DIY History | Transcribe | Campus Culture | University of Iowa anti-war protests, 1970 | 1970-06 Iowa Alumni Review ""At the U of I and over the nation May was a time of Student Protest"" Page 6

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University of Iowa anti-war protests, 1970

1970-06 Iowa Alumni Review ""At the U of I and over the nation May was a time of Student Protest"" Page 6

Written the morning after, May 9, 1970 

By Lois Muehl
Chairman of Rhetoric Reading Lab
The University of Iowa

EPITAPH FOR " BIG PINK"
The second floor office where I hold conferences with University of Iowa students of Rhetoric is one small cubicle in a long pink classroom barracks called O.A.T., next to the Crandic ( Cedar Rapids and Iowa City) railroad tracks. 
My office looks out on a changing view. Beyond the raised tracks, classes flow every hour during the academic day up or down the steps and along the broad walk from the solid brick English-Philosophy building next door. 
Within sight of my window, the Iowa river freezes so solid in the winter that students track peace symbols and four-letter words like LOVE onto the white board of the snow; in spring the river swells high on pleasant banks that attract both town fishermen and student sunbathers.
Still farther across the river, because University Hospitals serve the sick and hurt from all around Iowa, frequent police escorted ambulances flash their red lights and siren warnings along the highway, up the hill to help. 
It's a lively view. I enjoy it for its pulsing variety. 
Or did, until last night. At 3 a.m., a fire started or was started and burned our building down. Not burned down the building. Burned it down. Reduced it. Like a dromedary camel in reverse, once the flames had passed, the middle of the wreck sagged wet and twisted to the ground. Only the ends stayed uptight. On the north end one office wall which sported Secretarial Pool paper (because Bill Clark's wife wanted to surprise him on his birthday, and did) remained intact. On the south, Lou Kelly's Writing Lab bearing the sign " Another mother for peace," escaped. Did the sign, by sheer power of rhetoric, which s our area of concern, hold back the flames? What a ridiculous notion. But in crisis, I must laugh. Or else cry. My office, once on the second floor with that bustling view now lies i a carboned useless swamp. My steel desk, which I suddenly recall held an unfiled folded detailing ways to expand our Reading Lab facilities to help more students next fall, is now literally fired. Somehow, today I must start to come to terms with what this loss means. 
The off thing is it didn't mean very much at first. When Lou called before I was out of bed this morning, and said," It's gone," I wasn't even surprised. We had been warned. 
For three days the students, some out on strike, many restless in protest against the Cambodian escalation, had been surging. All of us - instructors, staff, students, pro -Nixon, anti-Nixon, neighbors and strangers on campus and off, had been engages in not always civil debates. 
Normally I avoid battle in any form as vigorously as an angleworm wriggles from harsh light. Yet yesterday I clashed with one staff colleague who complained " I haven't heard one person stand up and say they love America in years."
" That's exactly what most of the students are saying," I argued. " Only they don't buy 'Love America or Leave It!' They criticize because they do care ! " Yet neither of us convinced the other. We walked apart torn farther than we had ever been. 
On campus, largely peaceful protests where non-violence was repeatedly cheered had taken place day and night in the Pentacrest, the University of Iowa's version of the village green. But at every rally the four columns of Old Capitol bore the letter ROTC sprayed on their fluted columns. In red. And the mood of all those present at these protests was mixed. Kent had become in their vocabulary a new four letter word. 
Fifty-on street sitters were arrested earlier in the week.More than 200 step sitters were picked up Thursday night, among them three ministers including the respected head of the School of Religion. The National Guard moved in to wait just outside Iowa City on the Fair Grounds. Governor's Day, scheduled for Saturday, was called off under extreme pressure from opposing factions who united in common fear of violence and possible death. Even so, students came into class Thursday reporting, " Weatherman says it will be hot Saturday."

