders. And we opposed her for the training of group dynamics, not on her ability, but because of her supreme ability—but because of her supreme ability—which would permit her to pass on a philosophy. An investigation committee was formed. We did not ask for that. We are not putting Miss Hollenbach on trial. We merely said she had lost her effectiveness because of rumors. It was suggested that as a good American she should voluntarily resign. She has not chosen to do so. Her ability as a teacher is not on trial. She is not charged with Communism. She is charged that rumors surrounding her make her ineffective to your large group of P T A . . . . We recommended that she had lost her effectiveness, that that recommendation be presented to the board. We have been asked by the press and by registered letter to make accusations in writing against an individual. Does the board think we are so naive as to throw ourselves open for libel? We said we had no accusation. The daily press came out with a pre-arranged report. The paper estimated this report would be favorable to Miss Hollenbach. Some portions of the public are able to hear about it before the individuals under persecution by the press. I think it is just a case of lousy mishandling [by the Executive Committee]. We passed a resolution without accusation. We leave it to you, ladies and gentlemen, and to you members, whether that group of individual American citizens, FTA members, have been given a fair shake. Mr. Jenkins spoke as though he had been the moving spirit in the campaign to get Miss Hollenbach fired. The incongruity of his diatribe obviously did not occur to him. Largely because of editorial and public reaction to the November 18 meeting and the common sense of other American citizens, what had started as a hysterical sneak attack on Miss Hollenbach had become an unwelcome exposure of the attackers' unAmerican behavior. Mr. Jenkins was unhappy about the publicity generated by the November 18 meeting; however, it was one of the complaining group who had invited the press. W h a t became more obvious from Mr. Jenkins' rather incoherent recital was that the principal objection to Miss Hollenbach was that she was married to Dr. Saunders. "We were opposed to the philosophy of Miss Hollenbach based on her association with Dr. Saunders," said Mr. Jenkins. Oddly enough, throughout this matter, no one attempted to spell out Dr.

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Saunders' "philosophy" except to categorize it, whatever it was, as "unAmerican." Miss Hollenbach and Deputy Superintendent Crooker attempted to explain that group dynamics was a technique for democratic resolution of common problems and not a philosophy in itself. The explanation was superfluous, however, for those who were not blinded by imagined fears, and made no impression on those who were. Aside from this foray into character assassination by the ardent antiCommunists, there were overtones of dissatisfaction with the way the Hawai'i Congress of Parents and Teachers was being run. The Executive Committee frequently acted with what they doubtless considered commendable drive but what appeared to some of their membership as taking too much upon themselves without adequate consultation with the entire organization. There were suggestions of racial discrimination in the selection of representatives for PTA-paid mainland trips. Some of these more general, but unrelated, grumblings spilled over into opposition to Miss Hollenbach as a form of revolt against the Executive Committee. The Executive Committee voted twelve to one to adopt the recommendation of the Advisory Committee to reject the resolution adopted at the November 18 meeting. As presiding officer, the Reverend Adolph Meyer did not vote. At the November 18 meeting, he is reported to have joined in the suggestion that Miss Hollenbach should resign voluntarily. However, the only vote cast against Miss Hollenbach was that by the Kaua'i District president, who had expressed reservations about anyone connected with the ADA. There was considerable publicity over the Hollenbach case, including several letters to the editor. The A D A issued a press release stating that it was investigating libel actions against its detractors. The Sunset Edition of the Honolulu Advertiser for December 6 carried a front-page headline 1 3/8 inches high: DENY HOLLENBACH CHARGE. The ensuing story published Miss Hollenbach's letter to Mrs. Herter and carried the news that she had been nominated for the position of regional vice president of the National Education Association. The FTA Congress's Executive Committee meeting, and its action, received similar publicity. The editorials, letters, and stories continued throughout December and finally petered out. Yet, as the Honolulu Star-Bulletin editorialized on December 9, 1949: It is doubtful if the "Hollenbach case" is ended. The same type of thinking, the same sort of appeal to emotionalism and hysteria that produced

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the attempt to fire her will produce other attempts to discredit her. It will also produce efforts to discredit and unseat the 12 members of the executive committee who refused to be stampeded by pressure to oust Miss Hollenbach. And it will almost certainly produce other and similar accusations against other people, perhaps in public life, perhaps in private life. This prophecy was fulfilled in November 1950, when Miss Hollenbach's name again appeared prominently in headlines and stories. The new issue was the renewal of her employment. In two close votes at heated meetings at the highest levels of FTA management in Hawai'i, those who wanted Miss Hollenbach to continue with her work succeeded in getting through a request to the Mclnerny Foundation for a further grant, at first for another year but then for only six months. Between the timing of the two votes, the Mclnerny Foundation had written to the FTA that the grant would not be renewed. A Mclnerny Foundation board member denied that the controversy over Miss Hollenbach had anything to do with their decision, stating that the grant had originally been for only one year and that their funds were already committed elsewhere. Persons familiar with the personalities involved received this denial with skepticism; they attributed the termination of the grant to backdoor lobbying by members of the November 18, 1949, complaining group. Yet eventually, as the times changed, the matter receded. Dr. Allan Saunders continued to teach and serve with distinction at the University of Hawai'i. In 1955, he was named dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. I had the pleasure of discoursing with him on crime and punishment when we both served for some three years on the Committee on Penal Law Revision, which had been funded by the State Legislature in 1966. He, a staunch Democrat, and I, a staunch Republican, were usually in agreement. Marion Saunders confounded her detractors by getting herself elected and reelected to the State Board of Education from 1974 to 1980. In her first try at elective office she led the ticket.

9.

Selected Writings of Allan R Saunders Compiled by Esther Kwon Arinaga

Introduction began his teaching career, he faced the dilemma of all college professors—whether to "publish or perish." He respected the need for research and writing but personally felt that these were activities that often diverted faculty from their primary responsibility: teaching. Early on, Saunders chose to make teaching—in the classroom and in the community—his lifelong passion. In those all-too-rare instances when he did put pen to paper, he wrote with eloquence and in a style that reflected his unique personality, wit, and humor.

W H E N A L L A N SAUNDERS

More than a glimpse of Saunders' interests and engaging intellect emerges from the three sections of selected writings that follow. Typically, the pieces are brief, but they highlight Saunders' diverse and wide-ranging interests: a resolution for Hawai'i's United Nations chapter, legislative testimony, commentary on the report of a university committee, and letters to the editor, with the latter perhaps his favorite medium. The collection of his essays, letters, and speeches also illustrates many of the ideas and propositions presented in other chapters. The topics most central to Saunders' mind and heart included Hawai'i, the nation, and higher education. Certain themes resonate: the purpose of higher education, civil liberties, the evils of autocracy and the dangers of bureaucracy, and the rights and obligations of American citizens. Overall, Saunders' written legacy, though spare, manifests the important role that he played as the conscience of his community. Whether he lectured in the classroom or spoke before a group of law enforcement officers or wrote a letter, Saunders' challenge to the listener was always the same: it is the duty of every responsible citizen to work toward the fulfillment "of America's dream of Liberty and Justice for All." 143

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Section 1 The three essays in this section exemplify Saunders' deep concerns for Hawai'i. Written within a period of several years before his death, each testifies to his unending desire to create a genuine democracy in Hawai'i. In "Small Is (Still) Beautiful" he posits the meaning of equal opportunity. Should the emphasis be on equal treatment of different people or on giving the underprivileged the opportunity to become privileged? Clearly, Allan favored help for the "Little Fellow" instead of the use of power simply as a means to climb to the top. In his letter to Bertrand Kobayashi, a former student and then a member of the State Senate, and in his proposal for changes in Chapter 92 of the Hawai'i Revised Statutes, Saunders makes clear his preference for a government that is more open and responsive to Hawai'i's people.

Small Is (Still) Beautiful [Hawai'i Democrat, vol. 1, no. 3 (February 1986).]

Thirty years ago, the young Democratic Party set forth to capture the government of Hawai'i. They sought to replace a feudal regime by and for the Big Five and the beneficiaries of concentrated control with a society in which the Little Fellow would have an equal chance with the Big to attain the American goals of liberty and prosperity. Helped by the I.L.W.U., the GI Bill, and by public zeal for change, the party of Jack Burns legislated changes in labor relations, housing, land use, schooling—all opening the door of opportunity for the person disadvantaged by racial heritage, economic status, inadequate education and training. The '50s and '60s were times of Democratic exhilaration and achievement—a vigorous but peaceful political, economic and social revolution. One after one, barriers to equal opportunity fell. Strong labor unions, community colleges, diversified housing, new business firms, and extensive professionalism characterized the new 50th state. But in this dynamic drive for social change, there was resident a certain ambiguity. The grievance against the feudal system was double-edged in its cutting thrust. At the bottom was the demand for equal opportunity. But that could mean an emphasis upon egalitarianism, upon like treatment of different people, or upon opening to the underprivileged the opportunity to become privileged. The first stressed help for the Little Fellow; the second stressed the use of power in order to climb to the top. The first meant establishing rules of fair play. The second meant adopting the tactics of the Successful. As the saying went, "The haoles have had their day, now it's our turn."

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By and large, the first orientation prevailed in the '50s and '60s. More recently, the second orientation has become dominant. Perhaps the shift is most easily marked by the passage of the Land Bill of 1967. Whereas the Maryland Land Bill of 1955, killed by the vote of Senator Ariyoshi, was a simple authorization of tenants to buy the fee of the land they occupied, that of 1967 was hedged with restrictions and, significantly, interposed between landlord and tenant a resort by a public authority empowered to employ eminent domain. This shift of attitude is neatly summarized by Cooper and Daws [Land and Power in Hawai'i (1985), p. 154]: "A gap was beginning to open up between mainstream Democrats—the Democrats in power pushed on anyway." In the '70s and '80s that gap has widened and deepened. It is seen in the commercial success of Land and Power in Hawai'i; in the increase of Republican officeholders; in the decline of competition in Democratic primary races; indeed, in the erosion of partisanship, and in the popular, negative image of the professional politician. The gap measures the distance between the professional and the private person. The professional employs power in order to rearrange the social order. In the '50s and '60s in Hawai'i, the politicians employed public power in order to promote increased opportunity for the Little Fellow. Coming into power in the '50s, the Democratic Party leaders had grown up in a society in which the institutions of social control—government, industry, school system—were centralized. And they had recently participated in a great national success (victory over fascism in World War II) through joint, aggregated effort. Centralization connotes aggregation of forces at a center. Aggregation connotes large size, bigness. Thus the Big Deal to revolutionize Hawai'i society was transformed into support of Large Size, and tacit admiration of the culture of the hated Big Five. With the coming of statehood, investment by mainland corporations was welcomed. Luxury hotels, high-rise condominiums, and expansive residential colonies were built. Tourism became big business. Such development of large-scale enterprise does not help the Little Fellow. Indeed, it assigns him the servile role of dependency. The gap between the well-to-do and the Little Fellow widens. Such is a consequence of the emphasis on correlating development with size. Large-scale operation produces ugly results—bureaucracy, plutocracy, social conflict, narcissism, a decline of compassion. The time is now to move decision-making nearer to the Little Fellow, to involve him/her in governance. Now is the time to reorder our institu-

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tions so as to reduce the gap between the exercise of power and the subject of its exercise. Recent changes in our polity point the way. Honolulu's Neighborhood Boards provide a medium between City Hall and local community, encouraging the public to speak up. Their authority could be extended. The introduction of the single-member electoral district at both state and county levels increases accountability of the member to his constituents, and encourages the Little Fellow to run for public office. Most recently, on Kaua'i and on O'ahu, the novel instruments of referendum and recall have been used to register the impact of local opinion upon public policy. Other forms of decentralization are needed. Most obvious is county home rule, an historic demand for the transfer of self-governing powers (and revenue) from the state to the counties. Should Moloka'i become a county? Doses of home rule in the Department of Education—to the Districts or to schools—might disintegrate the awful bureaucracy of the Central Office. It might also facilitate the use of pilot projects. Much as in our national federal system, a single state is a laboratory for experimentation. And it encourages parents and the current advisory citizen councils to become involved. Simple legislation could greatly improve the quality of lawmaking and the relationship between legislator and constituent. If the Legislature were to vest in the executive departments and in the various regulatory agencies manned by laymen the authority, subject to review by the Legislature, to alter by regulation the implementation of statutory policy; then if, further, the Legislature were to vest in its agent—the Auditor or the Ombudsman—the power to screen the proposed alteration into law unless found to require scrutiny by the Legislature, then the business before the Legislature would consist almost solely of matters of public policy—e.g., death penalty, taxes, subsidy of private enterprise, etc. Most "Administration bills," which now require the attention of uninformed legislators and which are drafted by the informed civil servants, would be transformed into provisional regulations, thus liberating lawmakers for lawmaking and the debate of public policy, the proper concerns of representative government. One more example of deconcentration to promote Small is Beautiful: Let's take apart the University of Hawai'i system. Current opinion recognizes that its cumbersome, redundant bureaucracy needs simplification. Why not recognize that its great size breeds anomie in the students and self-service in its faculty. Detachment of the Graduate School and the junior and senior years of the Manoa campus would leave an undergraduate college devoted to general education, and small enough to engender frater-

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nity in students and faculty. Separated out would be the research-oriented faculty and the specialized curriculum that characterizes graduate education. To the undergraduate institution might be added the 11th and 12th grades of the public schools. If these were telescoped into the freshman year, the college student would escape the deafening duplication that now leads to the large number of freshman year academic failures, and of senior high boredom. I have proposed several changes, the adoption of which should move our society closer to the liberal, egalitarian ideal that inspired the Democratic revolutionaries of the '50s. That ideal should mold the program of the Democratic revolutionaries of the '80s.

Letter from Allan Saunders to Senator Bertrand Kobayashi [Dated May 4, 1988.]

Dear Burt: Let's use some political science on your colleagues to persuade legislators to submit to the 1989 electorate a constitutional amendment to repeal the outrageous rule permitting the Governor to appoint to vacated seats in the legislature. This unwarranted extension must be replaced with a rule that recognizes and uses the realistic structures of Hawaiian society. This rule should require the lieutenant-governor—whose bias would be anti-governor anyway—as chief election officer to appoint a Commission composed of the chief executives of the structures of power of Hawai'i. Appropriate are Chamber of Commerce, ILWU, HGEA, Senate President, Speaker of House, spokesman for the Mayors. The Commission will choose a citizen to fill the vacancy in the Senate or House as needed. The Lieutenant-Governor will report the recommendation to the proper body. Your poly science can supply argument and details. Good fortune, Allan Saunders

Wanted: A More Open State Government [1983.]

