Stanford was founded for the purpose of giving the young people of California a free education; that was the basis of its democratic spirit—but the interlocking trustees have now decided to exclude all those common people who cannot pay two hundred and twenty-five dollars a year. So the tone of the place is rapidly altering, and on my recent visit one member of the senior class remarked to me, “I have seen such a change in my four years that I’m glad I’m through.” Two years ago a group of the students wished to start a liberal club for free discussion. A Chinese student writes me what happened, and I quote from his letter, leaving his quaint English as it stands, because the fine spirit of the writer shines through it so very clearly.
Then we received discouraging advices from outsiders, principally from faculty members. None was willing to encourage us of such study. Occasionally individuals received discourtesy from their society, because of being connected to this movement. For instance, I was dismissed from a position soon after I was found out that I was “an ardent student of Socialism.” Another illustration, I was short in finance once. Went to see the Dean of Man to ask for a loan from the university. Was at first refused this request because I was reported to that office being “socialistic in belief.” Shortly after, a great majority of us left Stanford on account of their graduation, the movement died down gradually.
Now it is starting once more. I have a letter from another student, who is going to try again, in spite of warning from the older students that it may result in his not getting his diploma. The motto of Stanford used to be “the wind of freedom blows”; but this sentiment was expressed in German, and so a few years ago the trustees dropped it. Of course we know that talk about “freedom” nowadays is German propaganda, or else Bolshevik.
In the effort to introduce a little democracy into the faculty, President Jordan established an Academic Council, which was supposed to deal with questions suitable to the intelligence of professors. The educational affairs of the state were in a bad way, and some professors thought that was a proper subject for their attention. The Progressive administration of Hiram Johnson had just come into power, and the academic council adopted a resolution, favoring a commission to reorganize the educational system of the state. But the interlocking trustees would not stand for any dealings between their professors and a state administration which was pledged to put them out of politics. Grand Duke Timothy Hopkins came hurrying down, and ordered the Academic Council to withdraw their resolution—which they did. To one of the professors Mr. Hopkins made the grim statement, “We are coming back;” meaning thereby that the railroad and other big grafters were going to take over the government of California again—which they have done.
In her decree concerning the Stanford trust, Mrs. Stanford laid down the rule, phrased as a request, that no Stanford professor “shall electioneer among or seek to dominate other professors or the students for the success of any political party or candidate in any political contest.” This rule, like all other such rules, is interpreted to mean that Stanford professors renounce their rights as citizens—when they do not happen to agree with the politics of the plutocratic trustees. Thus I note that no one makes any objection when President Wilbur joins with President Barrows of California in issuing a manifesto to the people of the state, opposing some of the constitutional amendments now being submitted to the ballot. Neither do the Stanford authorities object that Professor “Jimmie” Hyde spends two months campaigning with Mr. Moore, candidate of the power interests and other reactionary business groups for the Republican nomination for senator.
I have shown you the University of California regents dominating politics and finance through the great companies which turn water power into electricity and distribute it over the state. I have shown you the University of California helping these power companies to defeat the bill for the public development and operation of hydro-electric power. And now we come to Stanford and we find one trustee heavily interested in power companies, and several others in electric companies, and others acting as bankers, lawyers and judges for such companies. And what does Stanford have to say officially on the campaign for this hydro-electric power bill?
There is in California a “League of Municipalities,” an official organization of the communities of the state. They hold a convention once a year; the officials of cities and towns attend as delegates, and deal with all matters concerning the welfare of their communities—sanitation, health, paving, taxes, public utilities, etc. This summer Stanford University extended the hospitality of its buildings for the sessions of the convention, and of its dormitories as lodgings for the delegates; but the faculty of the University and the citizens of Palo Alto learned to their surprise that one of the sessions of the convention was to be held at the Community House in the town of Palo Alto, instead of being held in the university hall. I have a letter from a gentleman who was present as an official guest at this session, and he explains the mysterious change of location.
At its opening the President, Mayor Louis Bartlett, of Berkeley, said that the delegates should be informed why this particular session was being held in a different place from the others, and then proceeded to read a letter from President Newhall of the Board of Trustees, asking them to omit the Water and Power Act from their program in the University buildings, as the university did not wish to be understood as taking sides, and any action they might take might be interpreted, incorrectly, as being the action of the university. There appeared to be no objection to the danger of the university’s being similarly misunderstood in regard to half a dozen other proposed constitutional amendments! The stupid officers of the League didn’t take the hint, as gentlemen should, and drop the offending subject from the program entirely. They merely called the session meeting in the Community House in Palo Alto (which has nobly served as an open forum upon other critical occasions) and there we listened to a vigorous debate all afternoon, led by Rudolph Spreckels and Francis J. Heney on the one side and Allison Ware and Eustace Cullinan on the other, at the close of which a vote was taken which was unanimous for the Water and Power Act, with the exception of the vote of San Francisco, the most prominent figure in whose delegation was Supervisor (ex-Mayor) Eugene Schmitz—with some public corporation corruption record!
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE STANFORD SKELETON
I have referred to the dissatisfaction of Grand Duke Timothy Hopkins at the coming into power of a progressive government in California. This event was especially embarrassing to the Stanford trustees, because of a family skeleton which for many years they had been hiding in their academic closet. You understand that these high-up masters of finance have an elaborate system for plundering the railroads and public utility companies which they control. They have holding companies and investment companies and subsidiary concerns of various sorts, whereby they skim off the cream of the profits, without interference by public commissions. Nobody but a few insiders today can form any idea where the profits of an American railroad or public utility corporation are going, or what should be the income from any particular investment. And now, here are these same smooth gentlemen administering the investments of a university; what more natural than that it should occur to them to handle these funds in the same manner?