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| Tributes to Theodore Lamont Cross and His Journal of Blacks in Higher Education Over the years Theodore Cross touched the lives of thousands of people both through personal contact and through the written word in The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education and other publications. JBHE asked a select group of scholars to comment on the life of Theodore Cross or on the impact of this journal on African-American higher education. Here, in alphabetical order, are the responses we received.
A Dedication to Racial Equality Danielle S. Allen is the UPS Foundation Professor in the School of Social Science at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton University. A former MacArthur Foundation fellow, she previously taught at the University of Chicago. Ted Cross was a rare example of a person who tethered his ideals to real practical commitments and advanced both through a remarkable entrepreneurial effectiveness. He desired racial equality; he acted effectively to advance its cause. He rightly recognized that early 20th century black intellectual leadership was a critical foundation for the advances that followed mid-century. Among many important endeavors, he founded The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education to ensure the ongoing development of African-American intellectual leadership. Although our paths intersected on multiple lines (shared connections to both Amherst College and the Institute for Advanced Study), I met Ted Cross only once and just a year ago, in other words, at the end of his life. I was impressed by the forcefulness of his will — this was immediately evident — and also by, even late in his life, the undiminished and uncompromising nature of his dedication to racial equality. This passion was clear-burning and strong. Lunch with him was bracing in all the best possible senses; one had encountered something to live up to. That memory is what I will take with me from my experience of Ted Cross.
A Beacon of Continuing Enlightenment Elijah Anderson is William K. Lanman Jr. Professor of Sociology at Yale University. Ever since I was a young scholar, the Journal has meant a great deal to me and to many others of my cohort. A constant source of support for and acknowledgement of black academic achievement, it has been a beacon of continuing enlightenment far beyond that which I could ever have imagined. The Journal fills a tremendous need of higher education, and without it, black scholars, and by implication, the black elite, would lack an effective ally that keeps us all better informed, while also making each of us feel a bit less marginalized. Theodore Cross was a great champion of civil rights and served as an inspiration for many, across racial and class lines. The community of black scholars is indebted to his investment in our success. His legacy will endure in the pages of the Journal, in the accomplishments of black academics worldwide, and in our country’s ongoing struggle for true equality.
Ashe! Theodore Cross Houston A. Baker Jr. is University Distinguished Professor at Vanderbilt University and past president of the Modern Language Association of America. Though it is a generational giveaway, I do remember a time at the beginning of my academic career when there was only a smattering of attractive periodicals and journals concerned with blacks, black studies, or blacks in higher education. It would be a mistake to undervalue Freedomways, The Journal of Negro History, The Journal of Negro Education, Negro Digest, CLA Journal, and others in a vintage group. Still, with the passage of four decades and burgeoning scholarship in African-American and African-American and diaspora studies, interest in black life and intellectual enterprise has grown exponentially. It would be prejudicial to signal a list of my favorite current journals; there are simply too many, all demonstrating variety, efficiency, and excellence. Moreover, with the “e-explosion,” there is more journal content than anyone can master. If there is too much variety to proclaim the “best,” there is, nevertheless, one undisputed champion of the “most valuable”: The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education (JBHE). Future scholars will mine the archives of JBHE with pleasure and scholarly profit. They will catalogue the journal’s vital statistics on blacks’ acceptance, participation, honors, insults, history, scandals, and scholarship in higher education. They will read reflections by tyros and vaunted scholars alike, each dedicated to eloquence and exacting scholarship. They will recognize each issue of JBHE as state-of-the-academy bountiful. One constant would be the brief (or expansive) jeremiads against racial inequality in the academy, in combination with announcements of grants, honors, and achievements of black academicians. JBHE is part Raritan in familiar essays, and part Ebony and Jet in its illustrated coverage of hot-off-the-press black academic news. A venerable scholar and longtime friend of mine recently declared: “JBHE gathers and passes on knowledge you find in no other periodical. It provides information other journals simply ignore.” It is always a good day when the most recent issue of JBHE appears in my mailbox. I encountered Ted Cross, the journal’s founder, editor, and financier, on only one face-to-face occasion. He and I sat next to each other at a dinner party in Princeton. We conversed amiably, and he told me briefly but enthusiastically of his interest in birds. I had no idea he was the Ted Cross of JBHE. He amicably (now, I think, with a twinkle) asked of my scholarly interests. (A “twinkle” because he had published more than one of my contributions to JBHE, and realized I had no idea who he was!) I am certain I was too pompously long-winded. Ted lifted the glass of fine wine provided by our host: “To your continuing success,” he said, with a joy that echoes as I write the present reflection. Theodore Cross was a man of remarkable modesty. He was generous beyond measure. JBHE is but a single instance of his sumptuous legacy. His body-on-the-line efforts for black American civil rights are of timeless value. He labored mightily to get race “right(ed)” in the geographies and publishing economies of America. His voice, his labors, and his energy breathe Ashe.
A Great Example and Inspiration Howard H. Baker Jr. is senior counsel in the law firm Baker, Donelson, Bearman, Caldwell & Berkowitz. He was elected to the United States Senate for three terms and served as both majority leader and minority leader. Baker also served as White House chief of staff for Ronald Reagan and as ambassador to Japan. Ted and I served together on a small Navy patrol craft, PC1254, which was all of 173 feet long. While we were on board we never had the opportunity to see action. But it was a great experience with Ted, Tol Boswell, and others of the crew. Ted was our executive officer and I was a young ensign. The war was largely over and our first assignment was to decommission the ship at the Central Iron Works in Portland, Oregon. In the process, our first responsibility was to disconnect all systems and circuits on the ship, which we diligently attempted to do. However, there was one stubborn green light on the sonar elevator head that wouldn’t go off. Ted and I agreed that the only course of action was to go forward with the process, including spraying sealant on everything, but the light continued to burn. As far as I know that light may still be burning! Ted was a good friend, a good photographer, and a good companion. We renewed our friendship several years ago and traveled to South Texas to take photographs of birds. Ted was a very accomplished and skillful bird photographer. As in many other things, Ted was a great example and inspiration. I, like many others, will miss Ted Cross.
