Category: Policies

Sports Stadium Financing in Cleveland forum Thursday, November 17, 2016

Sports Stadium Financing in Cleveland forum Thursday, November 17, 2016

Panelists:
Len Komoroski, CEO, Cleveland Cavaliers and Quicken Loans Arena
Peter G. Pattakos, Lawyer, sports fan and vocal opponent of the sin tax
Thomas Chema, President, Gateway Consultants Group
Moderator: Peter Krouse, Public Interest and Advocacy Reporter, Cleveland.com

Co-sponsored by the Case Western Reserve University Siegal Lifelong Learning Program, League of Women Voters-Greater Cleveland, Cleveland.com plus Cleveland Hts/University Hts, Lakewood and Cuyahoga County Library Systems
Corporate sponsor: First Interstate Properties, Ltd.

GEORGE A. MOORE, TV PIONEER, DIES AT 83 Obit Plain Dealer 3/1/1997


George Anthony Moore

GEORGE A. MOORE, TV PIONEER, DIES AT 83 Obit Plain Dealer 3/1/1997

George Anthony Moore was a trailblazer who broke down racial barriers in education and journalism and helped create the new medium of live television.

Moore was recruited in 1947 to work as a producer for WEWS Channel 5 when it became the state’s first television station to go on the air. He was responsible for the “One O’Clock Club,” a variety show on which Dorothy Fuldheim interviewed celebrities such as Helen Keller, the Duke of Windsor and ac trss Gloria Swanson.

Moore was the first president of the Catholic Interracial Council of Cleveland and received the highest award of the National Catholic Conference on Interracial Justice.

“He was a man of deep faith who was interested in bringing people together as sisters and brothers in a lasting godly way. It was his life’s work,” said Sister Juanita Shealey, current head of the Interracial Council.

Moore was also a newspaper reporter, a college teacher and owner of a public relations firm.

Moore was most recently a resident of the Margaret Wagner nursing home in Cleveland Heights. He died yesterday at Mt. Sinai Medical Center. He was 83.

He was born in old Lakeside Hospital in downtown Cleveland. When his mother attempted to enroll him in St. Ignatius High School, she was told that no Jesuit school in the country admitted black students. He was allowed in after the bishop of the Cleveland Catholic Diocese intervened.

Moore attended Ohio State University, where he roomed with Olympic hero Jesse Owens, then earned a master’s degree in theater at the University of Iowa.

Moore did not participate in athletics because of a severe leg injury he suffered while playing sandlot football as a child. He walked with a limp for the rest of his life.

He was hired as a reporter in 1942 by Louis Seltzer, editor of the Cleveland Press, at a time when no daily paper outside New York City was known to have blacks on its staff.

Moore wrote an expose of supermarkets that sold spoiled meat in inner-city neighborhoods. He was hospitalized for treatment of his leg injury after the series started, but he continued writing from his hospital bed.

“I had to go to the hospital each day to pick up his copy,” said Donald L. Perris, who was a copy boy at the Press. Perris later became the station manager at Channel 5 and retired as president of Scripps Howard Broadcasting Co.

“George was the best man at my wedding. He got me my job at the television station,” Perris said.

Moore was hired by Channel 5 because of his combination of news experience and training in theater. He had formed the Ohio State Playmakers, a drama group for minorities, while at OSU.

The “One O’Clock Club” became one of the most popular shows on local television during the 11 years Moore produced the show.

Moore deftly handled the world figures and performers who appeared, many of whom had fragile egos.

“He told them where to sit, when to speak and when to be quiet,” Perris said.

Moore was also involved in numerous civic affairs. He was an associate director of the northern Ohio region of the National Conference of Christians and Jews when he made his first trip to Africa in 1966.

Along the way he stopped at the Vatican and met with Pope Paul VI, whom he invited to Cleveland.

In Africa, Moore was given a cannon salute in the village of a former John Carroll University student who had stayed at Moore’s Cleveland Heights home. Moore was the founder of Friends of African Students in America.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Moore taught theater classes at Cuyahoga Community College.

Moore also wrote a regular column for the Cleveland Press for many years and appeared as a regular panelist on the “Black on Black” interview show on Channel 5.

He organized George A. Moore & Co., a public relations firm with offices downtown, in 1970.

As he grew older, he became less involved in public affairs. But he was in the news in 1994 when he lost his home in Cleveland Heights because he no longer had the funds to take care of it. He had rejected efforts by friends to help him get into a nursing home and insisted on remaining in the house long after his health did not allow him to take care of it.

The publicity generated an outpouring of support. He was subsequently honored by the National Association of Black Journalists, the African American Archives Auxiliary of the Western Reserve Historical Society and other groups.

No immediate family members survive.

Services for Moore are being arranged by the House of Wills Funeral Home of Cleveland.

175 years of telling Cleveland’s story: The Plain Dealer by Joe Frolik 1/9/2017

175 years of telling Cleveland’s story: The Plain Dealer by Joe Frolik 1/9/2017
The link is here

By Special to The Plain Dealer 

on January 08, 2017 at 5:00 AM, updated January 09, 2017 at 9:42 AM

By Joe Frolik, special to the Plain Dealer

CLEVELAND, Ohio — Cleveland was just 46 years old, a mere child as great cities go, when The Plain Dealer came into its life. This city and this newspaper have been inseparable ever since.

Cleveland has matured and prospered, slumped and rebounded. It has been a center of innovation, a magnet for immigrants and a poster child for post-industrial decline. It’s given the world John D. Rockefeller, Tom Johnson and the Stokes brothers. A burning river and the best band in the land. Bob Feller, Jim Brown and LeBron James.

For 175 years, The Plain Dealer has told Cleveland’s story. Always on deadline, often imperfectly, the paper has tried to deliver what founder Joseph William Gray promised on Jan. 7, 1842, in the very first issue.

The newspaper, he wrote, would be a lens through which the people of the Western Reserve could see themselves and the rest of the world:

“The Presidential Message was delivered in Washington on Tuesday at 10 o’clock A.M., and was published in this city within three and a quarter days thereafter. The news of the far west is brought to us by steamer at the rate of 15 miles an hour. If WE are not the center of creation, then where is that center?”

Days of old

Gray’s center of creation was home to 6,000 people. The Ohio Canal had recently linked the Ohio River with the Cuyahoga River and the Great Lakes; 10 million pounds a year of wheat, corn, hides and coal flowed through the Port of Cleveland. The first shiploads of Minnesota iron ore would arrive soon.

Iron and coal eventually would make Cleveland an industrial powerhouse and an Arsenal of Democracy. The fortunes created would fund cultural and philanthropic institutions on par with New York or Paris.

But in 1842, pigs still roamed Public Square. Superior Avenue was a sea of mud. There were no street lights, no sewers.

The Plain Dealer that first year was full of stories that would resonate for decades – and sound familiar yet today.

Clevelanders still recovering from the Panic of 1837 worried that banks were unstable and the national debt too large. Factory owners decried unfair foreign competition. The president and Congress barely spoke.

Dispatches from Asia detailed drug abuse in China and the slaughter of a British garrison by Afghan rebels. There was turmoil in the Middle East. A slave rebellion in Jamaica. A deadly earthquake in Haiti. Tension stood between the young Republic of Texas and Mexico.

Armed insurgents demanded voting rights in Rhode Island. A race riot shook Philadelphia. Chicago boomed.

Here, 57 buildings were under construction. A visitor from New Jersey preached the value of public schools. Temperance crusaders destroyed Mr. Robinson’s still in Chagrin Falls. Ohio legislators debated what to do with runaway slaves, and how to deter corruption.

Over the next few years, as immigrants flooded Cleveland and the nation, traditionalists warned that American values were being lost. The Mexican War added California to the Union. The Republican Party was born. Slavery tore at the soul of the country, and a Hudson abolitionist named John Brown took matters into his own hands in Kansas and at Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

Civil War

As America rushed toward Civil War, innovators shaped its future: Edwin Drake struck oil. Elias Howe invented the sewing machine, Samuel Morse the telegraph.

A dispatch in The Plain Dealer on June 5, 1844, credited Morse with “the annihilation of space.” Overnight, Gray’s center of creation was closer to the rest of the world. The presidential message that took three days to reach Cleveland in 1842 could now be wired here in moments. The Information Age had begun.

On April 12, 1861, just hours after the first cannon barrage at Fort Sumter, Page One of The Plain Dealer announced:

“The city of Charleston is now bristling with bayonets, and the harbor blazing with rockets and booming with big guns … What a glorious spectacle this would be, were it to defend our common country from a common enemy. But as it is, a sectional war, people of the same blood, descendants of that race of heroic men who fought at Bunker Hill, now with guns intended for a foreign foe, turned against one another, it becomes a sad and sickening sight.”

For four long years, news from Antietam, Shiloh and Gettysburg filled the paper, just as latest from the Marne, Iwo Jima, Chosin Reservoir, Khe Sanh and Falujah would in years to come. Devastation became normal.

Far removed from the front, Cleveland’s iron mills and shipyards stoked the Union war effort – and prospered. A young merchant used profits made selling grain and meat to the military to enter the oil business. John D. Rockefeller would soon amass America’s greatest private fortune.

After the Civil War

His success mirrored Cleveland’s and Ohio’s in the years after the war. The city’s population grew to 381,000 by 1900. Millionaires’ Row on Euclid Avenue flourished. Ohio replaced Virginia as a birthplace of presidents and became America’s political bellwether.

