This is the first post in our theme for October 2023, Urban Disability focusing on the role of cities in fostering disability rights.

In her 2020 memoir Being Huemann, pioneering disability rights activist Judith Heumann recounted her adolescent experiences in New York City’s public schools. She was part of the Health Conservation 21, a program developed for children with disabilities that was offered at schools in her district. The program was admittedly flawed, as it grouped students ranging from nine to twenty-one together and more or less isolated them from the general student population. However, despite its obvious imperfections, for Heumann, who had to fight for access to schooling, it “was a whole new world.”[1] “Our bonding in the face of exclusion—was teaching us something that would become essential to our success later…despite what society might be telling us, we all had something to contribute,” she wrote. In the end, the program’s participants were creating “’disability culture’…really just a term for a culture that has learned to value the humanity in all people, without dismissing anyone for looking, thinking, believing, or acting differently,” Heumann reflected.[2]

To be clear, disability has existed throughout American history, and it has not been limited to urban areas, but cities have played a key role in the growth and development of disability culture. Heumann’s battles to attend school as an adolescent and later her fight to teach in the city’s schools as an adult (Board of Education officials first denied her application to teach on the grounds that Heumann was a fire hazard due to her use of a wheelchair) not only broke new ground for her peers, they also set Huemann on a course of a lifetime of activism. These two battles bookended another accomplishment, her admittance into the mainstream student population at Sheepshead Bay High School, the first student from her school’s Health Conservation 21 to attend high school.[3] Heumann graduated a few years later and noted that “despite all the lonely moments, the embarrassment, the hard work, the test anxiety, and the fear of failure, I’d hung in there.”[4] Though enormous achievements unto themselves, these were Heumann’s first acts of protest and the larger disability movement was only just beginning to coalesce; once its formation solidified in the ensuing decades, revolution followed.

Disability in United States History

Disability’s definition and impact over the centuries is not static but “often elusive and changing. Not only do people with disabilities have a history…the concept of disability has a history as well,” writes historian Kim E. Nielson.[5] Heumann’s efforts in mid-twentieth-century New York represent several very important data points but not the only ones, and not the first. A review of this history helps to contextualize the struggles Heumann and others like her faced even into the twenty-first century.

As with many things, Native American and European conceptions of disability differed. For the indigenous peoples of North America, many had no word for the concept of what today we call disability. Some may have defined it in relational terms. For example, though an individual might suffer from a mental or physical impairment, one would not be considered disabled unless they were isolated from or unable to “participate in community reciprocity.” Maintaining meaningful relationships that included “emotional or labor reciprocity—regardless of cognitive, physical, or emotional capacities” meant one was not disabled for many indigenous peoples in North America. [6]

Aspects of indigenous culture sometimes supported individuals with disability. Though Europeans viewed deafness as a sign of imbecility, Native Americans believed the deaf had both intelligence and capability. The use of sign language among indigenous peoples preceded its use by Europeans and aided both the deaf and hard of hearing. It also facilitated communications between individuals, Europeans, and indigenous people. A key point about disability rights is that frequent innovations around disability, such as the creation of sign language, function to help broader communities other than just the disabled.[7]

The arrival of Europeans in North America expanded disability, particularly through the spread of disease. Smallpox often left the afflicted blind or deaf, sometimes both. Among Native Americans, epidemics sparked by interactions with Europeans caused death and produced disability, while ravaging those with pre-existing disabilities.[8]

Carrying with them very different notions of the world from Native Americans, European colonists also conceived of disability in different terms from modern day conceptions. Physical disability did not draw much attention. The prevalence of disease and the relative poverty of medical care at the time meant “bodily variations,” whether due to sickness, accident, or birth, were “common and included in definitions of the able bodied.” As Nielsen argues, norms were fluid, bodily variation, expansive.[9]

Capitalism’s dominance in colonial America shaped conceptions of disability. What mattered in this regard was one’s ability to work. Physical impairment—a missing limb, slight palsies, the loss of an eye—did not prevent one from laboring in the colonies.[10]  

Psychological and cognitive disability, however, did attract the attention of policymakers and legislators, who passed laws creating legal protections for individuals that colonial officials deemed “naturally wanting of understanding.”[11] “Poor laws” allowed officials to use the estates of “idiots” or “the distracted” to defer the community costs of their care, while other regulations allowed officials to protect and manage these properties on their behalf and in order to ensure the community wasn’t responsible financially at the daily level.[12]

