Volume 18 - Issue 6

Publisher Margarita Smith Ed£tor-in-Chief M elissa Turner Business Manager Barrie Seidenberg Managing Editors Jay Carney T amar Lehrich Designer Maria H o ng Production Manager Margaret Ba uer Photography Editor Carter Brooks Assoc£ate Business Managers Rob Lindeman Mike Sonnenblick National Sales Manager Peter Lefkowitz* Associate Editor D an Waterm an Circulation Managers Debbie R osier** Stu Weinzimer* • Staff Paul K ihn James Bennet H ank Man sbach Martha Brant Beth Callaghan Patrick Santa n a Beth Cohen Lori Sherman Anne Hawke Pam T hompson Pearl Hu Yin Wong Meredith Hyde Peter Zusi • tf«td Ftbruary 18, 1986 • •ti«ttd Apn'/ 8, 1986

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TheNewj_o_u_r_n_a_l_____x_~~-~~~_8.N_1~-·: 1

Between the VInes

8

Theater

10

New Haven

18

Features

24

Words on Creation

In recent years, the number of applicants to writing courses at Yale has far surpassed available opmings. Questwning aauimria's tendency to equate cn·ticism with art, critical thinking with reactive thinking, the author finds that !oday's students are staTchin.e for a new mums of se{fexpresston. By Dono.ld W Faulkner who teaches in the Yale English Department.

Without the Make-up

The Yale School of Drama, heraltkd as the top theater training school in the country, has a select group of students as well as an elite list of alumni. Yet, with insufficient facilities, exhausting schedules, and a glut of playwrights, students find that the realities of the drama school overshadow its great reputatwn.

By Paul T. Kihn.

Changing Faces

Looking at New Haven buildings, the author observes both remnants of past decline and products of new growth. Is the ciJy government nding the tide of a rduming prosperiJy or creating an empty vimm of progress? By Dan Watennan.

In the T rad ition The number of.fratem~ies and sororiJies at Yale has increased 200 percent in the past two years, reflecting a national trend. While some attribute the resurgence to the rise of the legal dn.nking age and the demise of SAC, others question the effectiveness of the residential college system. Does the recent popularity of fraternities indicate a growing conservatism at Yale? By Tamar Uhrich.

36

Opening Doors AltJwugh rare!Y aclmowledged or recognized, 19 disabled srudmts CUlT~ attend Yale. The opming of the Resource Offi« for Students with Disabilities and the formation of their own student organizatitm rejkd the tksire of the disabled to knock down those barriers which have prevented them from entering the colkge

wmmunity with ease. By Jennifer Lee.

Books

44

A D ish onorable H istory Dan Oren, a former Yale untkrgraduate and current post-doctoral fel/cw, uncovers and documents evidence of anti-semitism at this univerrity from 1701 to the present in his book, Joining the Club: A History of Jews and Yale.

By Lmny Picker.

Afterthought

47

NewsJoumal

4

A Time for Conversation

Rejlecting on his tenure as Master of Ezra Stiles Colkge, Professor Heinrich Von Sladm muses on the phiwsophy of the residential college as a place where informal i7Uellet:tual interchange bdwtm faculty and stutknts should thri«.

The New Journal/April 18, 1986 3

Going Underground In 1961, Yale prepared for nuclear holocaust. K-Rations consisting of Spam, a pressed fruitbar, a piece of chocolate, powdered coffee, and cigarettes were stored in underground cages. Large bins of water were also placed in basements and underground steam tunnels. Sleeping pills and barbiturates were provided with the expectation that people might be so distraught they would need them to sleep and relax. The shelters and emergency supplies were never used, nor were they removed; they remain as Yale's legacy of the paranoia in the early 60's.

With tension in Berlin and a looming crisis in Cuba, President Kennedy set the country in panic by encouraging the building of fallout shelters. Like most cities across the country, New Haven followed Kennedy's advice and developed a Civil Defense Agency to prepare for nuclear war. Yale, also, was caught in the tide, and appointed its own civil defense program in cooperation with the city's.

Colonel Richard Gimbel, '20, the curator of the aeronautical literature collection at Sterling Library, chaired the Yale Civil Defense Committee.

The plan was to provide protection for the entire Yale community from nuclear fallout in the basements and the underground steam tunnels.

Radiation detection instruments, emergency lighting, heat, and communication were to be provided in addition to emergency supplies. The scheme included making various structural changes in the basements and tunnels in order to increase their effectiveness as fallout shelters: openings were to be blocked, walls reinforced, and ventilation shielded from radiation. The committee based its efforts on several assumptions which served to rationalize the existence of the shelters. One was that the attack would not be a direct hit- it 4 The New JournaUApril 18, 1986

Wast ed fallou t sh elter supplies deca y b e neath Yale'• campus.

was thought that New York City or Boston would be primary targets.

Secondly, they hoped that the winds would be favorable so fire and radiation would not be swept directly toward New Haven.

But even if these assumptions were proven to be accurate, the committee still oversimplified the effects of nuclear war and overlooked major complications. Many of the structural changes were never carried out, and as a result the underground network provided insufficent protection from nuclear fallout. And even if the shelters had been safe, the supplies would have lasted only two weeks. Other expectations were unrealistic: the entire Yale community, for example, was expected to get into the shelters nine to fifteen minutes after the first warning signal.

These inherent flaws led many of the faculty, students, and alumni to oppose the Civil Defense project. With the exception of Colonel Gimbel , who one alumnus described as having "proto-military views," even the committee didn't take the program seriously. As Professor John Blum remembers, "It was all a big joke. No

one really thought the shelters would do the job."

In addition to technical faults, many were concerned that the shelters encouraged the acceptance of the inevitability of war. One alumnus, Lawrence M. Bensky, '58, associate editor of Random House, wrote Yale President A. Whitney Griswold to ask, "Is it the place of an institution founded and dedicated to the cause of liberal , humanitarian learning to encourage and support such a blatantly defeatist and foolish project?" And as Assistant Professor Robert L. Herbert reasoned, "the deeper the shelter, the bigger the bomb."

The shelters remained intact, though unused and ignored. In 1976, however, several TD students broke into a shelter and stolt¡ barbiturates from it. In response, the administration dismantled many of the most accessible shelters. But yellow and blue warning signs still dot the campus, serving as reminders of shelters deep within the tunnels, waiting to be used.

- MarlluJ Brant

Wearing Success

Esther Kashkin believes that within seconds of meeting someone, we assess that person's economic status, social status and educational background.

H er image consulting company, Elements of Style, reflects this belief.

For $65, Kashkin will help students to express professionalism through their clothes, without losing their personal style. "Clothing is a metaphor for your personality," Kashkin said. "I want to teach the language of what you wear."

When Kashkin first came to New Haven a year and a half ago, she was surprised to see how Yale students dressed. Where were the conservative pinstripe oxfords and khakis, so often imitated in her native California?

Conscious that many students do not change their casual manner of dress for job interviews, she decided to open her business last December for the Yale community.

In order to create images, Kashkin follows a three-step process. She begins by interviewing her clients to discover what kinds of clothing, makeup (if they are women), and hairstyles they prefer. She then looks at her customers' wardrobes. Finally, when a suit and hairstyle are agreed upon, Kashkin v ideo tapes her clients to show them how they move in their clothes. "I want to make [the customers] feel good about wl;tat they are dressed in," she said.

Kashkin does not attempt to force the same trend on all of her customers.

