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When I asked Trienens if he had hired Dohrn, he replied: "Yes."
Wasn't that a bit of nepotism, considering his relationship to her father-in-law? A lot of lawyers would love a first job with such a prestigious firm.
"We often hire friends," replied Trienens, 84.
Yet Dohrn wasn't licensed to practice law. Though she passed the bar exam, the ethics committee turned her down because of her rap sheet. That limited the type of work she could do at Sidley Austin, which she left after a few years.
"Dohrn didn't get a license because she's stubborn," Trienens said. "She wouldn't say she's sorry."
That's not all she refused to say. In 1981, Dohrn was summoned before a federal grand jury investigating an armed robbery involving other members of the Weather Underground. She refused to cooperate, for which she served seven months in jail.
Dohrn's route to Northwestern is harder to discern. Trienens said he had nothing to do with it, though he was then board chairman.
"The dean hired her," he said, referring to Robert Bennett, who was then law school dean. (Bennett did not return phone calls seeking comment.)
Daniel Polsby, a law school faculty member in 1991, recalls Dohrn's appointment going through an academic side door. Because she was brought on as an "adjunct," she was never put before a faculty vote.
Seeking clarification from the university, I was told to put my questions in writing. Which I did:
Was her appointment at NU's law school made by the dean acting alone? Did it have to be ratified by the Board of Trustees?
Instead of answering the questions, the university responded with a boilerplate statement of support: "While many would take issue with views Ms. Dohrn espoused during the 1960s, her career at the law school is an example of a person's ability to make a difference in the legal system."
Some also might take issue with Dohrn's more recent actions, like stiffing that grand jury in 1981. Critics can be forgiven for questioning what kind of example that sets for law students.
The Ayers and Dohrn story can be read as a tale of redemption, albeit lacking an act of contrition. Or it could be seen as verifying Ayers' conviction that life's playing fields aren't level. There is one set of rules for those with the good fortune to live in places such as Glen Ellyn or Kenwood, where the couple lives now. There is another set of rules for the rest of American society.
In his memoirs, Ayers put the issue succinctly: "Why all the pretense of equity when some people get four or five outs to the inning while others get only two?"
Ron Grossman is a Tribune reporter.
rgrossman@tribune.com
Wasn't that a bit of nepotism, considering his relationship to her father-in-law? A lot of lawyers would love a first job with such a prestigious firm.
"We often hire friends," replied Trienens, 84.
Yet Dohrn wasn't licensed to practice law. Though she passed the bar exam, the ethics committee turned her down because of her rap sheet. That limited the type of work she could do at Sidley Austin, which she left after a few years.
"Dohrn didn't get a license because she's stubborn," Trienens said. "She wouldn't say she's sorry."
That's not all she refused to say. In 1981, Dohrn was summoned before a federal grand jury investigating an armed robbery involving other members of the Weather Underground. She refused to cooperate, for which she served seven months in jail.
Dohrn's route to Northwestern is harder to discern. Trienens said he had nothing to do with it, though he was then board chairman.
"The dean hired her," he said, referring to Robert Bennett, who was then law school dean. (Bennett did not return phone calls seeking comment.)
Daniel Polsby, a law school faculty member in 1991, recalls Dohrn's appointment going through an academic side door. Because she was brought on as an "adjunct," she was never put before a faculty vote.
Seeking clarification from the university, I was told to put my questions in writing. Which I did:
Was her appointment at NU's law school made by the dean acting alone? Did it have to be ratified by the Board of Trustees?
Instead of answering the questions, the university responded with a boilerplate statement of support: "While many would take issue with views Ms. Dohrn espoused during the 1960s, her career at the law school is an example of a person's ability to make a difference in the legal system."
Some also might take issue with Dohrn's more recent actions, like stiffing that grand jury in 1981. Critics can be forgiven for questioning what kind of example that sets for law students.
The Ayers and Dohrn story can be read as a tale of redemption, albeit lacking an act of contrition. Or it could be seen as verifying Ayers' conviction that life's playing fields aren't level. There is one set of rules for those with the good fortune to live in places such as Glen Ellyn or Kenwood, where the couple lives now. There is another set of rules for the rest of American society.
In his memoirs, Ayers put the issue succinctly: "Why all the pretense of equity when some people get four or five outs to the inning while others get only two?"
Ron Grossman is a Tribune reporter.
rgrossman@tribune.com
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