Bethel College exited the Long Sixties transformed by the experience of Vietnam. Students had protested the war, filed for Conscientious Objector status and fled to Canada to escape the draft, participated in the emergence of youth culture by critiquing parietal rules and regulations, and pushed for a more inclusive curriculum that addressed the major issues of the day. While the school was still theologically conservative and most of its students solidly Republican, the Sixties had given the momentum to the campus’ political liberals, a small group which dominated Bethel publications for nearly a decade.
When, in the autumn of 1972, Bethel students trouped six miles north along Snelling Avenue to inaugurate their first semester on the new Arden Hills campus (the Seminary had moved north in 1965, but it had taken much of the next decade to secure the funding necessary to building the college physical plant), all of this activity suddenly ceased. With few exceptions, the Clarion after autumn 1972 records not only no anti-war activity, but also an easing of the youth culture tensions which had endured on the old campus throughout the previous decade. Bethel College thus did not so much come to terms gradually with the end of the Vietnam era as it was forcibly yanked out of the physical milieu which had supported its reflection on the war.
Before the move, Bethel had been reasonably well integrated with the broader Minnesota collegiate community, and to some degree conversant with national collegiate organizations such as the National Student Association. In addition to the wire-style reportage from the Collegiate Press Service and the Associated Press the Clarion occasionally used to puff issues, outside authors regularly appeared in Bethel’s newspaper. A May 1970 Clarion, for example, featured an analysis of Nixon’s Cambodian incursion by a graduate student in South Asian history at the University of Wisconsin.¹ Bethel students, sometimes acting individually and sometimes through student government, regularly pursued various types of cooperation with area private colleges, most often St. Thomas, Macalester, Hamline, and Augsburg. Bethel students regularly attended political rallies and speeches held on other campuses, and Bethel professors occasionally participated in debates or panel discussions at other schools.² History professor Jim Johnson, for example, was one of four faculty panelists at an event on Augsburg’s campus in 1968.³ Most significantly, Bethel’s student government participated in an organization called the Inter-Collegiate Coordinating Committee (IC3) during the late 1960s (dating this participation has proved difficult). IC3 functioned precisely as its name suggests — as a clearinghouse organization that coordinated social activities between Twin Cities private colleges including dances (events Bethel opted out of) and concerts.⁴
All of this came to an abrupt halt when Bethel moved to its bucolic setting in 1972. Echoing the fundamentalist retreat from popular culture in the 1920s and 1930s, Bethel students effectively withdrew as active participants from the Twin Cities. Interestingly, Bethel was not the only evangelical college to relocate from an urban or near-urban core to a suburban locale during this period. Like Bethel, Calvin College, a Christian Reformed school in Grand Rapids Michigan relocated from its urban Franklin campus to the suburban Knollcrest farm gradually over the period 1962 to 1973. Like Bethel, the move had a stultifying effect on student activism:
Just as the inner city heated up and students cried for involvement, just when 1960s passions flamed and students demanded relevance, Calvin students found themselves transported to the pastoral isolation of Knollcrest Farm.⁵
Bethel’s new campus geography imposed barriers on students participating in social events on other campuses, to say nothing of protest activities. The 245 acre campus, while spacious and physically beautiful, afforded little connection with the greater Twin Cities. The old campus was integrated into the Metro Transit bus network, being located immediately on several major bus lines. Snelling Avenue, which ran north-south along the western edge of the old campus, was a major arterial thoroughfare connecting the northern suburbs to the central and southern parts of the Twin Cities and the campus’ location nestled the school amidst middle- and working-class residential neighborhoods to the east, the State Fairgrounds to the west, and low-income neighborhoods to the south. In contrast, while the Arden Hills campus was also located on Snelling, the road turned into a quasi-highway by the time it reached the new campus; Metro Transit bus routes were now inaccessible. With parking space at a premium, few students maintained the easy access to the larger Twin Cities that the old campus afforded.
Beyond the physical barriers the new campus imposed was the psychological isolation. Bethel students had long complained about the cultural insularity of the campus, but it was only after the move that the notion of the “Bethel Bubble,” a culturally distinct space with its own norms and rules, developed into a recognizable concept. The Arden Hills campus discouraged activism because it removed the prospect of spectators. Several of the anti-war protests at Bethel had been planned specifically with the visibility Snelling Avenue offered in mind. No analogous resources existed at the new campus and so protest, if undertaken, would have been performed exclusively to an audience of peers. At the very height of its “liberal moment,” the school’s anti-war students had their wind snatched away.