Active Wisdom and a Second Career Mary Catherine Bateson is president of the Institute for Intercultural Studies in New York City. Until recently she was the Clarence J. Robinson Professor in Anthropology and English at George Mason University and is now professor emerita. When I became dean of the faculty at Amherst College in 1980, two issues came to my attention immediately. One was the gift of $1 million that Ted Cross, an alumnus and member of the board of trustees, had made to Amherst to endow a chair to be filled by a senior African-American professor in one of the natural sciences; it would be my responsibility to manage the search to fill that appointment, leading to the appointment of Richard Goldsby as Cross Professor in the Biology Department. The second was the decision made by a group of women not to stand for tenure because they felt the decision would be biased against them. During the years I was at Amherst, I found Ted generous, supportive, and deeply concerned about issues of fairness. In 2007 I interviewed Ted for a book I have been working on that will be out in September (Composing a Further Life: The Age of Active Wisdom) about the choices people make in their sixties and beyond, often rooted in early experiences and values. It was Richard Goldsby who urged me to speak with Ted about his concept of legacy. I’m proud to have been able to include a considerable part of that interview in the book, which has now gone to press, because it exemplified so well what I mean by “active wisdom,” and the great value of the work that can be done after a first career, which was when Ted began The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education. Ted honored me by preparing thoughtfully for the interview. Race and gender are genetic legacies, he said, that have been disadvantageous in the past, which we are beginning to set right. Attitudes and values (such as racism and sexism on the one hand or social justice on the other) are also legacies, often learned by example. Here Ted spoke of his mother and her volunteer work at the Perkins Institute for the Blind. Legacies both transmit potential and undermine the merit system, and inherited money can have either a positive or a negative effect. As I asked him to trace back his commitment to blacks in higher education, he told me about being involved as a young lawyer in settling a strike against a hotel management that refused to hire African Americans, and seeing television reports of the events in Selma immediately after, which inspired a lifelong commitment. Ted was also sharply aware of the issue of gender and the way it intersects with the issue of race. Coeducation began at Amherst before I was hired, but he was supportive as I tried to deal with residual biases. I was struck by the amount of learning about fairness he attributed to the women in his life as he spoke about how different aspects of racism affect black men and black women in different ways. He spoke of his mother’s strength and of his respect for the talents and dedication of the five daughters he and Mary Cross had raised, two from his previous marriage and three from hers, and of the way that Betty Friedan had influenced thinking in this country and in the world. “Where did the dedication come from?” I asked. “I was born on Lincoln’s birthday,” he smiled. “My grandmother said that’s the explanation for my behavior.” His grandmother sent him thousands of canceled Lincoln three-cent stamps all through his childhood. To all of us he sent copies of his journal, thousands of carefully collated statistics about the uneven progress of educational equality.
Serving Effectively Without Form or Fashion Derrick Bell, former dean of the University of Oregon School of Law, is currently a visiting professor of law at New York University. In the early 1990s he left Harvard Law School in protest of the absence of a woman of color on the faculty.
A Man for All Seasons William G. Bowen, coauthor of two important studies on access to higher education, is president emeritus of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and president emeritus of Princeton University. Ted Cross was — to trade on a cliché that really applies — truly a man for all seasons. I will always remember his breadth of vision, his compassion, his intelligence, and his concern for values. His decision to found JBHE was inspired, and the high quality of the journal speaks for itself. It has made a lasting contribution to discussions about race and higher education. I will also always remember the role Ted played in the development and then the publication of The Shape of the River: Long-Term Consequences of Considering Race in College and University Admissions. Derek Bok and I gained so much from Ted’s wise counsel. He helped us in so many ways, and because of his insights and efforts, the book reached a far wider audience than it would have otherwise. We regarded him as a “partner” in an important undertaking. Others can speak more knowledgeably than I can about his support of the Legal Defense Fund, Amherst College, and an innumerable number of other good causes. He just couldn’t stop being helpful — and he never stopped being smart. It is a blessing that his monumental book, Waterbirds, was published to such wide acclaim while he was still with us. It is yet another indication of his passion, his taste, and his determination to attend to every detail. We have lost a wonderful friend.
A Unique and Uncommonly Interesting Publication W. Fitzhugh Brundage is William B. Umstead Professor of History at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I regret that I never met Ted in person, but my impression is that he, like the JBHE, was sui generis. Ted was enormously generous to me. He provided me with a forum to periodically review books in a manner that is virtually unheard of in scholarly publications. A book would catch his eye and he would write me to see if I was interested in reviewing it. He’d give me a generous word limit and then set me free. What was always so flattering about these requests was that he often picked books that were far afield from my obvious area of expertise. In this manner, I became a small contributor to what is a unique and uncommonly interesting publication that melds professional news, advocacy, enlightening and often eye-opening research into the continuing role of race in higher education, and cultural criticism. He has left a legacy in the JBHE that is a testament to his life and vision.
A Journal of Scientific Objectivity David Brion Davis is the Sterling Professor of History, emeritus and founder and director emeritus of the Gilder Lehrman Center for the Study of Slavery, Resistance, and Abolition at Yale University. For many years I have read The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education with immense pleasure and benefit. It has enriched my understanding of the extremely complex racial dimensions of American society and culture, including the legacies of slavery and abolition, the subject I’ve been studying for over 50 years. The Journal’s dramatic illustrations keep reminding us of that historical past, in a way that complements the up-to-date charts and statistics on racial inequalities and African-American progress. I am especially impressed by the Journal’s willingness to publish information that is not only extremely discouraging but that could be used by opponents of equal rights. Few publications in these times maintain such standards of scientific objectivity.