Instead, she suggests three outfits, usually created from the clothes her clients already own. When Rebel Ely, TD '87, complained that she had little use for her conservative Brooks Brothers suit, Kashkin showed her how it could be used for casual dinner parties as well as business interviews.

Occasionally customers want to buy new items of clothing; Kashkin will purchase them wholesale and ensure that they blend in with the client's wardrobe. "She showed me how to

Off With a Kick

"Clothing is a metaphor for your personality. I want to teach the language of what you wear." make sure every piece of clothing fits like a j igsaw puzzle," Ely said.

Kashkin worked as a costume designer in California. Over the last five years she has received critical acclaim for her designs, including the Los Angeles Drama Circle Critics Award. When she moved to New Haven with her husband, Kenneth Kashkin, a fellow of Berkeley College, she was unable to find work as a costume designer with the Yale Repertory Theatre or The Long Wharf; so, she decided to open her business. "It grew from a desire to work with clothing in theatrical terms," she said. Now, instead of scripts and history books, Kashkin conducts research on images desired by companies. She also refers to a guide in which com panies specify what applicants should wear during their interviews.

However, Kashkin has found that the idea of creating images for students is "a very difficult thing to market."

Relying on word of mouth and an advertisement in the classified section of the Yale Business Bulletin, she has advised 20 men and women, from both the undergraduate and graduate sch ools. To Kashkin this limited response shows that Yale students don't want to believe that a job offer may hinge upon their image. "I think a lot of people don't see a need for it," said Ely, "but my God, I feel so much better."

•

- Bronwyn Barkan

For Melissa King, MC '87, Fridays are spent dancing. In the morning, she rehearses for two hours with Yaledancers. During the afternoon, she is dancing again, this time as a member of the Paul Hall Dance Company (PHDC), a professional group in New Haven. "It's hard dancing five hours," King said, "but when it's over, it's a great feeling to know that you've danced all day."

King joined PHDC when asked by Paul Hall , the group's director. He is also a member of the local funk band Mikata, and recently choreographed "The Wiz" at Ezra Stiles College. Hall, after seeing the Yaledancers, asked six of the group's members to join his fledgling company when it formed in January. Along with King, Rachel Chapman, MC '86, accepted the offer.

Apart from these two Yaledancers, and two other Yale students, PHDC has 11 members; they range from high school students, who work as apprentices, to a 33 year-old professional dancer. Some commute from as far as New York to work with Hall, who choreographs all of the group's material. Their repertoire, he said, ranges from "contemporary ballet to Afro-Caribbean to jazz to modern."

Or, as King put it, "Everything but tap."

For the Yaledancers, though, the PHDC offers much more than a spectrum of dance styles. "It's so healthy to be involved with something outside of Yale," King said. "It's a whole different mind frame."

Chapman also finds the atmosphere refreshing. "A lot of the younger people in the company have a really idealistic attitude about making the commitment," she said.

Commitment, on the other hand, deterred some of the other Yaledancers from joining. "I didn't feel I was ready to dance in that sort of league," said Nobel Bellosillo, PC '88, "and it seemed like I would have to make a The New joumaVApril 18, 1986 5

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choice between them an d Yaledancers." PHDC rehearses Friday evenings and Saturdays, t h us permitting King and C h apman to continue their work with Yaledancers during the week. Still, as Robyn Reid, SY '87, another who tentatively rejected the offer, put it, "Friday and Saturday are really prime social time."

Thus far, PHDC has put on several short performances, including a presentation at the D ixwell Q H ouse, a New Haven cultural center, as part o f Black H istory Month. King and Chapman played a prominent part in that show, performing a duet called "Gentle Spirit." The. company is currently working toward a large performance for September, possibly to take p lace at New Haven's Educational Center for the Arts.

Using th~ summer rehearsals, H all hopes to develop a core group of dancers in order to form a touring company. "The thing that really scares me," he said, "is when the summer comes, everybody wants to go away."

King, however, does not foresee a problem. She plans to stay the summer, and to continue her work with the group next year. "It has a lot of potential," she said. "I think it'll definitely hold together."

The key to that endurance may be PHDC's unique combination of dancers; Hall describes the group as "multicultural and multiracial." It also offers a wide range of age and experience. Another Yale student member, FrancisJue, BK '86, is not a Yaledancer. "In my experience, a lot of companies are very cutthroat," said J ue, who took off last year to work in musical theater in New York City. "I think Paul's company is a really nurturing group of people. We work well together. We're not out there believing that "We know what dance is."

-Jennifer Fleissner 6 The New Journal/April 18, 1986

Rachel Chap man, M C '86, an d M elissa K ing, M C ' 8 7, re h earse with Yaledancers.

Money Bytes The hum of several I BM computers fills the air, almost drowning out the ring of the telephone. A calendar filled with appointments for the next week hangs on the wall,' ' and people sift through documents piled on one of the ~esks. All in all, the scene is a typical one for a small, computer-oriented company. But on second glance you realize that these people look a little younger than you would expect. They are college freshmen.

Matt J ones, MC '89, Jim Proud, BR '89, and Pramil Singh, BR '89, are respectively the Secretary/Treasurer, the Vice President, and the President of Compuform, Inc., a computer corporation which they founded last September. Originally intended as "just a way· of making some extra spending money," the corporation began when Singh and Proud, suitemates in Vanderbilt Hall, began charging fellow students a few dollars for typing and revising papers on a word processor. Singh, who had been involved in a similar, though smaller scale, business in high school, realized the potential for expansion. Jones, Proud's classmate from high school, joined the other two, and together they began advertising their services.

Almost immediately they encountered a problem; the Yale Corporation stipulates that non-profit organizations cannot advertise on campus. Yet offcampus advertising, according to Singh, "just isn't worth it for an on-

L UN

c H

a v a ·il a bl e f o r pr i vate.

P A RTIES campus service." Thus, the three decided to concentrate on off-campus ventures. About midway through their first semester, they applied for inco r poration in the state of Connecticut and rented an office on Lake Place. The fledgling company now offers a variety of computer services, the smallest of which is word processing.

The firm has four main branches.

The first, occasional word processing jobs such as a recent one for the Model United Nations at Yale, is the only one conducted on campus. The second, data analyses for corporations such as the New Jersey-based Teid, Inc., has proven quite lucrative. The company has also become involved with the sale of both hardware and software to law offices and medical firms. The h ardware, mostly IBM personal computers, is usually installed by the t h ree students themselves, who coordinate software systems to be used in conjunction with the computers.

Finally, the corporation is working on a system which will enable them to develop their own hardware and software by contract from larger firms.

Although Jones, Proud, and Singh will not disclose the sum of money the company has made thus far, they do cite some future plans to be carried out when the dividends reach the $50,000 mark. The most ambitious of these is to create a simulated mainframe computer. Compuform, Inc. already h as five. or six part-time student employees, an accountant to handle tax forms, and a lawyer. Although all three freshmen plan to continue to devote a great deal of time to their corpor ation, they stress that they are students first and foremost, and that Compuform's being at Yale is purely incidental. They are careful not to a llow their new identities as businessmen to overwhelm their lives as undergraduates: "We do not sacrifice social life, ... at least not on weekends."