The nation’s course was rockier. With Lincoln dead, Reconstruction failed to bring reconciliation to the South or lasting equality to blacks. Panics, currency crises and income inequality birthed a new political ideology: Populism. Skilled craftsmen led by Samuel Gompers formed the American Federation of Labor. When white settlers raced into Oklahoma in 1889, Frederick Jackson Turner proclaimed the end of the frontier.

Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, Thomas Edison the electric light and the motion picture. Clevelander Charles Brush’s arc lights illuminated city streets and ballparks. Orville and Wilbur Wright of Dayton continued Morse’s “annihilation of space,” though the impact of Kitty Hawk was not immediately apparent:

A three-paragraph story headlined “Machine That Flies” was buried on Page 4 of Dec. 18, 1903’s Plain Dealer: “Two Ohio men have a contrivance that navigates the air.” Three days later, an editorial predicted the Wrights’ achievement “will tend to revive interest in aerial navigation.”

The new century brought tragedy, the Titanic sank and an earthquake leveled San Francisco, and hope. Teddy Roosevelt’s progressive agenda inspired Mayor Tom Johnson’s Cleveland reforms. Women got to vote. America launched a “noble experiment” against demon rum; Prohibition instead spawned organized crime.

War time

An assassin killed the heir to the Austrian throne, and soon Europe was in flames. Three years later, President Woodrow Wilson urged America to join what he promised would be a “war to end all wars.” He was wrong.

World War I was followed by the Roaring ’20s, the Great Depression, and a second, even more horrible global war. Improbably, a patrician New Yorker beloved by everyday Americans led the nation out of economic calamity and to the cusp of victory in World War II. Writing from on Inauguration Day 1933, The Plain Dealer’s Paul Hodges noted:

“The determined voice of Franklin Roosevelt cut like a knife through the gray gloom of low-hanging clouds and the bewildered national consciousness as he pledged the American people immediate action and leadership in the nation’s crisis.”

It still took more than a decade and a monstrous war to restore America’s economy and swagger. On June 6, 1944, Plain Dealer reporter Roelif Loveland rode in a Maurauder bomber piloted by First Lt. Howard C. Quiggle of Cleveland and headed for Normandy:

“We saw the curtain go up this morning on the greatest drama in the history of the world, the invasion of Hitler’s Europe.”

Victory over the Axis was followed by four decades of Cold War, hot wars in Korea and Vietnam, and a nuclear showdown over tiny Cuba. Colonial empires collapsed. Israel was born. Germany, Japan, Western Europe and Korea rose from the ashes to become U.S. allies, and economic competitors.

At home, Americans prospered like never before. The GI Bill created a new middle class. We liked Ike and loved Lucy. Ed Sullivan brought Elvis Presley into our living rooms. Motown, a British Invasion and a counterculture followed.

America survived McCarthyism and inspired by Rosa Park and Martin Luther King began to live up to its ideals. It wasn’t easy. The Army had to integrate schools in Little Rock. Birmingham turned dogs and firehoses on children. In the North, middle-class families fled desegregation orders: Cleveland’s population peaked in 1950 at 914,000. By 2000, it was half that.

For a time in the 60s and 70s, the nation seemed to be imploding. Assassins killed John F. Kennedy, his brother Robert and Dr. King. Hough and Glenville burned as waves of rioting left no American city unscathed. College students raged about the Vietnam War. Ohio National Guardsmen killed four students at Kent State University.

“What is happening to America,” The Plain Dealer asked. “Is the sickness of hate and violence poisoning America?”

Dawning of a new age

There was some good news. In 1962, John Glenn of New Concord became the first American to orbit the earth. A decorated combat pilot before he became an astronaut, Glenn went on to serve four terms in the U.S. Senate – and return to space at age 77. On July 21, 1969, Neil Armstrong of Wapakoneta took “one giant leap for mankind.”

Glenn and Armstrong embodied American resiliency and optimism. During the closing decades of the 20th Century, the nation battled back against seemingly overwhelming challenges: AIDS, energy shortages, a hostage crisis in Iran. The Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union fell without a shot being fired. Red China embraced capitalism. Air and water quality water improved.

A U.S.-led global coalition forced Iraq out of Kuwait and seemed to herald a new-world order of peace. Technology in the 1990s sparked an economic boom. Giddy commentators proclaimed Pax Americana and suggested that technocrats could now control the business cycle.

Not quite. On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, two airliners crashed into the World Trade Center, another dive-bombed the Pentagon and a fourth crashed in western Pennsylvania when its passengers attacked their captors. Sept. 12’s Plain Dealer editorial was blunt:

“The United States is at war today.

“We know not yet with whom, nor precisely why they struck – if the “why” behind the unimaginable horror of yesterday’s terrorist attacks can ever be fully plumbed. But we are at war as surely as we were on Dec. 7, 1941.”

Today, the mastermind of 9/11 is dead, but that war continues against an ever-evolving enemy that prefers terrorism to traditional battlefields. America has survived the worst economic crash since 1929. For the second time in 16 years, we will have a president who lost the popular vote.

Gray’s center of creation was pummeled by the retrenchment of American manufacturing and abandoned by people who believed Northeast Ohio had no future. Even many who stayed embraced self-fulfilling pessimism.

Now a new generation sees not a Mistake by the Lake, but an affordable, livable city blessed with brilliant architecture and an Emerald Necklace, with ethnic diversity and abundant fresh water, with enduring institutions that are the legacy of past success. The once “muddy” Public Square this past year has gone through a multi-million-dollar revival transformation. And thanks to the Cavaliers, the Indians and a well-run Republican Convention, the rest of America may be getting the message too.

After 175 years of tumult and triumphs, The Plain Dealer remains as promised, although drastically changed from its inception. Now the newspaper has a smaller web width, a website (online publication) and is home delivered just a few days each week. But it remains the lens through which the people of the Western Reserve can see themselves and the rest of the world.

Ohio county was poster child of voter fraud (February 3, 2017)

Ohio county was poster child of voter fraud

by Michael F. Curtin

President Donald Trump cannot suppress a primal urge to fume over voter fraud.

Nearly everyone with expertise in elections, to say nothing of psychotherapy, sees emotional need shouting over the hard evidence.

To find widespread voter fraud, on the scale alleged by Trump, we need to turn back the clock a century or more.

There was no better place to find it than in Ohio. And here, no better place than in rural, southern Ohio – especially Adams County.

The 1890s marked the height of boss rule and machine politics in Ohio. In that era, the most common form of voter fraud was the outright buying and selling of votes. In the saloons and betting parlors of Cincinnati, Cleveland and Columbus, a man easily could pocket a few dollars by promising a precinct committeeman to vote the right way in an upcoming election.

The practice was open and widespread, and regularly denounced by civic reformers such as Washington Gladden of Columbus, Tom L. Johnson of Cleveland and Samuel M. Jones of Toledo.

As flagrant as vote-buying was in the big cities, on a percentage-of-the-electorate basis, it was far more extensive in the hardscrabble counties of southern Ohio, which were almost entirely white and agricultural.

The best-documented case of all is from November 1910 in Adams County, home of white burley tobacco. Following that election, 1,690 men – 26 percent of the voting population – were found guilty of buying and selling votes.

As early as 1885, the practice was flourishing. “So entrenched was the employment of boodle that Adams County electors regarded it as rightful compensation for time spent going to the polls,” wrote Genevieve B. Gist. Her study, “Progressive Reform in a Rural Community: The Adams County Vote Fraud Case,” appeared in the June 1961 edition of The Mississippi Valley Historical Review.

Before each election, the two political parties “determined by canvass the amount of money required to win an election, raised the sum, and then divided it among the electorate. In 1910 prices of votes ranged from a drink of whiskey to $25, the average being $8,” Gist wrote. “In the November election of that year an estimated $20,000 was spent in this manner.”

Party leaders occasionally attempted a truce to stop the practice, only to cave to pressure from expectant voters. Party leaders found themselves in a Catch-22, finding it difficult to recruit men willing to run for office “since a candidate had to pay into the party coffers a sum equal to a year’s salary to aid in financing the boodle,” Gist wrote.

Still lacking the vote, women active in the Women’s Christian Temperance Union began agitating for reform. They found a willing reformer in Adams County Common Pleas Judge Albion Z. Blair, who admitted past participation in the fraud.

On Dec. 13, 1910, Blair empaneled a special grand jury to examine the previous month’s election. He ordered the sheriff to post notices urging the guilty to come forward before arrest warrants were issued.

According to Gist, Blair knew many by name, and his method was informal.

“How about it, John, are you guilty?” he would ask.

“I reckon I am, judge.”

“All right, John, I’ll have to fine you $25, and you can’t vote anymore for five years. And I’ll just put a six-month’s workhouse sentence on top of that, but I won’t enforce it and I’ll suspend $20 of the fine as long as you behave.”

So it went. “The little village (of West Union) was overrun with penitents who came in one mighty procession,” hoping for leniency. One, a 70-year-old Civil War veteran, confessed: “I know it isn’t right, but this has been going on for so long that we no longer looked upon it as a crime.”

The spectacle attracted national attention, including a front-page story in the Christmas Day 1910 edition of The New York Times.

Blair imposed tougher financial penalties on the affluent. Some appealed their five-year voting bans. But on March 7, 1911, the Ohio Supreme court upheld their constitutionality.

The November 1911 edition of McClure’s Magazine carried an article written by Blair: “Seventeen Hundred Rural Vote Sellers: How We Disenfranchised a Quarter of the Voting Population of Adams County, Ohio.”