During the late colonial period, institutionalization became more common, though the type of institution in which one was committed often depended on class (and race, since most of these examples were exclusive to whites). For the indigent, almshouses emerged as one site where those struggling with cognitive disabilities might be placed, though it should be noted that almshouses served a variety of purposes, including as correctional facilities. Asylums developed later; Virginia opened the first such institution in 1773. For the better off, individuals were sequestered in their homes and more or less assigned a caretaker by their family. Regardless, their lives were often defined by confinement. Patrick Henry’s wife spent much of her life after 1771 “confined in a cellar room, bound in a straightjacket, and attended by a servant [enslaved person]”; she died locked in her basement.[13] 

For enslaved people, the system of slavery embedded disability upon them. Slaveowners and others defined the enslaved as mentally and physically inferior, “their supposed abnormal and abhorrent bodies,” served to legitimize slavery. Enslaved peoples were so inferior, slavers argued, slavery was beneficial, beneficent even. “Disability permeated the ideology, experience, and practices of slavery in multiple and profound ways,” observes Nielsen. Needless to say, slavery and its sundry cruelties often left enslaved individuals with physical and cognitive disabilities as well. Unsurprisingly, the same sort of ideology undergirded inequalities that followed the abolition of slavery during the Jim Crow era and afterwards.[14]

Gender shaped conceptions about disability as well. Women were both essential to maintaining a healthy nation through childbearing but, at the same time, were mentally deficient, argued many nineteenth-century opponents to women’s rights. Prominent physician Edward H. Clark cautioned that women pursuing college educations were potentially damaged and disabled with conditions such as atrophy of the uterus and ovaries, sterility, and sometimes death.[15] Critics of women’s suffrage frequently used ableist logic. To “throw into the electorate a mass of voters of delicate nervous stability,” noted neurophysiologist Charles L. Dana, would only cause women “injury.” At the 1848 Seneca Falls Convention, suffragists directly rebuked this ideology, resolving that “the equality of human rights results necessarily from the fact of the identity of the race in capabilities and responsibilities” and that “being invested by the Creator with the same capabilities…it is demonstrably the right and duty of woman” to be active participants in political life.

During the nineteenth century, institutionalization developed further, and the regulation of citizenship by the state, first at the local (state/municipal) and later at the federal level, increased. Those deemed unable to be self-sufficient, physically or cognitively, were often institutionalized, while others “considered unfit but redeemable or deserving” were given access to education. Still, even these bare offerings were largely reserved for whites, though there were exceptions such as asylums established for the Cherokee in the 1860s. The policing of the body politic unfolded under the auspices of racism, sexism, and ableism.[16]

At the same time the state furthered its role in declaring disability, physicians expanded their authority, and increasingly, their analysis of patients determined citizenship status and embedded inequalities. Around the same time, institutions grew in numbers, including “insane asylums,” schools for the deaf and blind, community hospitals for the indigent, and schools for those with cognitive disabilities. Institutional definitions of “normative and deviant bodies” expanded. Arguably the most famous institution established during this period was the National Deaf-Mute College, in 1864 (renamed Gallaudet College in 1894). While on the one hand the growth of some of these institutions benefitted the disabled, others did little more than isolate and confine individuals. In general, increased institutionalization also meant that some individuals who would have remained unconfined in earlier periods were now more frequently restrained and confined.[17]

Industrialization and industrialized war, namely the US Civil War and World War I, contributed to a growing awareness regarding disability. Industrial accidents often left people with physical disabilities. War did the same, adding cognitive and psychological impairments, such as what we today call PTSD. Beginning with the Civil War and continuing through nearly every US conflict, military excursions “spurred technological inventions in adaptive equipment” while also encouraging legislative action, such as an expanded pension program for veterans with disabilities.[18]

During World War I, the Smith-Sears Vocational Act of 1918 provided rehabilitation and vocational training for disabled veterans. In 1917 the Red Cross established its first training center for amputees and individuals with damaged limbs from the war. The American Legion, founded in 1919, offered full-throated support for all veterans with any form of disability, including psychological and cognitive issues, though it rarely did the same for individuals who acquired their disability outside of combat or the military.

