One afternoon last November, a Portland State University economics student gave a class presentation on what he described as the U.S. military's flawed reliance on one of its key combat rifles.



As a visual aid, Zachary Bucharest hauled out a duffel bag and withdrew the disassembled parts of a Colt AR-15, a semiautomatic version of the military M-16. For the next 15 or 20 minutes, he kept professor John Hall's class engrossed as he lectured about the weapon's inferiority to the foreign-made AK-47.





PSU policy forbids firearms on campus by anyone except police. But no one in the economics class -- not even Hall, a tenured professor -- reported the incident to campus security or administrators.

Bucharest's presentation marked a pivotal moment in a drama that now threatens to scrub the career of a beloved professor and sully the reputation of a promising student leader.

The climactic event came in the closing moments of class Jan. 14, when Hall denounced Bucharest as a government informant and killer. He then reported to school police that he suspected Bucharest of carrying a gun on campus. The professor also sent a letter to the head of Oregon's FBI asking whether the bureau was bankrolling Bucharest as an agent provocateur.

Campus administrators responded by suspending Hall with pay (

), saying he dishonored the university and violated Bucharest's privacy. They ordered Hall to turn in his office keys and barred him from campus while they investigated.

"Prof. Hall's conduct has created an atmosphere of fear and suspicion," Carol Mack, a vice provost at PSU, wrote (

) to university President Wim Wiewel on Feb. 3, "and I believe that his presence on campus would only escalate the situation."

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Americans have been hypervigilant about safety on college campuses since a student opened fire at

in April 2007, killing 32. Campus safety experts across the nation have followed news accounts of the PSU dust-up, which opened a public discourse about the nature of school security, academic freedom and the constitutional right to bear arms.

"It seems that this professor had a concern," says security consultant Steven Healy, former director of public safety at Princeton University, "and probably addressed it other than how we would want someone to address the issue."

Some of Hall's students have stepped forward to defend him. They say Bucharest, a 30-year-old combat veteran with a permit to carry a concealed handgun, was so preoccupied by his past that he spoke often about guns, warfare, explosives, martial arts and the science of bullets penetrating flesh.

Hall's most ardent supporters have declared his public scolding of Bucharest a heroic act. They say the professor was only trying to protect students and himself from a combat veteran who seemed to be suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. And they wonder why Bucharest has been allowed to stay on campus.

PSU's correspondence on the flap obtained by The Oregonian -- along with interviews of Bucharest and his lawyer, Hall's attorneys, PSU students and teachers, campus administrators and the head of security -- offer the clearest account yet of how two outsize personalities collided on campus.

Economics professor John Battaile Hall, 57, has taught for 25 years at PSU. He's a popular lecturer in a subject that -- in less-capable hands -- is drier than summer cheatgrass. He brews homemade beer, holds patents on two wood-burning stoves and was once named teacher of the year in economics.

Zachary P. "Zaki" Bucharest shaves his head and allows a skinny beard to snake down his cheeks and chin. A 1998 graduate of

, he's a charming man with a staggering number of friends, a position in student government and an intriguing life story.

Bucharest holds dual Israeli-U.S. citizenship. He came to PSU in 2006 after serving much of the previous six years in the Israel Defense Forces. In an interview with The Oregonian, Bucharest said he was trained as a sniper and served in Lebanon and the Palestinian territories.

Bucharest says he looked up to Hall, who made the study of economics fascinating. Like lots of Hall's students, he spent many hours in office sessions. It was during those sessions, Hall would later write, that Bucharest boasted of being a sniper who "killed more than a few people" and "showed me scars on his chest from bullet wounds, relics of his combat experience."

The young man talked freely about his exploits. He told classmates about police seizing weapons from his apartment on Northwest Flanders Street -- two Glock pistols and a 12-gauge pump shotgun -- when a buddy accidentally shot a hole through the ceiling. And he told friends about destroying a textbook with detonating cord -- and videotaping the episode -- after getting angry with a different professor.

Then came Bucharest's AR-15 presentation last fall in which he demonstrated the upper and lower receivers of the semiautomatic weapon.

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Charles Merten, a lawyer representing Hall, says the professor was surprised to see Bucharest pull out the rifle parts in class and never gave him permission to bring them in. But Bucharest says Hall gave him permission on two occasions and later awarded him a B-plus for his presentation. Bucharest says the weapon was inoperable because he removed the firing pin before bringing it to class.