If the Long Sixties were a period of war-provoked burgeoning liberality at Bethel, the same was not true of the Conference. While Bethel students had engaged the war, the Conference only tentatively commented on the evolving conflict through about 1969, then doggedly ignored all but a few specific war-related issues from 1970 until the end of the war. Foremost of those issues was the status of the U.S. military, the spiritual health of soldiers, and the role of the chaplaincy. Intensifying a theme in the earlier years of the war, the Conference doubled down on emphasizing the importance of the chaplaincy. While the BGC had earlier characterized the chaplaincy as an elite corps of spiritual warriors whose presence leavened the otherwise morally degrading effects of military service, in the wake of the My Lai massacre and the ensuring increased criticism of the military, the Conference reconsidered the moral status of the military, suggesting that perhaps military service could have an ennobling effect on young men. At the same time, the Conference reconceived chaplains as spiritual guides who could enable young men to make the most of their military years. In spite of the Conference’s earlier skepticism about the moral edification the military offered, the BGC was unwilling to participate in slinging mud at such an important American institution as the military; doing so went against their entire patriotic political ethos.
But this new focus on the chaplaincy allowed other types of Vietnam discourse — to the limited extent the Conference ever entered into other types of Vietnam discourse — to fade entirely from view. During the six year period of 1970–1975, only fifteen articles relating to Vietnam appeared in the pages of the Standard:
- In 1970, five items appeared, three on chaplains and two on small interest items — one covering a soldier newly-returned from Vietnam, the other giving advice to inductees
- In 1971, the Standard printed five items: a directory of chaplains, two defenses of the military, a chaplain’s anecdote from Vietnam, and a feature on a chaplain’s wife
- 1972 saw only one item, a second feature on a chaplain’s wife
- 1973 and 1974 each saw only the publication of chaplain directories — two in 1973 and one in 1974
- 1975 saw only one piece, a Donald Anderson editorial.
The overwhelming focus of these articles on the chaplaincy suggests just how much the Conference saw the war through the lens of spiritual struggle and as an invitation to renewed evangelistic fervor, a conclusion grasped in Donald Anderson’s last editorial in 1975. The Standard’s editor, in a reaffirmation of his long-held views, wrote that “the problems for the United States and the rest of the free world are not finished with U.S. withdrawal from Vietnam” as the “history of communist expansion” suggested the domino theory would play out shortly throughout Southeast Asia. In a somewhat chagrined tone, Anderson offered the BGC’s last word on Vietnam:
We can close the magazines and newspapers with their pictures of women and children running from the ravages of war, but their haunting images will not be wiped from our minds. …The agony of Christians in Vietnam and the privations of Christians in Russia and China and elsewhere should be felt by the body of Christ everywhere…. The Christian church and her missionary enterprise face her greatest challenges in the years ahead.⁶
With that whimper, the Vietnam War passed from the pages of the Standard. Anderson’s take was typical of evangelicals across the country. As historian George Bogaski noted, “the end of the war did not elicit moral judgments, nor produce calls to rebuild, but rather heightened evangelism.”⁷
And indeed it did. In 1974, the Conference unveiled its new “Double in a Decade” program. The goal of the initiative, which would run from 1975–85, was simple: a doubling of denominational metrics — churches planted, weekly attendance, donations, etc. The program was the culmination of the previous decade of intensifying denominational expansion and seemed to signify a collective sigh of relief: with the war over, life could now return to normal.