During World War II, disabled Americans found new work opportunities, filling jobs in industry and elsewhere, though federal policies also undermined their participation in the workforce. For example, wartime rationing policies “hindered people with disabilities from continuing in the employment that sustained their households and contributed to their communities.” The war, like all wars, also expanded the ranks of the disabled.[19]

Post-World War II, the medical-based approach to disability persisted; doctors and other medical professionals categorized disability as a medical issue to be solved, treated, and cured, rather than as a condition to be accepted and accommodated. Under this framework, individuals were identified by their disability exclusively. Federal programs and policies reinforced this idea. This became particularly acute with regard to employment for the disabled, many of whom rejected charity for gainful employment. The Department of Health, Education, and Welfare oversaw disability services rather the Department of Labor. If capitalism’s emphasis on productive citizenry functioned in earlier centuries, the medical-based approach undermined this formulation, yet it would be organized labor and disability activists in the postwar period that advocated for better federal policies for the disabled, including National Employment of the Physically Handicapped Week.

Paul Strachan and the American Federation of the Physically Handicapped along with labor activists made the argument, increasingly harnessed by a burgeoning disability rights movement, that disability rights were really civil rights issues. What the disabled needed was economic security, a point that remains salient today. Discrimination in hiring along with lack of accessibility in the built environment meant many disabled citizens lived at or near the poverty line, when in actuality they were fully capable of working and contributing. In the years following the war, “the ideology and language of rights, discrimination, and citizenship increasingly dominated discussions of disability,” notes Nielsen.[20] 

Disability Rights in the 1970s

This admittedly narrow thumbnail sketch of disability in US history brings us back to Judith Huemann and a growing disability rights cohort. Like many social movements, the disability rights movement drew on experiences in the anti-war, civil rights, and feminist movements of the 1960s. Heumann was first drawn into activism by the war. While attending Long Island University, she joined the school’s student government as student activism over the conflict in Vietnam expanded.[21] The bravery of Rosa Parks and the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act demonstrated to Heumann and others that rights must be fought for and that what society said was an individual’s problem, such as disability, was really about something else: “We were beginning to see our lack of access as a problem with society, rather than our individual problem…Wasn’t it the government’s responsibility to ensure that everyone could participate in society?”[22]

At the time, Heumann couldn’t even get the ACLU to support her fight for employment in the public schools. If this was to be done, she and others in the community had to do it themselves, hence the establishment of Disabled in Action (DIA) in 1970. DIA adopted confrontational tactics when the organization believed it was necessary, such as in 1972 when members blocked traffic with their bodies on Madison Avenue to protest Nixon’s veto of the 1972 Rehabilitation Act. 

Heumann’s East Coast activity had a western parallel. In Berkeley, California, Ed Roberts fought similar battles. Roberts had contracted polio as a child, leaving him dependent on an iron lung and a ventilator. Though not immobile, due to his use of a wheelchair and his ability to practice a type of breathing that enabled him to function outside the lung for periods of time, Roberts had already been attending community college when in 1962, over the objections of officials, he fought his way into the University of California–Berkeley, becoming the first severely disabled individual to attend the school. Not one to suffer fools, when a doctor told him he’d be a vegetable, he responded: “Fine. I’ll be an artichoke, puff and prickly on the outside with a tender heart.”

Roberts encouraged other students with severe disabilities to attend Berkeley. They dubbed themselves the Rolling Quads, and they eventually established the first disabled-lead student organization in the US—the Physically Disabled Students Program, providing “disability services, such as transportation and wheelchair repair, and pushed for the removal of physical barriers to campus access, such as street curbs and stairs.” Like Heumann, Roberts and his peers also began to realize the problem wasn’t them, but rather society’s view of them. This meant they needed to tackle their own internalized ableism and at the same time develop “disability pride”:

[The Rolling Quads] realized that we could change some things. [But] first we needed to change our own attitudes about ourselves. Be proud of who we were and what we were. And go out and change things for others and for ourselves.[23]

Though perhaps overstated, stories abounded about midnight “curb cuts” enacted by the Rolling Quads “under cloak of darkness” around the city—vigilante attempts to remove impediments to wheelchair users, but it was hardly a daily routine. Rather, when they banded together and appeared in front of the Berkeley City Council to demand alterations to the city’s built environment, notably curb cuts, stunned council member and future Berkeley Mayor Loni Hancock admitted that sitting in a room full of wheelchair users demanding equal access drew an emotional response. “Looking into their faces and realizing the effort it took for them to be there and requesting something that had never been done anywhere to our knowledge on earth was a burning sensation,” she recounted. The city council quickly passed a motion supporting curb cuts.