2 45 c rown st 782 00 4 0 The New Journal thanks Anne Applebaum Tom Augst Joyce Banerjee Bronwyn Barkan Alison Begner Rich B low Samantha Conti Bill Day Mark Fedors Sam Fraidin Jennifer Fleissner J ulie Hansen Joe Levy

R ob Lindeman Julie Malork Manuscripts and Archives Su san Orenstein Lauren Rabin Jennifer Sachs Margo Schlanger Jennifer Schultz Karen Shen Patricia Stark Strong Cohen G raphic Design Pamela Weber Grace White Yale Banner

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Between the Vines/D.W. Faulkner

Words on Creation Last January, when I posted my class list for my spring term course in fiction writing, I added a note to ease the pains of those who had applied to the course- admission was by writing sample only-and weren't accepted. "I could easily fill another section with qua lified applicants," I wrote honestly.

Some days later I passed by the English Department bulletin board to find a rejoinder scribbled at the bottom of t he sheet. "Why don't you, d ammit?" it read. The expletive may not in fact have been there, but I'm¡ certain it was present in the writer's mind.

I felt badly that day, vowed never again to put a note at the bottom of a class list, and thought a lot about what prompted the remark. I recognized that the person simply wanted a chance to write, to test his or her mettle, and to explore the possibilities of his or her imagination with fellow writers . and a teacher who has something to say about the craft of writing. It strikes me that the student wasn't asking a greatdeal.

The fact is that in recent years the number of applicants to writing courses at Yale have far outpaced the course offerings. This past year, the English Department's three fiction writing seminars (each accomodating about twelve to fifteen students) had well over two hundred applicants. A similar circumstance existed with the poetry and nonfiction courses offered.

In defense of the Department, there's a healthy range of offerings: the three courses in fiction writing; two in poetry; four in nonfiction (if you include the English 120¡121 sequence and the autobiography course); and the invaluable "Daily Themes" (an altogether remarkable course which, because it is so expensive to run and luckily has its own fundin g, remains virtually unique in American higher education).

The re a re also writing courses offered in the College Seminar Program, often as many as 10 m an 8 The New J ournal/April 18, 1986

academic year , but as the program is designed to generate courses o n an ad hoc basis, its list is necessarily unpredictable, a circum stance often overlooked by curriculum planners who tend to rely on its offe rings. In addition, there a re the offe rings of Yale's Summer Writing Program : eight intensive workshop writing courses in poetry, fiction, nonfiction and playwrighting are taught in July and August and give stude nts the o pportunity to work unencumbered by a full course load.

As I look back across this list , I find it hard to say that the range of offerings still doesn't meet the needs of qualified students. But the hard evidence of experience (I've taught for the English D epartm ent, the College Seminar Program, and the Summer Writing Program) leads me to say that the demand remains.

"And, moreover , can the need be met- is the craft of writing something that actually can be tau ght?"

Why is this? Why the explosion of interest in writing? Is it a fad, o r a deeper trend? Given declining enrollments in the humanities (I should note here that writing course applicants tend to come from the full spectrum of undergraduate majors offered at Yale), why this strange reversal? And, moreover, can the need be m et- is the craft of writing some-thing th at actually can be taught?

To me, this constella tion of issues has a lot to do with certain failures of American second ary ed u cation ,

shortsighted undergraduate curriculum design, and the generally remarkable resilience of American students. I can only offer what might be termed some pop psychology reactions to the phenomenon of interest in writing courses at this point- I find myself caught up in my own reactions.

Among the things I can say are these: I've long noticed a trend in liberal arts disciplines to mistake the history of the discipline for the discipline itself. For example , most of my academic background is in philosophy. I used to be amazed that I was never encouraged to, for lack of a better word, philosophize; my discipline of study was, with rare exceptions, a history of ' ihought about the nature of the discipline, about Plato, or Descartes, or Nietzche .

Up to a point, this was welcome. I was learning how to think. Independent thinking, though, was rather discouraged; or, at least, my teachers didn't know how to react to it. In short, to my d ismay, the attempts to teach me critical thinking- which to me should have encouraged independen t thought-trained me less to examine life (as Socrates would have had it) or to wonder at the order of things (as Aristotle might have wished) , and trained me more to be a critic, to essentially react to what others had to say on the subject of living.

I find myself taking this experience and reading it into the circu"mstances of current curriculum design . I am part of an entire generation whose training has been to assume that critical thinking is reactive thinking, a generation that has swallowed its frustrations with its own teachers and has mutely decided to carry on a sham.

I don't mean to sound bitter; most certainly there is a need to inculcate a canon of knowledge, but beyond this there is also a need to encourage fresh , independent thought.

This problem, the growth of my own

writing concerns, and the fact that, as I used to joke with my ·students, the training of students to read literary works for meaning alone and not for how that meaning was produced was producing more critics and fewer independent writers, so much so that I worried if these newly hatched critics would have anything to criticize save each other's critical efforts, has led me to my current position.

Couple this with two other issues, one, that American secondary education in the past fifteen years has largely ignored training in writing; and two, that many American students, increasingly those at Yale, are savvy enough to see through the issues of training of criticism-asreactiof!· (l don't claim to say that any Yale student has thought of the issue in just such a way- indeed, I think many want to explore creative writing opportunities as a blind reaction to this miasma) as a dead end, and you have a fairly complete picture of this constellation. Though I'm tempted to say that the lionizing of criticism-as-art plays into this problem, I don't intend to deal with it here.

What I do intend to take up is the interest in creative writing courses as a reaction to current curriculum design.

I take it, perhaps wrongly I admit, as a desire to revivify the current canon of knowledge. In literature, it doesn't

tion of the craft of writing. Craft, as opposed to art per se, offers an a~swer..

Many years ago, Malcolm Cowley wrote an essay on the proliferation of undergraduate courses in creative writing. In it, he wrote, "I doubt that any instructor, however earnest or inspired, can teach any group of students, however talented, to create anything whatever. He cannot give them· experience of the world, or a desire to communicate the experience, or do more for their power of invention than merely encourage it, if the power already exists. What he can properly teach the students, or expose them to the opportunity of learning, are rules and practices to be deduced from other people's writing, the standards of the writing profession, and the known resources of language as a medium.

He cannot teach the art of writing, since that is unteachable by definition; it is something a fortunate student will learn for himself."

I don't think Cowley was far off in his time, or now. The art of expression cannot, of itself, be taught. Craft, however, can be. For my part, I presume to do no more. That I've been able to work successfully within a liberal arts program stands not simply as testament to the flexibility of Yale's offerings, it stands too as testament to the perspicacity of Yale students who, reading throug h work -:. rome to understand that the effort <>f reading lends itself to writing, and that by writing much one learus to write well, and beyond that, to say something real and alive, pure and simple. That the effort of reading lends itself to the effort of criticism is just, but springboarding into new ground is equally just. Opportunities exist for this. There should be more of them.

strike me as wrong to see a student wish to test him or herself, after a reading of Dickens, Cervantes, Hemingway, or H enry Fielding, and say, "I could go one better than that." I also take it as a response to current writers in the medium. I take it too, as a frustrated response to the hypercritical mentality that abounds in the humanities disciplines and which shows itself in writing that, both on the level of students and teachers, is wooden and aimless. "Why else," I say to myself, "would there be such an interest in self-expression?" The sixties and early seventies were rife with such concerns. The street, though, offered outlets that aren't available now.

Today, only rough shanties on Beinecke Plaza seem to offer the outlets desired by those interested in political expression. Interest in artistic expression remams much more difficult to determine. One thing strikes me as clear; a desire for selfexpression outstrips the current means of responding to it. Insofar as this has to do with writing, the question remains, can writing be taught? More importantly, can it be taught with an awareness of circumstances addressed?

