Arnold R. Weber, 1929-2020

 

I’m not sure what was more startling, the fact I was up sometime before noon on a Sunday during college or that Northwestern’s 14^th president and his wife were strolling through the fraternity quad. As I was more focused on obtaining something greasy to sop up the previous evening’s alcohol, I gave the sighting no more thought until later that afternoon when someone came rushing into the TV room. “Guys,” he said, “Guys, we have got to go outside and clean up from last night’s party now. The Dean of Students just called me. President Weber walked by the house a little while ago and was pissed that the place was a mess.” With that we hurried out and beautified the landscape in record time.

There was, of course, a bigger lesson from this than a scare from the administration. First, as we’ve been told since kindergarten, clean up after yourselves. But more importantly, don’t give the authorities a reason to put you on their radar, especially for something as petty as plastic cups in the shrubs. Suffice it to say that going forward we assigned a more responsible crew for post-party clean up. It was also a classic Arnold Weber move. Don’t overreact to the minor problems, but make sure the message gets out there. Be fair but let everyone know where you stand. With Dr. Weber’s passing last week at age 90, it is a chance to reflect on how to run an organization.

In today’s world we look at leaders as our friends—whether it’s an association on Facebook or, increasingly at colleges, even taking a class taught by the President themselves. I could think of nothing more repugnant to Arnold Weber. Don’t get me wrong—he was, in our few interactions, perfectly sociable in a polite way, but tweedy and worried about your feelings he was not. There wasn’t a chip on his shoulder, but every time he opened his mouth, his highly intelligent voice boomed through a distinct Bronx, New York working middle-class background. His habit of chain smoking unfiltered Camels added even more gravel, and no less gravitas, to his tone.

But persona is no substitute for substance, and Dr. Weber showed real leadership on the toughest of issues. One such example is the tale of Barb Foley. The good Dr. Foley was, charitably, a character—one who was an actual card-carrying communist and not afraid to invoke class warfare at the slightest provocation of imperialist aggression. While I never took one of her classes, the collegiate gods had a good laugh when they assigned her to me as my freshman advisor. She walked through the ministrations of academic advice about my intended courses (Econ for a career on Wall Street for me, naturally) and even hosted an outing to a theater performance in downtown Chicago with her other advisees.

By following year Foley had jumped through the final hoop of academia’s obstacle course, recommendation for tenure, and had but Weber’s signature to seal a guaranteed lifetime of employment. But in an ironic twist, one of the great symbols of the anti-communist fight, the Nicaraguan contras, snatched paradise away. One of the group’s leaders was on campus and temptation was too great. Not satisfied to picket and pamphlet outside the lecture hall, Foley led a group into the room and splashed red paint on the speaker, symbolizing the blood of Nicaragua (of course!) while also proclaiming to the audience that “This man cannot be allowed to speak.” The continuing disruption and threats caused the speech to be canceled and the speaker hustled out by campus police for his own safety.

This was no he-said, she said incident. Foley proudly owned her actions and declared victory. That is until Dr. Weber just as decisively rejected the tenure recommendation, effectively firing her. Here was a university where free speech and thought, the exchange of ideas, was paramount and Foley would have none of it. Weber understood that allowing this to pass would undermine the entire concept of academic freedom. Appeals and litigation ensued, but Northwestern’s decision survived and its reputation remained intact. Comrade Barb exiled herself to the People’s Republic of New Jersey and continued the proletariat struggle at Rutgers. It may also have marked the last moment of sanity at this country’s elite institutions of higher learning. For any university president to take the same action today would be unthinkable; in fact they wouldn’t just give Foley tenure, they would name a teaching chair after her.

But behind the intellect and rock-solid principles was a biting humor to make his point. Early on in his time on campus he organized a few “meet the new President” session-really just a question and answer get together. The first one had, maybe, two participants, and Weber made it very clear that people would have to show up if they wanted these to continue. As a campus photographer I was assigned to cover the second event, and sure enough a larger group gathered at the student center. As time passed, one particularly irritated student started in on some of the renovations Weber had started. Railing against newly-installed rocks demarking walking paths, the student ended up red-faced, denouncing, in light of the expensive tuition, why Weber could be “planting all of these trees!” In classic Weber fashion he quietly ashed his cigarette before taking a few soothing puffs. Thus fortified, he looked the youth in the eye and sternly proclaimed, “I like trees.”

And there is was. Clearly this student never got a phone call about cleaning up the garbage. Trees weren’t some Sierra Club manifesto or green energy plan; he wanted the place to sparkle, academically and physically, and he sure as heck wasn’t going to let a few bucks get in his way. He sorted out the school’s finances by fundraising like nobody before him and judiciously cutting where he had to. By his retirement he definitely left the campus better than when he arrived.

And so I give thanks for having known Arnold Weber, albeit in only that slightest of ways. But looking back, seeing leadership with integrity, force of personality, and keen intellect matched with sharp wit was as important as any class I took. And whatever the afterlife holds, I know that for one person it will be filled with trees. Lots and lots on neatly planted trees.

© 2020 Alexander W. Stephens, All Rights Reserved.