Columbus native Michael F. Curtin is formerly a Democratic Representative (2012-2016) from the 17th Ohio House District (west and south sides of Columbus). He had a 38-year journalism career with the Columbus Dispatch, most devoted to coverage of local and state government and politics. Mr. Curtin is author of The Ohio Politics Almanac, first and second editions (KSU Press). Finally, he is a licensed umpire, Ohio High School Athletic Association (baseball and fastpitch softball).

What’s Wrong with Cleveland By Rabbi Daniel Jeremy Silver 1985 (with intro by Roldo Bartimole)

What’s Wrong with Cleveland  By Rabbi Daniel Jeremy Silver 1985 (with
intro by Roldo Bartimole)
the link is here

The late Rabbi Daniel Jeremy Silver, who was the spiritual leader of The Temple, gave a sermon in the mid 1980s that should be well remembered by Clevelanders, especially as the city examines why its population has declined so severely over the years.

It may offer some insight into how Cleveland deteriorated and why. I believe it dissected Cleveland’s downfall and the reasons why the city decayed over the years. It suggests the city suffered the inertia of its past success. I think it also gives us something to think about when we get over-excited about projects – like the East Bank Flats development now and Gateway and other costly developments of the past couple of decades.

Cleveland’s greatness, he tells us, was a “matter of historical accident.” Geography, indeed, played a major component in our growth. It was not planned, nor could have been, I’d say.

Rabbi Silver’s words were taken from a sermon he gave in the mid-1980s. It was given wider exposure in the Cleveland Edition on March 6, 1985, more than 25 years ago. To me it’s as fresh as if it were given yesterday.

His words should receive much wider exposure in this day of the internet. It traces our downfall. It details many of the reasons we have failed.

I was particularly struck by his recitation of an attempt by John D. Rockefeller to finance higher education here and the response he got from Samuel Mather, one of Cleveland’s wealthy leaders of our iron ore and steel industry. Mather told Rockefeller that his children and his friends went to Yale. Cleveland didn’t need a great university. Go elsewhere, he advised Rockefeller. Rockefeller did. He gave the first million dollars to the University of Chicago, setting that university on its way to greatness. Cleveland lost its chance.

Rabbi Silver also told us that “… the future of this city does not depend upon entertainment or excitement….” He goes on: “In real life people ask about the necessities – employment and opportunity – before they ask about lifestyle and leisure-time amenities.” How about that?

Here are his words. This is a first attempt to look at Cleveland’s population losses and its tragic downfall as a leading American city.

I suggest anyone interested in the history of the city to print out Rabbi Silver’s address and keep it to read and re-read. It may be 25 years old but it speaks to us today as we make some of the same mistakes.

I hope to be able to trace some of the city’s decline and its causes as I have seen it from the mid-1960s until the present soon.

What’s Wrong with Cleveland
By Rabbi Daniel Jeremy Silver

Cities grow for practical reasons. Cities grow where there is water and farm land. Cities thrive if they serve a special political or economic need. A city’s wealth and population increase as long as the special circumstance remains. A city becomes a lesser place, settles back into relative obscurity, when circumstances change. Some, like Rome, rise, fall and rise again. Some like Nineveh, rise, fall and are heard of no more.

In this country the larger towns of the colonial period – Boston, Newport, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore – came into being and grew because they provided safe harbor for the ships that brought goods and colonists to the New World and carried back to Europe our furs and produce. New York continued to grow because it had a harbor and great river, the Hudson, that could carry its commerce hundreds of miles into the hinterland. Newport did not grow because all it had was a landlocked harbor.

Cleveland was founded as another small trading village on Lake Erie. We began to grow because of the decision to make the village the northern terminus of the Ohio Canal. The canal brought the produce of the hinterland to our port and these goods were then shipped on the lakes eastward to the Erie Canal and to the established cities along the eastern seaboard.

In 1840, shortly after the Ohio Canal was opened, there were 17,000 people in our town. We became a city through a second stoke of good fortune: Iron ore was discovered in the Lake Superior region. Because of the canal, this city was the logical place to marry the ore brought by ships from the Messabi Range, the coal brought by barge from the mines of southern Ohio, West Virginia and western Pennsylvania and the limestone brought by wagon and railroad from the Indiana quarries. Here investors built the great blast furnaces that supplied America the steel it needed for industrial expansion. From 1840 to 1870 our population increased tenfold. It is claimed that from 1880 to 1930 we were the fastest growing city in America. By 1930 Cleveland had become America’s sixth city. There was nothing magical about our growth, or really planned. It is a matter of historical accident: the siting of the canal, the discovery of iron ore and the ease of transportation here, the basic materials from which steel is produced.

There is an old Yiddish saying that when a man is wealthy his opinions are always significant and his singing voice is of operatic quality. During the years of rapid growth no one complained about the weather. For most of this period our symphony orchestra was a provincial organization and our art museum was either non-existent or a fledgling operation; yet, no one complained about the lack of cultural amenities. Our ball club wasn’t much better than it is today, but no one was quoted as saying that the town’s future depended on winning a pennant. There was then no domed stadium and no youth culture. Yet, young people of ambition and talent came. They came because there was opportunity here.

Those who believe that the solution to our current faltering status lies in a public relations program to reshape our tarnished image or in the reviving of downtown are barking up the wrong tree. We all welcome the city’s cultural resurgence – that Playhouse Square is being developed and that there is a new Play House – but, ultimately, the future of this city does not depend on entertainment or excitement, but upon economics. In real life people ask about the necessities – employment and opportunity – before they ask about lifestyle or leisure-time amenities.

We grew because we served the nation’s economy. We fell on hard times when the country no longer needed our services or products. Fifty years ago the nation and the world needed the goods we provided. Today the world no longer needs these goods in such quantity, and we can no longer produce our projects at competitive prices.

Once upon a time the steel we forged could be shipped across the country and outsell all competition. Today steel can be brought to west coast ports from Asia and to east coast ports from Europe and sold more cheaply than steel made here. The Steel Age is over and so is the age of the assembly-line factories that used our machine tools. This is the age of electronics and robotics, and these are not the goods in which we specialize.

Cleveland grew steadily until the Depression when, like the rest of the country, it suffered. Unlike many other areas we did not recover our élan after the Depression and World War II. It is not hard to know why. We were a city for the Steel Age. America was entering the High Tech Age. We lacked the plant, the scientific know-how and, sadly, the will to develop new products and new markets. The new age was beginning and the leaders in Cleveland preferred to believe that little had changed. We played the ostrich with predictably disastrous results. The numbers are sobering. The human cost they represented far more so. There were some 300,000 blue-collar jobs in the area by 1970. By 1971 this number had been reduced to 275,000 and by 1983 to 210,000. One in four factory jobs available 15 years ago no longer exists.

Cleveland lacks the two special circumstances that have made for the prosperity of certain American cities in the post-war era: government and advanced technologic research. This has been a time of expanding government bureaucracies and of the transformation of our information and control systems. Silicon Valley is the symbol of the new economy. We are a city of blast furnaces and steel sheds, not sophisticated laboratories.

The years between 1980 and 1982 were a time of national economic stringency, but the number of jobs available in the United States still grew by slightly under 1 percent. In the same period Cleveland lost 50,000 jobs between 1982 and 1984; when there was resurgence in employment levels, Cleveland lost another 30,000 jobs. The census for metropolitan Cleveland indicates that between 1970 and 1980, 168,000 people left the area and that the exodus continues at about the rate of 10,000 a year.

These facts should give pause to anyone who still believes that Cleveland will again become what Cleveland was a half-century ago. The numbers are sometimes rationalized as the result of the elderly leaving for warmer climates and a falling birth rate. These are factors, but the heart of the exodus has been our children. Our young, excited by new ideas, believe that another market will offer more opportunity or that their professional careers will be enhanced if they settle elsewhere.

Why has this happened to Cleveland?

Labor blames management. Management did not reinvest in new plant and equipment or research. When local corporations expanded into electronics, they generally built plants elsewhere. Management blames high labor costs and low labor productivity. Both groups are right, but in the final analysis, whatever the mistakes our political, business and labor leaders make, these alone do not account for Cleveland’s slide. Had there been fewer mistakes this town would still be suffering a serious economic downturn. We no longer are in the right place with the right stuff. (My emphasis.)

Our inability to adjust to a new set of circumstances is the inevitable result of a prevailing state of mind that can only be called provincial. Over the years Cleveland has been comfortable, conservative and self-satisfied. Clevelanders believed, because they wanted to believe, that what was would always be. Those who raised question were politely heard but not listened to. The city fathers set little value on new ideas, or indeed, on the mind. Business did not encourage research. Our universities were kept on meager rations. I know of no other major American city which has such a meager academic base.

A vignette: In the mid-1880s, John D. Rockefeller, then in the first flush of his success, went to see the town’s patriarch, Samuel Mather. He wanted to talk to Mather about Western Reserve College. Rockefeller believed that his hometown should have a great university. He knew that Mather was proud of Western Reserve and each year made up from his own pocketbook any small deficit. But Western Reserve College was small potatoes and Rockefeller proposed that the leadership of Cleveland pool its resources and turn the school into a first-line university. Mr. Mather was satisfied with Western Reserve Academy. It was just fine for Cleveland. He and those close to him sent their sons and their grandsons to Yale for a real education. He listened to Rockefeller, thanked him for his interest and suggested that he might take his dream somewhere else. John D. took his advice and in 1890 gave the first million dollars to the University of Chicago, a grant that set that university on its way to become what Western Reserve University is not – one of the first-rank universities in the country.