The desire for self-expression stands as only one of the concerns that contemporary students have. Equally important is a dominant pre-professional Donald Faulkner teaches wn.ting in the Yale sense which, I think, justified explora- English Dtpartment.

•

The New Journal/April 18, 1986 9

10 The New JournaVApril 18, 1986

l

Without the Make-up

It is nearly impossible for an outsider to enter the jumbled world of Yale's drama school. Professors say more in pauses than in words. Students are wary, awkwardly talking "off the record." Everyone knowingly speaks in cliches. Such indirectness simply heightens the monolith"ic reputation that shrouds the school. The Yale School of Drama (YSD) is great, everyone seems to know, too great honestly to slander. So here's our brochure: Read between the lines.

Or be patient. Look upon YSD as a jigsaw puzzle. Carefully assemble the pieces of formal text and inside voices, of blustery complaints and candid information. The final picture will not match the perfect one painted on the box. And every insider knows it.

But the quietude resounds sharply.

Why do they refrain from offering the truest ¡ tale? YSD indeed has an incredible reputation. Students apply en masse. But those accepted quickly discover the underlying troubles, realizing how the 60-year-old school operates. There is the invariable naivete, the inevitable disenchantment. Throughout, they remain cautious. YSD is, after all, a tight community, and professionally wellconnected. A telling paranoia reigns.

Don't rock the boat; don't quote me.

That is, until December. Patience paid off. Organized unhappiness emerged, marring perfection, when a group of YSD students banded together to air specific complaints.

Frustration that had been building for one, two, three years exploded

spontaneously in demands for recognition. Roughly 25 students from various departments met before winter break, informally calling themselves the "Committee of Concerned Students." Each department had unique grievances, but several over-all problems were distinguished. There was a feeling among the group that YSD lacked visible, central leadership.

Students were being treated poorly by the Administration but were without an organized or official voice. "I don't know what goes on up there," said one third-year student. "All I see is the chaotic result."

A survey was made up and delivered to the entire student body. Around 87 percent filled it out, and the results are startling. There were strong indications that Dean Lloyd Richards does not have enough contact with the students. The questionaire also showed considerable disgruntlement with the faculty. These findings were hand delivered to Richards before the winter break by members of the unofficial "Committee," along with a request that he formally respond.

In January Richards did respond by calling the entire school to a meeting in the University Theater. Stressing his accomplishments as dean, pointing out that his job concerns the school's budget, Richards talked truthfully about the financial success of his administration. One student said the talk was "a bit of an apology" for not being around. Then , in the last minute before leaving the stage, he announced that he would meet with two repre-

sentatives from each class, department by department. So far, the stage managers, directors, and playwrights have talked privately with him.

Through a series of often confused meetings, on one occasion attended by 65 students, three concrete goals were decided on by the Committee: a school-wide system of teacher evaluations, a student government, and more visible leadership. But students find it difficult to decide whether these aims, if achieved, will improve the quality of thei.r training.

Although the Committee has since disbanded, more formal and industrious meetings began to occur among the departmental representatives. The Committee's desire for a student government was seen by some as impractical. The students' work-load has also increased since December, and many are now content to wait for the meetings' results, which are by no means guaranteed.

So finally, we are left with a simple contradiction: apparent perfection masking tacit institutional problems.

The good, the reasons for attending YSD, readily distinguishes itself. The bad must be sorted out, petty complaint from structural failure.

Students recognize the contradiction.

They have a lot at stake. So , while hungrily gulping rewards , or struggling with grievances , they question whether YSD, the good and the bad, is worth the time, the professional set-backs , and the expense. They answer, "Yes," or, "I'll know after graduation." But no matter The NewjoumaVApril 18, 1986 II

--¡ Technical Design at Production is one of e i ght departmen ts a t YSD.

h ow q uietly, YSD students do ask the question , and, as the December Group sh ows, they now feel strongly enough to attack the imperfect side of YSD. To understand the contradiction, one m ust first recognize the glittering attraction of th e school, the flawless ex t erio r . Graduates from YSD constantly appear in the spotlight : M eryl Streep, H enry Winkler, Sigourney Weaver, Albert Innaurato.

From the outside, it would seem that Y a le can create super-stars.

Organizationally, YSD is unique.

"Yale is one of the few schools in the country where an effort is made to p rovide training for all aspects of the theater," said Earle Gister, associate d ean and pr ofessor of acting. "A replica of the real world is created."

The school offers training in eight d i fferent departments: acting, di r ecting, d esign, dramat urgy, playwritin g, stage management, t ech n ical design and produ ction (TD&P), and theater administration.

12 T h e New JournaVApril 18, 1986

Also, unlike other drama schools, YSD promises direct contact with a respected regional theater, the Yale Repertoire Theatre (Rep). Called the "Master Teacher" by administrators, the Rep should present a model and provide a professional laboratory for Yale students.

Before arriving, new students don't see the internal problems and don't expect any disappointment. They do know that YSD is one of the most compet1t1ve drama schools in the nation. For example, 1332 men and women applied for entry this past fall.

Seventy-seven, or 5.8 percent, were accepted. "Before I got to Yale," said 30 year-old David Wayne Nelson, a third-year actor, "I was expecting Shangri-la. I thought the drama school would be all I ever dreamed of. I was very frightened and, at the same time, felt very unworthy." The school offers only good, if one can believe statistics and a reputation 60 years in the making. And one must believe, if one p lans to attend. A lot will be given up in three years.

Stu dents pay approximately $12,500 each year for tuition and living expenses. Since most are on financial aid, they will have large debts to pay back after entering the financially unpromising theatrical profession.

Also, students sacrifice three years out of their professional careers to learn in a school what many believe only the real world can teach. The average age of a student at YSD is 27; only one student was accepted in 1985 directly from college. Yale, applicants believe, will ultimately benefit them more than their current professional paths.

But d isillusionment occurs after arriving in New Ha{ren; these initial sacrifices become increasingly important. T he contradiction begins to form in students' minds as they recognize the realities of YSD. It is a t h ree-year professional training school, and training schools don't inject talent, they improve technique. "Before I came here, 'Yale' was a magic word," said second-year actor Patrick Kerr, sitting behind a desk in YSD's thirdfloor library. "Anyone who came to the drama school was a star and would work all the time when they got out.

That's a bunch of garbage. People who leave her e aren't golden; they're going to have to struggle to make it in professional theater like anyone else."

Demands on YSD students' time begin with classes, which generally run between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. Apart from class, homework must be completed: models built, papers and plays written, scenes rehearsed and re-rehearsed. In the afternoon, work on the various school and Rep productions begins.

Sets are constructed on the mainstage for third-year directing projects, such as the recent Big Divinity and Waterstown Primary; props are gathered and costumes sewn for the various "Drama 50's," short original pieces collaborated on by all first-year stud ents from every department.

Administration students work in many

lI

Is

A busy man: Lloyd Richards, dean or the Drama School and artistic director or the Rep

capacities at the school and the Rep, staffing, for example, the public relations and box offices. Rehearsals continue into the night, and students end one to begin another.

Finally, there is interest and energy enough to put on the weekly Yale Cabaret shows, rehearsals for which begin at 11 p.m. The Cabaret serves as a needed release for frustrated energies, energies that cannot be channeled anywhere else in the school.