Chapter 92. Administrative procedure. Public records. Sunshine. For many people, these words have no relationship to each other or their daily lives. But for many others, these words represent concepts that are inherent in the way government conducts itself. As the newest state, Hawai'i has been able to adopt the best and most

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progressive legislation from other states. The major exception to this rule has been our Fair Information Practice statute, more commonly known as the Privacy Act. Infamous as one of the most restrictive in the nation, it has been used by all levels of government to broadly restrict the public's right to know. Government enjoys this mode of operation because it perceives itself as running more efficiently. Open meetings are less productive. Hearing notices and agenda publications are costly. Keeping records private reduces manpower needs. But is this the proper way to run a state government? The answer is a resounding no. The public and the press must have total access to government, the people who run it, and the records it maintains. The best reason for more openness is simply because it's the right thing to do. The United States Constitution doesn't specifically mention nor protect the public's right to know. But this doctrine is included in the first amendment, wherein the freedom of speech and freedom of the press are guaranteed. The first amendment would be rendered useless, however, if people could not have access to the government to learn more about it. James Madison, an author of the Constitution, wrote that, "A popular government, without popular information, or the means of acquiring it, is but a prologue to a farce or a tragedy; or, perhaps both." Another reason for openness is that it makes good business practice. If people are not informed about the governmental process, they will be distrustful of it. If they do not have access to a meeting, they will discount the decisions made in it. If they do not have access to a government record, they will not be able to assess the accuracy of it. For the state government, more openness will mean more cost, more manpower, and more frustration. But for the public, more openness will mean more perfection and more accountability in government. The best way for government to become more open is to change the law regulating it. Hawaii's Sunshine law (Chapter 2, HRS) and Privacy act (Chapter 92E, HRS), were adopted from different states in different eras. Thus, they are highly contradictory and incompatible with one another. A solution to this would be to adopt a state Freedom of Information act, using the federal model adopted by Congress in 1966. This act is based on the presumption that the government and the information of government belong to the people. It shifted the burden of proof from the individual to the government: the "need to know" standard was replaced by the "right to know" doctrine. The responsibility is now on the government to justify secrecy rather than the citizen to obtain access. The act also provided workable procedures and an appeals process for both the government and

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the citizen. Prior to the FOIA's enactment, there were no clearly delineated procedures for requesting information from federal agencies nor were there remedies for those wrongfully denied access. The state government would benefit greatly for two reasons if it were to adopt an equivalent act. First, it would serve to replace our confusing and restrictive laws relating to openness and allow all those concerned to start with a clean, fresh statute. It would also allow the government to strengthen its administrative procedures to provide a standardized procedure for responding to public requests for information. Such standardization would make government operate on a higher level of responsiveness than it does now, and make for better relations with the public it serves. That is the best way to open up government, but it is not the first. Before any legislation will be considered, or any law enacted, or any rule changed, the mindset of every government official, from the governor down to the entry level clerk, must change. There must be a renewed commitment to serve the public in the most open and accessible manner. Every bureaucrat must acknowledge that the public's right to know supersedes his personal discretion for privacy. I am confident that in this, the 200th year of the founding of the Constitution, these attitudes will change and the law will surely follow.

Section 2 This second section is a primer of Saunders' views on America as a nationstate and on what it means to be an American. Written over a period of four decades, the articles and speeches reverberate with his favorite themes. In a resolution he drafted in 1946 for the Hawai'i chapter of the United Nations, Saunders opposes the exercise of permanent sovereignty by the United States over South Pacific islanders previously subject to colonial rule. In "Are Americans Koreans?" he poses a question central to American history and American political philosophy: "what truly demarcates the American from the non-American?" Saunders suggests that our national motto, E Pluribus Unum, is a call to maintain and preserve the differences that give the United States strength and vitality. A broader definition of politician in "Let Us Praise the Politician" suggests that every citizen has the power to effect social change. Finally, two speeches draw the narrow line between order and disorder in a democracy. In "A Scholar Reflects," Saunders laments that freedom has become the "right to support the Establishment." It is a theme he expands upon in his best-known essay, "Dissent," an address given at a conference of law enforcement officers in

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1969. Despite the tumult of the times, Allan urged conferees to regard the "dissenter as a social asset, dissent a virtue." He received a standing ovation when he concluded. Resolution No. 1 [Drafted for the Hawai'i chapter of the United Nations Association in 1946. According to Allan's notes, it was unanimously adopted by the group on June 19, 1946.]

Whereas, By the terms of the Atlantic Charter the United States has pledged herself not to acquire territory as a consequence of victory in this war and Whereas, Victory in the Pacific was a product of joint effort by nations in alliance and Whereas, The people of the United States oppose the exercise by their country of permanent sovereignty over subject peoples; and Whereas, All of our allies, except only the Union of South Africa, have declared their willingness to surrender to international authority, suzerainty over former German and Japanese colonial domain now in their control; and Whereas, Security for the United States would not be strengthened but rather weakened by unilateral involvement in the governance and protection of the previously mandated Japanese islands in the Pacific. Whereas, Adequate machinery for their governance and development is provided by the Trusteeship Council of the United Nations; and Whereas, The present state of the world and of the relations between the permanent members of the Security Council calls for vigorous and unequivocal support of the principles resident in the San Francisco Charter. Therefore, The Hawai'i Branch of the American Association for the United Nations urges that the President of the United States announce now the readiness of the government of the United States immediately to transfer to the Trusteeship Council of the United Nations full control over and the authority to make ultimate disposition of the previously mandated Japanese islands in the Pacific. That a copy of this resolution be transmitted to the President and the Secretary of State of the United States. Are Americans Koreans? [A talk delivered by Allan on April 14, I960.]

Fascinating is the history of Americanization. Like other peoples gathered into political union, Americans identify themselves by means of emphasizing the points of difference which set them off against other nations. In the early days of the War for Indepen-

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dence, for example, such prominent, international figures as Franklin and Jefferson argued that everything—including human beings—in the New World was built on a larger scale than in the old world. To refute the European naturalist who insisted the American species were inferior, Jefferson sent them specimens of American mammals, while Franklin at his Parisian dinner party asked guests, French and American both, to stand up and note how much taller were the Americans. Dietitians and other scientists in our own day use the same approach to demonstrate Americanization of the human body! If it wasn't physical superiority, it was spiritual. America was the land of freedom, the country whither came the oppressed, seeking and finding liberty, prosperity, opportunity for advancement, religious toleration, political emancipation. Or it has been economic; America has been the land where everyone prospers, the country with the highest living standard in the world, the people with the most T V sets, the most sleek automobiles, the most flush toilets. Whatever the basis of distinction, we have insisted that America was different; and the difference from others meant superiority over others. This attitude is normal; it is the attitude of the national patriot, whatever the nation to which the individual gives his Allegiance. Every people tends to see itself as unique, as unlike every other people. The unity that results from this collective image produces national loyalty, a sense of community and of common destiny. But, if this be so, what truly demarcates the American from the nonAmerican? If nationalizing is a universal process—today visible in such emergent nations as Ghana, Pakistan, Libya, Micronesia—then what differentiates the United States of America from other countries? Is Americanization just like the assimilation that goes on in Indonesia, in Guinea, in Iraq? There is something really different. That difference is symbolized in our national motto: E Pluribus Unum—Out of Many, Unity! America is variety, strength arising from variety, acceptance of diversity as not necessarily productive of conflict. This doctrine has deep roots in American history. Perhaps its philosophical base is our belief in the dignity of man, the equality of rights and of duties. Theodore Roosevelt put it this way, in 1899: "Most important is it for this country to treat an American on his worth as a man, and to disregard absolutely whether he be of English, German, Irish or any other nation; whether he be of Catholic or Protestant faith."

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In terms of the structure of government, it is the doctrine of federalism, of local self-government, of the equality of the States in the Union. Socially, it is the acceptance, nay, the encouragement of private groups and of voluntary organizations of all sorts, each entitled under law to pursue its own peculiar ends. Economically, it is freedom of enterprise and equality of opportunity. But all these are the negative side of the pluralism which marks America as different from other nations. Positively, Americanism means that freedom of enterprise leads to a market where the consumer has opportunity to choose between a great variety of commodities. T h e multiplicity of private organizations encourages many facets of living, each legitimate and self-respecting. States' rights and home rule results in different tax systems, different types of city government, friendly rivalry between boastful Californians and bumptious Texans. Most importantly, equality of men leads to respect for differences in men. If we are to treat Germans and Irish both equally as men, we do not thereby forget their German-ness, the differing Irish-ness. That we give equality to Catholic and Protestant means that we encourage the continuation in America of religious difference. More, even, than this. T h e welcome to diversity rests in the conviction that variety adds strength and vitality to the whole. T h e nation is enriched as we avoid uniformity, standardization. T h e stimulation provided by variety everyone experiences, whether old-timer or new-comer. We believe, that is, that every people can bring to weaving the tapestry that is American their own particular and colorful threads. T h e pattern that emerges is complex, novel, exciting and will never be completed. Nor is any thread less or more valuable than any other; each is essential, each brings its own unique quality. We hope, too, that this lesson that is Americans in the making will be well read by all mankind, to the end that world peace comes closer to realization. Meanwhile and more attainable, we can easily read the lesson for all. Americans of Korean ancestry. Rather than seeking to suppress their Korean heritage, on the false belief that this is the road to full Americanization, our fellow-citizens from Korea must preserve, publicize and promote the Korean thread in the tapestry of America. This they alone can do. By doing so, they do not reduce their loyalty to America; on the contrary, they contribute to its unique strength, e pluribus unum. It is my hope and belief that the "Koreans" in Hawai'i will do just that, and so demonstrate that in truth and out of American patriotism, Americans are Koreans.

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Let Us Praise the Politician [Speech by Allan Saunders at a gathering in 1986.]

In America's creed, everyone is born free and equal, possessed of the natural right to private property and to seek its increase by lawful action including favoring governmental action, as well as action in private enterprise. Given millions of such individualistic Americans, our society and the social movement therein is pluralistic. Individuals and organizations vie with and against one another, each pushing its special interest into preferential status. The interest may be economic, it may be religious, it may be societal, it may be ideological. In any case, it is special, it is less than the general welfare. Successful pressure by any special interest gives it a partial privileged position. General success would disintegrate society into civil war, the universalization of private interest. That consequence Madison predicted 200 years ago, in the classic Notes of the Federalist Papers. Therein is the thesis that the interlocking system of our public government—its checks and balances of separation and division of powers—forfend against the takeover by any one special interest or combination of interests. The Founding Fathers, their successors, Mother Nature and what Machiavelli called Fortuna—they have impeded the destructive operation of human greed, seeking holistic satisfaction through special interest pressure. We should add one other force, the politician. Practitioner of the art of the possible, the politician uses his power to relocate social resources. But never as the ideological revolutionary, who wants total social change. The aim of the politician is preservation of the arena, of the social system, in which the ambitious may renew the combat. Incidentally, this is the justification of the drive of the incumbent legislator for re-election. His primary goal is perpetuation of his opportunity. When his means become his end, it is time to retire him to pasture. In our time of inflammatory single-issue politics, such as abortion and gun control, and of polygonal conglomerates that contain in concentrated control, publishing, transportation, pharmaceuticals, and soy beans, it is especially helpful to have handy the politicians. Their drive to dominate is blunted by the politician's desire to please all parties. His compromise may be only a truce for the political warriors, only a contemptible evasion for the irate ideologue, but for the nation it means preservation of the safety net against collapse. Compromise is the cement of society. If and when the politician, in settling a dispute between claimants for privilege, provides a program that promotes individual liberty, equality,

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and the pursuit of happiness, then the politician deserves to be named Statesman. Everyone here, in one way or another, is a politician. Everyone here uses power to effect social change. Everyone here acts in such a way as to preserve the rights of all others to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. A t least one of us, our convener, Paul Yamanaka, acts in such a way as to enhance our lives. When he creates the Waikiki Rose Garden, introduces the publication of Living Treasures of Hawai'i, establishes Sky Gate in Government Center, he has earned the title, Statesman.

A Scholar Reflects: On Restoring a Little Disorder and Freeing the Human Spirit [An address to friends on the occasion of Allan's seventy-ninth birthday, December 2, 1976. T h e "Fellowship" he mentions is the group that sought to establish a foundation for making an annual Allan Saunders award.]

In 1976 we celebrate an effort to organize a new society that would reconcile the opposing human needs for order and for freedom. Being revolutionaries, our forefathers—we know too little of our foremothers—stressed freedom over order. For to organize a new society one must break what Walter Bagehot calls the "cake of custom," must liberate man and his thoughts from the established patterns. It is always easier to conform than to differ. Fortunately, there were Patrick Henrys, Tom Jeffersons, and Samuel Adamses who carried with their ardor the more cautious George Washingtons, John Adamses, and Ben Franklins. Because Right and Left joined in the American Revolution that we celebrate, their public Constitution incorporated structures for both order and freedom. A unique and great achievement. The Constitution establishes a government so convoluted with checks and balances as to preclude hasty or novel action: but the Constitution also contains an amending clause, that is, a lawful means for disordering the Establishment. By constitutional amendment we have been able to adjust governance to social and economic changes that otherwise might have precipitated violent disruption of our democratic polity. (Once, indeed, in 1861, peaceful modernization was displaced by civil war.) In our public arena, liberty and order have coexisted for two centuries: disaffection, yes; arrogance and favoritism, yes; but a viable, acceptable balanced middle way. Such is our public life. I believe that a similar corrective against regimentation is needed in the private sector of American society. For in private enterprise as in public

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affairs there is constant pressure toward conformity, regularity, orthodoxy. Unless impeded by a bit of disordered freedom, private organizations, like public, can erode into inhumane bureaucracy, where the end of public good is subordinated to the means of predictable, traditional machinery. In times past, the open frontier and unlimited immigration maintained alternative life-styles that moderated habit's pressure toward stultifying orderliness. But now the frontier is only a pipe-line in Alaska, and ethnic pluralism is subordinated to the demands for equality of condition. Meanwhile, the pace of technological change quickens, the complexity of our interdependence grows, the scale of private enterprise increases. Routines replace idiosyncrasy, impersonality replaces individuality, order freezes out novelty. Freedom becomes the right to support the Establishment. But we can interpose correctives, to restore a little disorder in the private sector, as constitutional amendment and Supreme Court interpretations have maintained in the public sector a tolerable relationship between freedom and order. That is what I hope this Fellowship will do. Annually encourage an able professional to enrich his conception of the public good, to widen and deepen the scope of his enterprise, to recapture for his profession some of the free spirit so that the pressure for bureaucratic routine will be offset by service of human beings, not as means but as ends. Just by way of illustration, a lawyer could introduce procedures that made needed legal services more readily and cheaply available to the public. Or a taxation official could simplify and make more intelligible to the layperson the income-tax form. Or the change might be within the profession itself. For instance, stiffening the code of ethical practice so as to reassure clients that utilization of expertise would be undertaken without the temptations of fee-splitting. Or the office manager who so diversifies job assignments that employee morale rises. Whatever the action, the recipient of the award for his good deed would be strengthened in his desire and his capacity to enlarge the area of freedom operative within society's pressure for conforming order.

Dissent [An address before the Hawai'i State Conference of Law Enforcement Officials at the Kaua'i Surf Hotel on September 5, 1969.]

Dissent is as American as apple pie. Dissenters landed on Plymouth Rock in 1620. Sam Adams, John Adams, Patrick Henry, Tom Jefferson, Ben Franklin—they were glorious in dissent. And all down our national his-

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tory, they have had patriotic descendants—John Taylor of Carolina, Andy Jackson, John C. Calhoun, Abe Lincoln, Jefferson Davis, Henry George, William Jennings Bryan, Gene Debs, Teddy Roosevelt, Bob LaFollette, Norman Thomas—lately, Eugene McCarthy. Now, some important lessons are to be learned from the study of these dissenters. All of them began as Protestants, began within the system, adherents of the Establishment. They were loyal critics of their country, patriotic reformers. They sought social change, but change of secondary features of organized society: primary values they shared with the ruling powers. Even when, as Jefferson eloquently put it, "after a long train of abuses," some of them moved late into revolution, they did so in order to restore their country to the path from which it had strayed. They were counter-revolutionaries. From that fact I would draw two lessons: first, that revolutionaries are produced by frustration; second, that dissent is fundamentally different from disobedience, from rejection or nihilism. I'll return to the first matter; here let me just say that dissenters become rebels and perhaps revolutionaries when those in power in society appear to block peaceable protest, thus pushing the protester to extremism. Even then, this revolutionary is using force and violence for the reconstruction of a society that, in his judgment, has renounced ideals. This attitude is vastly different from that of the nihilist, who has rejected civility, indeed, civilization, and practices disobedience, not as a means for restoration of health to a sick society but as an end in itself. Disobedience to the law is for him justifiable because law is unjustifiable. He has rejected the basic values of the society, which he therefore in good logic, seeks to destroy. Not so with the dissenter. My dictionary calls him "one who disagrees with a majority or official view," "one who feels apart (Latin: dissentire)." In my words, the dissenter is one who believes that the prevailing policy is mistaken, that we should change course. I stress what is often not explicit in the dissent: the dissenter agrees with the objective, but disagrees with the means; he agrees with the social ideal, but tends to emphasize the gap between profession and practice. The dissenter belongs, but declares that too many fellow members are hypocritical or stupid or cowardly. It is my belief that very, very few of today's protesters are true revolutionaries, or nihilists. The great majority, whether young, Black, poor, object to America's departure from the path to Life-Liberty-and-the-Pursuit-of-Happiness; but they subscribe to that grand ideal as their birthright and the right of everyone without distinction of race, religion, sex, or national origin. They want restoration, not revolution.

