Stanford faced tough times in the winter of 1991-92. Mired in budget cutbacks and still recovering from the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989, the University was also struggling through a very public controversy over federal research funding. Morale was low in Building 10. When Provost James Rosse stepped down, President Donald Kennedy turned to a familiar face: Gerald Lieberman, an academic leader who already had served Stanford for almost 40 years.
Lieberman's appointment as provost is remembered as pivotal for the institution. "He walked right into the middle of an organizational crisis and provided great calm, confidence and comfort," recalls Kathy Gillam, senior associate provost for faculty affairs.
Lieberman stayed in the University's No. 2 post for 19 months, smoothing the transition between Kennedy's departure and Gerhard Casper's arrival from the University of Chicago. In Casper's first year, Lieberman spent long hours teaching him about Stanford, becoming both mentor and friend to the new president. When Lieberman retired in 1993, Casper called him "God's greatest blessing."
Lieberman, PhD '53, died May 18 of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease). In his long career at Stanford he was the consummate statesman, navigating academic and institutional realms with equal aplomb. Lieberman joined the faculty in statistics and industrial engineering immediately after earning his doctorate in statistics. Ten years later, he helped found the program in operations research. He chaired the new department until 1975, when he became associate dean of the School of Humanities and Sciences. He went on to serve as vice provost and dean of research, dean of graduate studies and chair of the Faculty Senate. And, in a departure from his policy-shaping role, Lieberman chaired the celebration commemorating Stanford's first 100 years. He was well-suited to the task, in part because of his enormous pride in the University's growth and strength, Kennedy recalls.
Though he never turned down a call to serve Stanford, he did challenge University and government officials when they advocated policies he didn't believe in. He was a champion of faculty rights and administrative fairness. In the early 1980s, when the federal government tried to tighten controls on campus research and visits from foreign scientists, Lieberman vehemently opposed the measures, saying they would unnecessarily restrict academic freedom. "The best interests of U.S. science and technology, and, therefore, the national security, are met through open and free scientific exchanges," he said in a 1982 talk at Stanford.
The University honored Lieberman in 1985 with the Kenneth M. Cuthbertson Award for exceptional service. Another tribute came in 1994 when Casper created a fellowship program in his name to express "gratitude to a truly remarkable citizen." Gerald Lieberman Fellowships are awarded annually to nine graduate students who show potential for academic leadership.
Lieberman's devotion extended to Stanford athletics as well. On his bookshelf at home, he displayed a basketball and football signed by Cardinal players. When he left the vice provost job in 1985 to return to teaching, colleagues threw him a farewell bash on the football field and he received a "good-anywhere pass" to Stanford Stadium. ("If I had known I was getting this," he joked, "I would have stepped down years ago.") Some of his Stanford spirit must have rubbed off on the family, because all four of his children hold Stanford degrees: Janet (Argyres), '80, MS '81, Joanne, '83, PhD '97, Michael, '84, and Diana, '86.
In later years, his illness began to interfere with his ability to communicate, but Lieberman refused to be silenced. He enrolled as a volunteer in Project Archimedes -- a research effort of Stanford's Center for the Study of Language and Information -- testing computerized devices designed for people with disabilities. One was a voice synthesizer with a keyboard and special word-prediction software that enabled him to converse with minimal effort. During those years, students, faculty and staff from every corner of the University stopped by to chat with Lieberman and his wife, Helen, '52, MA '55.
And even with the synthesizer, Lieberman's distinctive voice came through. The device was pre-programmed, for instance, to utter his trademark phrase -- "Take the rest of the day off!" -- with a single keystroke. It was something he used to say at the end of a long day in the office, a wry acknowledgment of others' hard work from a man who will long be remembered for his.
Erika Check, '99, is an intern at Newsweek.