Fellow students say Bucharest's bravado ramped up after the AR-15 presentation, and he began to encourage classmates to buy guns and ammo.

Economics student Daniel Dreier, 26, found himself drawn into what he would later characterize as Bucharest's "paramilitary culture." He suggested to Bucharest that they buy Hall an AK-47 as a gift, and students soon talked of pooling up to $400. But Dreier says he soured on the idea when Bucharest was hesitant to buy the weapon from a gun shop.

On Dec. 4, during the economic department's annual holiday party, Bucharest talked with a classmate about how to make a firebomb using the explosive compound RDX.

The classmate, who declined to be named for this story because he fears retribution from PSU administrators, says he felt Bucharest was trying to get him to incriminate himself about radical activities.

"You're a fed," he recalls telling Bucharest.

The classmate says Bucharest later threatened to punch him, and Dreier, who was there, backs up that account. But Bucharest denies making any such threat.

In another incident in January, Bucharest and Dreier ended a night of drinking seated in a parked car just off campus. Dreier's girlfriend, 23-year-old Dana Scheider, had driven downtown to pick him up and joined them for a round or two. She was behind the wheel, waiting for the alcohol to wear off before driving.

Scheider recalled that Bucharest rested a pistol on his lap and threatened to put a bullet in the car if she drove. She thought it was Bucharest's eccentric way of keeping her from driving impaired. Bucharest denies pulling out a pistol or making any such comment.

By Jan. 12, Hall had heard reports from students that Bucharest was trying to get them to buy guns and ammo. Then that day, during an office session, he learned about Bucharest's firebomb chat.

"He felt the need was urgent to do something," Merten says.

Hall made no official complaint to PSU about Bucharest, although he spoke in confidence to a campus administrator he won't name, Merten says.

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By the morning of Jan. 14, according to Merten, Hall was convinced that the best way to protect himself and his students was to call Bucharest out publicly. First, Merten says, he stopped at the school's public safety office and asked an officer to come frisk a student he suspected of carrying a firearm on campus.

The director of public safety, Michael D. Soto, says Hall declined to file an official report or provide any information about the student, so his office took no action.

In his comparative economics class that afternoon, Hall glanced at the clock and -- with 15 minutes left in the session -- began to accuse Bucharest of being a government snitch. The professor put a letter on an overhead projector and began reading portions of it aloud to the roughly 40 students in his class, including Bucharest.

The three-page letter (

), addressed to Arthur Balizan, the FBI's special agent in charge for Oregon, made a series of disjointed accusations. Hall's letter accuses Bucharest of trying to draw innocent students into crimes and tells Balizan he suspects someone in the FBI office of promoting his work.

"My suspicion is that your office is seeking such manipulated and incriminating information as a way to criminalize and thereby implicate these students' future careers, as well as reduce their earning potential over the span of their working lives," Hall wrote to Balizan.

The FBI later reported that Bucharest never had any association with the bureau.

When the professor finished his excoriation that day in class, he took a photo of Bucharest and handed him a ripped manila envelope that contained a copy of the letter.

"Give this to your superiors," Hall said.

Bucharest, who sat in shocked silence during Hall's diatribe, recalls muttering three words as he walked out: "It's a pity."

Hall later told campus police he suspected Bucharest of carrying a gun. On his office door, the professor put a photo of Bucharest, along with his name and student identification number.

Bucharest lodged a formal complaint against Hall with PSU administrators and hired Elden Rosenthal, a Portland lawyer.

Five days after Hall's public accusations against Bucharest, students packed into the classroom to hear three senior PSU administrators talk about Hall's abrupt departure. Many of the students voiced outrage that Hall had been sent away while Bucharest stayed at PSU.

Hall's outburst divided the campus.

"This is a tragic misunderstanding," says Samantha Alloy, a friend of Bucharest's. "Professor Hall is a well loved and respected guy, but he made a tragic mistake, whether it was because he was having paranoid delusions or he thought it was in the best interest of students."

For now, the university finds itself hip deep in complaints. The administration is investigating Bucharest's complaints about Hall, and campus security is investigating Hall's complaint that Bucharest carried firearms on campus. This week, a handful of students and alumni met with PSU President Wiewel to complain that the administration hasn't adequately addressed their complaints.

"We take all concerns regarding safety on campus very seriously," says PSU spokesman Scott Gallagher.

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