A Once-in-a-Lifetime Friend Robert J. Del Tufo is an attorney in the law firm Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom. He served as New Jersey State Attorney General and United States Attorney for the District of New Jersey. He graduated cum laude from Princeton University and from Yale Law School as a member of the Order of the Coif. Teddy Cross was delightfully complex, caring, brilliant, inquisitive, generous, and humorous. There were no apparent limits to his personality and interests. An initial sighting was usually of a bow tie followed quickly by a glimpse of a shock of white hair and a mischievous smile which promised a debate to come. Teddy was provocative. He would invariably take the other side of any topic under discussion. That “other side” was often not the popular one and sometimes rather outrageous. The exercise was intended to draw one out in order to facilitate a meaningful dialogue and to make one defend, not just mouth, his or her position. For years I would “bite,” jump in aggressively, somewhat flustered, sometimes heated, to state my position and to demand an explanation of how Teddy could be espousing what he did. I soon came to regard a tie as a victory. Teddy was interested in, and discussed, virtually everything — literature, current events, sports, humanitarian causes — even Wal-Mart and Wegmans. He read scores of newspapers every day. He clipped thousands of articles to send to friends. For that matter, if he came upon a book or, let’s say, a shirt or some “gadget” he liked, he would send that along as well. His true positions and reasoning on public affairs were always sound. Yet, all of this — as meaningful and enjoyable as it was — was more or less surface because Teddy’s real passion and interest was to champion equal rights for all human beings and, specifically, to improve the lot of African Americans in the United States. In a speech he delivered at Harvard Law School on April 30, 2000, he identified the voting rights march in Selma, Alabama, in particular “Bloody Sunday,” as “the great moral event of his lifetime.” You will recall that an attempt to cross the Pettus Bridge was brutally turned back. Teddy was shocked, transformed by the violence, by the hate and prejudice, by the fact that this could happen in America. Not one to be a spectator, he acted immediately and traveled to Selma to march where, as he put it, he joined “dozens of men, women, children, ministers, and priests joining hands enduring jeers, spit, attack dogs, and water hoses.” They crossed the bridge. He said his “most vivid memory . . . [of the horror of it all was that of] a Selma policeman on horseback chasing two little black girls . . . [shouting] ‘There go the niggers, there go the coons. Kill the coons.’” And so began his civil rights work. He walked with Dr. King in Montgomery. He worked on anti-poverty programs while in federal service in Washington applying “modern venture capital and leverage techniques to economic development in the inner city.” Then he turned proactively to further the economic and social causes of blacks in America. A quarterly journal, which he published in the 1970s, ranked corporations on the basis of their investments in black communities and hirings of African Americans as a means of persuading the business community to make a greater commitment to racial and economic equality. He succeeded. In addition, the considerable profits from sales of the journal were, again, as he put it, “used to support black political candidates and to fund litigation in the southern states to oppose license transfer of TV and radio licenses by stations which continued to discriminate against blacks.” After this initiative — in addition to running his publishing business, particularly in converting print publishers to electronic delivery of information — he turned his attention to higher education with the objective of increasing the number of black faculty and black students in higher education and improving the economic situation of blacks after graduation with a degree in hand. As far as I know, no one had previously thought of such initiatives, let alone pursue them. Teddy did not approach this — or any other — task in half measures. In 1980 he sold his publishing business interests to focus virtually full time on “the problems of blacks and whites.” The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education evolved from his work to eliminate or to lessen those problems. First published in 1993, the Journal monitors the racial practices of major colleges and universities, presents scholarly articles, many written by Teddy himself, and today enjoys wide circulation. Colleges recruited more black faculty and significantly increased the number of black students in their institutions and are still doing so today. Indeed, as Teddy also mentioned in his Harvard speech, by 2000 there were one-and-a-half million young blacks in colleges in the United States. The percentage of college-age black students attending college rose to 25 percent, just slightly below the white percentage of college-age students at 28.7 percent, and the college degree helped to break economic barriers. These percentages have continued to rise. Teddy’s commitment to the Journal was extraordinary. He researched topics and solicited (and received) important information and opinions from others. He literally single-handedly made the Journal a unique, respected, meaningful, and effective publication. Teddy’s vision was very wide, his focus very sharp. He was daring, good, and undisguised. A once-in-a-lifetime person. A once-in-a-lifetime friend.
A Model For Us All Norman C. Francis, president of Xavier University in New Orleans, is the longest-serving current university president in the United States. Theodore Cross was a model for all of us in higher education and his memory is forever etched in our lives.
A Historic Figure in the Establishment of Black Studies as a Scholarly Discipline Henry Louis Gates Jr. is the Alphonse Fletcher University Professor at Harvard University. Ted Cross was a force of nature, leaving everything in his path touched for the better. But Ted was also a force of culture. His force was never destructive, though he could certainly be marvelously, creatively aggressive about getting things done. No, Ted was reverent, patient even, always with a goal in sight and a clear and steady plan about how to reach it. He was a bird watcher, after all. I keep a copy of Ted’s monumental volume, Waterbirds, on the coffee table in my living room. Its inscription advises me to take up bird watching as a surefire protection against negative racial profiling. My only regret is that I won’t be able to pursue this lovely pastime, a favorite of my father’s, in Ted’s splendid, elegant company. As founder of The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education, Ted conceived and executed what a thoughtful African-American philanthropist should have done. But only he had the foresight to realize that affirmative action, like integration, would be fought on the battleground of education. And the stakes were, and remain, so very high, both for black people and for all of us in this country who love justice, freedom, and truth. Ted Cross was one of my heroes, because he will be remembered always as a historic figure in the institutionalization of the field of African-American studies as a scholarly discipline, and as a protector of the permanent place of African Americans in the academy.
He Saw Higher Education as the Master Key to Racial Equality Richard A. Goldsby, a longtime friend of Theodore Cross, is professor of biology and John Woodruff Simpson Lecturer at Amherst College and adjunct professor of veterinary and animal sciences at the University of Massachusetts. The family and those fortunate enough to be his friends know that the long, active, and successful life of Theodore Cross is an easy one to admire and honor. He was greatly advantaged by gifts of powerful intelligence, great curiosity, a knack for drawing the right conclusion and the conviction that he could do almost anything. Focused and determined he made the made Law Review at Harvard, acquired and grew a fortune, advised and guided major academic and cultural institutions and in middle age became a noted and beautifully published photographer of shore birds. While any one of these achievements is unusual, success at all four identifies a remarkable life. But here I want to distill and call attention to his work to foster and facilitate the full participation of blacks in all areas of American society. It was this passion that inspired his efforts to encourage black economic development and especially, black higher education. He saw higher education as a master key, opening many of the doors barring our opportunity to participate in the larger society as equals. Fundamentally an intellectual, albeit with the impulses of a practical activist, he made his most important contributions to the struggle with his writing and publishing. There were the books The Black Power Imperative and Black Capitalism and then the founding and sustaining of The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education, and in recent years, the addition of the e-publication, The JBHE Weekly Bulletin. Thanks to his ability to underwrite its costs, JBHE was attractively produced and featured extensive and superb research and content that was consistently thoughtful. From the beginning, quantitative data has been a hallmark of the Journal, its determined tether to the hard facts on the ground. While opinion was displayed and respected, the anchor of the Journal has been its devotion to finding and regularly presenting an abundance of data describing the economic and educational realities characterizing the condition of black America. JBHE quickly became an outstanding quarterly and remains the standard to which other reports and chronicles of blacks in higher education are inevitably compared. Publishing a journal of thought and opinion is always an act of faith in which one writes in the hope that there will be readers. Creating the Journal was also an act of courage. Ted was keenly aware that not everyone would see, or welcome, a wealthy white man as the appropriate founder and editor of a journal that assumed the mission of providing commentary and detailed information on the state of blacks in higher education. But acting on his conviction that when barriers of race and class deny opportunity they should be ignored rather than observed, he brushed off the advice of well-meaning friends and the fortunate result of his dedication and magnificent obstinacy is this wonderful journal we have read and relied upon for almost a generation. So he is gone and we are left with his legacies, some of the most precious shared by his family and friends. Others, the many public legacies, continue to influence the worlds of civil rights, education, ornithology, publishing and finance, all of which he conquered.