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It is apparent that I regard the dissenter as a social asset, dissent a virtue. T h e asset is deep in the grain of A m e r i c a . Dissent is an indispensable ingredient of the social process that we call democratic A m e r i c a n pluralism. Our whole system of government, of public decision-making, relies upon dissent to protect us from tyranny and to maintain options for the future. C h e c k s and balances in the two-chamber legislature between the Congress and the President, in the exercise of judicial review by the courts, in the distribution of power between the national government and the states, in the special procedure for constitutional amendment, in the antitrust policy—one could go o n and on, enumerating examples of our deep desire to give dissent its opportunity to keep the ship of state on course. For this is the role of dissent: to challenge the omniscience of the ruling power—whether that be a political machine, a photogenic demagogue, a military-industrial complex, or a popular majority. T h e A m e r i c a n people gave this role to dissent because we believe that even the most convinced majority may be wrong, can benefit from the necessity of explaining and analyzing its policy. N o ruler is infallible; any ruler can b e c o m e complacent, corrupted from the national interest. In the A m e r i c a n polity we accept rule by majority, but on two conditions—that dissenters may seek to dissuade the majority from acting, and that action will be modified when the support erodes. W e believe that the social and political process should reflect changes in public opinion, and that the public dissenter contributes valuably to that change. Dissent, therefore, has a positive function. In the A m e r i c a n political credo, decisions are never final, dogmatic. N o , they are provisional, even experimental. Woodrow Wilsoi* called the states experimental stations for trying out new proposals; Franklin Roosevelt in the G r e a t Depression was the quarterback, after each play calling out new signals to fit the new situation. T h i s belief in our capacity continually to readjust is enshrined in the national motto, E pluribus unum, Out of many, one. T h i s relativism goes deep. In our ideology nothing is sacred except the process of lawful change. T h r o u g h o u t our history we have changed the structure of government, the place of organized religion, the role of the family; we have incorporated inventions into politics, business, education, recreation. In all this we have relied upon the dissenter, the m a n who strongly feels error in our ways and agitates for social change. We need him; both because power breeds arrogance and arrogance makes for insensitivity for human needs, and because the dissenter, the man-who-feelsapart, sees more clearly than does the conformist, where our practices fall short of our ideals.

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For it is the nature of any social organization to decline, to run down, to deteriorate. Organization demands order, regularity, subordination; it seeks stability, security; it plans ahead, even cherishes immortality. These attributes are admirable; and organization is necessary for the preservation of society. But man is compact of mind, spirit, inventiveness, movement. Inevitably there is incompatibility between man and society. It is commonplace to say that social invention has not caught up with physical science and technology. But we tend to forget that such a gap between establishment and dynamism is normal, indeed, inevitable. It is likewise with social habit and social ideals. No matter what the pace of social change, Utopia is never reached. The ideal is never the actual. Yet ideals are necessary for living. And part of the American Dream is that by constant innovation (before Trotsky and the Bolsheviks appropriated the term, we might call this Permanent Revolution!) we can push our social organization closer to the ideal of Liberty and Justice for ALL. That push often begins with the dissenter; dissent persists to be heard. If response is lacking or laggard, dissent becomes demonstration; if demonstration evokes repression, demonstration becomes disruption. That tragic road we must not travel, for it leads to civil war. But in our day and country, dissent is on that road. Whether it can be redirected is doubtful; but we must try. What, then, needs doing, to preserve dissent, to forestall its transformation into rejection of the heritage of continuous libertarian innovation? For the task is not to suppress but to encourage dissent. To encourage and to facilitate. Firstly—and this is the purport of my remarks—we must once again, and in the fine American revolutionary tradition, wholeheartedly and wholemindedly accept dissent as an essential instrument in the maintenance of the good life. Freedom to dissent must become the first freedom, the hallmark of citizenship. This won't be easy; as supporters of order, we are inclined to favor bounds to public speech. Too readily we say: "Of course, the First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech, b u t . . . " There must be no Buts. So long as opportunity exists to reply, said Mr. Justice Brandeis, speech is lawful in public matters; no matter how obnoxious the utterance. Fortunately, the Supreme Court has laid before us liberal guidelines here; it is for us to comply with them. Many dissenters believe that we don't accept them and that we won't, that we no longer believe freedom and equality to be goods. Hear one youngster, addressing his elders last June:

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It has become clear to many of us that no one is really free in this society, no one is really leading a good life. To live at all in America is to live in the way the power elite orders you to live. If you step out of line, too far out of line, you are deprived of your job and perhaps even your l i f e . . . . Democracy and freedom of choice are being reduced to no more than illusions in this country. We choose like slaves between a Nixon or a Humphrey, a Ford or General Motors car. The only choice we really have is whether to be indoctrinated by television, radio, or the movies. And so the effort to liberate ourselves, to make ourselves into new men, free men, brings us into conflict with the political controllers of this country, and their corporation chieftains and generals and police. All right, first we must encourage controversy, no matter how fundamental, and protect dissent, no matter how bizarre. That statement, of course, raises directly the proper relationship between dissent and disobedience of law. It is not a simple question; for in our country law and morality are inextricably intermixed. But perhaps we find a guideline in the proposition that in a democracy laws must be in accord with the fundamental law upon which rests the authority of government. In the United States that means, at the least, that the government act must be in accord with the prescriptions of the Constitution as interpreted by the Supreme Court. From that proposition I conclude that when reasonable and concerned persons doubt the validity of an act of government, violation of the command of the act cannot be treated as simple criminality. A s many dissenters are saying, furthermore, there may be occasions where the only means for testing a command's lawfulness is deliberate violation. Prudence would insist that before one breaks a law, one foresee the consequences; but in a turbulent democracy, must prudence always prevail? And perhaps in this connection two other matters of law enforcement deserve mention. First and if one is realistic, let's remember that law enforcement is always selective. In the current need for free dissent, must enforcement of anti-loitering ordinances, obscenity statutes, laws against the possession of marijuana and against indecent exposure—must these appear discriminatory, utilized to punish dissent and not used against offenders who otherwise support the Establishment? Somehow, the law enforcement officer must judge the social relevance of any offense, before he intervenes; shall we hope that he looks upon the eccentric dissenter with a tolerant eye? Secondly, perhaps regulations against disturbing the peace, riotous assem-

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bly, etc. need change. For if dissent needs the protection of the police, surely one should arrest the persons threatening to break the peace rather than the dissenter whose lawful speech has incited opponents to unlawful action. Resort to violence is unlawful; those in whom violent action is imminent not those who are imminently victims of violence need to be restrained. Closely related with police action is the next induction. If the enforcement of the law must be impartial, then the police officer and the public must believe that there is no bias in the discipline of law officers charged with excessive use of force or other infraction of the requirements of justice. Given the state of adjudication in the courts a persuasive case can be made for the creation and implementation of a citizen's board to review such charges and to make recommendation to the police commission and chief. Excessive force in law enforcement is never justifiable; it is particularly inappropriate—and notoriously ineffective—as a method of imposing Law and Order upon the dissenter, whose very protest is directed at what he regards as illegitimate law and order. Beyond such changes in individual behavior and in the apparatus of police administration, our society must move quickly to alter institutions. Two particularly warrant mention: the administration of justice, and political decision-making. Our regime of legality must accelerate steps already taken to make real equality before the law, by ready provision of legal counsel, by drastic reductions of the time and money needed for litigation, by updating penal practice. And, governmentally, dissenters must be given more room in the decision-making process. T h e 18-year-old vote is not enough; we need innovation in legislative and administrative procedures such that we hear the views of the young and the other importunities now excluded from direct governance. Lately and most obviously, channels of intercommunication need to be established and maintained, so that we can fairly insist upon persuasive rather than coercive techniques of controversy. This, I believe, is what many dissenters are asking for. Let me quote again my young informant: Is there any escape from our plight? Is there any way out of this pessimism?... If we make an effort to come together again in understanding, the future may yet exist. . . . The immediate course is clear and simple. There must be TALK, TALK, and MORE TALK. There must be LOVE, LOVE, and MORE L O V E . . . . If we will but talk with each other; if we will but love one another, then the world may yet become a fine place in which to live. My theme has been that America has dangerously slipped away from her traditional welcome to the social critic. Our unparalleled power and

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material comfort mislead us; our ignorance of history weakens us when confronted with demands for social change. When the demands go deep into our habitual way of life and come in bizarre form, we draw apart and chastise. The dissenters may be equally ignorant, equally gullible. But then again—and this is the message history teaches—maybe they see more clearly than does the Establishment what is wrong and where lies the road to fulfillment of America's dream of Liberty and Justice for ALL. O n the chance that they may be right, we should give them welcome to full dialogue.

Section 3 Higher education—its purpose and focus—engaged Saunders' interest throughout his life. In 1947, as a guest columnist for the University of Hawai'i at Manoa student newspaper, Ka Leo O Hawai'i, he argues for a return to an emphasis in undergraduate education on the theoretical, instead of the practical, pointing out that "without theory, practice is ashes and dust." A decade later, as dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, Saunders proposes changes in the college to expose students "to a wide variety of studies basic to an understanding of modern civilization." With the rapid rise in industry of new technologies and the increasing entanglement of the United States in world affairs, he foresaw the need for graduates who were competent to work with ideas as well as with science and technology. Twenty years later, however, as professor emeritus, Saunders shows that he has shifted the debate to a new level. Commenting on a report by the Committee on the Academic Future of the University, he is critical of the committee's timidity and reserve with respect to organization and external relations. In his view a liberal education is still at the core of undergraduate education, but he now proposes changes that indicate his disagreement with what he calls the "parochial, elitist" bias of the committee's report.

In Possession of Our Faculties [Ka Leo O Hawai'i guest column, March 25,1947.]

Come, let us praise Theory. Things are too much with us. We are told that the flood of veterans inundating the colleges condemn the cultural subjects and plump for the practical courses—engineering, dentistry, business administration. This is nothing new. Long before the G.I. bill brought these new zealots for the practical, theoretical subjects were hard pressed by those who insisted that the American university's job was first of all to prepare students for life, and that life was making a living.

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Greek surrendered to investment techniques; logic fell before hotel management. The demand for vocational training courses was irresistible. Colleges, founded in order to help young people to do good, were becoming schools to enable them to do well. Then came the catastrophe of war, a war that began as "a war for survival" but, we now begin to realize, has become a war of ideologies, a conflict of Theories, of principles of living. With hundreds of thousands of educated persons finding their civilization had culminated in the wholesale destruction of man and his cultural creations, college teachers throughout the land re-examined the premises of their action. Had the practical worked? Did emphasis upon training courses prepare students to grow along with added experience? Was useful education really education at all if the product found himself without bearings in a strange land of clashing ideologies? One college after another set up committees to evaluate the educational pattern and to bring in proposals for the Postwar University. And what is the burden of their findings? Did they suggest more courses in public administration and journalism? No. If life is to be rich with meaning, if men are to see clearly in a dark world, then a return to first principles is needed. Theory precedes practice; a foundation in right reason may provide support unobtainable in the sands of the immediately useful. So let there be a return to the humanities, to history and literature and philosophy. The student must learn to distinguish between things essential to salvation and things indifferent. The reason of things must precede use. Without Theory, Practice is ashes and dust, and man indeed finds himself blindfolded, in a dark closet seeking what is not there. The post-war college prepared to implement the recaptured vision of the primacy of theory over practice. Then came the deluge. College enrollments jumped to a record 2,000,000. Veterans housing, additional teaching staff, more classrooms—the universities have been faced with a condition precluding theorizing. May we hope that soon both student and college will take time off to think out where they are going? Education is most practical when emphasizing the theoretical.

What Is a "Liberal" Education? [Published in Honolulu Star-Bulletin, March 25, 1957.]

The motto of the College of Arts and Sciences might well be the old Chinese proverb: "The way to do is to be." The College—an administrative unit of the University of Hawai'i em-

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bracing 26 major fields of study—is frankly dedicated, not to job skills, but to a foundation of deepened awareness, heightened sensitivities, intellectual capacities and widened imagination. It is not enough to master the techniques of a profession—engineering, teaching, business. "How-to-do-its" lead to shallow living, work as pure labor, busyness signifying nothing. It is no accident that we call "liberal" education a foundation for technical skills. Let the semi-official survey, "America's Resources of Specialized Talent," point the moral: "A nation with as complex an economy, as important a role in world affairs, and as tangled a web of social, economic, military and technological problems as confront the United States is peculiarly dependent for its future welfare upon those of its citizens who are competent to work effectively with ideas." How can we convince the student chemist that his chemistry is only a small portion of the total which is himself as a complete man? First, while we require our 1,500 registrants in the College to specialize —"major"—in their last two undergraduate years, we also require them to expose themselves to a wide variety of studies basic to an understanding of modern civilization. Moreover, it is understood that even in the major field, more advanced work—technical training—must be done to equip them with a job skill. Second, the University in general provides a new environment—an "Ivory Tower," if you will—where the student may re-examine his prejudices and rearrange his value-scale at the same time that his understanding of the world is enlarged. This is perhaps a good argument for the "Ivory Tower," for setting campus life apart from other living. For to provide the student with a teacher freed of economic worries and given the chance to practice the life of the scholar is to spread by contagion this essential atmosphere of detachment and objectivity. Objective Cited The objective, then, is to provide an environment which will encourage the student to find new values, life-long values, in that most practical of all activities, the acquisition of knowledge, the learning of universal skills, the widening of appreciation. The activities can be taught: Knowledge of man's physical and biological nature, of his physical and social environment, of the history and processes of human and social de-

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velopment; skill in language, in thinking critically, in decision-making, in effective action; appreciation of beauty, of differences between people and societies, of curiosity and of awe.

Comments on the Report Issued by the Committee on the Academic Future of the University [Typed comments formally submitted by "Allan Saunders, formerly Dean, College of Arts and Sciences," on March 7, 1978. They may also have been given orally.]