The same attitude of provincial self-satisfaction was to be found among our public officials. At the turn of the century we were certainly the dominate political force in the state; yet, when Ohio’s public university system began to expand, no one had the vision to propose establishing a major urban university in Cleveland whose research facilities would concern themselves with the problems of the city, its people and its industry. Again, in the 1950s, during the second period of major expansion by the state university system, Cleveland showed little interest. I am told that at first the town fathers actually opposed the establishment of Cleveland State University. They came around, of course, but ours is still one of the branches with the least research potential and fewest laboratories. Even today much of what it does is limited to the retraining of those who came out of our city schools and to the training of those who will occupy third-level jobs in the electronic and computer world. Change is in the air. Our universities are struggling to come of age, but a half century, at least, has been lost because Cleveland did not prize one of God’s most precious gifts – the mind.

Some argue that those who ran Cleveland limited their academic community because they did not want an intelligentsia to develop here. Academics and writers have a well-known propensity for promoting disturbing economic and political ideas. The comfortable and complacent do not want their attitudes questioned, but Cleveland’s lack of interest in ideas extended beyond political conservatism. Our leaders do not subsidize research and development in their corporations or in the university. Case was not heavily funded for basic research. Instead, it was encouraged to provide the training for mechanical and electrical engineers, the middle-level people needed by the corporations. It is only in the years of economic decline that our business leadership has begun to provide money for the research that ultimately creates new business opportunities and provides new employment.

Cleveland did not, however, fall behind in one area of technology: medical research. If the city fathers believed that the Steel Age would last forever, that real education took place back East and that it was wise and proper for them to look for investment opportunities elsewhere, they still lived here and the made sure that first-rate health care was available. Our hospitals have been well-financed. Medical research has been promoted. Such research was valuable and non-controversial, and the results of this continuing investment are clear. The medical field has been the one bright spot in an otherwise gloomy economic picture. Our hospitals are renowned worldwide. The research being done here is state-of-the-art. Recently the medical industry has come on straitened times, be even so, the gains are there and it is not hard to see what might have happened in other areas had our investment in ideas and idea people been significant and sustained.

Cleveland majored in conventional decency rather than in critical thinking. Our town has a well deserved reputation in the areas of social welfare and private philanthropy. Social work here has been of a high order. Until World War II the city had one of the finest public school systems in the country. We were concerned with the three Rs, but research goes beyond the three Rs. We never made the leap of intellect and investment that is required when you accept the fact that the pace of change in our world is such that yesterday is the distant past and tomorrow will be a different world.

We have fallen lengths and decades behind cities whose leaders invested money, time and human resources in preparing for the 21st Century. They broke new ground and laid foundations for change. We stayed with the familiar. As long as the economy depended upon machines and those who could tinker with machines, Cleveland did well. But when it was no longer a question of having competent mechanics retool for the next year’s production but a question of devising entirely new means of production, we could no longer compete. To a large extent, we still cannot.

In recent years Cleveland’s industrial leadership seems to have come awake to our mind and research gap, but the CEOs of the major corporations no longer have the power to singlehandedly make over the economy. In the High Tech Age, the factory that employs thousands of people is no longer the dominate force. Three out of every four jobs that have been created over the past decade have developed in businesses that are either brand new or employ fewer than 100 people. Those who lead old-time production line corporations struggle not to fall further and further behind and are an unlikely source of jobs.

Another problem has been that for decades the major banks were not eager to support bright, young outsiders who had drive and an idea but little ready cash. We all know people who went to our banks, were turned down, left town and set up successful businesses elsewhere. The officers of our lending institutions preached free enterprise and entrepreneurship, but most of their loans were to the stable, old-line corporations. For all their praise of capitalism, they were not risk takers. New business formation here has lagged behind that in most other cities. The birth of new business in Cleveland over the past three decades has been about 25 percent lower than the rate of new-business birth in other second-tier cities. Despite a new openness at the banks, we continue to trail. Catch-up takes a long time.

Cleveland’s business leadership has become aware of the need for research and development and of the need to stake bright young men and women who have ideas and are willing to risk their best efforts to make these successful; but even as we come alive to the importance of the inquiring mind and the risk takers of the academy and the research laboratory, we must recognize that Cleveland has a special albatross about its neck; Cleveland is not a city. There are over 30 self-governing districts in Cuyahoga County. There are over 100 self-governing communities in the metropolitan area. What we call Cleveland is an accumulation of competing fiefdoms.

This sad situation is also a result of our parochial outlook and our unwillingness to look ahead. It is easier to let each group draw into itself than to work out ways to adjust competing needs and interests. The result is a diminished city. There were 970,000 residents of the city in 1945; there are 520,000 today (My note: Try 396,815 as of 2010). Only one in four Clevelanders live within the metropolitan area. The economic gap and the gap of understanding between the suburbs and the city and between suburb and suburb has widened, not narrowed, over the years.

Those who live here lack of shared agenda because we have allowed each area to go its own way and seek its special advantage. Some of our fiefdoms are run simply for the benefit of their traffic courts. Others are run for the benefit of white or black power groups. Some exist to protect the genteel ways of an America that no longer exists. Each is prepared to put obstacles in the way of community planning when a proposal threatens its attitudes or interests.

Do you remember those small groups of white and blacks that used to meet on the High Level Bridge to signify that we were really one city? Their tiny numbers, the very fact that their actions were seen as symbolic, underscored how far we have moved away from each other. To be sure, Clevelanders meet together in non-political forums where we profess infinite good will and talk of shared goals, but the talk rarely leads to decisive actions. Why? We lack a political area where our needs are necessarily brought forward and brokered. We lack a political structure that would force us to adjust our interests and develop an agenda to which we could commit ourselves, and until such a structure is in place we will not be able to marshal the shared purpose.

When suburbanites look at the problem of the city, they tend to focus on the long-range economic problems: how to create jobs and prosperity. Any who live in the city have no work in the city or outside it. Their problem is not how we can, over a 5-year period, establish X number of new businesses that will provide X number of new jobs, but how to keep body and soul together; how to provide food, clothing and shelter for their families. We do not see the immediacy of their needs. They do not see the wisdom of our plans, and inevitably we frustrate each other’s hopes. The suburbs mumble about their particular concerns and the community stumbles into a future for which it cannot plan.

In 1924 the citizens of Lakewood and West Park voted on a proposal to annex their communities to the city of Cleveland. That proposal was defeated soundly. Since then every proposal to create countywide government has failed and failed badly. Yet it should be clear to all that only when we succeed in becoming citizens of a single community will we be able to do much about our economy and our future.

Because the city’s concerns stop at the borders, its ability to handle the future stops at its borders. The same is, of course, true of the suburbs. In Columbus the city grew by annexing to itself the farm land on which the commercial parks and the new suburbs were built. In Cleveland we went the other way; today you could do some large-scale farming within the city limits.

Will we confront this structural challenge and create metropolitan government? I see little reason to believe that we will. Our history has, if anything, intensified racial and class polarization. If we become a unified city, every group and municipality will lose some precious advantage. I can’t imagine the citizens of Moreland Hills wanting to throw in their lot with the citizens of Hough. Many minorities would lose their power base. The suburbs would no longer be able to provide services tailored to the middle class and would have to bear an expensive welfare load. Yet, until we unite politically we will be unable to address effectively the needs of Cleveland tomorrow. We simply cannot plan constructively so long as members of our many councils are able to thwart well-intentioned proposals.

Recent years have been better years for this city. There has been significant construction downtown. The highway system is in place. We have created regional transport, regional hospitals, and a regional sewage system. But big buildings downtown do not guarantee the city’s future. Big buildings can be empty buildings, as some of them are. Regional transport can mean empty buses. The future of Cleveland rests first on a revived economy. A revived economy depends upon bright people and new ideas. People do not get ideas out of the air. Ideas begin in our schools, universities and laboratories. High-quality education is costly. The future for Cleveland cannot be bought cheaply.

A meaningful future depends upon a new recognition of where a city’s strength lies. It’s nice that our suburbs are famous for their green lawns and lovely homes. It’s nice that everybody agrees that Cleveland is a wonderful place to raise children. It’s a wonderful place to raise children if you don’t want your children to live near you when they become adults. As things stand now, they will make their futures elsewhere. Our suburbs are the result of yesterday’s prosperity. Employment and political unity must be today’s goals if we are to have a satisfying future.

Unfortunately, we did not prepare in the fat years for a time when we no longer could take advantage of the circumstances that had made us prosperous. Those who study such things say that if the American economy stays healthy and the formation of new businesses in Cleveland continues at its present rate, we will be fortunate if in 1990 we have the same number of jobs we had in 1970.

Our future is to be a second-tier city. I do not find that such a discouraging prospect. A prosperous city of two million can be a satisfying place and can provide many amenities. But before we can feel sure even of a second-tier status, we must develop a new economic base and a renewed concern for community. We need to reevaluate our attitudes toward the mind. It is tragic that one in two who enter the city schools never graduate.

Of those who graduate – the best – who enroll in Cleveland State University, 51 percent need remedial work in mathematics; 62 percent need remedial work in English. Half the city’s children do not graduate from high school. More than half who graduate are not prepared for this world. Is this any way to prepare for the 21st Century?

When the rabbis were asked “who is the happy man?” they answered, “the person who is happy with his own lot.” The question that Clevelanders must ask is whether we can be happy even if we are not now, and will not become again, one of the premier cities in the country. The answer seems to me obvious. We can. But even the modest hope will escape us unless we put behind us the stand-patism that has characterized our past. We must put our minds and imaginations to work in planning for an economy and a community suited to the world of tomorrow.