Nothing Great Was Ever Achieved Without Enthusiasm Amy Gutmann has been the president of the University of Pennsylvania since 2004. Previously she was a professor of political science and provost at Princeton University. “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm,” Ralph Waldo Emerson remarked. Theodore Cross achieved far more than a single lifetime’s share of great deeds with the utmost enthusiasm. He was a man of passion and principle. From marching for civil rights and revolutionizing the nature of publications to championing equal opportunity in higher education and traveling to far-flung locales to snap the perfect photograph of the most beautiful birds, Teddy pursued all of his many interests with an irrepressible and admirable zeal. Teddy was a wellspring of intellectual energy, aesthetic appreciation, and human warmth. His achievements as an advocate, author, and artist sprang from his profound love of life itself. Teddy’s commitment to equal opportunity, his love of higher learning, his passion for rooting out all injustices, and his appreciation of natural beauty energized all of us who had the good fortune of being his friend and colleague. Never one to shy away from complex issues or controversial causes, he offered astute observations and powerful advice — along with unsolicited mailings containing copies of news articles that we may otherwise have missed — to presidents, colleagues, and friends alike. He made it very clear that he never ever expected anything in return. The unmistakable original that he was, Teddy won not only our love, but also our admiration. This journal is a reflection of Teddy’s unique qualities. For nearly two decades, The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education has been an unimpeachable source for comparative statistics and thought-provoking commentary. It has served as both a bellwether and an important instrument in the ongoing struggle for truly equal opportunity in higher education, directing meaningful deliberation about the experience of African-American scholars and students, and making the strongest case — always on its merits — for equal access to our nation’s colleges and universities. Over the course of his lifetime, Teddy Cross did what we in higher education urge all of our students to do: he discovered his true passions and acted on his highest principles to change the world for the better. His legion of friends and admirers will vividly remember his uncanny ability to convey — through compelling actions, beautiful photographs, and a knowing smile that never failed to light up our lives — the deepest desire for universal freedom. Teddy’s enthusiasm for the noblest of causes will continue to connect us to one another and stir our souls when birds take wing.
A Commitment to Justice and Equality Steven Hahn, Roy F. and Jeannette P. Nichols Professor of History at the University of Pennsylvania, has won both the Pulitzer Prize and the Bancroft Prize in American History. His latest book is The Political Worlds of Slavery and Freedom (Harvard University Press). I did not know Teddy well, though the little time I was able to spend in his company was extremely memorable. I first met him at a dinner party at Princeton and was immediately taken with his lively warmth. It was some time in the early phases of the 2008 presidential election campaign and we bonded over the Obama candidacy much to the irritation of at least two of the other people at the table. I got to see Teddy and Mary a couple of additional times and did get to enjoy the outcome of the election — indeed we have a photograph of Mary with Barack Obama prominently placed on a bookcase. I’ve long admired Teddy’s commitment to African-American issues and to the cause of justice and equality in the world. He will be sorely missed.
A Gift From God, For Sure Kate Hughes, a progressive activist and speechwriter, is a trustee of the American University in Cairo, the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, the Milken Family Foundation, the DNC national finance board, and the advisory board of the Near Eastern Studies Department at Princeton University. I knew him as Teddy. I never thought about his name till now. It suited him thoroughly. Punchy, warm, youthful. A gift from God for sure, and Teddy’s was a force beyond nature — something way more than sunshine in the life of anyone lucky enough to be his friend. This is not to say he was sunny. He was too clear-eyed and truthful for that. But his warmth — his will and ability to foster life — was pervasive. He missed no detail in your life if you were his friend. Just the way he left no stone unturned in helping solve a problem, a need — and some of those he took on were as big as all society. Many times he was a bulwark for me, and the strength of his support was in the questions that attached to the affection. That I knew the answers were important to him, too, helped me very much. Teddy was wildly generous, and he was simply unneedful — except in one way. He loved Mary with a pride and appreciation for which marriage should stand. He called her Mary Cross as though her name were one word, his own.