1. The Committee on the Academic Future of the University should be thanked for publishing a Report that vigorously and (on the whole) consistently advocates an orientation that will arouse controversy. In a time of educational quietude, if not quite one of apathy, I welcome their stimulus to public debate. If Faculty and other concerned citizens dutifully respond to the Blue-ribboners' challenge, the University and the State will greatly benefit. 2.1 find the Report daring, even audacious, in the curricular proposals; in matters of organization, timid; and in consideration of relationships between curriculum, organization, and the extramural world of citizenship, barriers, and politics, the Ribboners are just naive academicians. 3. The undergraduate curriculum is built upon a number of interdisciplinary courses, hopefully team-taught by trained scholars. For two years, the student would be required to pursue this general, liberating program. Excellent. The student should come from this equipped with the knowledge and attitudes prerequisite for participation in and enjoyment of our post-industrial world; ready for vocational training and effective citizenship. 4. The Report recommends that the third year begin a broad based undergraduate major that in the fourth year would be capped with a senior thesis or comparable project. Here is where the Ribboners' traditionalism shows. For major and thesis are elements of pre-professional training rather than of liberal education. As such, should they not be supervised by those responsible for graduate training? To my mind, three undergraduate years of liberal arts based upon interdisciplinary courses should lead to the B. A. degree. What is now the fourth undergraduate year should be incorporated into the Graduate School, used usually for the introduction to professional preparation and often ending in a master's degree. 5. Thus, rather than merging graduate education into the College of Arts & Sciences, as the Report proposes, I would merge the undergraduate fourth year into the Graduate School. It would be responsible not only for the traditional studies leading to the Ph.D. degree, but also for training in Business, Education, and Social Work. (Law and Medicine, if continued,

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would remain separated. And Engineering and Agriculture, including what we used to call Home Economics, would remain as they are now.) 6. It is in "Graduate & Professional Education" that the traditionalist (parochial, elitist) bias of the Ribboners shows most clearly; that they most obviously forget that the University of Hawai'i is a public, "landgrant" institution. As such, the University cannot play favorites by downgrading education not "specifically linked with the undergraduate curriculum of Arts & Sciences." Nor can University faculty "question the expectation that community service outside the University is part of a faculty member's job" (Recommendation 20). A public university should help all members of the public to an educated life; and that principle incorporates into "higher education" for all both the liberal arts (Arts & Sciences) and vocational education. 7. Thus to banish "remedial education" from Manoa (Recommendation 7) and to convert Manoa into a select college (Recommendations 1, 2, 3, 12, 15, 14 et al.) runs counter to UH's mission. It is to ask Hawai'i to support an Ivy League university. Rather than concentrating in Manoa the excellent undergraduate curriculum proposed, we should establish it in every community college, each of which, in turn, would need to provide remedial education until the public schools better their subjects. To assist toward that end (by increasing available instructional staff and by excluding many hostile or unmotivated pupils, I would abolish the 12th grade; award the baccalaureate degree after three years of community college study (Manoa might, for a transitional period, house a community college program), and transfer the 16th grade to Graduate School. 8. These drastic changes in curriculum and program lead me to deplore the timidity and reserve with which the Report approaches Organization and external relations. Aside from wobbling on intercollegiate athletics in a fashion to antagonize alumni and politicians (Recommendation 22), the Report does well to endorse a Research Division to manage institutional, as distinct from individual, research, and to abolish the chancellor-level of administration, between dean and president (p. 29). It's good, too, to "draw wherever possible on U H faculty members for filling all administrative positions" (Recommendation 25). But why not vest responsibility in the Faculty by faculty election of deans? 9. Faculty responsibility would be furthered were Faculty to choose from their midst a colleague to serve for a term of years as president of UH, as in European practice. This is indeed furtherance of the Ribboners' proposal (Recommendation 2 et al.) for "participation of a wider segment of the Faculty in . . . university governance." With greater power in the deans

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(Recommendations 1,17, 24), the primary duty of the President would be representation (explanation) of the University to the public, a role best performed by a member of the Faculty. 10. The transfer of responsibility and of power to the several colleges and their elective deans makes much of the central administration redundant. Preparation and presentation to Governor and Legislature of the budget, now nominally involving the deans, would become publicly, as it now is actually, vested in Hawaii's elected public servants, whose proper job is promotion of the public interest. 11. And, while lobbying in the Con Con for "increased University autonomy," why not reduce to the minimum the power of the Board of Regents? Property law may make the Board necessary, prestige may make service on the Board desirable; but interference with University affairs is counter-productive.

10.

Living with Allan Marion Hollenbach Saunders

Our Early Years in Hawai'i I HAVE NEVER thought of my voice as special, though I have enjoyed public speaking, teaching, and even long ago singing. But I have had to feel there was something "special" about it since that dark night on the patio in Northampton, the night we met, when Allan Saunders said he fell in love with me in the pitch dark. It must have been something about my voice, because thereafter he called me for dates, not my friend Jeannie who had brought us together. It was late fall of 1943, and I was teaching naval history and current events at the WAVE officer training school at Smith College. Allan was teaching army officers at Amherst College, several miles away. I was drawn to him because of his mind, lively and curious, and he was clearly a "rebel," which attracted me. He was also very handsome! I liked his dignity, but I also liked his informality as we crawled around the floor in the professor's house where I was living, sorting articles for my weekly current events lecture to the battalion of WAVE officer candidates. Every Friday evening I would stand up on a box to put me level with the big map on which I would trace the World War II battle action of the week. Allan would sit at the back of Smith's Greene Auditorium and subsequently critique my review: "need to give more details on each event," "should fit these actions into historical trends," "bring out the significance of what is happening." Allan became a persistent suitor, and we found dinners at a small hotel in Amherst more congenial than at the crowded WAVE mess in Northampton. He was exciting company and great fun, with a sense of humor that transformed otherwise unremarkable events. On one of our hikes we found a tiny oak tree struggling to survive uncongenial surroundings, and

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that brave little oak twig became a remembered symbol to us of struggle, survival, of life. When I went on temporary duty to Washington, D.C., Allan closed the gap by writing to me of his loneliness, making me aware of how secluded his life in Amherst was. His commitment became more open after I was transferred, reluctantly, from Massachusetts to the Naval Air Station in Key West, Florida, in April of 1944- "You have taught me much that I value," he wrote, "that youth is of the spirit not of the body, that integrity is above injury by society, that love can be the lovely and glorious experience one has dreamed of." Even his love letters showed his erudition. One written the first day of spring said: When Tom Jefferson proclaimed our right to pursue happiness he meant, I'm sure, pursuit in the Day's living, not a feverish chase after darling fantasies. He knew, as we know, that happiness is attainable. Modern Americans have so tragically made of it a goal or ideal, by definition not only elusive but unattainable, in some never-never land where sorrow, illness, poverty, war, separation and betrayal are not. Epicurus has the answer to the riddle as do Jefferson, Mariana and I. We love the little things of life, whether oak twig, stars or Shee and so have courage to surmount the buffetings of Fate. "Mariana" and "Shee" were names he called me often. I loved his choice of Shee, an Irish word for fairy. After six months of hot weather in Key West I was transferred in November to Camp Shoemaker in Oakland, California, to be training officer for WAVEs assigned to Hawai'i. I had never seen Hawai'i, so I was sent there to inspect stations where WAVEs would be assigned. Allan and I kept in touch by mail and telephone—with a shared but unspoken sense that we wanted to make our association a permanent one. O n an anniversary he penned a haunting tribute: "Because, ever since a night just two years ago you have been to me as a light by which I see, even in the dark, loveliness and wisdom." Frequently he would send long letters fantasizing what we would do were we together in some favorite spot. Thus he mused about our love of music: "We shall have much music in our home, and for many uses. Here are the singing strings—Debussy for lovemaking, Mahler for right thinking, Strauss for light abandon, Brahms for sweet contemplation, Beethoven for comprehensive communion, Sibelius for Special Occasions." Then circumstances brought Allan to the West Coast, when he took a

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position teaching at the University of Washington in summer 1945. It was while there that he received and accepted a temporary appointment at the University of Hawai'i, to teach for one year. Allan sailed for Honolulu in August, the war ended, I was mustered out and returned to southern California, where I took up the museum post I had left to join the Navy. As we corresponded, it soon became clear that if our lives were to be joined it would have to be in the Islands—for Allan had fallen in love with Hawai'i and all thought of leaving after one year was blown to the winds! So I sailed to Honolulu in March of 1946 and we were married in the lovely Honolulu home of Paul and Vera Bachman, amid orchids and star jasmine in a ceremony we designed ourselves. Allan wrote: I, Allan, take thee, Marion, to my wedded wife from this day forward. With thee I shall find the joys of companionship. Of thee I shall guard your person and your rights to personality. From thee I shall draw depth of insight, honesty of purpose, strength of action—enriching my life. Toward thee I shall always hold truth of speech and kindliness of heart; for thee I love wholly and wholly cherish. I knew I had married my soul mate when, on our honeymoon in Kona on the Big Island, every morning he brought me the exquisite yellow and maroon blossoms of the hau tree. Allan loved blossoms, he frequently brought me new ones, and he would stop the car to explore an unknown. He had a favorite lei lady on the corner of the Royal Hawaiian grounds. We always stopped there on our way to the beach; she had a son in the university and Allan would chat with her as he made his selection. His love of flowers brought me many beautiful leis, not just for special celebrations but whenever the spirit moved him. We were two persons who found in Hawai'i the answer to the things we wanted in life—beauty, warm and friendly people, a mix of cultures that kept us learning and growing, air so soft and fragrant it blessed each day, mountains to live with intimately, and the sea to remind us of Nature's power. Add to these riches the volcanoes—all this made us feel spectacularly "special." For Allan, Hawai'i was destiny. He had roamed the width and breadth of the mainland, taught in eight universities, honed his teaching style to a fine Socratic point, and was ready to give his best years to a congenial university and community. Luck favored him in bringing him to the Islands. He never looked back. He came in 1945, eager to plunge into a multicultural society and put down permanent roots. Almost immediately he began to find it exciting and rewarding. The University of Hawai'i was

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small, 3,500 students who were largely returned World War II veterans, bright and highly motivated, many of Japanese background but also Korean, Chinese, Hawaiian, Filipino, and Caucasian—a typical Hawaiian mix. In a statement to Ka Leo O Hawai'i, the student newspaper at the university, he revealed part of the attraction the Islands held for him: "Hawai'i is an especially challenging place to live and work because it is the scene of rapid social change and it's small enough so that you can see the change going on." He could witness the results of his personal actions—they were not lost in a bureaucracy miles away. This intimacy of Hawai'i was a constant joy to him. He also loved the informality of the isles, the accessibility of people, the absence of pretense. He spoke with delight of cross-cultural incidents that were new and revealing to him. Without ever losing his own identity or assuming a false one, he conveyed a sense of meeting each person on his or her own ground. Our first home was a studio apartment in crowded Waiklkl, behind the theater. When Allan invited students to come for an evening's discussion, they had to balance supper trays on their laps and rub elbows with fellow students as they ate. The university campus was Allan's life, and he was there throughout each day. Student call on his time and attention had first priority, and I doubt he ever turned a student away because hours were late or pressing. If he didn't appear for dinner, I knew some student had captured his interest —and often he came bringing the student with him. He felt a special attachment to Hawai'i's students. Reporting to a friend about the island summer school students, he said they were "in so many delightful respects more challenging to the instructor than the mainland campus variety." And to a New York professor he wrote: "There is just something about this Aloha Spirit." He was buoyant and happy and thoroughly engrossed in his teaching. Allan almost immediately became known for his commitment to aloha shirts, which he began wearing on campus. Mine was the pleasure of shopping for a different aloha shirt for each day. He even ventured beyond aloha shirts, wearing sandals instead of shoes. Ka Leo reported that one day Allan appeared in a class in Political Thought and the students cheered, stomped, whistled and applauded. He was wearing a conventional white starched shirt, complete even to satin tie. Stopping the tumultuous greeting by shaking a starched cuff, Professor Saunders explained with mock seriousness that as a good Socialist, he was only practicing what he preaches—that one should watch his environment. Allan was eager to be closer to students and campus, and thus we moved

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after one year to the "barracks apartments" for faculty on Rock Road. It was a converted hospital complex with typical military buildings, and with screens and dividing walls so thin our neighbors could hear Allan bring me morning coffee. Faculty created a lively community among the residents, and Allan soon assumed the unofficial title of "Mayor" of Rock Road. We were all new faculty and we pooled our efforts to solve rustic problems such as muddy walkways and noisy napier grass-cutting at 6:00 A.M. in the field adjoining our area. We enjoyed the pastoral scenery, with cows browsing across the fence, and the luxury of a superb view of the Ko'olau mountains. A friend painted us a chartreuse wall that Allan and I lived with joyously, green in shadow, yellow in sunlight. The barracks apartment allowed space for student seminars, and Allan loved to interact with students in this informal setting. We spent many evenings sitting and chatting with students and discussing ideas and events. In one seminar it became legendary that George Hong would always sit in front of the curtained closet and as he relaxed and the evening proceeded, he would progressively disappear into the closet. Dorothy Kohashi remembers meetings when Harry Masaki would make an "off the wall" statement that Allan would welcome with, "Here's another statement—let's discuss . . . ," and the students would be off in spirited debate. Dorothy took every course Allan taught until he advised her to take a course on Communism with history professor Arthur Marder in addition to Saunders' offerings. She found a distinct contrast between the two: Marder was rational and academic in his focus and admired the structure of Communism; Saunders stressed the humanistic, what Communism destroyed in human values. Allan lost no time in getting involved in the community. If community activism was difficult for most professors, it was like a drink of water for Allan, natural and restorative. Some sense of how quickly Allan took Hawai'i to be his world can be gained from a list of the things he was doing that he sent to his mother in 1948, just three years after his arrival. He told her "we are happy, busy and bumptious," and listed the activities he was involved in: • Chair of U N E S C O planning committee for San Francisco UN Conference • Organizing the Model Constitutional Convention at the university "to get people to think about the problem of becoming a state" • Organizing a League of Women Voters chapter in Honolulu • Organizing a Hawai'i chapter of the A C L U • Serving as "Mayor" of Rock Road faculty housing.

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Actually, however, these were not his only activities at the time. Added to this list must also be the following responsibilities for 1948: • Serving as chair of the Faculty Senate Steering Committee • Offering a course on the Hilo campus every other Friday in May and June • Serving as co-president of United Nations Association • Participating in panel on Palestinian crisis • Assisting a Joint YMCA-YWCA Conference on preparation for citizenship in the forty-ninth state • Serving as consultant to the Territorial Conference of the Association for Childhood Education He professed he was weary from taking on too many jobs, but he thought it important to do so. As he put it, "We do all this because we believe time is short for the saving of liberal civilization, and because too few liberals are here to share the burden." From the start we were a two-career family and lived two schedules. Allan always gave me the sense that doing so was normal, as he seemed to assume that what I did was as important as what he did. Once, when 1 was on the staff of the East-West Center, he declined an invitation to teach in the South Pacific islands—to save me the distress of having to choose between his offer and my career. It was a decision I did not learn of until years later. We were a one-car family, and when our obligations took us in different directions, Allan took the bus and I took the car. Frequently we joined up after going our separate ways, when I picked him up for lunch at his favorite restaurant, Columbia Inn. Allan early revealed a strong sense of sharing. He wanted us to do things together, including shopping. He was the official dishwasher of our household. Even for parties, he insisted I not touch the dishes; he would rise early the next morning and clear everything before I had awakened. He never felt this a lowly task—it was one area where he could take over household chores, and he assumed it cheerfully. I did not know what dish water felt like! But a cook he was not. His culinary talent was limited to making instant coffee and baking frozen chicken pot pie. He loved to read aloud to me as I ironed, reading often from Esther Warner's delightful folk stories of Africa. In spring 1955 we found our Woodlawn home and fell in love with it. We promptly named it "Hale Ha'a'a," Hawaiian for "hospitality house." One's house had special significance for Allan. He was offended by people

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who bought homes and resold them immediately for profit. A home was to live in, to invest with family patterns and rituals, and to thrive on love. He had a study within view of me from the kitchen—a location I told him was ideal or I would never see him. He read and studied at his desk for hours at a stretch—he was not much for exercise. However, we had a tolerably spacious yard and Allan, to my surprise, took to gardening and lawn mowing with gusto. T h e yard hosted many picnics and gatherings. We would carry my little Yamaha organ into the yard and play and sing far into the night. T h e Micronesian students were indelibly associated with these festivals at Ha'a'a—the coconut tree background, mats on the grass, moon bright above, and the music, with bamboo sticks clashing in the dance! And I can still see the wedding of Dan and Susan Oki Mollway against the backdrop of our majestic mango tree. During the forties and fifties Allan shared his energy and understanding with a wide variety of community groups—on campus, off campus, in churches, YM and Y W C A , the Republican Forum. He spoke on a mix of their concerns and his own: "Your Civil Liberties and Mine," "What Is Communism?," "Should We Have a Third Party," " U N Achievements." He warned against rejection of the United Nations. "If we condemn it, it will fail. If we support it, it will succeed." Responding to the Republican Forum he emphasized, "I know of no safe depository of the ultimate powers of society but the people themselves." Allan was skeptical about intercollegiate athletics for their tendency to "snowball," striving for "sheer bigness," but he supported a strong intramural sports program. He was an enthusiastic baseball fan, and he always played third base on the faculty ball team. He liked to sit in front of the T V and follow a baseball game studiously, play by play, with a list of the players before him. He knew the game and loved it. But he did not want to see University of Hawai'i sports become big business, and he did want to see young people involved with other things. Allan had infinite confidence and belief in youth. One of his favorite ideas was a Youth Legislature as a third chamber of government offsetting the two adult chambers. He felt it would bring fresh and innovative ideas to bear on legislative matters too frequently marked by age and conformity, while providing young people with an important voice and introduction to adulthood. I wish he had developed this idea, as it seems so eminently useful. Allan was a compassionate, caring companion. Always supportive, he never created a sense of dependency in me or in others. He made room for

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each individual's own decisions and actions. His ability to be close, yet stand apart, is a rare achievement—likewise his ability to convey affection and support without resort to words. In periods of crisis he was never demonstrative nor consoling in verbal terms, but by his sheer physical presence and nearness he conveyed his concern and unwavering support. Shortly before he died, he surprised me with a rare declaration: "I like your values, I like your action, I am proud of you." He did delight me occasionally, however, with love poems revealing a depth of feeling few saw. This one he gave me for an anniversary celebration. Dryad— 'Tis May Day And you and your Faun Are sportive. With a bottle of wine, a book, and joy in our hearts We shall find a gnarled apple tree in full blossom And in the deep grass flecked with sun and shadow We shall wade barefooted in coolness and crisp softness Dancing enticement to the other And offering garlands of blossom And kisses fleeting and flirtatious Sips of aphrodisiac grape. And as the long rays of the setting sun Are molten gold upon the hillside We shall strip to Nature's coat And tease one another to embrace And you Dryad will fall into my arms And shall be taken With your Faun Into our own sweet immortality. Allan was a private person, restrained and always in control of himself. In contrast to his role in public affairs, in private and social matters he was not an initiator but an enthusiastic collaborator who entered wholeheartedly into the suggestions others made. This quality characterized our life together, and it was evident in our travels and in his participation in my professional activities, such as East-West Center, activities with my Micronesian students, and my school board election campaigns. Both of us enjoyed social interaction with others, but our private social life in Hale Ha'a'a was modest, due to my busy career and Allan's reticence in taking social initiative. Yet he had no difficulty in taking other sorts of initiative.