Roberts went on to establish the Center for Independent Living (CIL) and eventually drew Heumann to Berkeley, where she joined the CIL’s board of directors, “got involved in the Disabled Students’ Program…and immersed myself in the disabled activist community.”[24] By Heumann’s own description, the CIL proved “a hotbed of people and activity,” drawing folks from across the nation who “wanted to be part of the movement that was growing there.”[25] Just as the anti-war movement had drawn Heumann further into activism, returning disabled veterans also contributed to CIL and the burgeoning disability movement.[26]

In 1977 the CIL and many others, including as Kitty Cone, Jeff Moyer, and Mary Jane Owens, ushered in what Cone described as the “public birth” of the disability rights movement in an epic San Francisco protest over a portion of legislation passed five years earlier. The first law that paid any attention to disability rights was the 1973 Rehabilitation Act and its critical Section 504 which stated the following:

“No otherwise qualified individual with a disability in the United States, as defined in section 705(20) of this title, shall, solely by reason of her or his disability, be excluded from the participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any program or activity receiving federal financial assistance or under any program or activity conducted by any Executive agency or by the United States Postal Service.”

Heumann had first spotted the language in the vetoed 1972 law, but its passage in 1973 gave the disability movement teeth. Under the Ford administration, new regulations were to be added to the law that would expand its purview to hospitals, universities, and other institutions. Unwilling to adapt, leaders of these institutions lobbied the administration to reconsider the new regulations. Their efforts had an effect; the outgoing HEW secretary balked at signing the regulations into law and the new secretary, Joseph Califano, furthered the delay.[27]

In Berkeley, Heumann, Roberts, Cone, and others formed the Committee to Save 504 and began planning a protest in San Francisco. Working with disability activists across the United States, they set up a multicity protest for April 11 at regional HEW locations as well as its headquarters in the capital. In addition to DC and San Francisco, activists descended on offices in Denver, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas, Boston, and Philadelphia.

Five hundred protesters showed up in San Francisco, and 125 later stormed the regional HEW office, occupying it for weeks. Heumann and others occupied the building, creating alliances with local leaders including the Black Panthers, who aided their endeavors by bringing food to the protesters every night of the occupation. Protestors occupied HEW offices in Los Angeles and Denver as well, but it was the San Francisco protest that galvanized the larger movement. The 2020 documentary Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution captures the protest most vividly.

In order to apply pressure to HEW officials, Heumann and others travelled to Washington, DC, to lobby and negotiate with Califano and other officials while activists continued to occupy the San Francisco office, yet the Carter Administration continued to drag its feet.

In his 1981 memoir, Califano recalled the protests and confirmed that, indeed, the way the law had been passed, with little to no legislative debate or history, resulted in very surprised libraries, hospitals, colleges, and other institutions. Califano estimated the cost for compliance to run into the billions of dollars. His predecessor, David Matthews, who Califano described as “sympathetic” to the rights of the disabled, “considered this provision to be one of the most irresponsible and thoughtless acts of Congress.”[28] Yet Califano insisted that he “welcomed” the protests. “Nothing is likely to evoke sympathy than the poignancy of a demonstration by the handicapped…I hoped the demonstrations would raise the public’s awareness of the pending regulations.” Califano acknowledged that “relief was long overdue,” while at the same time, he described the disability movement as “like all special interest groups, rather one-dimensional in their views.”[29] In a 1990 oral history interview, Califano seemed to take partial credit for the new visibility earned by the movement. “The handicapped were unheard of until we got there. I mean, I’m not saying I did it, there was a law on the books, but we really opened that up.”[30]

Carter administration officials clearly conveyed to the activists that their protest did not reach the level of presidential politics. Yet, a look at notes from cabinet meetings during this time indicates that the protest was discussed several times. Even before the occupation, Califano brought the regulations up in a March 21 meeting of the cabinet, encouraging officials to review the new regulations, which they had received “weeks ago.”[31] On March 28, he reminded them again “of the concerns of the handicapped.”[32] At the April 4 meeting, attended by NBC News Anchorman John Chancellor and a crew filming a “Day in the Life of President Carter,” Califano noted the protest and that he would meet with activists that day and “possibly tomorrow.”[33] Califano reported on the status of the protests on April 11 and two weeks later noted that the occupation persisted but that the protest had been disavowed by the national organization. Three days after his last report, Califano signed the new regulations into law. The confrontational tactics worked.