His Life Gave Hope to Many Nicholas deB. Katzenbach is an attorney and former law school professor who served as attorney general of the United States in the Johnson administration. As deputy attorney general in 1963, he confronted Alabama governor George Wallace at the schoolhouse door on the day that the University of Alabama became racially integrated. Everyone who knew Teddy Cross will miss him for his intelligence, wisdom, friendship, and dedication to equal rights for all, on the one hand, and for the extraordinary beauty his photos of birds brought into our living rooms. He pursued both with passion, skill, and modesty. Like his wonderful wife Mary, his photographs, like hers, are true works of art. Teddy was an early supporter of the civil rights movement of the 1960s and, like many others, participated in demonstrations and marches at substantial personal risk. He was at the famous march on Pettus Bridge in Selma when Dr. King demonstrated for the fundamental right of African Americans to vote and he was a constant supporter of the Legal Defense Fund as it struggled to get courts to enforce constitutional rights for all citizens. As a skillful lawyer he knew the importance of both establishing these rights in court and getting public support in the streets. What I think distinguished Teddy from many other ardent supporters was his appreciation of the difficulty of ridding our society of endemic racism which had stood in the way of equal rights for over two centuries. He understood that legislation, as important and difficult as it was, was only the first step to achieving equality. Unlike so many others he was not satisfied with simply legislative victory, but devoted himself to the even more difficult job of moving African Americans up the social and economic ladder of success. He promoted this goal with generous gifts to education, which he saw as essential, at his own alma mater, Amherst College, and elsewhere around the country. He founded this journal, a truly original and brilliant concept which has been so helpful and successful. This journal plays a unique role in gathering important statistics and information to demonstrate both African-American educational accomplishment and to help to create a sense of failure in those institutions that are falling behind. It thus gives cause to celebrate and reason to press even harder for success. Early on Teddy appreciated the importance of African-American accomplishment at the highest academic and professional level. He must have taken enormous pleasure seeing a fellow graduate of Harvard Law School and fellow member of the Law Review elected president of the United States. I do not want to neglect Teddy’s other passion — birds. I have never seen more beautiful pictures than in his recent book, Waterbirds. The accompanying text, cleanly and joyfully written, was a treat for those like me as well as for ornithologists. Teddy understood and appreciated beauty. Right now a country divided and confused needs people with intelligence, generosity, and creativity like Teddy. His life gave hope to many and will continue to do so for a very long time.
A Good Samaritan in a Variety of Ways Randall L. Kennedy is Michael R. Klein Professor of Law at Harvard Law School. I deeply admire Theodore Cross. He practiced racial Good Samaritanship in a variety of ways, the most significant of which was founding and sustaining The Journal of Blacks In Higher Education. The Journal has persistently, intelligently, usefully, and courageously shined a bright light on African-American scholars and students. It has revealed problems that need attention and successes that warrant celebration. I shall be ever grateful to Mr. Cross for the pivotal, indeed essential, role he played in this enterprise.
A Generation of Black Scholars in His Debt Manning Marable is the M. Moran Weston and Black Alumni Council Professor of African-American Studies and professor of history and public affairs and the director of the Institute for Research in African American Studies at Columbia University. In the history of the African-American intellectual tradition, there have been scholars and educators, both black and white, who have made valuable contributions. This is especially true for educators such as Carter G. Woodson, who used his journal, The Journal of Negro History, to build the profession of black historian. This is equally true for Ted Cross. Like Woodson, Ted was a strong advocate of integrity within African-American education at every level. He was a determined proponent of civil rights and equality for all racial minorities. Ted was fearless in his opposition to right wing and reactionary trends that would undermine educational equality for black people. His journal provides critical analysis that is absolutely essential in our struggle for African-American higher education. He will be deeply missed by me and by an entire generation of black scholars who are in his debt.
One of Higher Education’s Greatest Friends Anthony W. Marx is the president of Amherst College in Massachusetts. Prior to coming to Amherst in 2003, Dr. Marx was a professor of political science at Columbia University. It was a rare pleasure to get to know Ted when I came to Amherst, though I should have known him long before through his important civil rights work. He was a valued member of Amherst’s board of trustees at a seminal moment in the college’s history. Ted was an influential voice in the argument for coeducation, for further broadening access to students of color, for expanding the representation of women and people of color among the Amherst faculty and for divestment from South Africa during what thankfully became the final days of apartheid. Because of his foresight Amherst is a stronger institution today, and one that more closely lives up to its — and his — ideals of equality and inclusivity. As important as these turning points were for the college philosophically, Ted never lost sight of the individuals affected by these larger policy decisions. He cared deeply about Amherst students and faculty, and helped foster a learning environment that enabled everyone to realize their potential and aspire to great things. Ted made gifts to provide additional support for the first few cohorts of women of color admitted to Amherst, and endowed a professorship with the controversial stipulation that its first occupant be black. Even as Amherst made great progress on these fronts in the 1970s and 1980s, Ted applauded the work but also encouraged the college to resist complacency. He asked terrific questions about why things are the way they are, and how they could be better. Ted had a remarkable talent for appealing to one’s better nature. He marshaled thoughtful and thorough arguments, never speaking from a place of judgment, but articulating his views so persuasively that the moral imperatives of the most complex issues suddenly seemed clear and simple. I richly enjoyed the long and inspiring conversations we had about the failings and the future of higher education and of Amherst, sitting up by the terrace in his wonderful New York office. As proud as he was of how far both the sector and the college have come, he remained acutely conscious of all that remained to be done. I will miss the way he was always pressing me to roll up my sleeves and keep working on these critical issues. More recently, I got to know Mary and learn more about Ted’s work with waterbirds, and to see how extraordinarily lucky he had been on those fronts and in life. But good fortune never diverted him from concern for those less fortunate; indeed, just the opposite. Ted was one of higher education’s greatest friends and most constructive critics. I only hope others will be inspired by him to combine Ted’s insight and passion, his ability to envision a better future and the drive and pragmatic wisdom to create that future. He will be greatly missed by the entire Amherst College family.