“Philanthropy in Cleveland: A Shared Legacy in a Diverse Community” by Dr. John J. Grabowski

The pdf is here

Philanthropy in Cleveland:  A Shared Legacy in a Diverse Community
by Dr. John J. Grabowski

Cleveland has many landmarks, both contemporary and historic.  Of these, Euclid Avenue occupies a significant place in the history and public memory of Cleveland.   Many citizens know that it was once “Millionaires Row” and that it was recognized as one of the finest residential avenues in the nation.  They lament that its grandeur is gone.  “Why did they tear down all those fabulous houses” is a common plaint.   Yet, some Clevelanders recognize that Euclid Avenue lives on – its legacy exemplified in the museums, colleges, hospitals, and service agencies that its residents’ fortunes helped create.

The ability to make that connection often leads to discussion of another aspect of the city that is common currency – the recognition that its history of altruism and philanthropy is of national consequence.  There is no argument about the fact that the community pioneered concepts such as unified fund raising and the community trust, and that now, even in the face of demographic decline, it remains able to support a not-for-profit cultural, educational, medical, and social service infrastructure envied by many larger communities.  This raises perhaps the most critical questions: where did the tradition of altruism arise, why did it become so predominant in the city, and, most importantly, how has it survived demographic and economic changes?

Cleveland as New England   — Stewardship
Old Stone (First Presbyterian) Church symbolizes the starting point – indeed the seed – of philanthropy in Cleveland.  The founders and early settlers of the city were largely Congregationalists or Presbyterians, many of whom had roots traceable to Puritan New England and to the concept of stewardship embedded in that deep history.  Stewardship implied care of one’s community, which in New England and early Cleveland was generally a homogeneous group of co-religionists.   As Cleveland expanded beyond its New England roots, the concept was generally extended to the broader community.   An important example of this can be found in the history of the Severance Family, a story particularly well told in Diana Tittle’s book, The Severances: an American Odyssey from Puritan Massachusetts to Ohio’s Western Reserve, and Beyond.  The family’s (including that of the Longs and Walworths who would marry into it after settlement in Cleveland) “stewardship” began as typically Puritan and then moved well beyond, from helping establish the city’s first library in 1811 to the building of Severance Hall, the home of the Cleveland Orchestra in 1931.

Stewardship, however, was a concept not limited to these specific Protestant denominations.    Rebecca Rouse, a Baptist who came to Cleveland with her husband, Benjamin, in 1830, was involved in a number of philanthropic activities that extended beyond that denomination, including the establishment of the Cleveland Protestant Orphan Asylum in 1852.  During the Civil War, she organized local women into the Soldiers Aid Society, a branch of the US Sanitary Commission.  It provided a variety of services to soldiers, ranging from sending blankets to the front to taking care of the wounded and invalided.  Interestingly, her granddaughter, Adella Prentiss Hughes, would go on to form the Musical Arts Association in 1915 which would establish the Cleveland Orchestra in 1918, an ensemble that would then move to a new home, Severance Hall.

Cleveland’s growth and industrialization would challenge the manner in which this founding principle of the community’s philanthropic impulse was used in several ways.   First was the manner in which a concept that had been applicable in small communities, or segments of those communities, might function in a growing city.   In 1810, a year before the library was established, the community consisted of approximately 57 individuals.   In 1830, the year of the Rouses’ arrival, its population was 1,075 and in 1850, two years before the orphan asylum opened, it stood at 17,034 and that of neighboring Ohio City at 6,375.   By 1866, the year after the Civil War, it was 67,500.

That growing population posed another challenge to the concept of stewardship.  It was, by 1860,  over 40% foreign born and comprised not only of various Protestant denominations, but of Catholics and Jews as well.   The city these communities now shared was no longer the large New England mercantile town of the 1840s, but one moving toward an industrial future that would be characterized by increasing social differences based on wealth, belief, and ethnicity, and one in which social issues, such as poverty, disease, industrial injury, equitable educational opportunity, and environmental degradation would become increasingly evident.

The Multiple Manifestations of Stewardship in Gilded Age Cleveland.
Between 1850 and 1890, Cleveland citizens established nearly sixty new charitably supported agencies, ranging from orphanages, to hospitals and old age homes to new educational institutions (see the excellent timeline of Cleveland philanthropy on the Western Reserve Historical Society website) —

A review of the list of these organizations reveals several significant things about charity in the early part of the industrial era.   First, the concept of stewardship continued, albeit often in a parochialized manner wherein the Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish communities created parallel agencies, including hospitals, orphanages, aid societies, and old age homes.   Secondly, this division in and of itself argues that one cannot simply define stewardship as a Protestant concept.   Whether defined as Tzedakah in the Jewish community or more broadly as charity for Catholics and other Christians, each of the new groups settling in Cleveland came to rely on their traditions to care for community needs.

The division of Cleveland’s philanthropic agencies along religious, and often within subordinate ethnicities or denominations, was representative both of prejudices as well as identity-based needs.  There was a strong Protestant-Catholic rift in nineteenth century America and it was reflected in Cleveland.  Among both Catholics and Jews there was a concern about proselytization in Protestant-directed agencies and of cultural issues.   Would an observant Jew in a Protestant hospital be able to eat meals that were Kosher?   Indeed, this issue would eventually bifurcate agencies within the Jewish community itself.   Prejudice was, however, a strong ancillary force behind the creation of ethnic specific agencies.   The inability of Jews to practice in “mainstream” hospitals led, in part, to the establishment of Mt. Sinai Hospital, which opened in 1916.  The most visible divide in social service and philanthropic agencies would be demarcated by race.   The opening of the Home for Aged Colored People (now Eliza Bryant Village) in 1897 would be the first visible manifestation of this.  It would come at a time when a growing African-American population would find itself confronting hardening racial attitudes in a city once known for its relative tolerance.  Michael Metsner’s thesis, “‘Save the Young People” The Generation Politics of Racial Solidarity in Black Cleveland, 1906-1911,” provides an excellent review of a community dealing with the city’s move toward defacto institutional segregation.

This “division” of stewardship in Gilded Age Cleveland extended far beyond the major institutions that have come, historically, to represent philanthropy in Cleveland.   Within almost every church and synagogue or temple there existed multiple charitable and aid agencies, focused both on the needs of congregants as well as on broader charitable endeavors, such as missions.   Within each of the growing immigrant communities there existed similar aid societies, some religiously affiliated, some more secular.  Many of these took the form of fraternal or sororal insurance agencies that provided death and burial benefits for members.   While not solely charitable, they often contributed to immigrant or religiously-related causes.  With the exception of Laura Tuennerman-Kaplan’s  book, Helping Others, Helping Ourselves, there has been little historical exploration of this area.   Some of these insular organizations would come to have considerable impact.   The St. Andrew Scottish Benevolent Society (1846) would establish the Scottish Old Folks Home.  The First Catholic Slovak Union, founded in Cleveland as a regional organization in 1890, would come to encompass units throughout the US and Canada.

While Gilded Age Cleveland saw a multiplicity of philanthropic endeavors, it also witnessed two factors that hinted at consolidation of effort and, importantly, the beginning of a tradition of stewardship that moved beyond a particular religious community or group.  The harbinger of consolidation was the creation of the Charity Organization Society in 1881.  In 1887 it would merge with the Bethel Union which had been established as a branch of the Western Seamen’s Friend Society, established in 1830 and one of the community’s oldest charitable endeavors.  The organization that emerged, Bethel Associated Charities, was unlike the Bethel Union, which was evangelical in outlook.  It was fully non-sectarian and focused on rationalizing charitable aid in the growing community.  As such it set an important precedent for those attributes which would make the city’s philanthropic community nationally notable in the twentieth century.

This move toward rationalization was paralleled by an expansion of philanthropy because of the great wealth accumulated by some Clevelanders in the years after the Civil War.  This essentially marks the period in which the Euclid Avenue cultural legacy began to be built.  Not only were the “gifts” larger, but they were far less likely to be confined to or by the donor’s religious affiliation.   There are multiple stories illustrative of this, many of which link to the Avenue.

If we travel on Euclid Avenue to the intersection with East 40th Street, the southwest corner (a site now occupied by the Northeast Regional Sewer District) is where John D. Rockefeller’s town home once stood.  Rockefeller came to the Cleveland area (settling with his family in Strongsville) in 1853.   An ardent member of the Baptist church, he believed strongly in the concept of stewardship and began giving to the church when, in 1855, as a young clerk in a local commissions firm he received his first earnings.   Eventually, when he became wealthy, he became the target of a multitude of requests for assistance and would hire someone to assist in their evaluation.   That, in the long term, would lead to the creation of the Rockefeller Foundation.  Importantly, throughout this period, roughly from the 1870s on, the meticulous records of his donations go well beyond the Baptist community.   His donations to African American organizations were significant (perhaps the most notable being the funding that insured the growth and future of Spelman College in Atlanta). Although Cleveland-legend likes to believe that he left the city with little, agencies ranging from social settlements such as Hiram House and  Alta House, and cultural agencies such as the Western Reserve Historical Society all benefited from his wealth.    Certainly his largest educational donation went to create the University of Chicago, but there remains a Rockefeller Building on the CWRU campus and not far away is Rockefeller Park – his gift to the city for its 1896 centennial.

