The Biggest Little Protest in Nevada: Governor’s Day, 1970
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Nearly three decades have passed since the shooting of peace protesters at Kent State University on May 4, 1970; but like many historical moments, the facts of Kent State are blurry and the event itself has become overdetermined—or simply remembered by many as a bad moment during the time of America’s longest war. While historians grapple with the intricate details of the high-profile demonstrations against the Vietnam war, other events have come into focus. We now know more of other events during the early 1970s, such as the shooting of students at Jackson State University, and the larger machinations of the Nixon administration.
After the war, we learned that President Nixon favored taking “a very aggressive ‘militant’ position” against war protesters, thinking that we faced “a national crisis” of lawlessness and disrespect “at all levels.” Perhaps by 1970 there was a crisis to be dealt with; but in the late 1960s, while the nation was polarized over Vietnam, Nevada’s social and political landscape was mostly serene. Whereas Nixon had condemned war protesters as “bums,” he sent a letter of praise to University of Nevada, Reno President N. Edd Miller for his model campus, because students had celebrated Miller’s administration in October 1969, declaring an “N. Edd Miller Day.” But by May 5, 1970, Nevada’s prominent leaders and everyday citizens would find themselves greatly affected by the turmoil that had until then left the state’s institutions untouched. Nixon’s invasion of Cambodia, a rise in black militancy, and a stubborn university administration all contributed to UNR’s only significant war protest; but the key figure in what would simply be known as “Governor’s Day” was Dr. Paul S. Adamian, the son of immigrants who escaped the perils of the Armenian genocide during World War I.

Adamian was born and raised in Worcester, MA, during the decades of the Depression. He worked his way through school, learning to teach high school English, and then moving west for a Ph.D. at Claremont Graduate School in the early 1960s. His parents had learned of the horrors of Armenia first-hand—from mass live-burials to brutal attacks that killed entire sections of their families. Before Paul was born his father, Serop, escaped to the US on a transport ship to join a brother in Indiana. By marrying Serop, his mother was able to come to America and become a U.S. citizen. Paul grew up with regular reminders of the horrors of Armenia, and constant reminders of the abuse brought about by the military. A strong sense of social justice prompted him to leave a teaching position at a racially-biased college in Florida, and play a strong role in the Civil Rights movement in California as a graduate student in the early 1960s.

Taking his first teaching assignment out of graduate school, Adamian began teaching at Southern Oregon College (now Southern Oregon University), but soon ran into trouble with the administration’s mishandling of a required “loyalty oath” that he was pressured into signing. Such oaths were common across the country. Adamian lobbied against it, only to be threatened, labeled by locals as a “communist,” and have his contract terminated—then reinstated. Frustrated and looking for a stable life for his family, Adamian took a job at UNR in 1966, completed his Ph.D. from Claremont, and was approved for tenure in the early months of 1970.

Of course, Nevada was no oasis from political unrest and strife, despite Nixon’s praise. UNR was still recovering from the 1950s national exposure of President Minard W. Stout’s administration, which tainted the university’s reputation by enforcing his authoritarianism, challenging academic freedom, and ignoring the role of faculty in key decisions regarding university policy. Stout’s overall performance, coupled with his harsh treatment—and dismissal—of biology professor Dr. Frank Richardson, brought in the American Association of University Professors (AAUP). In early 1956, students protested Richardson’s termination by marching down Virginia Street and hanging Stout, and other administrators, in effigy. Stout was eventually removed from office, but the University had difficulties recruiting students and faculty to a campus that was rumored to be “the last bastion of McCarthyism.”

The war in Vietnam officially began in 1965, the year N. Edd Miller assumed the presidency at UNR. There were only minor demonstrations on campus, but nothing that required police action or administrative oppression. As the war escalated, campuses across the country raged against its advocates; and with the 1968 assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, riots and protests increased. The police responded with greater use of force. In 1969, after the Weatherman’s “days of rage” terrorized Chicago, news of the massacre of Vietnamese civilians at My Lai finally reached the press: US troops had stormed a village in the Quang Ngai province known as “Pinkville” and brutally raped, mutilated, and murdered some 300-400 men, women, and children who were unarmed and defenseless. Altogether, the war had lost much popular support. (Richard Nixon won the Presidency in 1968, in part, by promising to scale back military involvement overseas.)