Well Done, Ted Milton Moskowitz, a frequent contributor to JBHE and longtime friend of Theodore Cross, is a former columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle and the coauthor of The 100 Best Companies to Work For in America. To have spent time with Ted Cross, any time, was to confront a formidable intelligence. I had the privilege, over the past 40 years, to spend considerable time with him. Our lives became intertwined in ways that no one could have expected, given backgrounds that were quite different. To begin with, Ted read everything: New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, Washington Post, New York Review of Books — plus a pile of magazines. He mined those publications for information that would help him as a publisher and investor. If you were on his mailing list, you soon came to recognize the Ted Cross envelope containing an article or photograph or cartoon that he thought you would be interested in seeing. The Xerox machine was an indispensable soldier in any Ted Cross office. Our first meeting ground, in 1969, was around the thorny issue of social responsibility in business. I had the idea, in 1968, to launch a biweekly newsletter, Business & Society, to deal with this subject, actually to serve as a cheerleader for business involvement in social issues. One of my early subscribers was someone who signed in as “T. L. Cross, 870 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY 10019.” Most of my readers came from the corporate world — and I puzzled over Cross’ lack of affiliation. I recall walking across town to see what building was located at 870 Seventh Avenue. It turned out to be the old Park Sheraton Hotel at the corner of 55th Street and Seventh Avenue, across the way from the Carnegie Deli. I was to spend many hours in the ensuing years making my way to the Ted Cross aerie at the top of the hotel, sitting across from Ted at a long conference table where we gorged ourselves on corned beef sandwiches downed with glasses of Chateauneuf du Pape. To reach his offices, you had to take the hotel elevator to the 25th floor and then walk over to another tiny elevator serving the five tower floors. These offices previously housed the “Jackie Gleason Show.” In a typical Ted Cross maneuver, after he left his position as Sheraton’s legal counsel, he secured a sweetheart deal to rent those quarters for his publishing company at an extremely low rate for a very long term. Later on, after I moved to California, I would come to New York and stay in the bedroom located at the top of these offices. Even better was the opportunity, once in a while, to stay at the floor-through apartment Ted owned at 2 East 88th Street across the way from the Guggenheim Museum. For a boy who grew up in the Southeast Bronx, it was a knockout experience. I could easily be seduced. Ted and I started a conversation on corporate social responsibility that lasted for many years. Ted’s position was complex. As everyone close to him knew, he was a tiger in the field of business publishing. He recognized you had to be focused and tough to win in the business arena. You would not have wanted to sit across the table from Ted Cross in a negotiating session. On the other hand, he had a side to him that despaired of social inequality, particularly when it came to the racist policies afflicting African Americans. This was a sensibility imbued in him by his mother, who was appalled at the conditions exposed by Richard Wright in his 1940 novel, Native Son. This was a bond that I had with Ted. We were both active in the civil rights movement. My thesis topic at the University of Chicago was Richard Wright. I channeled my energy into Business & Society but I was no Ted Cross. The newsletter never achieved a paid circulation beyond 650 and in 1970 I was contemplating folding it. Ted stepped in then and bought the letter with stock from his company, Warren Gorham & Lamont, assuring me that I could continue to write it as I saw fit and not worry about any shortfall in revenue — he would cover that. No announcement was ever made of this sale. I continued to publish the letter until the fall of 1974 when I let it expire. My connection with Ted continued through Business and Society Review, a quarterly journal he launched in the spring of 1972. He announced in the first issue: “We address businessmen in the belief that reform in America can issue from the privileged and powerful.” I was designated as senior editor of the journal, a position I held for the next 25 years, and I believe I was the only writer to be represented with an article in every single issue. (Business and Society Review continues today as an academic journal published by the Center for Business Ethics at Bentley College in Waltham, Massachusetts.) Ted and I argued frequently about the role of business in society. I insisted that a commitment to social responsibility helped a company to achieve better financial performance over the long term. He derided that theory, pointing out that business was a cutthroat affair, with victory going to the hard-headed managers with a single-minded focus on profitability. He explained his position once in a letter he wrote in 1995 to a friend who asked him for advice after a broker recommended buying shares in the bookseller Borders. Ted fired off this reply: As an investment, I like Barnes & Noble better than Borders because the people at Barnes & Noble are disgusting pigs interested only in their bottom line. Borders is strong, too, but it is still trying to be a class act and to sustain its intellectual appeal to bookish guys like me. I don’t think your investment analyst understands this fine but important distinction. Twenty years ago when I started Business and Society Review I believed that social responsibility was profitable. I have learned since that that is not true. On Wall Street socially responsible people are punished not rewarded. Five years later we exchanged views on the tough times Levi Strauss was having. The San Francisco-based jeans maker had long been regarded as one of the most socially responsible companies in the land but it was losing market share. Ted made his point as follows: Under hard-nosed American capitalism now prevailing in the United States, the tough hombres who care only about the bottom line are the ones who make money. They are the guys who defeat those who are interested in social and other goals rather than profits. Their narrow concerns display toughness and insensitivity, traits that lead to economic success. That’s not always the case. But that’s the way you bet. The good guys who care about social issues often tend to worry about issues unrelated to the bottom line. Social concerns reveal a certain softness or kindness that tends to be incompatible with making money. They do badly not because of their interest in social concerns but because their interest in social concerns displays human traits that tend to be inconsistent with making money. The most successful companies (in economic terms) are the ones who believe that greed is good — and always pursue their most selfish instincts to the exclusion of humane considerations. I think Ted came by those views through his own successful experience in business. He admired my passion for social responsibility but he never used this as a lodestone for his business decisions. After my first book, Everybody’s Business: An Almanac, was published in 1980 by Harper & Row, I came to New York later to meet with Brooks Thomas, a lawyer who was CEO of Harper & Row. I was somewhat disappointed that Thomas was not more of a literary person. He took me to lunch at the University Club. He seemed to be all business. After lunch I went to see Ted and reported my impressions of Thomas. Ted’s ears perked up and he said he was happy to hear about a publisher who was interested in the bottom line. Well, the next thing you know, Ted was buying shares in Harper & Row. He accumulated 6 percent of the shares by 1987 when he made a bid for the entire company, offering $34 a share. That sparked the interest of Rupert Murdoch, who came up with an offer of $65 a share. Ted was not about to get into a bidding war and he tendered his shares to Murdoch. Getting $65 for each share that he held netted Ted millions of dollars in capital gains. Six years later, in 1993, Ted launched his last publishing property, The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education, a quarterly journal that has become the bible for anyone wanting to assess the progress of African Americans in colleges and universities, both in the student bodies and the faculty ranks. There was no ambivalence about this project. Ted had his heart and soul lodged in JBHE, witness his hands-on editorial presence. He had two articles in the first issue, one on the “scapegoating of blacks for grade inflation,” another on “the myth that preferential college admissions create high black student dropout rates,” and he continued to write regularly for the journal, taking on difficult subjects with his lawyerlike precision. He was a vigorous supporter of affirmative action, and he worked hard for the election of Barack Obama. Helping him was a familiar crew. Bruce Slater, who had been managing editor of Business and Society Review, took on a similar position at JBHE. The masthead carried the names of people who had been with Ted Cross for decades: Rochelle Lewis, Adrienne Cannella, Annette Gonella, Elaine Kursch. And once again I found myself writing for another Ted Cross publication. Of the 67 issues published since 1993, I contributed articles, mostly book reviews, to 21 of them. In the opening issue of JBHE, Ted cited the importance of providing information about “the governance, policies, and practices in our colleges and universities.” He stressed the need to dig out “statistical data” and use it “to foster institutional competition for social or racial change.” And, finally, he said that while it may not be possible to claim that JBHE “will change the course of history in the progress of African Americans in higher education,” perhaps “our work will make history happen a little faster.” There is plenty of evidence that this did happen. The number of African Americans enrolled in college more than doubled since 1993, the number enrolled in graduate schools has tripled, and the number receiving master’s degrees nearly quadrupled. Well done, Ted!