Berkeley, New York, and San Francisco are only a few of the critical sites at which the battle for disability rights unfolded in subsequent years. In 1980 Denver activists staged a protest, blocking traffic until officials agreed to provide wheelchair lifts on buses and expand curb cuts around the city. In 1988 students at Gallaudet protested the appointment of yet another school president not from the deaf community. Two years later, disabled activists dragged themselves up the US Capitol steps in a demonstration in support of the Americans with Disabilities Act—later dubbed the ADA Capitol Crawl. As one person noted, activists came “not asking, not begging, [but] demanding to be a part of society.”

In subsequent years, Heumann and Roberts directed their efforts toward the implementation of the regulations as large organizations like the American Public Transit Association attempted to oppose them. CIL established the Disability Law Resource Center to engage in these legal battles. Later, they took their activism beyond the United States, co-founding with Joan Leon the World Institute on Disability.

Through this work, Heumann discovered that the efforts of activists in 1977 were far ahead of most of the rest of the world in regard to disability rights. “I discovered that no other country had an antidiscrimination law like 504.” The law and its enactment had redefined disability from a strictly medical issue to one of civil and human rights. The dominance of the medical community over disabled individuals and the state’s role in this process were permanently altered from just a few decades earlier. As Heumann put it and as the CIL lived it, “The basic question was about autonomy.”[34]

One final point needs to be made. As noted earlier, disability rights innovations rarely only benefit the disabled. This has come to be known as the “curb effect.” Curb cuts came to benefit bicyclists, people with strollers, and the elderly. Kalamazoo, Michigan, added curb cuts in the 1940s after a local veteran grew tired of seeing his disabled peers struggle with curbs. When the city reviewed the change it came to a simple conclusion: they facilitated “freedom of movement for everyone.”

Look around and you’ll find numerous other examples. Watching the football game in a noisy bar, those closed captions on the television help you follow the game. Even within the game of football the disabled have contributed: huddles were invented by deaf football players at Gallaudet near the turn of the century. Hoping to disguise their communications, teams huddled up when preparing for the next play. The story of disability in America, and elsewhere, is an ongoing one. It’s a history for all of us, and one we hope to illuminate further this month.

Below you’ll find our usual bibliography dedicated to the theme. As always, it is not the definitive list but a starting point. We welcome further suggestions in the comments.

Bibliography

Al-Mohamed, Day, dir. The Invalid Corps (documentary). 2019. https://gifilmfestivalsd.org/2019/movies/the-invalid-corps/.

Bronston, William. Public Hostage, Public Ransom: Ending Institutional America. Conneaut Lake, PA: Page Publishing, Inc., 2021.

Brown, Keah. The Pretty One: On Life, Pop Culture, Disability, and Other Reasons to Fall in Love with Me. New York: Altria, 2019.

Burch, Susan. Committed: Remembering Native Kinship in and beyond Institutions. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2021.

Christiansen, John B. and Sharon N. Barnett. Deaf President Now!: The 1988 Revolution at Gallaudet University. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 1995.

Cone, Kitty. “Short History of the 504 Sit-In.” Disability Rights Education & Defense Fund. Accessed Sept. 21, 2023. https://dredf.org/504-sit-in-20th-anniversary/short-history-of-the-504-sit-in/.

Davis, David. Wheels of Courage:  How Paralyzed Veterans from World War II Invented Wheelchair Sports, Fought for Disability Rights, and Inspired a Nation. New York: Center Street, 2020.

Girma, Haben. Haben: The Deafblind Woman Who Conquered Harvard Law. New York: Twelve Books, 2020.

Heumann, Judith. Being Human: An Unrepentant Memoir of a Disability Rights Activist. Boston: Beacon Press, 2020.

Holdren, Nathan. Injury Impoverishment: Workplace Accidents, Capitalism, and Law in the Progressive Era. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2020.