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Sabbaticals arid Our Travels En route to his first sabbatical in Norway in 1951, Allan taught for the fall semester at Boston University. By that time many of his island students were in graduate schools in New York, Boston, and Washington, D.C. We discovered how homesick we could be for Hawai'i and our Hawaiian friends, and one of Allan's longtime associates, George Bryan, and his wife Molly came to our rescue and loaned us their home for "Hawaiian reunions." Students came with their families from surrounding areas to spend evenings and weekends with us, bringing their ukuleles. How restorative were those get-togethers in "a foreign land"! We spent 1952 on sabbatical in Norway and returned again for the spring 1959 semester. Scandinavia gave Allan positive insights into what a socialist economy could achieve. He returned from this experience with admiration for their accomplishments and the conviction that we had lessons to learn from the Scandinavians. The equitable distribution of wealth, the government's provision for basic needs, the protection of youth, the nurture and enjoyment of nature, the devotion to learning, the generosity worldwide—these, he was convinced, were key features of a peaceful and humane society. One of the many things that impressed us about Norway were the statues of poets, scholars, and authors (including a feminist) that graced the capital city; there was only one monument to a military hero. We arrived in Norway in the middle of winter 1952, when the first Winter Olympics were being held at Holmenkollen, outside Oslo. We loved seeing skiing for the first time and the great jumps at Holmenkollen. It provided a fast acclimatization to a northern clime. Soon after our arrival the students organized an outing into Nordmarka, near Oslo, where they initiated Allan into skiing. Their toast to him was, "Dr. Saunders, you, like the Gulf Stream, came to us from America, and like the Gulf Stream your friendly smile and personality warm us." Plans for Allan's teaching at the University of Oslo were made by the students. A group of fifteen of them met and made the decision that his initial courses were to be Comparative Government and American Parties. There had been no political science in Norway before this, so his classes were exploratory and focused as much as possible on what students wanted to study. His lectures centered on the American party system, comparative governmental systems, and the American presidential election. One discussion Allan entered into repeatedly in Norway was the matter of racial discrimination in American society. This American Fulbright

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scholar's optimistic view about racism in the United States elicited only disbelief from the Rektor of the University of Oslo. Allan could never convince the Norwegians that our society was doing anything positive about racial equality. When he asked reciprocal questions about Norway's treatment of the Sami, or Lapps, his queries were dismissed as non-analogous and an inappropriate challenge. During our sabbatical year we had the unexpected pleasure in Oslo of welcoming into our apartment and in effect temporarily "adopting" a young refugee Czech student, Richard Jung, who was attending the University of Oslo. We had met Richard at the Salzburg Seminar in summer 1952, and back in Norway in the fall we tucked him into our family and delighted in his companionship. Richard, in turn, enjoyed placing an American perspective alongside his prior Finnish and current Norwegian experience. He soon after emigrated to the United States, where he became a citizen and obtained his Ph.D. from Harvard; for many years he taught sociology at the University of Alberta. We also formed another lasting friendship in Norway. We became very close to a young official, Gunnar Germeten, and his wife, Elsa. Several years later their daughter Kjersti came to Hawai'i and lived with us while attending the University of Hawai'i. Years afterward, at Christmas time, we brought Kjersti and her family to Hawai'i, so that her young daughters Katinka and Teresa could come to know the islands their mother loved so much. It was a memorable occasion for Allan; the girls loved to tease and indulge him, decorating him with all kinds of leis they had made. He was the center of the affections of the whole family and he enjoyed it immensely. From Norway we moved south to spend the summer on the Continent, first at the Salzburg Seminar, where I had been invited to the session in social psychology. That was a fascinating experience for Allan and me, with the young leaders of Europe becoming acquainted with American research they had been unable to follow during the war. The seminar, founded and run by Harvard, was composed of 40 students (including fifteen women), all young leaders in social psychology from a dozen European nations. The staff for our two weeks consisted of Jerome Bruner, Fred Bales of Harvard, and Nevitt Sanford of California. Instead of taking lecture notes, I used part of my time jotting down American idioms (which peppered Bruner's lectures) after I saw a German psychiatrist trying to find "moss-backed reactionary" in his dictionary. Allan and a Dutch participant, Jan Woestenberg, wove the idioms into an amusing story of the seminar for our farewell dinner.

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After traveling a bit on the Continent, we devoted the rest of the summer simply to enjoying Norway. The entire year was a magnificent experience with the Norwegian people, and we immersed ourselves in it. After our return to Hawai'i, Allan and I spread our love for Norway in many lectures, and our hundreds of color slides made the message graphic. Allan's most adventurous travel was to go to Africa in 1973 on a Wing Safari to Kenya and Tanganyika (now Tanzania). He was, at the time, already limited by the ebbing strength in his legs and I had some hesitation in proposing the trip, but he said: "It sounds possible, let's do it!" He fully enjoyed our travels on that "new" continent. The mix of native customs, colonialism, and modernity was fascinating. In Nairobi a dozen languages were spoken in the modern hotel where we stayed, not far from magnificent animal herds grazing on vast prairielands. One memorable experience was spending a day at Olduvai Gorge with a Masai guide, examining the remarkable strata that yielded prehistoric bones of Homo sapiens, the excavations of Louis and Mary Leakey. We spent New Year's Eve in a tented camp on the Tana River. Our celebration of that event was a formal dinner served in a tent, attended by graceful Somali waiters in white gloves. I still remember enjoying French wine, lychees from China, and marzipan from Germany. Our travels made it possible to stop on the U.S. mainland to visit periodically with Allan's family, and we had family reunions every two years. One memorable gathering was organized by Frances Saunders in Boulder, Colorado, where Allan's son Dave was teaching. Another was on the East Coast for grandson Jonathan's wedding. We made many stops in Cincinnati to see Allan's mother, to whom he felt a strong attachment. The year 1960 brought David and his family to Hawai'i for a semester while he taught in the U H Psychology Department. It yielded us the fun of introducing the islands to several of the grandchildren. Eric came for a visit during erratic weather, and he trudged up and down the beach searching for sunshine! Allan soothed him by engaging him in shuffleboard in lieu of swimming. Jonathan, Rick, Tammy, and others were more fortunate and used our sunshine for good photography. Allan looked forward to guiding the young fry around his beloved islands.

Activities We Shared Allan probably didn't think of himself as a "feminist," but there were times when he passed us all on the road to gender equity. He had a deep and passionate devotion to equality that pervaded his thinking about all

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human affairs. He was just as comfortable to be the sole male in a group of women as in any other group. This ease is what enabled him to play the critical role that he did in establishing chapters of both the League of Women Voters and WEAL in Hawai'i (see Chapter 3). He once gave me an Independence Day gift of Nancy Reeves' book Womankind, in which he wrote: "To Marion, that she may even more eloquently confront and rap for the good cause—transforming woman- and man-hood into person-hood." In 1949 Allan and I went off with great anticipation to the National Training Laboratory at Bethel, Maine, the major center of the then-new group dynamics movement. It was our first big trip off the Islands after settling in Hawai'i and we were eager for the experience ahead. T h e prior summer I had participated in a small version of the Training Laboratory in California and I was very excited by what it was doing. T h e 1949 session was only the third of the NTL, as it became known, but it was already viewed the most creative social-psychological action experiment of the era. Through the invention of the "T-Group," the lab sought, in the words of one of NTL's founders, "to help members learn about processes and problems of community formation and functioning and about themselves as members of groups." T h e idea that individuals are different persons in groups than when acting independently was an idea that intrigued and excited both Allan and myself. We found the definition of facilitating roles in groups to be extremely helpful. T h e openness of the T-Groups, their utilization of group resources, and their emphasis on creating a climate that stimulates groups as well as individuals to grow—these ideas we felt could change the way we worked in the Hawaiian community. A t that time I was still using my maiden name, so it was Marion Hollenbach and Allan Saunders who shared a room at Bethel. Occasionally people would ask, "What's between you two? I see you holding hands!" Those were more conventional times than today, when such behavior would evoke n o questions. (Allan and I had agreed before marriage that I would use my maiden name professionally, and I did so until we began to travel in 1952, when I succumbed to "Mrs. Saunders"—to the chagrin of Allan, who confided to a friend: "Now she can't be my girl friend any more.") T h e Training Lab was a great experience for both of us. With Isabel Hustace we were a trio from Hawai'i. Allan had the good fortune to be in Ken Benne's group, where h e became something of a co-leader. Allan's self-assurance and insight into relationships, plus his lack of ego-serving

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behavior, frequently resulted in his emerging as a group's leader. I have felt that in many of these situations he functioned almost as therapist—providing focus for unhappy or unfulfilled persons in groups. Allan and I found the Bethel experience very useful when we returned to Hawai'i. We worked as a team bringing group dynamics techniques to interested community groups for almost two years, and we loved working together. But that was the era of McCarthyism, and part of the Honolulu community found it hard to accept group dynamics as anything but subversive—the height of irony, since its intent is democratic participation to assure that dictators cannot take over. We served such diverse groups as University Extension, the Bureau of Mental Health, a nursing convention, and an A S U H leadership conference. Many at the grass roots were welcoming of new techniques for building productive relationships within their groups. But such receptivity and positive results apparently only frightened some islanders. The Hollenbach case that ensued is described in Chapter 8 of this book, but a word about it needs to be added here. The author of that chapter, Judge Sam King, was then a young attorney whom I had enlisted as a teacher in adult education. Our association had been positive, but we were not really acquainted beyond our school contacts. About two weeks after the headlines and the charges against me began appearing, Sam called and asked whether I had a lawyer representing me in the situation. W h e n I said no, his reply was: "Well, you do now." That is how he came to be associated with the Hollenbach case, in which he served persuasively and pro bono. The case was a strange and frightening one. Allan and I had been away from the islands all summer in 1949, attending the National Training Laboratory in Maine. We returned to find the atmosphere in Honolulu electric, with the longshoremen's strike in progress and intensified talk of Communists. I was reminded of our early days in the Islands, when the YWCA had taken Allan to Kaua'i to talk with union officials and we had met in a house with all the shades carefully drawn. To be seen conferring with union members was, in the eyes of a suspicious public, associating with Communists. W h e n I was publicly attacked in November of that year, Allan responded characteristically. He did not take a prominent role and he did not rail against the ignorance that precipitated the onslaught. But he remained at my side continuously, occasionally bolstering my spirits by finding humor in the ironies of the situation. He felt that the media were responsible for having blown up the "red scare" fears out of all proportion to the extent of the danger. Allan was a steady presence, reassuring me

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about the steps I decided to take. I felt his unswerving support, but he left to me the decisions that had to be made. It was never entirely clear whether the real target of the action against me was Allan or myself. When rumors flew about his activities, rumors that had begun earlier and continued through the Hollenbach incident, and beyond, he responded promptly and decisively in his own defense, but thus only indirectly in mine. At the public meeting where I was completely cleared by the FTA officials who had sponsored the hearing, Allan was there at my side. Allan also became an active participant in my work with Micronesian students in the late fifties. In 1954 I became the Interior Department's coordinator of programs for Micronesian students in Hawai'i. Coming from islands in the South Pacific, these students had a big adjustment to make to an American scene, let alone to a university setting. The students came from oral cultures, and one of their problems was dealing with books full of allusions to a strange new world. For example, one of the students one day brought me his economics text, saying he couldn't understand it. What was confusing him at the moment was a subheading titled "The Great Depression"—and all that he could figure out was that what followed should discuss a large hole! By contrast, one of the Marshallese students, Ekpap Silk, discovered Shakespeare and for several weeks did nothing but read the Bard's plays. Allan and I took him to see a University production of Hamlet and I will never forget the shining eyes that betrayed his world of fantasy. We took students to hear the New York Philharmonic at the Waiklkl Shell and they were enraptured with such sound! Allan grew as fond of the Micronesian students as I, and he took them to legislative hearings and films he felt would interest them. Our home was a central gathering place for these students, and both of us felt their delight and considered ourselves fortunate to have them so much a part of our daily lives. These young people were bright and intuitive about their home islands and eager to talk about them. In 1971 I took Eva Schindler-Rainman of Los Angeles to Pohnpei and the Marshalls to present educational workshops; Allan accompanied us and actively participated in the discussions. Seven years later, Allan and I were invited to Yap for the inauguration of its first elected governor, John Mangefel, who had been one of our students at the University of Hawai'i. John had been like a member of our family during his years at the university, and we were delighted to share in his honor. While there, we renewed our friendship with Carmen Chigiy, Carmen Mutnguy, Peter Tun, Mangifir, and other Yapese students.

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When I had first gone to Micronesia in 1956, everyone on Yap had told me to hire nineteen-year-old Carmen Chigiy as my interpreter. I did, and she performed effectively and with utmost discretion. A s a result of the friendship that grew up between us I invited her to come to the university, living as our guest in Hale Ha'a'a. Thus was confirmed the family custom Allan and I had launched in Oslo with Richard Jung, the custom of inviting young people—sometimes relatives, sometimes friends—to become a part of our household for a time. Successively we brought three young women into our home, and one grandson. The first of these was Carmen Chigiy of Yap, who was with us for the year 1956 while attending the university. Allan and Chigiy delighted in each other. With the gentlest repartee he repeatedly brought laughter to this shy island girl. Chigiy left our household after a year, fearful that she would become too dependent on us. We have remained friends over the years. Our second youthful guest was my niece, Margaret Hollenbach. She came directly from high school in 1960 and reflected in outlook the teenagers of that period. Margaret was bright and fun-loving and emerging from the effects of her parents' divorce. She later confided that our household had given her a new vision of how harmoniously a family could live together. She marveled at simple things and ways of doing, which made it especially rewarding to introduce her to people and events. Margaret shared her interest and excitement as she discovered biology and other facets of knowledge that opened new worlds to her. Her relationship with Allan remained mixed, however. T h e adolescent world that had meaning for her Allan found distasteful, and although he said little about it, she felt his disapproval. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed her presence during that year and have shared many visits since. She made one of her periodic visits during Allan's last illness, when the two appeared thoroughly in sync at last, and he loved having her read to him. A s he said smilingly at the end of one such session, expressing his affection in his own way, "Hire her!" Margaret became an anthropologist, traveler, and professional writer and editor. Our third "daughter" was Kjersti Germeten, the daughter of close friends we had made in Oslo. When we were in Norway in 1952, Kjersti had been an attractive little girl with a warm, outgoing personality. We loved her on the spot and invited her to come to Hawai'i when she was ready for university. In the ensuing years her parents kept saying she was not "ready" to be our guest—leading us to advise them that if they waited for perfection she would not fit into our household. In 1963 she finally came.