"Things at the Cabaret happen because people want them to happen," explained Brokaw, one of two Cabaret artistic directors this year. "There is a love and a need for the work, otherwise it wouldn't take place. It's too much trouble."

Aside from these daily sacrifices and the need for a creative outlet, there are problems with YSD's structure. Many students feel that they are treated poorly at the school. Actors have no say in what they are cast in, and rarely find out until a day or two before rehearsals start. Too many playwrights were accepted, leaving some without

the yearly productions they expected to have. Some administration students feel like they are used in some positions at the Rep to relieve Yale from the responsibility of paying full-time staff members. The different departments tend to be segregated, so politicking occurs among the higher-ups to enhance the primacy of individual departments. And there are many complaints raised against specific professors and department heads. Such talk, sometimes passed over as petty gnpmg, must be taken seriously. It shows the hidden side of YSD's contradiction.

Some of these specific grievances are directed at Dean Richards: his hiring policies, his Jack of visibility, and, more recently, rumors of his opposition to school-wide evaluations.

He spends a great deal of time away from the school fund-raising and directing productions in Chicago and New York. But a larger problem has been set heavily on his door-step: the conservative trend that the Yale Rep has fallen into under his artistic

direction, and how it affects the school.

To understand such a trend, one must look at the school's innovative history. YSD was founded in 1925 when Edward S. Harkness gave one million dollars to create a theater and a Department of Drama. The first director of the department, George Pierce Baker, a former professor of English at Harvard, brought his innovative "47 Workshop" with him, an experimental program designed for new playwrights.

In 1955, the department became an independent graduate school, the Yale School of Drama, which would be moved to the forefront of theatrical innovation during the sixties under Dean Robert Brustein. Appointed by Kingman Brewster in 1965, Brustein came prepared to regenerate YSD, to shift it from an academic institution into a more professional drama training school. He created the Yale Repertory Theatre in 1967 as something to which his students could aspire. The theater soon earned a reputation as an ideal training The New JournaVApril 18, 1986 13

ground- exciting, experimental, and avant-garde. Then, Brustein left Yale along with Brewster in 1979. · The new President of Yale University, A. Bartlett Giamatti, appointed Lloyd Richards as dean of YSD, a position that includes the artistic directorship of the Rep. Richards, who also acts as the artistic director of the Playwrights Conference at the Eugene O'Neill Center in Waterford, emphasizes the importance of new playwrights' work.

During his second year at Yale he be gan Winterfest, an annual presentation of four new plays.

Occasionally a play by a YSD student will be shown, such as this year's Crazy From the Heart by third-year playwright Edit Villarreal, and Union Boys by former YSD student James Yoshimura. Richards has alsn drawn playwrights August Wilson and Athol Fugard to the Rep. But the Rep relies more heavily now on a subscription audience, and many students grumble about the "safeness" of the shows chosen and presented

there. Though most students concurred about the traditionalism inherent in today's Rep, only a few would talk openly about it. Ellen McCartny, a second-year costume designer, did all of her work last year at the Rep. "I don't see it as the 'Master Teacher,'" she said. "I see it as the most conservative place on campus. I prefer working on the school shows; they're all student, and there's a greater sense of excitement, a sense of being able to take more chances." Paul Selig, a third-year playwright, agreed with McCartny. "It's very conservative here, but it's not just the school or the Rep," he said. "It's the country. Any institution is only as vital as its subservient element, and I don't think one is in operation here. During Brustein's years there was one. The Cabaret was wild and dangerous. But you can't blame it on Yale."

Dean Lloyd Richards recognizes that students object to the kind of artistic link he brings between YSD and the R e p. Richards spoke of the present conservative trend in both

e

" ~ ~

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i

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David Nelson rehearses for the Cabaret production of K-2.

14 Th·e New JournaVApril 18, 1986

institutions, as opposed to Brustein's innovation. "Bob was here during his time," Richards said tiredly . "That was a very different time- a different time nationally. He doesn't run ART (the American Repetoire Theatre] the same way he ran the Yale Rep. The sixties were a very revolutionary time. Now, we've shifted to a period of less ferment." Almost sadly, he added, "We're in a transitory time. I can't say what the end will be." Then, as though he had been asked the question countless times before, Richards said, "I have not done one thing to be different than Bob. I've only done it my way."

Finally, an impO£tant physical problem concerns YSD's lack of space.

Headquartered .in the University Theater (UT) on York Street, the Drama School has offices, workshops, classrooms, and rehearsal areas in four other buildings scattered around campus. There is the Yale Rep, formerly the Calvary Baptist Church, Vernon Hall which houses the Cabaret on Park Street, the Drama School Annex down a few doors on Park, and some rooms in the 305 Crown Street building. All in all, "a motley assortment of old buildings," as one first-year actor put it.

Frank Torok, head of the directing program, takes a stronger view. "The Yale School of Drama is a 20th century school with 19th century facilities," he said. "We seem to be one of the most prolific, production-oriented schools in the university, and we have no space in which to function properly." Some are appalled by the surprisingly poor workspace; most are unhappy.

Classrooms double as rehearsal halls, so no one can use a room to its fullest potential. A long report, to be submitted to the university, has been drawn up department by department, calculating how much and what kind of space the school has, as compared to what it needs.

On the other hand, the cramped

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0 11

Of the 1332 applicants to YSD for entry this past fall, 77, or 5.8 percent, were let in. conditions at YSD can be seen as beneficial. After all, few ideal situations exist in the professional theater world. "I came here from New York," explained Deborah Hecht, the speech professor. "This is like paradise compared to the space in New York. There's never enough space to rehearse at any acting school. But here, we can practice · our work in bigger spaces if we want, and these spaces also have a lot of character. If the students say anything about it I just laugh."

The contradiction forcefully reappears. Students are hesitant to speak frankly about their grievances. Partly, they are afraid of offending someone within their close-knit , professional community. But they also don't want to mislead; their disenchantment does not negate the greatness of YSD. High praise still flows easily, even after the faults have been discovered.

Most students are content that they chose training school over three years in the professional world. They offer a variety of reasons, besides the initial, logistical ones. Because the school is so firmly entrenched in American theater and because of the high quality of graduates and students, professional contacts will be gained. "I would have preferred to be locked in a cabin in the country," said Phil Stoller, a secondyear playwright. "It's a two-edged sword. You meet a lot of interesting people who expand your horizons here, but you get more work done when you're alone. I came here for the professional aspects. Yale will help separate you from the masses who are

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trying to do what you are trying to do ."

Also, the students themselves are unanimously seen as YSD's greatest asset. Faculty members view their pupils in many cases as their peers. An air of professionalism exists among the students that commands the respect of all who are associated with the school.

Hecht explained, "If you take people- actors, playwrights, designers-who have a dream about something they love, and you throw them into a space with a few theaters, then it'll be like children in a sandbox with some toys. They're going to make something wonderful."

Despite dissatisfaction with some professors, many members of the faculty are heralded by students who ::>ften speak of specific friends or mentors on the teaching staff of YSD.

Such notable professionals as designer Ming Cho Li and lighting designer Jennifer Tipton are in the staff r anks.

And the Rep provides well-respected directors, actors, playwrights and other production people from outside YSD who come to New Haven to work on its six yearly shows.

YSD, then, is not what it appears to be. Its inherent contradiction disrupts the gleaming surface. Yet despite the recent eruption of discontentment, YSD students have now settled back to wait. The problems become secondary to the work that must be done. "The main concern has been addressed," David Nelson said. "There are now channels open between students and the Administraion."

