There was no evidence Friday (and there is still no public evidence today) which indicates that 41-year-old Lefty Gilday was either a student or a radical. Valeri also was neither a student or, by his background, a radical. Although enrolled in Northeastern during the Fall under the prison STEP program, Gilday and Valeri never attended a class there. Gilday had been in and out of prison nine times since 1947. A former pitcher in the Washington Senators farm system in 1964, Gilday was known as a hard-drinking, fast-talking, impulsive man.
In prison, he worked hard to get his parole, and finally came through last June. He was active in prison sports and special educational programs at Walpole and got a reputation as a "jailhouse lawyer" for his column in the prison newspaper and the fact that he argued his own appeal to the Supreme Court once before losing.
Gilday was reported to be the alleged slayer of patrolman Schroeder.
Curiously, the news media turned a bank robbery in which a police officer was wounded into a cop slaying in which a bank was robbed. And the Boston public was more than ready to make psychological change in their own thinking.
In a little noticed interview Friday with Schroeder's partner, it came out that this was the same bank in which three years ago, Schroeder had single-handedly foiled another robbery, chasing and capturing the three bandits in a hospital ambulance.
"On the way down," said his partner, patrolman Callahan, "he said, 'this could be the real thing.' For some reason or other we both took our guns out of our holsters before we got there. We never do that," he added.
Callahan said Schroeder jumped out of the patrol car and ran for the front door of the bank while he went to cover the rear. When Schroeder realized he was running into the line of fire, he spun around and ran back, at which point, he was hit.
On the phone to Mrs. Saxe Friday afternoon, Professor Friedman told the woman his mother was in Philadelphia not Portland and she did not own a bookstore.
"She's never lied to us," Mrs. Saxe said as she hung up the phone.
"She's lied to us now, Rose, something is very wrong," her husband replied.
Brandeis acting president Charles I. Schottland was in a jam. The National Student Strike Information Center had been a bane to his administration since it was set up last Spring. First, there were immediate questions about its effect on the university's taxexempt status; second there were questions among his own faculty of its propriety; third, there were questions-many, many question- from alumni about contributing to a school that let its students run nation-wide strikes instead of studying. Fourth, the Brandeis students had said there is no question but the strike center must stay open.
During the Spring, workers in the center bustled around with more fervor than any other student body in the country. A New England co-ordinator, for instance, called the CRIMSON nearly every day to complain about the lack of initiative in our coverage. "What do you mean you've got your own problems?" he screamed one day. "Don't you know there's a strike going on? We've got to keep going. We can't quit. Everyone is watching us. This is our chance to make things work."
Kathy Power worked very hard in the strike center, as did almost everyone on campus. Susan Saxe worked there, and Stanley Bond. But Kathy was one of the leaders.
A transfer student from Syracuse, she arrived at Brandeis in 1968 and made it onto the dean's list. As a junior she ran for student council president and lost. During the strike, she often ran student meetings and had a hand in most of the major decisions. "Kathy was a very hard person to get along with," said one friend. "In Brandeis there are about 50 people who are realy hard core. It's a bad word, I know, but ever since sophomore year she was one of the hard core at Brandeis. She really wanted to make her name a reality- you know, to have power; she liked to control."
When the student strike center petered out, Kathy faded away. Over the summer, the Waltham tax assessor tried to close down the center. Officially, Brandeis complied; unofficially the center continued its work in campus buildings for several weeks. Finally the students brought suit to restrain Brandeis from closing the center, and the name of Kathy Power was one of five signatures at the bottom of the petition. "When the suit came up she was back, probably because she was the most articulate of the bunch and they needed a good spokesman," another friend said.
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