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Kjersti was an instant kama'aina—barefoot, flowers in her hair, open to all people, fun-loving, and warmly communicative. She was a marvel with her hands, a weaver, puppet maker, artist. She loved to pose life's deepest questions to Allan and sit at his feet discussing them. They had a special relationship, and I feel she plumbed rarely penetrated emotional depths within Allan. That tie became a permanent one; Kjersti still rightfully considers herself a family member. She now has two adult daughters and is director of the Puppet Theatre in Oslo. Our fourth adoptee was Allan's grandson, Malcolm Saunders, who came for a summer visit and liked the island experience so much that he decided to stay and attend Roosevelt High School for a year. It was Malcolm who, following Allan's death in 1989, suggested he take a portion of Allan's ashes to Jefferson's home at Monticello, and he did. He placed them around some of the great trees there and on Jefferson's tomb. It would have pleased Allan to be thus united with his hero, Thomas Jefferson, and Malcolm knew this about his grandfather. Malcolm is now a biochemical engineer with a doctorate from the University of Virginia. In 1974, the year I retired from the university's Center for Continuing Education for Women, which had occupied me for six years, a friend suggested that I make a run for a Board of Education seat. After thinking about it, I decided I wanted to do it. Allan concurred enthusiastically, and he immediately became actively involved in my campaign. He accompanied me to rallies, handing out leaflets but never presuming to speak in my behalf. We toured farmers' markets, shopping areas, went to early morning union meetings, and, most important, he participated in strategy planning meetings. My campaign committee consisted almost entirely of women who had been in the seminars I conducted at the university, and Allan fitted right in with them as usual. When I came in at the top of the ticket in my first try at elective office, he was elated. He was supportive while I was on the board, and since we were both educators I often discussed difficult problems with him and tried out my tentative positions on him. We were on the whole highly compatible in our thinking, and I recall no wild differences during this time. I think he took pride in the positions I took on the Board of Education—especially when I was a minority of one or two!

Reflecting on Allan To understand Allan it is important to recognize his New England background. He had that certainty of belief that goes back to the Puritan tradition. As Penny Pagliaro put it, he didn't need the voice of the world to

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tell him it was okay—he knew it. Yet unlike the Puritans, Allan did everything lovingly. His caring even led him to frame criticism in the most positive of terms, to challenge rather than censor. "You have the ability to look at this differently," he once told a student he thought quite wrong! As Lorin Gill mused about Allan and his university experience, "In his own wise way he helped me to feel good about not being very good in Government . . . I will be forever grateful... to have majored in Saunders." The ability to remain independent from common opinion shaped Allan's capacity to respond to people of varied opinions in diverse situations. Allan had an uncanny ability to see relationships and to draw connections between events and ideas. It marked his behavior in groups, where he would maintain silence for a long time—sometimes until the group had reached an impasse or generated much heat. Then Allan would come in with some suggestion or solution that managed somehow to build on what had been said, that defused the heat and contributed to a solution. I have seen him do it so many times. Perhaps his initial silence was part of his urge to first give everyone an opportunity to be heard. I think everyone who knew him will remember Allan's humor, a gentle humor that was never hurtful and never expressed at someone else's expense. He saw the little ironies in life, enjoyed them, and made them the occasion to smile. When I proposed to give away a prized book, he rebuked me gently with, "You lend it, watch your language!" On a set of challenging examination questions for an advanced political science course, he once wrote at the bottom of the sheet: "You may retain this paper as lachrymal container." He said he wanted to stay around to see George Bush defeated in 1988. When the defeat did not occur, Daniel, his nurse companion, asked him if he wanted to move to Australia. Allan retorted: "No! I prefer Yap" (his favorite Micronesian island). Allan sometimes acted out his humor. In 1974 when I had been elected to the Board of Education there was a legislative hearing that involved my program at the University of Hawai'i College of Continuing Education. My two obligations clashed, so Allan offered to represent me at the Legislature. Mary Gray described what happened: when Allan arrived the entire committee stood up and showed their deep affection and respect—it was an unusual degree of admiration until one realized that most of them had majored in political science at the University. . . . he recognized each one by name. He then began in perfect first-person "My name is Marion Saunders and I am speaking on behalf of the programs for women offered by the College of Education ..." When Allan concluded and the chairman asked for questions things got amusing as well as confusing.

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"Do you . . . does Marion ..." And Allan would respond: "I think . . . Marion would ..." Amid laughter, everyone agreed to use the third person. Allan was adventurous and risk-taking for good causes, with infinite patience for the well-intentioned, sincerely motivated person. But he had no time or energy for the manipulative or self-seeking. He refused to compromise his standards, and his fierce honesty left him no choice but to uphold the principles by which he lived and taught. He would forgo Spain —and he did when we were in Europe—in order to deny Francisco Franco any of his American dollars; in another case, he indignantly refused an honorarium the East-West Center had decided to pay him for accompanying me on a tour to Southeast Asia with center students. I never once saw Allan lose his composure or become upset, no matter how provocative the circumstances. He was as reasonable and collected in the midst of crisis or chaos as he was in an armchair discussion of current events. It was sometimes touching to see the fervor of youth joined to Allan's calm reasonableness. Allan had the capacity to become intimately involved in a cause without high personal ego investment. He advised Penny Pagliaro, "It's amazing what you can achieve if you don't care who gets the credit." Along with this lack of ego was a rejection of status differences and exclusions. He simply accepted each individual on the basis of his or her innate worth as a human being. Some still remember how this trait of his surfaced at Hemenway Hall, where most faculty took lunch. A table had been set up with a "Faculty" sign, which Allan invariably turned on its face to encourage students to join faculty at lunch. He resisted status distinctions and, indeed, all barriers that would segregate people on any basis—and especially any barriers that would create a distance between teacher and student. For this reason, perhaps Allan drew few lines between my responsibilities and his. When I worked with Micronesian students, he accompanied me to the airport countless times since they always arrived and left at midnight or 2:00 A.M. Living with Allan was peaceful, even-tempered, and full of delight. Even with his illness he remained future-oriented and positive. As a critic, which he often was, he was constructive and direct. He did not equivocate. He was relentlessly determined about humane treatment for all peoples, and about democracy, civil liberties, and freedom and hope. He was the essence, to me, of a "civilized" human being: accepting of all people, generous of spirit, honest, compassionate, and willing to listen and to act.

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For Allan's ninetieth birthday on December 2, 1987, sons David and Allan, and I, gave three parties for Allan's many friends. It was one of the last big events that he could participate in freely. By that time problems with his speech were limiting his responses, but his bright eyes and ready smile made guests realize that he understood and appreciated their love and attention. Guests brought notes and letters telling of their relationship with him, and these were a wonderful book of memories for him during his last years. Allan remained as active as he could be for as long as possible. First his walking and then his speech were affected by his disease. W h e n speech failed him, he moved to an alphabet board and soon became so fast with it that we could hardly keep up with his thoughts. He dictated many short letters this way, to legislators, family, friends. Senator Daniel Inouye, a former student, bought Allan a Prenthe-Romich Light Talker. It made communication much easier for the period he could use it. Through a light projected from a headband, he could indicate letters of the alphabet, in this way spelling out words. For twenty years Allan coped with the symptoms of the disease that was only diagnosed as ALS (amyotropic lateral sclerosis), or Lou Gehrig's disease, during the last year of his life. Although it attacked the muscles of his legs, then his throat, then his arms, ALS remained for him a manageable disease, because it left his mind active and intact to the end. Thus he was able to communicate, albeit with increasing difficulty, and to stay in touch with family and friends and enjoy vicarious participation in ongoing events. Allan continued throughout his illness to think about the public challenges that had always absorbed him. He wrote to one of his friends about his use of the long hours of lying in bed: "Politics is the art of infusing obligation into the exercise of power. I spend my time thinking of ways to enlarge the sense of obligation." After Allan's retirement, and as his illness progressed, he was favored with two faithful visitors who came often to engage him in discussion. Paul Yamanaka, a former student, came almost daily and with his irrepressible good humor shared the crises of the day. Allan would tell me with delight, "Paul was here today with a new idea . . ." This was a symbiotic relationship. Allan loved Paul's lively and creative interests, and as Paul admiringly put it, "Allan's mind is brilliant—he can discuss anything!" Retired Judge Andy Salz came frequently at lunchtime with rice and stew to share with Allan. The two had known each other from Allan's days as dean, when Andy had established a loan fund for students needing

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modest sums to tide them over a crisis. Allan administered the Salz Fund and reported to Andy the ways it was helping students. Andy and Allan had much in common, with both devoted to education and civil liberties. Allan was also blessed during this last confinement with a nurse, Daniel Edwards, who proved an ideal companion for him. H e enjoyed trying to convey to Daniel the events of his early life as well as discussing current affairs. They developed a mutual respect and affection that contributed a great deal to Allan's peace of mind and enjoyment of daily events over the last months of his life. Allan asked, while confined to bed, to have his ceiling made visual. Friends and family brought posters, and as the collection grew his ceiling was enlivened with penguins sliding down a snowy mountainside, Mongolian horsemen, the sea at Waiklki, a map of Scandinavia, an Henri Rousseau painting, the woodlands of New England, and a great portrait of Einstein. Thus we implemented his creative idea and marveled at his ability to adapt to the room that became his world. He died quietly there on February 28, 1989, having slipped into a coma two days earlier.

11.

Denouement Mar)i Anne Raywid

Allan's final retirement from the university, the illness that had begun years earlier began to accelerate. Later diagnosed as ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease, its first symptoms had appeared in the 1960s: leg fatigue and lack of strength. At one point, in an effort to alleviate the undiagnosable condition, he began taking weekly saunas. On one such visit, an equipment malfunction caused him second-degree burns; because Allan had been unable to escape, they covered both the tops and the bottoms of his feet. The injuries required several sets of painful skin grafts. He was in the hospital for seven weeks and needed treatment for an additional five. Yet even after three months of suffering, he remained unwilling to consider legal action against the establishment that had brought about his injuries.

N O T LONG AFTER

Allan's graciousness and generosity became more evident as he grew older—a willingness to bear the considerable difficulties that beset him, without bitterness or despair and without visiting his problems on others. As his illness progressed, its attack on his throat muscles left him unable to make himself understood, and finally unable to speak at all. He continued to communicate, however, eventually only by pointing weakly to a word board upon which had been written the messages he most frequently wanted to convey. One was a request that he be read to—and he remained interested and alert and involved until his death. While he could still hold a book, he and Emmett Cahill of the Big Island went through the Anthony Trollope series together, sending progress reports and commentary back and forth. Barbara Tuchman's The Last Salute, Emma Goldman's Living My Life, and Philippa Strum's Louis D. Brandeis: Justice for the People were the books he enjoyed during the last year of his life, as read to him by Marion, an aide, or a visitor. He exhibited no signs of dismay or depression. Guests coming to see him, fearful of a sad occasion, usually left

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buoyed, and themselves cheered up. T h e twinkle remained, and the engrossment in what others had to say, and the sense of humor. If there was self-pity, no one—including his wife and the around-the-clock attendants he required—ever saw it. Despite the difficulty of communication, some months before his death Allan laboriously produced what would be his last extended message. It remains a testimony to his enduring belief in the human species and its ability, even amidst technology, to prevail. It also recommends a modified central mission for humankind: Serendipity or a Plea for Humanity The word processor seeks precision. That is a fool's Utopia. Each person in a colloquy brings to it a unique equipment. Therefore their search for precision leads to a reduction of language to the area of common discourse. Ideally, that is a verbal universe, known and dead. Fortunately, the search for precision is never fulfilled. The receiver of the verbal message misinterprets more or less. That is a godsend. For the misinterpreter sees the novelty, the unexpected. That may mean discovery, invention. From the misinterpreter comes discovery. . . . Therein lies the joy of creation of new relationships. That is the mission of Man, Creation.

His Impact Although most of the anecdotes recalled on these pages are the reminiscences of those who counted themselves his friends, Allan Saunders also left a more objective record of his impact on Hawai'i. He had received over a dozen awards and resolutions passed in his honor. He was acknowledged more than once by special resolutions passed by Hawai'i's House and Senate, and by statements entered into the U.S. Congressional Record. There have also been resolutions acknowledging his contributions to the League of Women Voters and the American Civil Liberties Union. In 1985, Allan was declared a Living Treasure by the Honpa Hongwanji Mission of Hawai'i. Much has been said about his influence on those who were to lead the dawning state of Hawai'i. As President Harlan Cleveland of the University of Hawai'i explained it, Many of the leaders of the community today owe their first interest in the governmental process to [his] . . . genius as an educator."1 [And as colleague Totten Anderson mused,] "Allan stood out as a giant in the civil rights and

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responsibilities movement in Hawai'i. He was one of those rare political scientists who practiced what he taught in class. His students, intensely loyal to him, carried his ideals and principles into every echelon of state government —the ultimate tribute to a great teacher.2 But his impact was not restricted to the strongest students or to those who seemed destined to become high government officials or scholars. Wrote one former student: "Over the years since my graduation . . . the shock for him has been that I have managed to stay out of jail and off welfare. T h e shock for me has been how much I remember of what he tried to teach me." 3 One of the interesting things about Allan's influence on individuals is its permanence, with many students continuing to acknowledge his leadership and seeking to learn from him long after graduation. As Dan Inouye put it two decades after leaving the university, "We need leaders like you . . . to needle, advise and guide those of us who serve on the legislative frontlines. . . . battles are not won by foot soldiers a l o n e . . . . You are a General, and a good one. It is with great pride that I serve under your leadership." 4 As Eichi Oki put it, four decades after his graduation: "I sat at his feet as a student then and I still sit at his feet as a student some 40 years later." 5 Esther Arinaga elegantly summed it up: she had learned while still on campus that "for me and for countless o t h e r [ s ] . . . Allan Saunders [would become]. . . that polestar against which we would forever measure our own lives." 6 Two annual awards established in his name to honor Allan merit detail here. One was the Saunders Award, established in 1977 by five of his former students (George Akita, Esther Arinaga, John Griffin, George Hong, and Paul Yamanaka) to identify and honor annual recipients who reflect "those qualities for which Allan E Saunders is known and respected: compassionate humanism; the belief in the dignity and betterment of the individual; the positive role of dissent; vision; imagination; and the adherence to democratic procedures, ideals, and institutions." Although the permanent Saunders Foundation that the group envisioned did not materialize, seven awards were given. They honored individuals for work with O'ahu's poor, work with young people, efforts to address social problems, and special teaching efforts. In addition, an annual Saunders Award honoring a community member who has well served the cause of civil liberties continues to be given by the American Civil Liberties Union. It is the organization's most prestigious award. Many have speculated about just how Allan Saunders managed to have