So, insiders generally judge the good as outweighing the carefully concealed

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bad . "You're dared to stretch yourself to the limit," said first-year actor Bruce Katzman . "It's like doing a triple flip on a trapeze: when you fall there are nets everywhere so you won't be afraid to try again." Then, suddenly, "This place is heaven to m e. That's what I've been writing to all my friends."

Katzman talked of his experience in the professional world before Yale.

"My first two years in New York I only studied. The next three I mixed studying with trying to get a job . I was fairly unsuccessful. I couldn't get an agent. I couldn't seem to get in anywhere. I felt desperate for a place to work." So Katzman applied, got accepted, and made the decision to come to Yale. "I'm 33," he said. "I had a pretty settled life in New York. I had a real nice apartment. T his is a big change, and a lot of money. I'm going to be 36 when I get out of here. I don't know what kind of pay-off I'll get."

•

Paul Thomas Kihn, a sophomore an Silliman, is on the staff of TN].

The New JournaUApril 18 , 1986 17

New Haven/Dan Waterman

Changing Faces

On Church Street, across from the New Haven Green, a drama is taking place. There, on the perimeter of the historic green, are the gothic remains of New Haven's old City Hall. Once the city's center of government, it was destroyed in 1928 to make way for an expanding city- to make way for progress. It is now a thin fac;:ade. Immediately to the left of that fac;:ade is a gaping h ole, a vacant site set off from the street by high walls of chicken wire.

That site has remained empty for the last 40 years. It awaits the construction of a new government complex which has been consistently begun and abandoned since 1928. To the right of the old City Hall is the P owell 18 The New JournaVApril 18, 1986

Building, where an old manual elevator clangs up and down its shaft, and pounds of plaster fall from the ceiling each day. In this decrepit building the New Haven government now temporarily resides, as government employees anxiously await its demolition.

These three sites embody a great deal of New Haven's history, its changes, its growth, or perhaps its lack thereof. New Haven is a city which for decades has been on the decline, plagued by stagnation and decay. The government's current place of residence, the dilapidated Powell Building, symbolizes the failure of past attempts at renewal. But the scene also

suggests a potential for improvement.

The Powell building is scheduled to be demolished next month, and a new, badly needed government complex and twenty-five story office tower will be built in its place next year.

The city government, spurred on by a strong and relatively stable economy, cheap construction costs, and low interest rates, has been anxious to revitalize this once flourishing city.

Many projects have come to f~uition over the last few years, due mostly to City Hall's recruitment of private real estate developers. The theater district has been renovated, and new downtown residential and office buildings have been constructed. But

"Five years ago, the city had declined so much that the new administration's emphasis was on 'getting something , anything, going.'"

little has been done in the past or is being . done now for low-income housing. For these reasons, among others, the city has been criticized by local press, aldermen, and government officials. The city's theory of development appears to be a "trickle down" system of economic growth, emphasizing big business, private developers and private money as a way of boosting New Haven's economy.

"We have a vision of New Haven and wher"e it can go in the future," said William Ginsberg, head of the city's Development Administration, a position appointed by Mayor Biagio DiLieto. "We have a way to add to its

economic base and its image of itself."

Described by some as the mayor's "right hand man," Ginsberg wields a great deal of influence as coordinator for the three major aspects of the city's development- economic, housing and downtown/harbo""r de~-elOpment: ¡Ginsberg, a man who is regarded by his associates as capable, intelligent, and concerned, speaks with authority and confidence about the vision he maintains. "More and more as New Haven evolves, I personally see a city that is urban in the sense that it is a regional center. It needs a strong pedestrian life, stressing residential as well as work areas. It must have things which draw people here- entertainment, culture, commercial office space, and the complicated networks of strong neighborhoods and loyal family businesses, all of which add towards its rejuvenation."

But Ginsberg's vision depends on a relationship between government officials and private developers- a dynamic of progress which did not exist twenty years ago. Then, the agenda for change was set almost entirely by a dialogue between the city government and the public. But the city's attempts to modernize brought fittle improvement. In fact, in its efforts to encourage growth, the government built the Oak Street

intersector in 1959. An extension of U.S. 95, it cut straight into th~ heart of the city and destroyed many of the old, ethnic neighborhoods. According to Ginsberg, before DiLieto took office five years ago the city had dedined so much that the n ew administration's emphasis was on "getting something, anything, going." It was then that the city turned to large private developers as the solution to its problems, and .the dialogue between the government and the public disappeared. With a sound economy and a construction boom, the New Haven government is now in an advantageous position. Not only can the city entice developers with tax breaks, mortgage delays, and federal loans, but it is able to select those developers from a ve_ry competitive market.

New Haven has utilized local developers such as the Fusco Corporation to build the Long Wharf Maritime Center and the Schiavone Corporation to renovate the theater district. It has also lured a well-known developer of office towers in downtown Manhattan to construct the government complex. David Chase with the Olympia-York Corporation, one of the largest developers in North America, is in charge of building a new City Hall and adjacent 25 story office tower on the site where the Powell The New Journal/April 18, 1986 19

Building currently stands. Containing 420,000 square feet of retail office space, the tower will become the largest building in downtown New Haven.

Despite the advantages of a sound economy and a competent, wellrespected developer, construction of the government complex suffered a setback, indicative of a problem inherent in the city's new development approach. Chase was obliged to postpone the demolition of the Powell Building, which originally was

scheduled for last year, when he was unable to secure guarantees from businesses to occupy the tower's space.

Especially for a building as large as the proposed tower, a developer must be assured of a large occupancy prior to constructing it which will generate enough revenues to pay for the building and make the developer's investment worthwhile.

New City Hall has been in the works for decades, but the office tower is a recent addition to the pr~ject. The City Hall alone will cost 15 million

R e flections of New Haven: past and present

20 The¡ New JournaUApril 18, 1986

dollars in public funds to build.

Because building just a city hall would not allow developers to make a profit, the city suggested that potential developers build an additional office tower which will cost 70 million dollars through private financing. Such an investment scheme attracted a large developer like Chase-Olympia/York, which has agreed to build City Hall at cost for the government.

The difficulties that Chase encountered in attracting occupants for the office tower illustrate the central I

problem of New Haven development.

Many officials on the city's planning boards see office space as the key to New Haven's economic success and growth. Both officials and developers believe that the construction of retail office space will generate revenues for the city's economy as well as attract outside industries to locate in New Haven. But many others are concerned that New Haven might be over-building and creating more office space than can be filled since the city already contains over 250,000 square feet of empty office space.

Ironically, most of the tower's potential occupants were being lured to the Long Wharf Maritime Center, another office building project sponsored by the city. I n essence, New Haven was promoting two major developments of retail office space at the same time which competed for the same limited business market.

Nonetheless, Ginsberg maintains that the two projects attract completely different types of clientele and in th eory should not compete with one another.

Furthermore, he believes that the office glut will not hinder future growth ¡ but encourage it. "If you assume that existing patterns of filling office space will continue, there is no good justification for what we are doing. It would take years to fill these projects. They are all risky, but we hope that office trends will change.

Those trends haven't hit New Haven yet but there are a lot of things that make New Haven attractive and we feel our time has come." He believes that such a development program wili attract major companies to New Haven and generate jobs and revenues. But so far developers have only been successful in relocating New H aven companies to different places in

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tough market and it will take a lot of work to fill those buildings. But also understand that job creation goes beyond downtown office spaces and moving in companies is only preliminary. We must take it further."