During this time, most UNR students managed to stage quiet and peaceful war protests—coordinated with local authorities—and continued to see no threat from the administration. However, running parallel with the battles in Vietnam and at home, African Americans were struggling with their own issues. In 1968, when black soldiers in Vietnam memorialized King’s achievements, white soldiers responded with cross-burnings in the tradition of the Ku Klux Klan, raising the Confederate flag and other symbols of the Civil War. Racial unrest and tension became the norm among soldiers, as mutinies averaged 240 a year, and over 2000 fragging incidents [throwing grenades at superior officers] were reported in 1970 alone. In the remote basin lands of Nevada, “The Mississippi of the West,” a handful of black students were fighting their own battles.

In March 1970, UNR Black Student Union (BSU) members were accused of threatening members of the Association of Students of the University of Nevada (ASUN) and other university personnel. And almost out of nowhere, seven individual charges—dating back twelve months—were brought against black student leader Jesse Sattwhite, a 21-year-old sophomore football player and leader of the BSU. The Sattwhite case became a heated campus issue, and his case was supported by the ACLU and local organizations. A spokesman for the BSU, Dan McKinney, argued that the Sattwhite case was racially motivated: “It’s a case of we’ve got a nigger and we’re going to stop the niggers from talking. Sattwhite is an example of what can happen when ‘a nigger gets out of place.’” McKinney himself was shortly brought up on charges for a minor disturbance that had occurred almost two months earlier. Perhaps not coincidentally, news of the charges against McKinney hit the school newspaper on March 31, right before the beginning of Black Week at UNR.

On April 1, 1970, Dr. Harry Edwards, author of Black Athlete Revolt came from UC Berkeley to speak to the campus, arguing against what he saw as a rising oppressive and genocidal mentality in the US, including the war in Vietnam and the Nixon administration’s domestic racial policies. Edwards’ performance was incendiary, but the calls for action resulted in nothing more than campus discussions and anxious questions for the UNR administration. The next week, members of the Black Panthers and the Brown Berets (a Mexican-American affiliate) planned to march in protest of Reno’s racially-biased Census Bureau practices. Shortly thereafter, 35 students stormed Miller’s office to protest the “secretive nature” of the University’s handling of the Sattwhite case and to demand, in writing, the specific charges filed against him. Meanwhile, the general student population joined the ranks of protest by petitioning for 24-hour visitation rights in the dormitories.

The charges against Sattwhite resulted only in probation, and the general atmosphere on campus relaxed for the time being. In light of Nixon’s earlier announcement that 150,000 US troops would be withdrawn from Vietnam, hopes for peace were dashed when he called for the invasion of Cambodia on April 30. What little hope remained was crushed on May 4, 1970, when National Guardsmen opened fire on protesters at Kent State, wounding nine people, killing four.

For decades, Governor’s Day at UNR was an occasion to celebrate the ROTC and the military’s role on campus by reviewing future officers, distributing awards, and acknowledging achievements at Mackay Stadium. By 1969, antiwar sentiment had grown and the first Peace Rally on Governor’s Day drew crowds at the Manzanita Bowl that surpassed the attendance at the stadium. In 1970, with the shock of Kent State still fresh in the air, students made plans to disrupt Governor’s Day.

An invitation had been extended to Governor Paul Laxalt to speak at the Bowl, but he had not replied. Certain student activists had planned to bring the peace rally to the stadium, but no official announcements were made. Dummy flyers were circulated, however, announcing that Governor’s Day was canceled; and plans for a demonstration at the stadium had seeped into newspaper coverage. On the morning of Tuesday, May 5, several hundred students, along with faculty and local citizens, gathered at the Manzanita Bowl for the Peace Rally.

Many protesters had been up late the night before, preparing protest materials and coping with the shock of the Kent State killings. When the governor’s motorcade arrived on campus, the protesters abandoned the rally to intercept the cars, and the confrontation that followed was the only event of the day considered newsworthy by leading newspapers in the region. Some students climbed on top of the vehicles, while others simply stood in the way. In what would become a particularly damning photograph, Adamian was pictured motioning to Bob May, a defiant student who was lying down in front of a moving car. Adamian’s accusers claimed the photo was proof that he had ordered protesters to place themselves strategically in front of the motorcade, whereas his defenders read the photograph as evidence of his efforts to protect the student. In other photographs later presented to the University administration Adamian was, unfortunately, the only identifiable faculty member in the crowd. (Bob Mayberry, ASUN presidential aide, asserts that such photos were responsible for Adamian being singled out from the other faculty members who participated in the protest activities).