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such an impact and exert such an influence on the Territory, and then the state, of Hawai'i. His own history prior to coming would suggest that the leadership he exerted here was a happy conjunction of individual circumstances—his orientation, perspective, personality, and his marriage—on the one hand, and the needs of a particular time and place on the other. Allan's humanism was exactly what Hawai'i needed to hear and experience, with its insistence on the dignity, worth, and potential of all human beings—quite irrespective of their color, station, or ethnic background. The oligarchy needed reminding of the nation's most fundamental tenets and the applicability of these to all human beings. And the AJA and other veterans returning with the wherewithal to obtain the education previously denied them—under the GI Bill—needed to learn the responsibilities, as well as to taste the delights, of freedom and opportunity. Allan arrived just in time to help convert colonialism to democracy, and to aid in empowering and preparing Third World peoples to become citizens. The needs of the moment accorded well with what he was abundantly equipped to offer. His compassion for the underdog made him responsive to the plight of colonialism's victims, as did his commitment to the democratic principles of justice and fairness and equal opportunity for all. His convictions as to the value of difference and diversity made him ready to welcome and celebrate a multiethnic society. Thus, instead of accommodating to the enclaved society he found when he came, not only did Allan establish cross-cultural rights (e.g., with the hiring of graduate assistants of Asian ancestry), but he established his own personal relationships without regard to ethnicity. Thus, he wrote an old friend, "As we review our circle of friends we realize they are Korean, Japanese, Hawaiian, Samoan, a few Caucasians, and many 'cosmopolitans' of mixed ancestry. We spent a Fulbright year in Norway and found we tired of the white sameness of the population." 7 Would his impact have been comparable at another time and place? Perhaps not. It had not been, apparently, on mainland campuses before his arrival here. And his message here might well have been different at a different time—and less enthusiastically received. For instance, the Hawai'i to which Allan came in 1945 was a plantation society dominated by an oligarchy. Alone among the Islands' multiple ethnic groups, only the haoles enjoyed economic and political power, and theirs was thus the dominant culture as well. Allan's sense of fairness was profoundly offended by such an unjust distribution of worldly benefits, and not surprisingly the politically and economically oppressed found in him a champion. Thus he was a hero to the young AJA veterans who filled his classes. What he did, as

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well as what he said, made him their champion. Not only did he open unprecedented opportunities to Asian graduate students, but he also made personal statements, such as moving his own checking account to the Central Pacific Bank because he felt the new Japanese venture would need his business. But years later, when the A J A had become fully equal partners in the democratic community, Allan was no longer willing to extend them the sort of support he had given them earlier. He shared Jack Burns' feeling that it would be unfortunate for Hawai'i to arrive again at the point where a single ethnic group could dominate, and he publicly expressed concern in retrospect about the ambiguity of the "revolution" of 1954 and reservations about whether it had actually proven a change in government, or merely a shift in who held the power.8 Characteristically, Allan's reservations had to do not only with minority rights but also with the continuing need in a democratic society for difference and dissent—as opposed either to a dominant group or to a homogenized monolith. Thus, he advised Glen Izutsu to become an active Republican, even though Allan himself had been a pillar and for practical purposes a founder of the Democratic party in Hawai'i. A single-party system is unhealthy in a democratic society, he was convinced, even if it be his own Democratic Party. Wise as it may be, such a message—the championing of principles— rings somewhat less resoundingly than does the championing of an oppressed minority. It is less likely to attract an intense following or a broad constituency. Thus, if Allan had arrived in Hawai'i at a later time, he might have found a less receptive audience for the message appropriate to another context. It may well have been, then, that time and circumstances played a large part in Allan's ascendancy to the stature he attained—and that the circumstances of two decades later might have denied him such status as a new arrival. It is hard to imagine, however, that he might have remained silent under more recent circumstances because, as he repeatedly urged, dissent and the contributions of a gadfly are chronic needs in a democratic society. Often they are exactly what is needed from a teacher. And irrespective of one's circumstances and one's work, one has an obligation to make the world a better place. Allan's medium for doing so was as teacher, whether in classroom or community, and whether as gadfly or builder. How successful was he at his chosen mission? As many of the authors in this collection have testified, he was a consummate teacher. He was evidently also quite a memorable one, in that so many of his former students still voice such strong admiration for him. As Mickey McCleery's

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closing comments in Chapter 4 suggest, however, it is less certain whether they have lived and put into operation the message in the political system that many of them have helped create in Hawai'i. Allan Saunders was an outstanding professor also in the obligations he assumed, not only with respect to his students but also in relation to his colleagues and his institution. He seems to have taken on almost any campus task asked of him—and his leadership in the Faculty Senate appears to have been outstanding: as influential professor he fought the good fights, and in the role of gadfly and loyal opposition to officialdom, he was remarkably effective. In some of the other campus roles he assumed, however, he was substantially less so. As a dean, he was largely unsuccessful in influencing the direction the university would take in the 1950s and 1960s. Its presidents successively pointed the University of Hawai'i toward becoming a research institution rather than primarily a teaching one. And though Allan never wavered in his vision of the ideal for the University of Hawai'i—a center for learning for the Pacific, modeled on a small liberal arts college—he was unable to persuade the decision makers that this was the better course. By virtue of his own convictions and inclinations, he doubtless dealt more humanistically with students than other administrators might have done. And causes dear to the professoriate may well have fared better under Allan's deanship than they otherwise might have. But his administrative career appears a lot less distinguished and effective than his U H teaching career had been. And, as Frank Inouye pointed out in Chapter 6, it came with more restrictions as to what he might undertake and accomplish in the community while serving as dean. The post-dean years were to hold both disappointment and fulfillment. The classroom to which he returned was no longer the scene of the vibrant interchange that had marked it ten years earlier. Many previously revered professors had a difficult time during the 1960s, when students were often less receptive than they had been earlier. Given the welcome to Hawai'i Allan had been accorded by the returning World War II veterans, the contrast must have been more vivid—and disappointing—for him than for many. But if teaching was less rewarding for the ex-dean than it had been, the renewal and expansion of civic involvement proved quite otherwise. In the community, Allan continued to be welcomed, listened to—if not always heeded—and honored. As some have suggested, his shortcomings may have been the defects of his virtues: the desire for dialogue and interaction that propelled his interest in students left him with less inclination and time for scholarly

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productivity. His desire to help shape the community left him less occasion and less opportunity to articulate and present the full vision that moved him (his failure to do so is a fact noted, incidentally, by three of the authors represented in this collection). That he was so ideally suited for the context of the U H campus of the postwar decade made him less well suited for the context of two decades later. Fortunately for him, and for Hawai'i, many within the community continued highly receptive to him and the message he brought—which was, in effect, to paraphrase Liz Toupin, "a 'continuing education' on the Bill of Rights." But whether or not he fully lived up to the reputation of community legend, Allan Saunders would quite probably nevertheless have been a campus hero and a loved and successful teacher. His knowledge, style, and personality would have won him this honor, as well as his consummate skill in the classroom. Plato long ago framed what remains the puzzling and ultimately central challenge for education: what we want from it is that people embrace wisdom, justice, virtue, and that they become wise, just, and virtuous. But such qualities cannot be directly taught. Imagine a course in "Wisdom 102" or "Virtue 307"! Thus we teach mathematics, literature, history, science, logic, and so on, hoping that they will eventually yield the qualities and capacities and dispositions that are the ultimate goal. What happens in most classrooms, however, is that the means become the ends: the acquisition of mathematical knowledge and skill, or of the content of particular literary works, becomes the goal, rather than the use of these studies to generate the desired qualities of wisdom, virtue, and so on. Not so, evidently, in Saunders' classroom. Perhaps it was the unwavering focus on these qualities, plus the ability to model and exemplify and otherwise impart them, which lie close to the secret of Allan Saunders' remarkable success as the teacher he was—as Mary George put it, "always and everywhere until the day he died."

Notes

A L L A N SAUNDERS' PAPERS c i t e d i n t h i s v o l u m e a r e t o b e f o u n d i n t h e U n i v e r s i t y o f

Hawai'i-Manoa Archives.

Chapter 1 1. Allan Saunders to Gilbert Lentz, August 2 , 1 9 4 5 . 2. In a publication assembled by the American Civil Liberties Union in Hawai'i titled A Tribute to Allan F. Saunders: The Legacy Continues 3. Ka Leo O Hawai'i,

(May 7, 1989).

May 24, 1963.

4. Corliss Lamont, The Philosophy of Humanism

(New York: Philosophical Library,

1944), 14. 5. Ibid., 12. 6. Ibid., 1 0 - 1 2 . 7. Allan Saunders to Editor, Honolulu Advertiser, October 25, 1960. 8. Ka Leo O Hawai'i, March 10, 1950. 9. Frank Bourgin, The Great Challenge:

The Myth of LaisseZ'Faire in the Early Republic

(New York: George Braziller, 1989). 10. Allan Saunders, "Dissent," an address to the Hawai'i State Conference of Law Enforcement Officials, Kauai Surf Hotel, September 5, 1969. (Reprinted in Chapter 9 of this volume.)

Chapter 2 1. Handwritten list of books read, dated February 2 1 , 1 9 4 2 , to December 23, 1985. 2. Allan Saunders to Gilbert Lentz, August 2, 1945. 3. Allan Saunders to Bert Kobayashi, ca. 1968. 4. Allan Saunders to Gilbert Lentz, August 2, 1945. 5. Ibid. 6. Robert C . Schmitt, Historical Statistics of Hawai'i (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 1977), 607. 7. Information on student enrollment, faculty, and the like, obtained from University of Hawai'i Bulletin (1945). 8. These schools in effect admitted only those children from homes in which English was the primary language spoken.

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Notes to Pages 34-81

9. Transcript of taped interview with Robert Stauffer by Frances W. Saunders, February 28, 1991. 10. Peter Rosegg, "A Testimonial to Allan Saunders," American Civil Liberties Union of Hawai'i Bulletin (1981): 7. 11. Transcript of taped interview with Ted Tsukiyama by Frances W. Saunders, March 8, 1953. 12. Honolulu Advertiser, June 25, 1953. 13. Ibid.

Chapter 3 1. T h e women's branch of the Navy during World War II. 2. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, October 30,1947. 3. Allan Saunders to Honolulu Star-Bulletin, May 3, 1988. 4. Allan Saunders to Ka Leo O Hawai'i, May 14, 1958. 5. Gregg M. Sinclair, memo to Allan Saunders, April 1, 1949. 6. Frank T. Inouye, "The Way I Remember Allan F. Saunders," 1987. 7. Allan Saunders, "Remembrance of University," November 30, 1988. 8. Ibid. 9. Gregg M. Sinclair to Allan Saunders, University of Hawai'i Faculty Senate minutes, February 14, 1951. 10. Honolulu Advertiser, June 27, 1946. 11. Ibid. 12. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, May 22, 1953. 13. Peter Rosegg, "A Testimonial to Allan Saunders," American Civil Liberties Union Bulletin (1981): 7. 14. Honolulu Advertiser, March 16, 1950; Honolulu Star-Bulletin, February 9, 1950. 15. Allan Saunders, letter to President Gregg Sinclair, March 28, 1949. 16. Honolulu Advertiser, February 10,1950. 17. Ibid., March 13 and 19, 1950. 18. Honolulu Advertiser, March 20 and 21,1950. 19. "Saunders Campaign Statement of Receipts and Expenditures," March 24, 1950.

Chapter 5 1. Allan Saunders to Ralph and Hilda Miwa, February 4, 1954. 2. Ibid. 3. Allan Saunders to President Paul S. Bachman, July 25, 1988. 4. See Chapter 9 of this work for Saunders' "Comments on the Report Issued by the Committee on the Academic Future of the University." 5. Ibid. 6. Honolulu Advertiser, July 18,1975. 7. Allan Saunders to president-designate Fred H. Harrington, July 11, 1962. 8. Allan Saunders to Kenneth O. May, October 8, 1956. 9. Allan Saunders memo to Chairman E. M. Heiser, April 11, 1960. 10. Interview with Beatrice Sugimoto, March 11, 1991, quoted in Frances W. Saunders' letter to Frank T. Inouye, March 11, 1993. 11. Allan Saunders to Charles H. Hunter, February 7,1961. 12. Allan Saunders to Chairman Weaver, October 17,1962.

Notes to Pages 82-100

197

13. Allan Saunders to Morris Shinsato, March 7 , 1 9 6 1 . 14 Interview by Frances Saunders with Norman Melier, March 5, 1993. 15. Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, August 1, 1964. 16. "Report for 1961-62, from the College of Arts and Sciences" (July 1 1 , 1 9 6 2 ) , 3. 17. Memo to Chancellor Andrew Spoehr, January 22, 1962. 18. Memo to English Department Chairman Summersgill, January 26, 1962. 19. Memo to Allan Saunders from Henry Birnbaum, vice chancellor, East-West Center, April 26, 1963. 20. Report for 1962-1963 from the College of Arts and Sciences, July 5, 1963. 21. Ka Leo O Hawai'i, March 6, 1962. 22. Faculty Senate minutes, May 16, 1963.

Chapter 6 1. Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, undated (ca. 1964). 2. Allan Saunders to Dean Chandler Rowe, May 19, 1965. 3. Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, August 1 , 1 9 6 4 . 4. Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, January 3 , 1 9 6 5 . 5. Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, undated (ca. 1968). 6. Hawai'i Penal Code (Proposed Draft), Judicial Council of Hawai'i Penal Law Revision Project, 1970, Foreword, ii. 7. Quoted in Peter Rosegg, " A Testimonial to Allan F. Saunders," American Liberties Union of Hawaii Bulletin (1981), 10. 8. Allan Saunders, "The Ito Report," September 1981, 2. 9. Ibid., 4. 10. Ibid.

Civil

11. Honolulu Advertiser, March 30, 1960. 12. Honolulu Advertiser, March 17, 1961. 13. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, March 28, 1961. 14. Honolulu Advertiser, March 30, 1961. 15. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 1 4 , 1 9 6 2 . 16. Honolulu Advertiser, February 19, 1961; Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 2 2 , 1 9 6 2 . 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Report of the Special Advisory Committee, September 16, 1961, Appendix B. Honolulu Advertiser, May 25, 1962. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, June 6, 1962. Sunday Honolulu Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, June 27, 1965. Honolulu Advertiser, May 8 , 1 9 6 5 . Honolulu Advertiser, July 1 3 , 1 9 6 5 .

23. "The Honolulu City Council," in George Cooper and Gavin Daws, Land and Power in Hawaii (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 1985), 124-166. 24. Donald D. Johnson, The City and County of Honolulu: A Governmental Chronicle (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press and City Council of the City and County of Honolulu, 1991), 282. 25. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, March 8, 1967. 26. Honolulu Star-Bulletin, March 3, 1967. 27. State Ethics Commission, "A Perspective on the Conference on Ethics in Government" (February 8, 1969). 28. Ibid.

198

N o t e s to Pages 1 0 0 - 1 9 1

29. Act 263, part 2, section 10(c). 30. Quoted in " A Perspective on the Conference on Ethics in Government," 31. 31. State of Hawai'i, Journal of the Senate of the Fourth Legislature (1967), Standing Committee Report 804, 1202. 32. Testimonial letter from Mary George, December 2, 1987.

Chapter 8 1. After a hearing that began in May 1976, the State Board of Education reversed the decision that had dismissed the Reineckes and had revoked John Reinecke's teacher's certificate, and it formally apologized to the Reineckes for the 1948 action. O n June 30, the state paid the Reineckes $260,000 in settlement of back pay and pension claims. 2.1 am not a "Jr.," but at that time many persons referred to me as Jr. without causing any confusion. 3. Richard Hofstadter, The Paranoid Style in American Politics and Other Essays (New York: Knopf, 1965).

Chapter 11 1. Letter from Harlan Cleveland to Allan Saunders, June 5, 1974. 2. Letter from Totten Anderson to Marion Saunders, March 14, 1991. 3. Daral Conklin letter to Allan Saunders, n.d. 4. Letter from Daniel Inouye to Allan Saunders, July 22, 1966. 5. Eichi Oki, Living Human Treasure award, Hongwangji Temple, February 8 , 1 9 8 5 . 6. Esther Kwon Arinaga, "Fond Remembrances," in A Tribute to Allan F. Saunders: The Legacy Continues. Annual Awards Dinner, American Civil Liberties Union of Hawai'i, May 7, 1989. 7. Letter from Allan Saunders to James Fessler, March 15, 1987. 8. Letter from Allan Saunders to Ralph Miwa, n.d.