As evangelistic efforts ramped up, they were accompanied by a palpable shift in the Conference towards the emerging Christian Right. In the waning years of the 1960s, the Standard began to show an increasing concern for a number of social issues which had previously been absent in the publication. For the first time, the question of the propriety of abortion appeared (abortion was not acceptable), as did the issue of sex education in public school. The creation/evolution controversy was given its first hearing in the Standard in a 1968 article by Millard Erickson, a noted evangelical theologian. While Erickson’s conclusion — that because science dealt with mechanistic processes and theology with value and teleology, the dichotomy between science and faith was misleading — wasn’t in line with what most conservative evangelicals concluded, the appearance of the topic suggested the coming resurgence of a topic that had not been given substantial public airing since the 1925 Scopes trial.⁸
Also given new emphasis was the doctrine of biblical inerrancy. Like evolution, inerrancy — the belief that the Bible is without error in all of its teaching — had been hotly contested during the modernist/fundamentalist battles of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and like evolution, it continued to function throughout the twentieth century as a boundary marker between ‘conservative orthodoxy’ and ‘liberal modernism.’ As Conference Baptists began to breathe new life into the creation/evolution issue, the inerrancy question was likewise reinvigorated. Among other articles, Erwin Lutzer’s “Biblical Inerrancy: An Explanation and Defense,” concluded that Conference Baptists should “defend our belief in inerrancy against those who would cast doubt on the reliability of certain parts of biblical revelation.”⁹ In addition to evolution and inerrancy, a bevy of other issues began drawing greater and greater degrees of attention from Conference writers including homosexuality, gay rights, pornography, and the fallout of the sexual revolution.
As these issues emerged, they served as harbinger of the coming wave of the political New Right which broke over evangelicalism in the mid 1970s and solidify most evangelicals’ identification with the Republican party. Partly in backlash to the social re-alignment the Sixties engendered, partly as a defense against an encroaching federal government whose Internal Revenue Service had considered investigating a number of sectarian schools for failing desegregation quotas, and partly in response to the disillusionment Democrat and born-again Christian Jimmy Carter’s failed presidency produced, evangelicals across the country — including the BGC — began engaging the political sphere with a new intensity. The result in the Conference was the emergence of a new political rigidity; as the 1970s turned into the 1980s, it became increasingly difficult to identify as anything but a Conference Republican.
I am tempted to write this sea change within the BGC as a tragedy, largely because the increasingly rigid political conservatism of the 1970s and 1980s was markedly different from the style of politics the mid-century Conference espoused. In the Vietnam War section essay which explored the intellectual foundations of life at Bethel, I characterized the Conference’s salient features as a blend of religious and political culture. The former was fairly mainstream within the evangelical movement, albeit with a sometimes-active fundamentalist fringe, while the latter was marked by a fervent patriotism, a basic trust in the government’s prosecution of foreign policy (even while coupled with an ambivalence for the government’s domestic agenda), and a stark anti-communism — in short, as I argued, religious conservatism.
While this assessment is true, the religious conservatism the Conference expressed in 1965 was distinctly different from the style of politics espoused by the Christian Right in the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s — a difference which the dual use of the word ‘conservative’ tends to obscure; the modern connotations of political conservatism are not entirely sustainable mid-century. Indeed, to some degree, the political culture of the Baptist General Conference in the mid 1960s was distinctive of most of American society in the early years of that decade. Still, the Conference was undoubtedly conservative. First, contemporaries well-versed in the religio-political landscape of the time believed that the Conference was conservative; a recurring trope in the Clarion was for a Bethel student to lament the stodgy conservatism of the BGC. The Conference also exhibited a reticence to abandon the cultural markers of early twentieth century fundamentalism — bans on card playing, dancing, drinking, smoking, and cinema. In 1969, a major controversy erupted, spanning several Standards’ editorial and Letters to the Editor pages. The source of the controversy? The decline of the Sunday evening church service and its (purported) necessity for spiritual nourishment. The Conference laity also evinced a detectable amount of hesitancy over civil rights (even if the Standard’s editorial board was at least theoretically in support), and the Conference doubtless voted Republican.
But even that party marker meant little vis-a-vis political ideology in the mid 1960s. Consider that it was in 1964 that Nelson Rockefeller, noted liberal and leader of the eponymous moderate wing of the Republican party, fought Barry Goldwater for the party’s nomination for President. Although Goldwater won, Rockefeller’s loss was perhaps more due to the whiff of marital infidelity that surrounded his candidacy than an overwhelming rejection of his state expansionist policies. Also consider that the Republican Eisenhower’s presidency, which ended as the decade began, oversaw a ninety-two percent top marginal tax rate. The Republican Party of the 1960s was not the party of Ronald Reagan.