That park links to Wade Park, a gift to the city by Rockefeller’s across-the-street neighbor (northwest corner of Euclid and E. 40th), Jeptha Homer Wade who made his fortune as one of the founders of Western Union.  The institutions that surround Wade Oval in University Circle, most particularly the Cleveland Museum of Art, benefited from his and from his grandson’s, Jeptha H. Wade II, donations of both monies and collections.

If we move west from the Rockefeller-Wade corner to East 22nd Street, we find the Mather Mansion on the Cleveland State University campus.  One of the last to be built on the street and one of the very few remaining it is perhaps the best symbol of the continuity and expansion of the puritan concept of stewardship for Samuel Mather was descended from the Puritan Mathers of New England.    An iron ore baron, Mather conceived his community to be the entire city.   So did his wife, Flora Stone Mather, the daughter of Amasa Stone who came to Cleveland in 1851 and made his fortune building railroads.   The family’s philanthropy is, perhaps, most evident in and around the campus of Case Western Reserve University.  Stone would provide a half million dollars to promote the move of Western Reserve College from Hudson to Cleveland in the 1880s.  Its mens’ college would be named Adelbert, after Stone’s son who died while a student at Yale.  Its womens’ college came to be named after his daughter in honor of her support.  (Gladys Haddad’s Flora Stone Mather: Daughter of Cleveland’s Euclid Avenue & Ohio’s Western Reserve is an excellent chronicle of her life and philanthropic activities)  Nearby, the Mather Pavilion at University Hospitals honors Samuel for his support of Lakeside Hospital and his advocacy of its move to the University Circle area in the mid 1920s.

One of the major questions that surrounds the philanthropy of Gilded Age millionaires such as Mather, Rockefeller, and Wade centers on motivation.  What, beyond the concept of stewardship, would have motivated them to give such enormous gifts?    Certainly they had money to give, for (except during the Civil War) there was no federal tax on income until 1913 and then, until 1917 there was no deduction available for charitable gifts.   Arguments as to motivation sometimes center on guilt or charity as a means to secure eternal salvation.  Then too, their donations could shape institutions that would help mold the community as they might like it, one in which their values became those of the city.   There is also the matter of the social status one could gain through charitable activities — to be a “pillar of the community” was and is a measure of rank.   Whatever the motivation, the benevolence of families such as these set a model for community support for other people of means that was pivotal in creating the cultural, educational, and medical foundations of contemporary Cleveland.

Rationalizing Philanthropy – Progressive Era Cleveland.
The current image of Cleveland as a model of philanthropy is not so much based on the amount of annual contributions as it is to the innovations the community applied to charitable activity from the 1890s through the 1920s.   These innovations were in concert with many ideas about rationalizing, organizing and improving industrial production and society during the progressive period.  Indeed, it was the rationalization of industry that, in large part, built the fortunes that could be allocated toward philanthropic projects and provided the model as to how they might be administered.

The city’s philanthropic needs grew geometrically during the period 1890-1920, driven by a rapidly growing population and the lack of anything resembling the social safety net of contemporary times.  In these years the population more than doubled, rising from 261,353 to 796,841.  Largely driven by immigration and migration, this increase left sections of the inner city severely overcrowded.

The main philanthropic response was the social settlement house, an agency based upon the actual residence of the social workers within a particular neighborhood where they offered education programs, built playgrounds, and assisted residents in dealing with political issues, poor housing conditions, and the travails of being a newcomer to the city.  Established largely by young, middle class individuals imbued with the spirit of Social Gospel, the settlement movement began in England and found its way to the US before the end of the 1880s.  It arrived in Cleveland in the mid-1890s with the establishment of Hiram House and Goodrich House (now Goodrich-Gannett).   By 1910, there were eight major settlements in the city, including Alta House, the Rainey Institute, the Council Educational Alliance (now the JCC), and East End Neighborhood House.  By the early 1920s, four more, including Merrick House,  Karamu (founded as Playhouse Settlement), West Side Community House, and University Settlement had been established.

While the settlements derived from what might be called inspired youthful altruism, they soon became exemplars of a more rational approach to social needs.  They used designated staff to visit neighborhood homes and assess family needs – this being an early form of casework.  They created playgrounds and gymnasia where structured recreation was offered to neighborhood youth, and they focused on education as a means to better the lives of the residents in the areas they served.

That this number of agencies began with what was often a personal or group impulse or dream and then prospered – often creating substantial staff infrastructures – indicates that funders were convinced by their mission.   That certainly was true, but as individual requests from increasing numbers of agencies came to the “usual and customary” funders, the issue was raised as to whether the stewards of the community, or the community as a whole, were responsible for the community’s philanthropic needs.  That led to one of Cleveland’s major innovations – unified, community fund drives.

While the first step taken in this direction was, as noted earlier, the creation of the Charity Organization Society in 1881, the seminal moment took place within the city’s Chamber of Commerce in 1900.   The Chamber epitomized the modernization of business practice and was increasingly an advocate of progressive urban reform measures.    In 1900 it responded to a growing concern among donors as to the worthiness of the many charitable institutions that were soliciting their support.  It created a Committee on Benevolent Institutions in that year, which surveyed and ascertained the legitimacy of local charities and then made that information available to the public.   One of the members of the committee was Martin A. Marks, a prominent businessman in the city’s Jewish community.

Marks and several other Jewish businessmen of German and Hungarian background then took the ordering of charity to a new level.  In 1903 they created the Federation for Jewish Charities (today’s Jewish Community Federation).  The Federation went a step beyond the vetting process initiated by the Chamber’s committee.   They centralized the solicitation of funds for agencies in the Jewish community.  Organizations affiliated with the Federation agreed to cease soliciting funds on their own.  That responsibility and the oversight of the allocation of the funds raised in unified community effort fell to the Federation.

Together with Samuel Mather, Marks advocated for a similar program for all charities in Cleveland.  This occurred in 1913 with the establishment of the Federation for Charity and Philanthropy.  Its first unified campaign was fully non-sectarian and reached out to a large number of potential donors.  By doing so, it greatly exceeded the funds that had been raised individually by the member organizations in the past.   Its technique was copied nationally for Victory Chest drives during World War I and was the precedent for the Community Chest drive of 1919 in Cleveland, which is the parent of today’s United Way campaigns.

In the same year as the city’s first Community Chest drive, the Catholic Church established its own general solicitation under the auspices of the Catholic Charities Corporation, thus providing the city with a triad of unified fund-raising initiatives.

The following year, another philanthropic innovation, perhaps the most noteworthy of all, was put in place.   For centuries, wealthy individuals had left or given funds to be held in trust or as foundations to support what they considered worthy causes at the time.  With time, the need for funds for a specific purpose would lessen or disappear.   Frederick H. Goff, a banker and lawyer, was concerned about this “dead hand of the past.”   His response was to create the Cleveland Foundation, a community trust in which individuals or organizations could bequeath fund for designated or non-designated purposes.  Whenever a designated purpose no longer remained viable, the funds could be repurposed.  Earnings  from the funds in trust were then to be allocated by a distribution committee (created by public and private nomination) as appropriate to their designated purpose or, if undesignated, to what they believed were critical contemporary needs of the community.

While Cleveland pioneered in rationalizing charitable funding in the Progressive era, it also was at the forefront of another trend – the formal training of social workers.   The rise of casework, recreational theory, and institutional management dictated that a progressive era social worker had to have an organized skill set to accompany her or his altruist impulse.   In 1915, Western Reserve University created the School of Applied Social Sciences (today’s Mandel School of Applied Social Sciences) to train social workers.  It was one of the first such schools in the nation to be affiliated with a university.   Many of its early students would get their field training with organizations such as Associated Charities or the many settlement houses in the city.

These innovations and events served to add luster to Cleveland’s growing national reputation as a modern, progressive city, a reputation that began to flourish under the mayoralty of Tom Johnson and which truly blossomed in the 1910s, particularly under the leadership of Newton D. Baker.  They also served as models for other similar entities in other cities.  By 1920, Cleveland was not only the fifth largest city in the nation, but it had a model of organized charity and philanthropy was widely studied and emulated.

Public Sector Philanthropy
During the 1920s, Cleveland’s well organized system of private philanthropy serving private cultural and social service institutions met almost all of the city’s needs.   Yet, there was a public system in place.   The city had erected a poorhouse in 1827.   That was replaced by a city infirmary in 1855, the predecessor of today’s Metro-General Hospital.  During times of economic depression (in the 1870s, 1890s, and just after World War I) the city provided “outdoor” relief to the unemployed.  That consisted of coats, groceries and coal for heating.   Most notably, but often not recognized, the city oversaw education – both through the public school system and the Cleveland Public Library which was established in 1869.   Yet, excepting the library and school system, these efforts paled in comparison with private social service agencies and, indeed, during those times when outdoor relief was necessary, it was criticized for attracting paupers to the city.

This status quo would be challenged and changed by the Great Depression.   At the depth of the depression in 1933, unemployment in the city reached 30%.   Private agencies were unable to cope with the situation.  Need had risen and donations withered.   Even the wealthiest Clevelanders  found themselves not as wealthy as before.   When Samuel Mather, possibly the richest man in Ohio,  died in 1931 his bequests could not be paid because the value of his stock investments had dropped.   The drop of value in John L. Severance’s investments meant it took longer for him and, later his estate, to pay his pledges for the construction of Severance Hall.

The crisis was extreme and in August 1933 the staff of all private relief agencies became employees of the Cuyahoga County Relief Administration because Federal relief funds could no longer be allocated to private organizations.   The hard-pressed private agencies had been distributing public funds (from the city) for two years prior to being absorbed into the county system.  The experience of the Depression provided important precedents.  In 1948 Cuyahoga County established a welfare department, todays division of Health and Human Services.