Ginsberg speaks of "taking it further," but what that entails is not quite clear. Other than retail office space, New Haven's developments consist of a potpourri of other projects.

These include the continuing renovation of the theater district, hotels and various downtown residential projects, such as Whitney Grove Square, a project of 300 or so townhouse units costing $300,000 each. The project has had a tremendous response of interested occupants_, bolstering the city's hopes of bringing residents back from the suburbs and into the city. Another such project is the Harbor Landing at City Point, a development of high rent condominiums with a private marina and boat slips for residents. This project in particular has come under fire by local residents and officials for fears that it might diminish or destroy the old neighborhood which already exists there. But Ginsberg maintains that no such conflict should arise. "The concern is not with the Harbor Landing per se because it is not really a part of the City Point neighborhood.

Development of the marina will bring in a lot of people. We want to develop it while maintaining the integr!ty of the neighborhood. It's a tough balancing. act between the two."

Development in New Haven at this time is contingent upon economic feasibility alone. Money from the private sector and the buffeting of the industr-ial economy dictates what gets built, where it gets built, and who it will ultimately serve. Quality, aesthetic value, and diversity of interests in such a system often take a backseat or are entirely ignored. And some people fear that such a program of development is far too narrow, limited, and shortsighted, as damaging to New Haven's culture as it is a boon to the economy.

Today, while the economy is as healthy as can be expected, far better than five years ago, a great deal remains to be seen. City Hall is optimistic about the changes taking place in New Haven, but its approach still has many problems. Its alterations could dramatically affect the face of the city. What we are left with in the end will be a city as full and mature as it once was, or a facade of progress as empty as the old City Hall.

•

Dan Waterman, a sophomcre in Ezra Stiles, is associate editor of TN].

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The New Journal/April 18, 1986 23

In the Tradition Tamar Lehrich

It's 1958 and you're a Yale freshman wondering what to do on a warm, breezy Friday night. Walking down York Street, you pass the Yale Dramat building on your right and impulsively decide to check out the off-campus parties. Turning down the path towards "Frat Row," you think about all of your friends who were elected to fraternities. Activity seems to be going on in all of the luxuriouslooking buildings; lights shine and music can be heard from within the frat houses. You remember when you had dinner at Delta Kappa Epsilon- the waiters, the huge dining room, the well-stocked bar all remain vivid. Maybe I'll join next year, you think as you enter Psi Upsilon, immediately recognizing faces and taking a bottle of beer.

Twenty-five years later, it's 1983. You're a freshman walking back from dinner on a Friday night with a few friends, debating what to do.

You promised to tend bar at Morse-Stiles Casino night; someone else votes for the benefit dance in Dwight Hall chapel, and no one wants to miss the other SAC party in T.D.- there's supposed to be a great grain-alcohol punch. As you smile at each other, deciding to go to all three parties, you shake your head, hoping you won't wake up the following day with a headache.

Considering the fact that in the past two years, the number of fraternities and sororities at Yale has increased 200 percent, one can only guess which experience will be more familiar to next year's freshmen , the Class of 1990. There now are eight fraternities at Yale, and three more are in the process of establishing themselves on campus this semester, an increase which reflects a growing national trend . The rise of the legal drinking age and the virtual demise of the Social Activities Committee (SAC) appear to be direct causes for the recent appeal. While the members of fraternities cite their community service projects and their efforts to restructure Yale's ailing social life, others fear that the Greek system will cause a fragmentation of student life, d etracting from Yale's sense of community. Yet, most students cannot believe that the Greek system could ever be a threat to the social structure at Yale. With approximately 275 students belonging to fraternities, it is no longer uncommon, especially as a freshman or sophomore, to know several people who belong to Alpha Kappa Alpha, Alpha Phi Alpha, Delta Kappa Epsilon, Kappa Sigma, Kappa Alpha Theta, Sigma Chi, Sigma Nu, or Zeta P si.

Currently each fraternal organization at Yale seems to have its own distinct priorities and agenda, though the general structure of each appears similar. Most have weekly meetings during which the members

"Joining was a way of defining myself within the university as a whole. I guess the word for it is . brotherhood."

Through th e: 1950'a virutally every Yale: fraternity had a house:- most were: on " Frat R ow" behind the: Yale: D ramat.

The New J ournal/April 18, 1986 25

address administrative concerns and bureaucratic details. Aside from Sigma Nu and Zeta Psi, which currently are leasing houses on Lake Place, located behind Payne-Whitney Gym, the main topic of import at each meeting seems to be the search for a house or a lodgetype of social gathering place. Several groups involve themselves extensively in community service, working with the Adopt-a-Grandparent program, volunteering at Columbus House, or donating food to the Battered Women's Shelter. Other fraternities concentrate

solely on social activites, organiz.ing bowling outings, cocktail parties, poker n ights, or trips to other schools.

A couple have libraries, collecting used text books and old exams.

Fraternity members seem uniformly to share the opinion that at Yale, it's unrealistic to assume that the Greek system will ever dominate a member's social life. Pete Smul, MC '87, joined Zeta Psi last year after hearing about it from his roommate. "Here you can't expect 100 percent commitment from the members of a frat. You have to

.. ii::!!!ii~ i

study, go to the gym, and no one wants it to encompass their whole life," Smul said openly. While intending to live in the Zeta Psi house next year, he will continue to have a Morse meal contr act. "Fraternities aren't for everyone," he admitted. "There are 5000 undergrads and 2500 male undergrads- how many can you support socially anyway? Yale will be overrun by more than 10 frats; there just aren't enough guys to fill them."

Established in the 1850's, Zeta Psi has had a chapter at Yale until as

~

! "Fraternities sell j themselves with the ~

Zeta P1i iâ&#x20AC;˘ one of the two ÂŁraternitie1 at Yale to have a 26 The New JournaVApril 18, 1986

hou~e

on Lake Place.

notion that they are places where you can come and drink."

recently as five years ago when a fire destroyed its house. In 1984 twelve students reestablished a chapter at Yale, and now there are 38 members.

They currently have a three-year lease on a house on Lake Place with an option to buy. Not knowing any of the other members before he rushed, Smul is now president and he credits Zeta Psi for its diversity. "We have a lot of different types of people," he said.

"There are five football players, five baseball, a bunch of tennis players, crew jocks, musicians. That's the best thing we have to offer: people can get out of the habit of just hanging around with their teammates."

Despite the recent revitalization of fraternities and the ease with which they have been formed at Yale, obstacles still remain which complicate their immediate growth. Establishing a fraternal organization usually requires little more than writing to the national

Havin~t.Jost financial support of the nationals, Yale

and watters.

chapter, which in turn will provide everything from reference manuals to representatives who will live in New Haven to help with the frat's organization for the first year.

Fraternities choosing to register with the university are treated just like any other student organization; they have access to space, use of the Yale name, and official recognition. Yet, even those that are given the use of a room on campus for meetings still lack a place for social gathering, often resorting to Naples, Demery's, or Rudy's.

Because they are without alumni and thus without any financial support, fraternities are struggling for fundsfor capital. Not everyone can always afford to pay the annual dues, which can exceed $150, and those founding a frat can pay as much as $500 over two years. So fraternity members rely on parents, the national chapter of the frat as well as their own savings to cover the expenses of maintaining a house or social activities.