Contributors

ESTHER KWON ARINAGA

is a second-generation Korean American now

residing in Honolulu. She practiced immigration and family law in Hawai'i until her retirement in 1997. She was a student of Allan Saunders from 1947 until 1950 and enjoyed a lifelong friendship with both Marion and Allan Saunders. S. DAVIS is an attorney and a partner in the Honolulu law firm of Davis Levin Livingston Grande. He has served as president of ACLU-Hawai'i and a member of the organization's National Board of Directors. He first met Allan Saunders in 1973 when employed as a law student by the ACLU-Hawai'i. During Mr. Davis' tenure as an A C L U lawyer, Allan Saunders served as a mentor, a voice of conscience, and a voice of reason during a turbulent period in the history of the civil rights movement in Hawai'i. MARK

T. I N O U Y E grew up and attended college in Los Angeles before coming to Hawai'i. While he was teaching school here, Allan Saunders appointed him as a teaching assistant in political science. He completed his doctorate at the University of Southern California, taught briefly at Ohio State University, and then returned to Hawai'i, where he taught political science and served as an administrator both at UH-Hilo and at UH-Manoa. He also had a career in business. The Saunderses and Inouyes became close family friends, and Allan and Marion were the godparents of "Little Allan" Inouye (now a thoracic surgeon). Frank died in 1995. FRANK

is a Senior United States District Judge for the District of Hawai'i. He met Marion G. Hollenbach in the 1940s shortly before she married Allan Saunders. He served with Dr. Saunders on the 1968-1970 subcommittee to draft a penal code for Hawai'i. S A M U E L P. K I N G

199

200

Contributors attended the University of Hawai'i in the years right after World War II, when he encountered Allan Saunders as his teacher and was drawn into the field of political science by his experience of Allan's teaching. After attending graduate school at Syracuse University and the University of North Carolina, he returned to Hawai'i to teach. In his own teaching, Mickey tried to preserve and transmit the vision Allan had inspired of what politics at its best can be. Like Allan, Mickey sought to present that vision as a model for Hawai'i's politics and education. MICKEY M C C L E E R Y

is Professor Emerita of Educational Administration and Policy Studies at Hofstra University and a member of the Graduate Affiliate Faculty at the University of Hawai'i. She has enjoyed a career as educational policy teacher and researcher and as consultant, evaluator, and developer of schools. She met the Saunders family in 1986 when invited to Hawai'i by the League of Women Voters to address a conference on school revitalization. The two families and households merged in 1996, when Mary Anne and her husband retired to Hawai'i. M A R Y A N N E RAYWID

was the wife of Allan Saunders, whom she came to Hawai'i to marry in March of 1946. She had grown up in Michigan and settled in California shortly before World War II. When the war came, she left her job as a museum curator to become a WAVE officer. She and Allan met during the war when the two were teaching on neighboring Massachusetts campuses. In Hawai'i she enjoyed a distinguished career as a school administrator, an EastWest Center administrator, and a U H administrator—while simultaneously pursuing an equally distinguished career in civic activity and contribution. Marion died in 1998. MARION HOLLENBACH SAUNDERS

Index

Boldface numerals folhu/ing entries refer to collected writings. Acoba, Simeon, 117 Ahn, Elizabeth. See Toupin, Elizabeth Ahn Aitken, Robert, 20 AJAs (Americans of Japanese Ancestry), 7, 29,57-58,113-114,190-191 Akahane, George G., 97 Akita, George, 18-19, 53, 54, 189 Allen, Riley H., 115 Aloha Shirt Uprising, 7, 24, 35, 37-39, 64, 75,170 ALS (amyotropic lateral sclerosis), 185, 187 American Association for the United Nations (AAUN), 49 American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), 112, 114, 123-124, 133; and Allan Saunders Award, 125, 189; and Oliver Lee case, 119-122; organizational efforts in Hawai'i, 113, 116-119 American Federation of Labor (AFL), 30 Americans for Democratic Action (ADA), 51-52,133,136 Anderson, Totten, 188-189 Anthony, James, 10, 15, 20 Arinaga, Esther Kwon, 2, 14, 26,189 Bachman, Paul S., 33, 44, 74-75 Baldwin, Frank B., 92, 111 Baldwin, Roger, 124 Bales, Fred, 176 biographical memorial, 1-2 Birnbaum, Henry, 84 Blaisde 11, Neal S., 95, 96

Bourgin, Frank, 9, 22-23 Bowles, Gilbert, 49 Bridges, Gene, 118 Broom Brigade, 128 Browne, Robert, 118 Bruner, Jerome, 176 Bureau of Investigation, 112 Bums, John A., 83, 93, 99, 191 Cahill, Emmett, 126, 186 Cary, Miles, 3 2 , 4 9 Chambers, Whittaker, 128 Chaplin, George, 118, 126 Chee, Hon Hoong, 94 Chigiy, Carmen, 181 Chou En-lai, 128 Chung, Norman K., 95, 96 Citizens'Committee, 128 civil libertarian, 51-52, 7 6 , 1 0 2 , 1 1 4 , 1 2 9 , 136-137; leadership in American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), 25, 91, 111119, 123-126, 133; as political gadfly, 76, 101, 191, 192; supporter of Oliver Lee, 119-122 Clark, Charles G., 96 Clark, Ramsey, 113 Clark, Tom, 113 Cleveland, Harlan, 188-189 Colburn, Marcus R., 130-132, 134-135 College Prospect, The, 82 Columbia Inn, 172 Communism, statewide fears of, 43-44, 48, 50, 5 2 , 1 1 3 - 1 1 6 , 1 2 7 - 1 2 8 , 1 3 8 ; and

201

202 attacks on Allan and Marion Saunders, 19, 5 0 , 6 3 , 1 3 3 - 1 3 4 , 1 3 6 - 1 3 7 , 1 8 0 community activist, 76, 90, 171-172, 186, 192-193; association with United Nations activities, 49-50; candidate for Hawai'i's Constitutional Convention, 18, 19, 52-54, 115-116; and civic responsibilities, 23-24, 76, 102; cofounder of WEAL (Women's Equity Action League), 51,178; founder of League of Women Voters in Honolulu, 24-25, 50-51, 178; and group dynamics training, 12, 178-179; leader in citystate ethics reform, 25,96-102; member of penal reform committee, 25, 91-94; organizer of Americans for Democratic Action (ADA), 51-52, 133,136 Cooper, George, 96 Crooker, Deal, 136, 141 Cycles of American History (Arthur Schlesinger), 23 Daws, Gavan, 96-97 Dodge, Robert O., 97 Doi, Herman, 89 Doi, Masato, 92,125 DuTeil, Claude, 25-26 Eastland, James Oliver, 116 East-West Center, 83-84, 87 educator, 27-29, 33-34, 180,191-192; at Amherst College, 112; adviser to the student constitutional convention, 8, 17-19, 47^49, 52; author of Ombudsman report, 89; at Boston University, 175; chairman of the Department of Government, 39-41, 57, 78; dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, 57, 75-85, 192; impact as, 7-8, 70-73, 188-193; membership on Faculty Senate, 42-45, 88-89; at Minnesota University, 22; on Norway sabbatical, 15, 50, 175-177; at the Salzburg Seminar, 176; senior professor in the Department of Political Science, 86-90; teaching methods, 8-10, 13-17, 55, 58-66. See also student relationships Edwards, Daniel, 183, 186 Epstein, Harry, 115 Esterly, Juliet, 15 Ethics Commission, 25

Index Falcam, Leo, 10 family man, 172-173, 177; adoptees, 176, 181-182; as caring husband, 15, 172174, 179-180, 182-184; courtship and marriage, 11-12, 36-37, 129, 167-169; as father, 15, 14, 177, 185; travels, 176-177 Fasi, Frank F., 101 final years, 7, 126, 185-188; and ninetieth birthday, 8 , 1 4 , 1 8 5 Friedman, Harry, 89-90 Fuchs, Klaus, 128 Fujitani, Yoshiaki, 118 Furniss, W. Todd, 88, 120-122 Gelber, Don Jeffrey, 92 George, Mary, 3, 1 3 - 1 4 , 1 0 1 , 1 0 2 , 1 2 5 , 193 Germeten, Gunnar, 176 Germeten, Kjersti, 176, 181-182 Gibbons, Edward, 128 Gill, Lorin, 183 Gill, Thomas P., 99 Gordon, Walter, 131-132 Gray, Hannah, 23 Gray, Mary, 183-184 Griffin, John, 189 Hamilton, Thomas Hale, 83, 87, 120-122 Hart, Llewellyn, 94 Hall, Jack, 30, 115 Hall, Yoshiko, 128 Hawai'i, State of, 18, 52-53, 89; ethics reform in, 94-95, 98-101; and Ombudsman office, 89; penal reform in, 91-94; and statehood, 8 0 - 81 Hawai'i, Territory of, 29-31, 56-58, 112-113; and fears of Communism, 43^44; statehood issues, 46-48, 5 2 53 Hawai'i Civil Liberties Union, 137 Hawai'i Congress of Parents and Teachers, 129-130,133-135,138,141 Hawai'i Digest, 113 Hawai'i Employers Council, 30 Hawai'i Residents Association (IMUA), 30,52,128,139-140 Hearn, Roderic, 37 Herter, Mrs. W. B„ 130-132,141 higher education, philosophy of, 77-78; Comments on the Report Issued by the Committee on the Academic Future of the University, 1 6 4 - 1 6 6 ; In

Index Possession of Our Faculties, 1 6 1 - 1 6 2 ; W h a t Is a Liberal Education! 1 6 2 164 Hill, William H. ("Doc"), 44 Hiss, Alger, 128 Hoeber, Ralph, 37 Hofstadter, Richard, 139 Holden, Margaret. See Setliff, Margaret Holden Hollenbach, Margaret, 181 Hollenbach, Marion. See Saunders, Marion Hollenbach Hong, George, 171, 189 Honolulu, City and County of, 91; and ethics reform, 95-98, 101 Honolulu Advertiser, 7, 50, 52, 94, 130, 141 Honolulu Police Department, 91 Honolulu Star-Bulletin, 95, 135, 141-142 Hulbert, Neil, 126 Hunter, Charles, 33, 40 Inouye, Allan, 15 Inouye, Daniel, 15-16,45, 54, 70-71, 125, 126 Inouye, Frank, 2 , 9 , 1 2 , 4 0 - U , 119-122 Internal Security Act of 1950, 128 International Longshoremen Workers U n i o n (ILWU), 30-31, 113, 127128 Ito, Alvin, 93 Izutsu, Glen, 191 James, Charles, 89 James, William, 68 Jefferson, Thomas, 11, 13, 23, 126, 168, 182 Johnstone, Will B. Jr., 135 Judd, Rev. Henry P., 129 Jung, Arlena, 26 Jung, Richard, 176 Kahale, Edward, 47 Ka Leo O Hawai'i, 38,170 Kawasaki, Duke T., 99 Kemp, S. B„ 47 Kennedy, John F., 123 Kim, Stanley, 21 King, Samuel P., 137, 179 King, Samuel Wilder, 35, 38, 39, 48 Kohashi, Dorothy, 11, 171 Kono, Hideto, 47 Kosaki, Richard H., 20, 47, 48, 86, 88, 125

203 Lamont, Corliss, 13 League of Women Voters, 24-25, 50-51, 101, 136, 178; promoter of city-state ethics reform, 95-101 Lee, Oliver, 119-122 Leebrick, Karl C., 33, 38 Lentz, Gilbert, 33 Ling, Stanley, 96 Livesay, Thayne M., 41 Lou Gehrig's disease. See ALS (amyotropic lateral sclerosis) Maguire, Joseph F., 37 Making of the Modern Mind, The (John Herman Randall), 59 Mangefel, John, 21,180 Mao Tse-tung, 128 Marder, Arthur, 37 Masaki, Harry, 171 Mason, Leonard, 37 McCleery, Mickey, 16 Mclnemy Foundation, 130, 142 McKinney, Albert J., 49 McMillen, Francis, 47 Meiklejohn, Alexander, 71, 77 Meller, Norman, 17, 24, 39, 40, 88 Meyer, Rev. Adolph, 130, 141 Mink, Patsy Takemoto, 22, 45, 47, 48, 119, 125 Miwa, Ralph, 19, 54, 87, 88 Monticello, 126, 182 Murin, Steve, 114 Murphy, Al, 22 Murray, Madalyn, 117 Myers, Ruth, 51 Nakamura, Irene, 17 National Training Laboratory for Group Development (Bethel, Maine), 12, 178— 179 Nissanka, Sita, 15 Nixon, Richard M., 123 Ontai, Calvin, 47 Pagliaro, Penny, 182-183 Palmer, A. Mitchell, 112 Paul, Julian, 10 Pauling, Linus, 44 Plato, 68, 193 political philosophy, 13-17, 23-25, 66-70, 71, 123, 126, 191; Are Americans

Index

204 Koreans? 150-152; Dissent, 155-161; Let Us Praise the Politician, 153-154; Resolution No. 1, 150; A Scholar Reflects: On Restoring a Little Disorder and Freeing the Human Spirit, 154155 Porter, Bob, 9 Porteus, Hebden, 19 Potter, Norris, 49 Queen Kapi'olani Rose Garden, 25 Quinn, William, 81-82, 95, 97 Randall, John Herman, 59 Reineke, Aiko, 114, 128 Reineke, John, 114, 128 Republican Party, 19, 29 Richardson, William S., 91-92 Roberts, Harold S., 53 Robinson, Mary K., 94 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 29 Rosenberg, Roy A., 95 Rubin, Barry, 47 Rutledge, Arthur, 30 Rutsch, Henrietta, 130 Salz, Andy, 185-186 Sanford, Nevitt, 176 Saunders, Allan M., 15 Saunders, David, 14, 177, 185 Saunders, Frances, 2, 21 Saunders, Malcolm, 182 Saunders, Marion Hollenbach, 1-2, 4, 3637, 50, 118, 129; attack by FTA, 129137, 179-180; courtship and marriage, 11-12,36-37,129,167-169,172-174; election to the Board of Education, 142, 182, 183; group dynamics training, 12, 138, 178-179; program coordinator for Micronesian students, 180-181; rebuttal to PTA attack, 137-141; travels, 15, 175-177 Schlesinger, Arthur, 23 Sedelow, Sally, 11 Setliff, Margaret Holden, 118, 125, 126 Silk, Ekpap, 180 Silva, Robert, 47 Sinclair, Gregg, 31-32,34, 4 2 ^ 3 , 44, 48, 74; opposition to aloha shirts, 24, 38, 39 Sing, William K„ 94

Smith Act, 137 Snyder, Lawrence, 83 Spellacy, Edmund, 40 Stainback, Ingram F. J., 31, 32 state government: Letter from Allan Saunders to Senator Bertrand Kobayashi, 147; Small Is (Still) Beautiful, 144-147; Wanted: A More Open State Government, 147-149 Stauffer, Robert, 40, 88 Steed, Louie, 9, 10, 20 Strauss, Anna Lord, 51 student relationships, 20-23,45-49, 70,80, 82,170-171,183, 184 Students Constitutional Convention Committee, 8, 18-19 Sugimoto, Bea, 20, 80-81 Takemoto, Patsy. See Mink, Patsy Takemoto Tamanaha, Larry, 47 Toupin, Elizabeth Ahn, 11, 30-31, 54 Trinidad, Corky, 7, 15, 126 Tsukiyama, Ted, 8, 10, 34 Turtle, Daniel K., 11, 40, 87, 88, 95 University of Hawai'i, 56-57, 83, 169-170; Aloha Shirt Uprising, 37-39; Board of Regents, 75,82; Department of Political Science, 87-88; Faculty Senate, 42, 4445, 74-75, 85; Model Constitutional Convention, 46—49; in postwar period, 31-35, 40; reorganization after statehood, 81-83 Valley Isle Chronicle, 115 WEAL (Women's Equity Action League), 51, 178 Wentworth, Chester, 49 Wilson, Willard, 22 Wirin, Abraham Lincoln, 113 Wist, Benjamin O., 53 Woestenberg, Jan, 176 Yamanaka, Paul, 2, 25-26, 116, 154, 189 Yee, Alfred A., 96 Yee, Wadsworth, 99 Young, Margaret, 130 Zumwinkle, Robert, 118