He Made Sure We Had the Facts Nell Irvin Painter is the Edwards Professor of American History, emerita, at Princeton University. She recently released her latest book, The History of White People. Ted Cross did American education a tremendous favor by concentrating on the material dimension of blacks in higher education. Year in and year out, he made sure we had the facts, laid out in careful columns of numbers and percentages. Armed with the numbers, he wouldn’t let wild statements and phony accusations go unchallenged. Let excuses fly about the lack of qualified black faculty, and Ted showed that supply wasn’t the problem it was made out to be. Let belittlers try to push black students into less demanding institutions, Ted showed that less challenge produced fewer graduates. Issue by issue, The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education laid out the wealth of scholarship in the field of black studies, particularly that by black authors. And by profiling our rich historical tradition, he resisted the temptation to view black scholars as some sort of recent invention. I particularly appreciate Ted’s focus on the role of money — of income and family wealth — in access to higher education and, in turn, to social mobility and influence. He situated higher education within the context of society as a whole, knowing that access to education represents the great genius of American culture. During 1997-2000, when I directed Princeton’s Program in African-American Studies, Ted served as a valued member of our advisory board. He attended meetings regularly and kept our eyes on the central needs of the field. African-American studies, Princeton University, and American education generally are all indebted to his steady commitment to civil rights — to the civil right of education as the foundation stone of black empowerment.
A Generosity of Spirit Peter Pouncey is president emeritus of Amherst College. I regard Ted Cross as one of the most multifaceted personalities I have known — writer, editor, lawyer, investor, internationally admired photographer, and philanthropist — all at a level far beyond competence, all driven by great generosity of spirit and the most avid curiosity about the world and its workings. But Ted himself, a modest man at all times, would say that the greatest exploit of his life was navigating the very small ship he commanded for the U.S. Navy at the age of 20, all the way back across the Pacific to Portland, Oregon from the deepest water in the world, the Marianas Trench (thousands of feet deeper than Everest is high). All done by sextant and compass. “We sailed on and on, day after day, towards the blank horizon, until we wondered if somehow the United States had slipped away secretly into the Atlantic.” But no. Finally there was one last horizon, and as they came over it, there was the mouth of the Columbia River and the city of Portland, Oregon. “And the crew gave me a cheer!” But I have no doubt that actually the most important achievement in his life was his tireless commitment to the cause of black advancement to full citizenship and status, within a troubled and often grudging society. The impulse may well have started, Ted thought, with his sharing a birthday with Abraham Lincoln, the Great Liberator, but it was already fully fledged when he marched at Selma, and it would go on through his life and his writings on black capitalism to this sadly final issue of his Journal. He had a dream for the Journal: from the start it would be steeped in history, with the deeds and struggles, the speeches, sermons, and polemics, but also the images and photos of black heroes and sufferers over the centuries to the present. But it would also look to the future, because Ted knew the work was by no means complete, and progress was slow and precarious. America had reached a point where every academic administrator will talk of diversity, but how much growth is in fact being achieved in all those various institutions? Ted would show them precisely how large or small the gains were from year to year, using the figures made public by admissions and dean of faculties offices. The schools would know where they stood from his graphs and statistics, and, just as important, their competition would know where they stood. Their efforts in this area would challenge each other, and minority constituencies on each campus would encourage them to do more. Like his long voyage as a boy sailor, Ted Cross hoped his work would help to bring them all home.
A Companionable, Sparkling, and Devoted Human Being Neil L. Rudenstine is president emeritus of Harvard University. He is chair of the advisory board of ARTstor, the online digital library. Ted Cross was sui generis: intellectual omnivorousness, kindness and affection, quintessential vitality, curiosity matched by energy — a companionable, sparkling, and devoted human being who brought charm and life and intelligence to all who knew him. His passionate concern for justice led him — beginning decades ago — to look for ways to advance the cause of African Americans in our society. He did this in his writings about business entrepreneurship for blacks; in his direct participation — as at Selma; and in his longstanding commitment to The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education, which he founded and then edited to the end of his life. The Journal was indispensable to me in my own administrative work at Princeton and Harvard — long before I met Ted Cross (just a decade ago). It was the only publication in which one could find news, data, information, about trends or about important appointments and matters of “record.” It performed all these functions because it literally had to: there was simply no other serious and dependable source in the field. The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education had to do it all. It would be possible to go into far greater detail about the Journal’s contribution to our knowledge. But I would like instead to emphasize what a single person with a powerful vision can achieve. Ted perceived a need and decided to address it. He moved ahead, alone, and simply did what he believed had to be done. That is what his combination of intellect, commitment, and passion accomplished. There were certainly no rich rewards awaiting anyone who was willing to take the risk of launching the Journal. And there was precious little recognition for what Ted accomplished. He was motivated because he saw clearly that without higher education, the opportunities for African Americans would forever close to the vanishing point. He wanted to find a way to address the problem. He chose carefully, and he chose wisely. Ted rarely talked about the Journal. He never boasted and he never looked back. But it was clear that the Journal was a very significant part of his large life — lived to the utmost. And of course for Ted, commitment did not mean humorless or merely grinding work. He was a spirited, provocative, joyful, endlessly interesting, and loving person who could at times be cheerfully contrarian and who cared about everything from birding to business, politics, photography, friends, family, and, fortunately, the predicament of African Americans in our society and in our institutions of higher learning.