Bombs were said to have been detected being assembled in the dorms. Parents summoned students home. Students called parents to call them home. A list was supposed to have been seen by somebody of buildings arranged in order - in order! - for burning O.A.T., like Abou Ben Adhem, led all the rest. So Richard Braddock, the Rhetoric director, warned " Take out anything you value." Not really believing it could happen here, taught by the discipline of Rhetoric to distrust mere rumored sources, we looked around, took out a few things like books, current class

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Written the morning after, May 9, 1970 By Lois Muehl Chairman of Rhetoric Reading Lab The University of Iowa EPITAPH FOR " BIG PINK" The second floor office where I hold conferences with University of Iowa students of Rhetoric is one small cubicle in a long pink classroom barracks called O.A.T., next to the Crandic ( Cedar Rapids and Iowa City) railroad tracks. My office looks out on a changing view. Beyond the raised tracks, classes flow every hour during the academic day up or down the steps and along the broad walk from the solid brick English-Philosophy building next door. Within sight of my window, the Iowa river freezes so solid in the winter that students track peace symbols and four-letter words like LOVE onto the white board of the snow; in spring the river swells high on pleasant banks that attract both town fishermen and student sunbathers. Still farther across the river, because University Hospitals serve the sick and hurt from all around Iowa, frequent police escorted ambulances flash their red lights and siren warnings along the highway, up the hill to help. It's a lively view. I enjoy it for its pulsing variety. Or did, until last night. At 3 a.m., a fire started or was started and burned our building down. Not burned down the building. Burned it down. Reduced it. Like a dromedary camel in reverse, once the flames had passed, the middle of the wreck sagged wet and twisted to the ground. Only the ends stayed uptight. On the north end one office wall which sported Secretarial Pool paper (because Bill Clark's wife wanted to surprise him on his birthday, and did) remained intact. On the south, Lou Kelly's Writing Lab bearing the sign " Another mother for peace," escaped. Did the sign, by sheer power of rhetoric, which s our area of concern, hold back the flames? What a ridiculous notion. But in crisis, I must laugh. Or else cry. My office, once on the second floor with that bustling view now lies i a carboned useless swamp. My steel desk, which I suddenly recall held an unfiled folded detailing ways to expand our Reading Lab facilities to help more students next fall, is now literally fired. Somehow, today I must start to come to terms with what this loss means. The off thing is it didn't mean very much at first. When Lou called before I was out of bed this morning, and said," It's gone," I wasn't even surprised. We had been warned. For three days the students, some out on strike, many restless in protest against the Cambodian escalation, had been surging. All of us - instructors, staff, students, pro -Nixon, anti-Nixon, neighbors and strangers on campus and off, had been engages in not always civil debates. Normally I avoid battle in any form as vigorously as an angleworm wriggles from harsh light. Yet yesterday I clashed with one staff colleague who complained " I haven't heard one person stand up and say they love America in years." " That's exactly what most of the students are saying," I argued. " Only they don't buy 'Love America or Leave It!' They criticize because they do care ! " Yet neither of us convinced the other. We walked apart torn farther than we had ever been. On campus, largely peaceful protests where non-violence was repeatedly cheered had taken place day and night in the Pentacrest, the University of Iowa's version of the village green. But at every rally the four columns of Old Capitol bore the letter ROTC sprayed on their fluted columns. In red. And the mood of all those present at these protests was mixed. Kent had become in their vocabulary a new four letter word. Fifty-on street sitters were arrested earlier in the week.More than 200 step sitters were picked up Thursday night, among them three ministers including the respected head of the School of Religion. The National Guard moved in to wait just outside Iowa City on the Fair Grounds. Governor's Day, scheduled for Saturday, was called off under extreme pressure from opposing factions who united in common fear of violence and possible death. Even so, students came into class Thursday reporting, " Weatherman says it will be hot Saturday." Bombs were said to have been detected being assembled in the dorms. Parents summoned students home. Students called parents to call them home. A list was supposed to have been seen by somebody of buildings arranged in order - in order! - for burning O.A.T., like Abou Ben Adhem, led all the rest. So Richard Braddock, the Rhetoric director, warned " Take out anything you value." Not really believing it could happen here, taught by the discipline of Rhetoric to distrust mere rumored sources, we looked around, took out a few things like books, current class