While it seems unlikely that Conference Baptists would have sympathized deeply with Rockefeller’s brand of Republicanism, the political style they generally pursued was one of remarkable openness. Even as the Standard’s editor Donald Anderson criticised aspects of Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society, the publication envisioned a broad array of political possibilities; in other words, discussion and dialog between competing ideas was possible. The BGC of the 1960s was not wedded (at least in principle) to party. A 1964 Standard article by the Southern Baptist Charles Wellborn demonstrated the point, arguing that
all American citizens are entitled to believe politically as they choose. Each individual Christian should be an informed and active citizen. But Christians are not entitled to identify the Gospel of Jesus Christ with any partisan political program. […] The Democratic party is not dedicated to the establishment of the Kingdom of God, and the Republican party is not conducted according to the Sermon on the Mount. Americans for Democratic Action is not a Christian organization and the John Birch Society is not entitled to claim God’s approval or the church’s sanction on its activities. Democrats, Republicans, left-wingers, right-wingers — these are passing political phenomena. As they come and go the churches are called to be God’s instruments in the midst of them, proclaiming the redemptive Gospel of Jesus Christ and His judgement on a sinful world. With such a mission, no church can afford to damage its witness by submitting to the exploitation of power hungry politicians, whatever brand they wear.¹⁰
Gunnar Hoglund, a paragon of Conference Baptist orthodoxy, reporting on a 1964 conference on Christian youth and politics, wrote along similar lines, suggesting that churches ought to encourage their laity to:
• Study issues and candidates in order to be sure of the facts. Come to conclusions in the light of Christian principles and values, Christian ends and Christian means.
• Join the political party which the Christian thinks is nearest right on most important issues, and then work within the party to strengthen its position where he believes it to be right, or change it where he believes it to be wrong.¹¹
The sense that emerges from Conference publications in the mid 1960s is that even amidst political difference and disagreement, the BGC still prized the good of the commonweal — that of the nation as a whole — over narrow partisan interests. There were, of course, many exceptions, probably most notably Conference anti-Catholicism and its attendant opposition for funding parochial schools, even as Bethel benefited from favourable tax policies in the 1960s. To be fair, Conference Baptists were perhaps nearly as conflicted about their own reliance on government largess; a recurring theme in the Standard was whether accepting federal money (directly or indirectly) would compromise Bethel’s institutional religious autonomy. But the overriding ethos was one of political possibility and openness.
That ethos disappeared as the Conference was swept into the New Right’s mobilization of evangelical Christians and the ensuing culture wars of the last decades of the twentieth century. In reading through the Standard in the 1970s, one can feel the mental doors slamming shut across the decade. Politics was no longer a realm which merited both hesitancy and a humility which ensured open-mindedness; it was become an arena for Christian Republicans to contest Democrats, a situation which arose when
many evangelical leaders began to interpret a whole range of changes in social mores — including the feminist movement, the increased availability of pornography, the gay rights movement, and other perceived challenges to the two-parent nuclear family — as products of “secular humanism,” which they thought they could fight in the political sphere. That view, combined with evangelicals’ rising socioeconomic status and greater awareness of their numerical power, gave them the impetus they needed to attempt to reclaim their nation through an unprecedented political mobilization and partisan alliance.¹²
As the Conference shifted into this burgeoning movement, it began to shed aspects of its distinctive Swedish Baptist past and was increasingly reconfigured to the norms of a generic evangelicalism.
In the wake of Bethel’s campus move, the College, like the Conference, also turned sharply toward the political and cultural right. It too, began losing aspects of its heritage as new students were increasingly drawn from the larger population of American evangelicals and no longer hailed nearly-exclusively from the Swedish ethnic monoculture of its heritage. While in 1955 a full eighty percent of Bethel students were drawn from Conference churches, by the 1980s that number was dropping quickly, and by 2009, only twenty percent of Bethel students identified themselves as having a Baptist background (of any kind). Amidst the rapid expansion of the student body during the late Lundquist and Brushaber years, this reduction in BGC numbers on campus was magnified. The effect of the new religious climate on campus was to derail the increasingly countercultural activist values of the college’s political class and push the campus sharply to the right. Gone were the protests, the teach-ins, and more troublingly, the sense of concern for larger world problems.