He Walked With Kings But Did Not Lose the Common Touch Donald H. Rumsfeld served as a member of Congress, Secretary of Defense under two presidents, and White House chief of staff for President Ford. I first met Ted Cross in late 1969 soon after he won the MacKinsey Award for his book, Black Capitalism. I had just stepped down as a congressman from Cook County, Illinois, and was serving as director of the Office of Economic Opportunity in the Nixon Administration. I was struck by the degree to which Ted’s goals mirrored my own, views which spoke to the heights people could reach if they could play on a level field. At the time, the administration was seeking a fresh approach to economic development for minorities. Ted’s book seemed to present a novel and practical way to move toward that goal. If it happened to be written by a prosperous white man with a pedigree and an Ivy League education, so be it. Ted was the man we wanted to talk to. The fact that he also happened to be generous, witty, empathetic to those less fortunate, and incredibly interesting turned out to be an unexpected bonus. Ted agreed to come down to Washington from New York several days a week as a “dollar-a-year man.” He would arrive on Tuesday mornings, looking dapper in his bow tie and pinstripe suit. He would then take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves, and for the next three days, cajole, instruct, argue, and think his way through the Washington bureaucracy, “roughing it” at the Hay-Adams. Ted proved to have a deft touch. He would win over those with power as well as those with egos who, before meeting him, may have been less than friendly to his ideas. Ted was both a capitalist with a heart and a businessman with a searching intellect. It was with those attributes that he applied his mastery of Wall Street financing — loan guarantees, leveraging, and the packaging of financial instruments — to the goal of helping poor people. How fortunate that there was a Ted Cross to bring his energy and concern to those tough issues. The product of Ted’s labors was one of the Nixon administration’s innovative initiatives, the Opportunity Funding Corporation, a laboratory for economic experimentation that was endorsed by a Republican president and a Democratic Congress. After the OFC got off the ground, Ted guided it for the next three years. To paraphrase Rudyard Kipling, “… he walked with kings and did not lose the common touch.” Thanks to our mutual friend Vic Sparrow, I met with Ted in Washington last summer over lunch. He had not lost a step, and I was privileged to both enjoy and benefit from his energetic exploration of a good many subjects. He will be missed, to be sure.
A Champion for Justice Theodore M. Shaw, former director-counsel and president of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, is now Professor of Professional Practice in Law at Columbia Law School in New York City. Many years ago, as a teenager, I acquired a book entitled Black Capitalism. At that time I was reading everything I could about the history, culture, politics, and economics of black Americans, and just the title of the book made it a “must read.” I was taken by its clarity and force, and intrigued that its author, who was white, was bold enough to write a book by its title in a time in which the civil rights movement of the 1960s had yielded to the Black Power movement. Many in the Black Power movement questioned the very legitimacy of capitalism itself, much less its application as a tool to the struggle of black Americans. Yet there was Theodore Cross, arguing for black empowerment not through violent revolution, but through the creation of black wealth. Lerone Bennett Jr.’s inquisitive title for his biographical portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. came to mind: “What manner of man” was this? In 1984 Theodore Cross published a second book, The Black Power Imperative, which articulated an uncompromising vision for black political and economic empowerment. As the years passed, Black Capitalism and The Black Power Imperative remained in my personal library, even as the Black Power movement faded. Theodore Cross, about whom I had heard little for some time, engaged in various business and public-minded ventures. I had pursued a law degree and had become a civil rights litigator, and spent most of three decades with the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. It was through the Legal Defense Fund that I finally came to know Ted Cross. He was on its board, having never lost his commitment to and passion for racial justice. As head of the Legal Defense Fund, I called upon Ted Cross for financial support, which he generously gave. But by then his passion for racial justice had been channeled into an extraordinary publication — The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education. As a lawyer I focused much of my energy on education issues, and JBHE was a valuable resource. Unblinkingly and unsparingly, JBHE illuminated racial progress and stagnation, achievements and achievement gaps, and the conditions of black students, faculty, and administrators in colleges and universities. Rooted in historical context and in a keen understanding of contemporary political and economic forces that shaped the convergence of race, class, and gender in higher education, JBHE spared no one. It took liberals and conservatives, educators and students, and Americans of all races and backgrounds to task for their failures, and lifted up those who advanced the cause of the education of African Americans. Ted Cross ensured that JBHE and its staff told the hard truth, whichever way it cut. JBHE has been a first-class publication and it became an indispensable resource. There has been no other publication quite like it. Ted Cross was its animating spirit, and it is a shining part of his legacy. Ted Cross was a man with many interests. Some will remember him for his business acumen, especially in the publishing world. Others will recall his bird photography, captured in two beautiful books. He can be remembered for his participation in the civil rights movement, especially in the march for the passage of the Voting Rights Act. Ted Cross did all this and much more. I remember Ted Cross as a man who engaged in the most important issues of his time, who refused to be a spectator, who was on the right side of history and who helped to make it, who was passionate about many things and many people, and most of all, who was a champion for justice. He lived well and left a great legacy. He made us better.
A Long-Distance Runner in the Struggle for Freedom and Justice Cornel West is Class of 1943 Professor at Princeton University. Author of 19 books, Professor West is a magna cum laude graduate of Harvard University and holds a Ph.D. from Princeton. Theodore Cross was my Brother. He was a grand long-distance runner in the struggle for freedom and justice. And he always put his voice and resources where his heart was. He also loved beautiful things like waterbirds. We shall miss him — deeply.
A Man of Passion, Insight, Craftsmanship, and Dedication William Julius Wilson is Lewis P. and Linda L. Geyser University Professor at Harvard University. An esteemed sociologist, he routinely leads all other black scholars in JBHE’s annual citation rankings in the social sciences. I was saddened by the death of Theodore Cross. The journal he created has made an enormous contribution to our understanding and knowledge of the experiences and developments of blacks in higher education. This journal is a strong advocate for the higher education of African Americans, and Ted Cross was a tireless editor who maintained the highest journalistic standards while addressing issues that are at the core of black higher education, including issues that are timely and provocative. I had the distinct pleasure of working with Ted, coauthoring op-ed articles in support of the Obama campaign for president in the spring of 2008. That experience made me realize why The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education is so successful. Ted’s passion, insight, craftsmanship, and dedication were clearly evident as we worked on these pieces. I was looking forward to continuing that experience with articles that would address the unwarranted conservative assaults on President Obama’s attempt to combat social inequality. Unfortunately, Ted’s untimely death no longer makes that possible. If there is a bright side to this sad moment, it is that Ted at least lived to see the election of the first African American as president of the United States. |
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