Kafi, Shayda. Crip Kinship: The Disability Justice of Art Activism of Sins Valid. Vancouver, Canada: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2021.

Nielsen, Kim E. A Disability History of the United States. Boston: Beacon Press, 2022.

Kinder, John M. Paying with Their Bodies: American War and the Problem of the Disabled Veteran. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016.

Ladau, Emily. Demystifying Disability: What to Know, What to Say, and How to be an Ally. Ten Speed Press, 2021.

Longmore, Paul K. and Lauri Umansky, eds. The New Disability History American Perspectives. New York: New York University Press, 2001.

Newman, Nicole and James LeBrecht, directors. Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution. Netflix, 2020.

O’Toole, Joan Corbett. Fading Scars: My Queer Disability History. Fort Worth, TX: Autonomous Press, 2015.

Piepzna-Samarasinha, Leah Lakshmi. Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice. Vancouver, Canada: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2018.

Rembis, Michael, Catherine J. Kudlick, and Kim Nielsen, eds. The Oxford Handbook of Disability History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2018.

Rose, Sarah S. No Right to Be Idle: The Invention of Disability, 1840s-1930s. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2017.

Rosenthal, Keith. “Pioneers in the Fight for Disability Rights: The League of the Physically Handicapped,” International Socialist Review 90,  https://isreview.org/issue/90/pioneers-fight-disability-rights/.

Schalk, Sami. Black Disability Politics. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2022.

Schweik, Susan M. The Ugly Laws: Disability in Public. New York: New York University Press, 2010.

Stiker, Henry-Jacques. A History of Disability. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2019.

Summers, Martin. Madness in the City of Magnificent Intentions: A History of Race and Mental Illness in the Nation’s Capital. New York: Oxford University Press, 2019.

Taussig, Rebekah. Sitting Pretty: The View from my Ordinary Resilient Body. New York: Harper One, 2021.

Wong, Alice, ed. Disability Visibility: First Person Stories from the 21^st Century. New York: Knopf Doubleday, 2020.

Wong, Alice. Year of the Tiger: An Activist’s Life. New York: Vintage Press, 2022.

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Featured image: “Rights Now Flag” (2022), CityTony, photographer, Wikimedia Commons.

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[1] Judith Heumann, Being Human: An Unrepentant Memoir of a Disability Rights Activist, (Boston: Beacon Press, 2020), 32.

[2] Heumann, 23.

[3] Heumann, 28.

[4] Heumann, 33.

[5] Kim E. Nielsen, A Disability History of the United States, (Boston: Beacon Press, 2022), xiv.

[6] Nielsen, 2-3.

[7] Nielsen, 14-15.

[8] Nielsen, 18.

[9] Nielsen, 20.

[10] Nielsen, 21-23.

[11] Nielsen, 20-22.

[12] Nielsen, 22-23.

[13] Nielsen, 35-37, 34.

[14] Nielsen, 41-42.

[15] Nielsen, 115-116.

[16] Nielsen, 50-52.

[17] Nielsen, 66-67, 69.

[18] Nielsen, 85.

[19] Nielsen, 144-148.

[20] Nielsen, 151.

[21] Heumann, 44.

[22] Heumann, 42.

[23] Ed Roberts, “Freewheeling,” video, 1995, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ci3ek-tqiGQ.

[24] Heumann, 72.

[25] Heumann, 72.

[26] Heumann, 89.

[27] Heumann, 79-80.

[28] Joseph A. Califano Jr., Governing America: An Insider’s Report from the White House and Cabinet, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1981), 258-259.

[29] Joseph A. Califano Jr., Governing America, 259-261.

[30] Joseph A. Califano Jr., interview by Stuart Eizenstat, February 20, 1990, Box 73, Stuart Eizenstat Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress.

[31] Joseph Califano Jr., in Minutes of the Cabinet Meeting, March 21, 1977, Box 105, Stuart Eizenstat Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress.

[32] Joseph Califano Jr., in Minutes of the Cabinet Meeting, March 28, 1977, Box 105, Stuart Eizenstat Papers, Manuscript Division

[33] Joseph Califano Jr., in Minutes of the Cabinet Meeting, April 4, 1977, Box 105, Stuart Eizenstat Papers, Manuscript Division.

[34] Heumann, 151, 155, 157, 159, 158.