Even by 1976, this new temper was readily apparent on campus, even to contemporaries. Senior Dan Swanson, writing in May of that year, noticed the trend toward student apathy and penned a reflection on the loss of student activism since the end of the Vietnam War. Swanson interviewed history professor G. William Carlson about this issue, and reported three conclusions: first, students increasingly career-minded with less time or energy to devote to the kinds of social concerns that animated the Vietnam generation. Carlson also noted that students were opting away from outward displays of religiously-motivated social advocacy and turning inward to explore personal religious identity. Finally, Carlson suggested that the campus was marked by an increasing conservatism “in social and political attitudes and practices.¹³
During the Vietnam era, students had contested the parietal rules they were required to follow. Although not as strong as at other campuses, the student power movement did impact Bethel, and, while it accomplished little at the institutional level, student culture did change as a result of activism. A number of the markers of fundamentalist culture which had persisted from the early twentieth century began to disappear in the Sixties, including informal prohibitions on playing cards or attending cinema (a ban on dancing would persist until 2006). But scarcely had students shed these old fundamentalist shibboleths in the 1960s than they began to replace them with a bevy of issues highly distinctive of the concerns of the Christian Right in the 1970s — issues which students had supported during the Vietnam era or had little traction yet.
The question of abortion encapsulates this change. Although students rarely discussed abortion in the Clarion during the 1960s, the lone editorial which discussed the procedure came out strongly in favor: “the question of abortions is at the very base of the women’s liberation movement.” After surveying the benefits of legalized abortion, Editor Patricia Faxon concluded that “it is not the role of the state to make the population’s personal moral decisions.”¹⁴ The notability of this editorial is further enhanced by the fact that it did appear to raise the ire of students; not one letter to the editor appeared in the wake of its publication, in spite of the veritable floods produced by far less controversial issues. Throughout the 1980s, 1990s, and up to the War on Terror era, condemnations of abortion dominated much of the socio-political discussion on campus.
In similar manner, pornography and sexual minority issues began to emerge as cornerstones of the new political rhetoric. While the 1960s Clarions do not mention gay rights, or even allude to the existence of gay people, by the 1980s, the newspaper occasionally printed derogatory slurs such as ‘fag’ and ‘gay,’ usually in student opinion pieces or in brief one-line interviews for polls or photo captions. Pornography was also an issue of concern at Bethel, particularly as the campus adopted computers and internet access in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
One particularly pernicious issue to emerge from the rightward politicization of the campus was a newfound focus on controlling women’s bodies. In 1967, Bethel students — men and women — had protested attempts to implement a dress code. The specific items of clothing the dress code in question outlined were hardly overly modest — they reflected, rather, the white, middle-class aesthetic which had until recently prevailed at Bethel. The proposed guidelines progressed from sportswear (“Sportswear for women consists of such attire as Bermuda shorts, pedal pushers, slacks, and sweat shirts. Sportswear for men consists of such attire as Bermuda shorts, levis, and sweat shirts.”) to formal wear (“formal wear means formals for women and full dress (tuxedos) for men.”). In this way, the dress code (which was thoroughly repudiated by the student body) is notable in that it applied to both men and women equally, at least within the constraints of gendered clothing typical of the era. Neither sex was particularly singled out, and men were subject to an equal number of suggestions as were women.
As sartorial deformalization took hold at the end of the 1960s and into the next decade, men were suddenly excused from explicit dress regulations and a new focus settled on women’s bodies and what they wore, inaugurating a three to five year cycle of female clothes-shaming which persists at Bethel to the present day. Approximately once per complete turnover of the student body, a Clarion editorial or letter to the editor decried a specific or generalized woman’s fashion decision, launching a flurry of agreement or dissent. The specific arguments raised usually centered on women’s supposed ability to make men lust by wearing certain types of clothing. The responsibility for preventing this, the instigator of the cycle nearly always claimed, was on the women, whose duty was substantiated by Romans 14’s injunction to sacrifice for “the weaker brother.” Starting in the mid 1970s and coinciding with the easing of dress regulation for men, this cycle repeated again and again. In 2003, during the War on Terror era, Matthew Boettcher penned an article entitle, “Keep Bethel Off Your Butt,” a reference to the then-popular style of sweatpants with text on the rear. “Men are so susceptible to sins of pornography,” Boettcher argued, “because men’s brains are wired to respond to visual stimulants. Many on this campus have battled with containing this visual lust, myself included. These pants create a stumbling block to many. We don’t want to look at women’s butts, and if we do, we must take responsibility for our sins, but this clothing line makes the battle more difficult.” To the women who were not aware of this effect, Boettcher urged them to “think about what you are wearing and what effect it has on your weaker brothers.”¹⁵ The cycle did not end during the War on Terror, however. Indeed, in 2015, an anonymous student placed posters around the school making a similar argument. They were promptly removed by the administration and roundly denounced by many students, but the motivation to participate in this discourse evidently continues to bubble beneath the surface at Bethel.