Public sector involvement in areas that had been once the purview of private philanthropy went well beyond direct relief.   Federal programs such as the WPA created work opportunities that not only provided employment, but changed the city’s landscape.  WPA funds helped support an enormous expansion of the Cultural Gardens.  They were central to building part of the Shoreway as well as improvements to numerous parks.   The WPA also supported artists whose murals still adorn public buildings.  It also funded theater and opera as well as the Federal Writers Project, an agency which produced several important book manuscripts on Cleveland’s history and an invaluable index to the city’s press for the period 1818-1877.   The Historic American Buildings Survey created detailed drawings of structures that today aid restorationists or provide the only record available of buildings that have been subsequently razed.

To some, this Federal intrusion into the arts was unacceptable.  But it set a precedent for the creation of the National Endowment for the Humanities and the National Endowment for the Arts in the 1960s, just as the provision of state and federal funds for human needs during the Depression created the basis of the public-private social service system today.  The creation of Cuyahoga County Arts and Culture in 2006 is an important localized “echo” of tax-funded public assistance for the arts and humanities.

Continuities and Conclusions
World War II provided an antidote for Cleveland’s economic woes.  While the programs of the WPA were immensely helpful in providing jobs and diminishing unemployment, the buildup to the war and the war itself revivified the city’s industries.    With nearly full employment and new in-migration coming to fill war work positions, the city prospered as did its private philanthropic and cultural agencies.

Between 1946 and 1955 over 50 new philanthropic or charitable agencies were established.   Of these 34 were either foundations or trusts.   Many of these bore the names of famous old families – Swetland, Bolton, Gund, Bicknell, Ireland, Humphrey, Eaton, Ingalls, and Mather among them.   This development was spurred by a tax law change in 1949 which was favorable to their establishment.  By century’s end, over 40 additional family foundations had come into being.

The establishment of these foundations was significant in that they represented the continuity of the tradition of community stewardship, albeit in a new twentieth century guise.  More significant was the fact that they represented the diversity of that stewardship.  Foundations bearing family names such as Gries, Mandel, Horwitz, Wuliger, Gerson, Rosenthal, Murphy, O’Neill, McBride, Veccio and Bruening evidenced the entry of Jews and Catholics as major players in community stewardship.  Even though some of their foundations focused on Jewish or Catholic needs, all were open for fund requests for broader community needs.

This diversification of family trusts has also been reflected by the creation of new community foundations.   The United Black Fund, established in 1981 has become a major funder for initiatives in the city’s African-American community joining other groups such as the Cleveland chapter of the Links as well as traditional African-American sororities in supporting the black community and representing it to the general community.  The Third Federal Foundation, created in 2007, has its origins in Third Federal Savings and Loan, an institution with deep roots in the city’s Polish community.  Its grants have helped revitalize the Broadway neighborhood, supported secondary education, and have given the Polish-American community a new prominence in regional philanthropy.

The growth of the foundation sector was propitious because it paralleled a huge expansion of local cultural and charitable agencies in the period after the mid-1960s.  Many of the cultural agencies rose because of the availability of Federal NEH or NEA funds during this period as did entities such as public radio and television.  Foundation funds were critical start-up additions to their operations and when Federal funds diminished, often provided the lifeline that allowed for their continuity.  However, in some instances, such as the Cleveland Ballet, rescue proved impossible.

Certainly the creation of new family and corporate foundations has been the central factor in Cleveland’s most recent philanthropic history, as has been the diversification of the membership of the boards of many cultural and charitable institutions.   They no longer so much represent the city, but the region, and within the region, a changing demography, one driven by new migration and immigrations streams from Asia, South Asia, and Mexico and South America.   But,  there are other aspects of that history that are of considerable consequence, particularly given the challenges that have faced the city in the years since 1960.

Chief among these is the decline of the city – both in terms of population and in its economy.    Cleveland’s population peaked at 914,808 in 1950.  Sixty years later, it stood at 396,815 making it the 45th largest city in the nation.  Like other Great Lakes industrial cities, it has lost virtually all its heavy industrial base, but light industries in and around the city still thrive.   Nevertheless, twenty-first century Cleveland has one of the highest poverty rates in the United States.  There also remains a palpable racial divide that encompasses not only black and white, but sometimes new “minorities” who have come to the city and region in the years since the 1960s when a new immigration law replaced its heavily racialized predecessor.   Yet, to look only at the city is to ignore another major change that has occurred since the halcyon days of the Progressive era.   Cleveland is now part of a region ( the appearance of which could first be sensed during the Progressive era), and although regional governance remains a chimera, economic linkages, charitable reach, and social issues transcend municipal borders.

The city and northeastern Ohio’s ability to confront these issues rests largely on a partnership that has linked philanthropy directly to public policy.  Led by the Cleveland Foundation, other foundations, families and corporate funders have increasingly supported initiatives seen as critical to the revitalization of neighborhoods, educational opportunity, and programs that build skills and entrepreneurial opportunity.   In doing so they have not neglected the cultural agencies that are the community’s gems.   Here they have both supported facility growth, and  programs that help the arts reach new audiences and become fiscally more responsible.

Perhaps the best way to conclude this essay, and literally see how philanthropy has shaped the city in the past and continues to do so in the present, is to return to Euclid Avenue.  Doing so also allows one to see how the traditions of stewardship and “progressive” philanthropic effort have evolved to reflect the twenty-first century city they serve.

  • In the Huntington Building at Euclid Avenue and Public Square, we find the headquarters of Global Cleveland, an agency focused on attracting skilled immigrant talent to the community.  It exists because of foundation and family funding.
  • At the E. 14th Street intersection we find ourselves at Playhouse Square – an entertainment complex that survived only because of a remarkable confluence of government and private support in the 1970s.   Nearby are the headquarters of the Cleveland Foundation, United Way, and IdeaStream – the public radio and television provider that represents the importance of private philanthropy in the support of contemporary publically-funded organizations
  • At the Cleveland State University campus we come across the Levin College of Urban Studies and the Ahuja College of Business – each illustrates the growing diversity of stewardship in Cleveland.
  • At the intersection of E. 40th (on the site of the Wade family homes) stands the Jane Hunter Building, named in honor of the African-American nurse who established Cleveland’s Phyllis Wheatley Association.
  • At E. 67th and Euclid, across from Dunham Tavern, the oldest existing building on the street, is the headquarters of Jumpstart, an entrepreneurial and innovation incubator which receives support from multiple philanthropic sources to carry out its mission of revitalizing the regional economy.
  • The Cleveland Clinic Campus appears at E. 88th Street.  Here the names on the buildings of the city’s largest private employer indicate the diversity of stewardship which has support the institution.  They include Crile, Miller, Glickman, Tausig, and Zielony, and Tomsich.  Other names adorn buildings in Clinic branches throughout the region.
  • The headquarters of the United Cerebral Palsy Center at E. 100th is named in honor of Iris S. and Bert L. Wolstein.
  • At the southeast corner of the intersection of E. 105 St. stands the William O. Walker Building.  Constructed by the state and named after a prominent African-American journalist, it is now owned jointly by University Hospitals and the Cleveland Clinic

Our trip ends at University Circle.  Here names from the old Millionaires Row abound on the buildings of Case Western Reserve University, University Hospitals, area museums, and even the landscape.    These names – Mather, Hanna, Harkness, Bolton, Humphrey, Rockefeller, and Wade – are hallmarks of the community’s philanthropic past.   But they share company with names that testify to the inheritance of the tradition they helped start.  Seidman, Veale, Shafran, Smith, Dively, Wolstein, Lewis, and Mandel are among the new names in the Circle and in regional campuses of some of the institutions such as Ahuja is in  UH’s medical center in Beachwood.   What this rather short journey indicates is that the tradition of philanthropy in Cleveland is intact and that its inheritance and continuity is not dependent upon race, religion or ethnicity, but rather on the commonality of stewardship and the multiple factors that engender stewardship within human society.   That philanthropy is particularly special in Cleveland and northeastern Ohio is, in part, related to this diversity of stewardship, but more so to the progressive stamp that the city placed upon it in the early decades of the Twentieth Century.

Dr. John J. Grabowski holds a joint position as the Krieger-Mueller Historian and Vice President for Collections at the Western Reserve Historical Society and the Krieger-Mueller Associate Professor of Applied History at Case Western Reserve University. He has been with the Society in various positions in its library and museum since 1969. In addition to teaching at CWRU he serves as the editor of The Encyclopedia of Cleveland History and The Dictionary of Cleveland Biography, both of which are available on-line on the World Wide Web (http://ech.cwru.edu). He has also taught at Cleveland State University, Kent State University, and Cuyahoga Community College. During the 1996-1997 and 2004-2005 academic years he served as a senior Fulbright lecturer at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey. Dr. Grabowski received his B.A., M.A., and Ph.D. degrees in history from Case Western Reserve University. He is a member of Phi Beta Kappa.

Columbus is triple the size of Cleveland in area; answers to that and other census questions 5/23/2015 Cleveland.com

Great piece by Rich Exner from Cleveland.com comparing Cleveland and Columbus

Columbus is triple the size of Cleveland in area; answers to that and other census questions 5/23/2015 Cleveland.com 

The link is here

CLEVELAND, Ohio – Columbus is nearly triple the size of Cleveland in terms of square miles.