Arrangements had been made for law enforcement to be on call in case of problems; and they were assembled nearby, prepared to intervene. As the protesters approached the stadium, faculty ran ahead to obtain consent for the crowd to circle the stadium’s track three times, then exit, as a means of protesting the invasion of Cambodia and the killings at Kent State. The crowd was agitated and angry, and the faculty monitors tried to keep protesters on the track, away from the cadets on the field and away from impulsive action: some wanted to tear down the US flag, others wanted violent confrontation. The protesters circled the field only twice, finally filing into the stands as a small group of black students from the BSU and their supporters sat directly on the field.

Initial reports estimated roughly 500 participants demonstrated. The crowd disrupted the proceedings through chants, songs, and catcalls. UNR President Miller called for quiet, but the antiwar group outnumbered the friends and families of the ROTC cadets. The visiting brass and government officials were incensed; the university administrators were mortified; and the cadets were stoic (many of them had sympathies with the protesters, while others were revolted by their behavior). Some witnesses argue that Adamian was leading the crowd in the chants; other witnesses concur that he was simply shouting along with the crowd. While Adamian’s role remains uncertain, his stance against the war was clear. As a lifelong advocate of peace and social justice, the war in Vietnam seemed particularly abhorrent. In a 1998 interview, he likened the images of war-torn Vietnam with the suffering of his family in Armenia—people similarly ravaged by the uses of violence for political ends.

On the field at Mackay Stadium, the group of black students called out to the other demonstrators to join them, and slowly a stream of protesters left the stands for the field. Meanwhile, following orders, the cadets had affixed bayonets to their drill rifles and began their formation marches, while the protesters drew themselves into closer contact with them. Some demonstrators simply asserted their presence on the field and flashed peace signs to parallel the cadet salutes; one person rode a unicycle through the crowd; and others ran among the ranks, knocking off cadets’ hats and taunting the students for their complicity in the war. After the demonstration, the crowd returned to the south end of campus and delivered speeches over a PA system, reflecting mixed observations about the success of the protest.

All told, the entire week was an explosion of antiwar activity, and schools were shut down across the country. Then Governor Ronald Reagan closed the entire California state university system, and over 500 campuses were shut down nationwide. Explosives or firebombs ignited at the rate of over four per day. The following week, Mississippi police opened fire on unarmed black students at Jackson State College, wounding twelve people, killing two. While the country was reeling from this violence, Nevada was attempting to contain what little dissent there was at UNR.

Governor’s Day was followed by deliberations about a Kent State memorial, and within days three Molotov-cocktails were exploded at the ROTC building, Hartman Hall, destroying offices and damaging the building’s exterior. That weekend, the Board of Regents began an investigation of Adamian and Fred Maher (a graduate student and English Teaching Assistant) for their actions during the Governor’s Day activities. Within days, other firebombs were thrown at the Hobbit Hole, a gathering place for antiwar activists and others involved with the peace movement. Governor’s Day soon became a political football, a rallying point for all political persuasions, with the majority of Nevadans wanting proof that their school was under control.

No charges were ever filed against Maher, but he lost his teaching position and left graduate school. A faculty review board determined that Adamian’s actions warranted some sort of censure, but it emphasized that there were insufficient grounds for dismissing him from his newly-tenured position. The Regents weren’t satisfied, and Nevadans were still upset with what they envisioned as radicalism and anti-Americanism on their primary college campus. UNR students lobbied heavily in favor of Adamian, but the Board of Regents ultimately discharged Adamian for disrupting a university event and for more or less posing a threat to the school.

Adamian filed suit in federal court, and the Federal District Court ruled that the Board of Regents’ decision was based on a vague university code. It ordered Adamian reinstated with back pay. The Regents appealed at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco, which overturned the federal court’s ruling. Despite numerous subsequent appeals, Adamian remained out of work, and was excluded from future academic appointments because he refused to hide his activist past when applying for other teaching positions. He never returned to academia; and Governor’s Day received scant attention from the public, or even historians, in the years that followed.

In the past few years, oral history interviews have been uncovered which shed light on the details and impressions of Governor’s Day, and the political repercussions of disclosing the truth have subsided. With continued attention, the details of Nevada’s biggest little war protest may help us understand that the echoes of human rights abuses continue through the decades, that our local histories can teach us about the “global village,” and that the struggles in foreign lands are deeply tied to our own.

Brad E. Lucas–Center for HGPS Board Member

Lucas is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of English at UNR. He is currently writing a book on Governor’s Day and the Adamian Affair, as well as editing the collection of Governor’s Day (1970) interviews for publication. He can be reached at brad@unr.edu.