Why did this cycle begin? While the causes are of course difficult to pinpoint, I suggest that cycle was a result of the social fallout from the sexual revolution, specifically the public introduction of the birth control pill in 1965. The pill freed women from the burden of inevitable childbearing and unleashed a male backlash. Because women gained more from the pill, comparatively, than men (who had never been held responsible for the result of an unintended pregnancy, in spite of the legal apparatus designed to do exactly that), women were suddenly freed to pursue careers and jobs. In the context of stagflation and the economic malaise of the 1970s and 1980s, women entering the workforce in greater numbers put greater pressure on male jobs, particularly as blue collar manufacturing jobs collapsed across the rust belt. These tensions fueled a male backlash which was subsumed into the sexual realm as a way to pressure women to continue in their traditional roles as homemakers and mothers, thus protecting the shrinking labor pool from female interlopers. Once fused with historic evangelical sexual schizophrenia, and intensified by the evangelical concern with the results of the sexual revolution — broader availability of pornography, the rise of STIs, and eventually the emergence of gay rights and HIV/AIDS — these tensions launched a cycle which has spanned decades.
By the time the War on Terror hit Bethel, the school was awash in culture war conservatism. With few exception, for the student authors of the Clarion in 2001-2003, Republican were godly and Democrats evil, a political manicheistic binary which defined much of the War on Terror discourse. In addition to articles which attacked abortion and gay rights, defended Republican candidates and politicians from criticism, and reveled in the Christian Nation trope, students apologized for capitalism and the free market with an intensity bordering on the religious. Jeff Michler, a senior in 2002, for example, penned a letter to the editor defending the American rich. Michler asserted that “the millionaires and billionaires of capitalism have helped those in poverty more than the church ever has.” The benefits of capitalism for the poor could be seen, Michler argued, in the fact that in America “in a very real sense poverty has been eliminated.” The “next time you criticize America’s ‘fat cats,’” Michler concluded, “take a minute and ask how many jobs have you created? How many families have you provided with health insurance? How many people have you raised from poverty? Now, how many has Bill Gates?”¹⁶
— Fletcher Warren
¹ Adam Schesch, “Nixon Moves Troops into Cambodia; First Optimistic Reports Prove False,” The Clarion 1970-05-08.
² Ron Stone, “Congressman Defends Anti-War Stand,” The Clarion 1968-02-29.
³ “McGee, Professors Clash on Viet War,” The Clarion 1968-05-10.
⁴ 1968-69 Minutes, Student Senate Minutes, 1961-1971, The History Center: Archives of the Baptist General Conference and Bethel University (hereafter HC).
⁵ James Bratt and Ronald Wells, “Piety and Progress: A History of Calvin College,” In Models for Christian Higher Education: Strategies for Success in the 21st Century, ed. Richard Hughes and William Adrian (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 151.
⁶ Donald Anderson, “The Unfinished Book,” The Standard 1975-06-01.
⁷ George Bogaski, American Protestants and the Debate over the Vietnam War: Evil was Loose in the World (Lanham, MI: Lexington Books, 2014), 149.
⁸ Millard Erickson, “The Bible, Science and Creation- How to Interpret the Evidence,” The Standard 1968-07-15.
⁹ Edwin Lutzer, “Biblical Inerrancy: An Explanation and Defense,” The Standard 1973-01-03.
¹⁰ Charles Wellborn, “Is the Church a Donkey or an Elephant?” The Standard 1964-02-17.
¹¹ Gunnar Hoglund, “Politics is for You,” The Standard 1964-06-08.
¹² Daniel K. Williams, “Response to Forum Reviews for God’s Own Party,” Journal of Southern Religion 13 (2011).
¹³ Dan Swanson, “Editorial,” The Clarion 1976-05-07.
¹⁴ Pat Faxon, “Should Abortion be Legalized,” The Clarion 1970-10-30.
¹⁵ Matthew Boettcher, “Keep Bethel Off Your Butt,” The Clarion 2003-10-08.
¹⁶ Jeff Michler, “Dear Editor,” The Clarion 2002-12-11.