That answers one question that commonly comes up every time the Census Bureau releases new population figures that show Columbus has far more people than Cleveland.

Yes, Columbus is growing. Yes, Columbus is the 15th largest city in the country. Yes, now at an estimated, 835,957 people, Ohio’s capital city is approaching 1 million in population.

And yes, to the chagrin of many proud Clevelanders, Columbus now has more than twice as many residents as Cleveland (389,521).

But population estimates are complicated for many reasons.

So, in the wake of the latest population figures released Thursday for every city in the United States, here are answers to some common questions.

Is Cleveland smaller in square miles than a lot of other major cities?

Yes. The only cities larger in population than Cleveland but smaller in square miles are Miami, San Francisco, Boston, Long Beach, California, and Washington, D.C..

Cleveland measures 77.7 square miles. Columbus is nearly triple the size at 217.2 square miles.

Put another way, Columbus is closer to the combined size of Cleveland, Cincinnati and Toledo (236.3 square miles). Cincinnati is 77.9 square miles and Toledo 80.7, according to the Census Bureau.

Columbus is by far the most populated city in Ohio at 835,957, but it’s not as densely populated as Cleveland.

The latest estimates place Cleveland at 5,013 people per square mile versus 3,849 for Columbus.

As for population, Cleveland (389,521), Cincinnati (298,165) and Toledo (281,031) total almost 1 million people (968,717).

How big are some of the growing cities elsewhere?

Columbus is not alone in topping 200 square miles.

Among the big cities that cover more ground are several from Texas. Austin is 305 square miles, Forth Worth and Dallas are 340 square miles each, San Antonio is 461 square miles and Houston is 600 square miles.

For a comparison, all of Cuyahoga County is 457 square miles.

The three largest cities in excess of 200,000 people are Anchorage (1,704 square miles), Jacksonville (747), Oklahoma City (606) and Houston (600).

Cleveland has so many suburbs. What about the region’s population?

Cuyahoga County remains the most populated county in Ohio, with 1,259,828, according to the latest estimates.

Franklin County (1,231,393) likely will grab that honor soon.

In terms of the metro area, Cuyahoga and the surrounding six counties have an estimated 2.8 million people, far more than the 1.9 million people in Franklin County and the six counties that surround it.

How are the estimates made?

The Census Bureau tries to account for everyone with its once-every-10-year census. In between, the bureau estimates populations.

At the county and state level, the estimates have proven to be very accurate. This is due, in part, to good tracking of births and deaths at the county level, as well as information about people who move from one county to the next.

The annual estimates for cities sometimes can be off. This is because the bureau uses a mix of new and old data to come up with city estimates, based in part on new estimates for housing units and old estimates for vacancy rates.

The Census Bureau first totals the populations for all cities, villages and townships in a county. The estimated population for each community is then adjusted up or down at the same rate so the total matches the estimate for the county.

What we found after the 2010 census is that the earlier estimates were often far off at the city level. But the estimates do offer the best accounting of people available until the next decennial census collections. The alternative is to rely on the 2010 numbers until 2020.

Rich Exner is data analysis editor for the Northeast Ohio Media Group

Death by politicians by Roldo Bartimole 1.10.2017

DEATH BY POLITICIANS
by Roldo Bartimole
January 10th, 2017

170110-roldo-ed-hauserPhoto used courtesy of Scene.

He’s a nice guy. He’s earnest. He’s honest for a politician. He’s likely a good family man. He’s competent. He’s reliable. Don’t think he’d purposely do anyone a wrong. A stand-up guy.

But he’s going to KILL someone.

He’s a Republican Senator. Rob Portman. Of Ohio.

He’ll vote with the gang.

The gang wants to kill so-called Obamacare. It insures many people who cannot get medical coverage ANY OTHER WAY.

They want to kill it bad.

So that reminds me of a man I knew. I couldn’t call him a friend but maybe I could. He’s gone.
He’s gone because in 2008 he didn’t have any medical insurance.

The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act passed the U. S. Senate Dec. 24, 2009. It became law in 2010.

His name was Ed Hauser. He was one of the good guys.

He died some months before he could have gotten coverage along with millions of other Americans.

It’s the federal act Republicans want to kill. And Sen. Rob Portman will help.

Hauser death, I wrote back in December 2008 “was a tragedy that didn’t have to happen.”

In many other countries, I wrote about Ed, “It would not have happened,” and continued: “Ed died because America doesn’t have the decency to protect its own citizens with the health care that’s basic in all other industrial societies.”

I know he shouldn’t have died because he died on the way to the hospital. They called it: “Heart attack.”

He had been delaying care because he didn’t have coverage, except for catastrophic care, his friend Cathy Stahurski told me. She drove him to the hospital that day.

She felt he didn’t want to seek help because he didn’t have insurance coverage. And he was unemployed at the time.

Hauser had been an electric engineer but had been laid off a decade before from LTV Steel. He had been working temporary jobs but at the time of his death he wasn’t employed.

He didn’t just sit home.

Ed had become a civic activist. You’d see him at meetings with his video camera, watch-dogging public bodies. He was a Citizen.

One of his causes was Whiskey Island. He took people there, including me, to see what should be saved if only citizens would pay attention.

People called him “Mayor of Whiskey Island.” It’s really a peninsula at the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie.

Michael Roberts wrote in Cleveland Magazine: “Hauser is a pain—a persistent, nagging, unyielding pain. On the medical scale of one to 10, he would rate a 19. What makes him so painful is that he challenges the way the town and its dysfunctional government work.”

Ed Hauser waited too long for medical care because he couldn’t pay for it and had no insurance.

There was no Obamacare at the time.

He was a casualty of our government’s lack of concern.

It took a lot to pass the health care bill. Even though it was modeled after the Massachusetts bill passed under Mitt Romney. Remember him? He was a Republican.

Only Democrats in the Senate voted for the bill. Republicans have been playing a political game ever since. Telling citizens they would kill Obamacare and replace it with something better.

But everyone knows, including Sen. Portman, that they have no better replacement and if they had they wouldn’t pass it.

So Sen. Portman will kill some unknown Ed Hauser if he votes to kill the health care bill. And he will.

It’s as simple as that.

Death by politician.

Henry Goldblatt, Developer of the Goldbatt Kidney : Mt Sinai Collection

The link is here

Goldblatt clamps for hypertension experiments, 1934

clamps_goldblatt-detail
Goldblatt’s clamps, one shown in placement tool.
Below instruments used to operate clamps.
clamps_goldgbatt-tools

Harry Goldblatt (1891-1977) received his M.D. from McGill University Medical School in 1916. He began a surgical residency, but when the U.S. entered the war he enlisted in the medical reserves of the U.S. army. He was sent to France and later Germany as an orthopedic specialist. He returned to Cleveland in 1924 as assistant professor of pathology at Western Reserve University School of Medicine, and in 1954 was appointed Professor of Experimental Pathology. In 1961 he was named emeritus, but in the same year was appointed director of the Louis D. Beaumont Memorial Research Laboratories at Mt. Sinai. He worked there until he retired in 1976. He died January 6, 1977.

Goldblatt’s interest in hypertension, sparked during his days as a surgical resident, eventually would lead to his international fame. During his early days in pathology, he noted persons with normal blood pressure who had systemic atherosclerosis (colloquially referred to as hardening of the arteries) that did not affect the kidney, and conversely patients with hypertension where arteriosclerosis was confined to the renal arteries. He had been taught that so-called benign essential hypertension was defined as persistent elevation of the blood pressure of unknown etiology, without significant impairment of the renal functions, and that the elevated blood pressure comes first and results in vascular sclerosis. In some cases renal damage does occur and may eventually lead to uremia. Goldblatt’s own observations; however, led him to believe that vascular sclerosis came first, followed by elevated blood pressure.

Testing this theory was difficult however, because Goldblatt did not know how to reproduce vascular sclerosis. He decided that simulating the results of obliterative renal vascular disease by constricting the arteries leading to the kidneys would be sufficient. In order to achieve constriction of the renal arteries, Goldblatt developed the clamps seen in the picture. His experiments using the clamps, performed on dogs, showed an increase in hypertension with no renal impairments. One of the earliest, unexpected findings was the constriction of one renal artery resulted in temporary elevation of blood pressure which returned to normal when the clamp was removed. Subsequent experiments by Goldblatt and others revealed that the constriction of the renal arteries causes a chemical chain reaction leading to hypertension. Renin, a substance released by the kidneys, is generated when the renal arteries are constricted. Renin in the bloodstream causes the production of angiotensin 1. Angiotensin 1 is benign until it reacts with the angiotensin converting enzyme (ACE) to become angiotensin 2, which is a major cause of hypertension.

Goldblatt, HarrryThe clamps built by Goldblatt initiated a chain reaction as well. Successive experiments and discoveries eventually led to the isolation of an ACE inhibitor. By preventing angiotensin 1 from becoming angiotensin 2, this inhibitor has reduced the risk of stroke, heart attack, and heart failure in many hypertension patients.

Goldblatt received many honors, most importantly the scientific achievement award of the A.M.A. in 1976. Because of the implications of his work, the American Heart Association established the Dr. Harry Goldblatt Fellowship. In 1957, to commemorate the 25 th anniversary of Goldblatt’s first successful experiment to induce arterial hypertension by renal ischemia in the dog, the University of Michigan held a conference on the basic mechanism of arterial hypertension at Ann Arbor. It was here that the confusion regarding the names of the various compounds was settled, and a universal nomenclature for angiotensin was accepted.

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