Although every Yale student has their own reasons for joining or not joining social societies, the desire to feel like part of a group, to find a niche, seems to be a common factor.

Shannon Barr, SY '88, belongs to Sub Rosa, an undergraduate organization without national affiliation that began as a women's companion group to Delta Kappa Epsilon (DKE); they were once known as "DKE's little sisters." Sub Rosa has no formal rush process; all members are tapped to join by previous members. With 30 members, the group, which does not

frats closed in the '60's, no longer able to maintain dining halls, bartenders,

consider itself a sorority, performs fraternity owned its own house. An community service and plans to Inter-Fraternity Council composed of sponsor speakers. Having joined last representatives from each frat also October, Barr feels that students are existed. "In Silliman it was unusual for searching for a supplement to what a classmate in a fraternity to attend a Yale offers socially. "I've had to deal social function outside his own group," with a lot of friends teasing me about John Wilkinson, Associate Dean and the connection with DKE. People Dean of Undergraduate Studies, said. think that we sit around, drink, and "Fraternity Row" was located beyond talk about football players," Barr said, the Daily News offices; the buildings smiling. "It's muc h more than now occupied by the Fence Club, the that- it's an opportunity to meet more Yale Cabaret, and the Afro-American women at Yale and get together and Cultural Center were once frat houses. talk- outside of a college, a sport As the cost of education increased and team, or a singing group. It's not a students became more diverse in terms whole identity thing but just part of my of racial, religious, and socio-economic life." backgrounds, the number of people The history of the Greek system at who could afford to join fraternities Yale reflects the changing ideological diminished. trends of the nation , suggesting that By the 1960s, most of the advising the current popularity of fraternities at and counseling took place in the Yale may indicate a growing residential colleges, and there had been conservatism within the country as a a dramatic growth of the civil rights whole-a return to the sensibilities of movement. Students' identification an all-male, racially and culturally with the colleges grew and their desire homogeneous community. With the to become involved with fraternity life advent of the residential college system lessened. With the increased use of in 1934, only married students could illicit drugs, the popularity of alcohol live off-campus without financial and fraternity bars also declined. Some penalty. FratÂŤ>rnity members had to Yale fraternities belonged to national pay for both a meal contract and a chapters which either blatantly or social activities fee in addition to the subtly discriminated on the basis of costs of living off-campus. A race, religion, or ethnicity. When significantly smaller percentage of Saint Anthony Hall, traditionally students were on financial aid, so the known as a non-social or "literary" added financial responsibility of living fraternity, was the first fraternity to tap in a fraternity house was not a a black undergraduate, the St. A's deterrent. chapter from the Univerity of Virginia In the late 1950's, fraternities were picketed at Yale . When Yale fraternity very active at Yale . Students could join chapters refused to discriminate, they sophomore year, and virtually every gradually lost the financial support and The New Journal/April 18, 1986 27

"If the philosophy behind Yale's residential college system is incompatible with the outlook of fratemities, should the administrators use their legitimate power to protect campus ideals?" subsidization of the nationals, and one by one they began to close . "They couldn't afford to keep house. It's expensive to maintain a dining room , bar, bartender, waiters, and pay property taxes. They were dead, long before the drinking age moved from 21 to 18," Wilkinson explained. "The paradox is that the new move of the drinking law gave them life again."

Several factors have combined to create an ideal climate for fraternities to grow, though administrators and students alike attest to the fact that the change in the legal drinking age is perhaps the clearest and most glaring reason for the resurgence at Yale. I n 1983, Ronald Reagan successfully appealed for cooperation to end the "crazy quilt" of different states' drinking laws. He then signed legislation that would deny Federal highway funds to states that kept the drinking age under 21 , praising the "great national movement to raise the drinking age." College administrators, including those at Yale, sympathized with efforts to decrease the growing number of alcohol-related car accidents amon g the college-age population . Yet, now they're saddled with laws which may be as difficult to enforce as prohibition was in the country as a whole. Only 25 percent of Yale students are oflegal drinking age, and in order for a student organization to serve alcohol at SAC parties, police officers as well as university-approved bartenders must be hired.

Wilkinson feels torn between his responsibility as administrator and his 28 The New JournaVApril 18, 1986

recogmt10n of the realities of social psychology . "We don't want to be in a position where we as an institution encourage the violation of the law. I think this is a challe nging time to figure out ways to make college functions varied and interesting," he said. "On the other hand, I worry about a society which tries to prohibit things which are attractive to a majority of people." He rubbed his brow. "I understand why the legal drinking age has been raised. I just wish that when the age was at 18, it had been enforctd- but that's just one voice crying in the wilderness."

"Fraternities sell themselves with the notion that they are places where you can come and drink. I'm concerned about the legal liability and financial liability of this," J. Lloyd Suttle, Associate Dean and Dean of Administrative and Student Affairs , emphasized, looking harried. "lfl were an officer in a fraternity, I'd be scared to death of what might happen when a group of freshmen gets quite drunk and leaves Lake Place at all hours of the morning. What's the risk of a drunk freshman getting hit by a car on Elm Street? It'll take only ont incident."

He paused. "Who's going to be responsible? I can warn them, but I can't control them ."

The adverse effects of the Local 34 strike last fall also have contributed to the recent popularity of the Greek system at Yale. For the Class of '88, who were freshmen during last year's strike, their first semester at Yale was one characterized by a lack of

operating dining halls; no meals were served at Commons or within the colleges, preventing freshmen from meeting each other easily. Because of the lack of organized social activites, few bo nds were formed with people from other residenftal colleges. This situation resulted in a divisive freshman year for many students, creating a sense of social isolation which was magnified by the absence of a central student facility at Yale.

The growing conservative trend in the nation has also added to the resurgence. Today some long to return to the period before the political turmoil of the late 60's, when sociallyoriented fraternal groups thrived and students were not publicly demonstrating and confronting moral and ethical issues. One fraternity member commented, "The trend of people wanting to be super-radical, liberal , and no n-conformist is fading."

Disillusioned with the social life and the college system, Marco Rosenbaum, TC '88, and David Hogg, TC '88, were looking for an alternative when they decided to begin a fraternity . "I had envisioned this great, tradition-oriented school: cocktail parties, chummy brotherhood, roadtrips. That fits my idea of what Yale should be like," explained H ogg with a thick South Carolinian accent. A reproduction of Picasso's Guemica hangs above the fireplace of their living room in Trumbull . "We want to get back to 'Old Yale,'" Rosenbaum , who grew up in Texas, added. "Traditions, rituals, breaking down into social

groups- I like that sort of cliquish atmosphere. Fraternities can only enhance that."

Rosenbaum , Treasurer, and H ogg, Pledge Trainer, are among the founders of the Yale chapter of Sigma Chi as well as active Political Union members. Founded in 1855 and formally reestablished at Yale this semester, Sigma Chi presently has thirteen members and five more to be inducted. Not wanting to threaten the residential college system, the fraternity currently has no plans for establishing an ofT-campus house.

While both feel that the university is failing to provide alternatives which will restructure the campus social life, Rosenbaum and Hogg also realize that Yale's laissez-faire attitude has no guarantees. "If Benno Schmidt and John Wilkinson decide that fraternities aren't good, then they'll just start pressuring us ofT," Rosenbaum said, smoking a Marlboro. "They could easily drive us underground. All it will take is someone getting hurt o r just one person who's rejected from a fraternity and can prove it was due to some form of discrimination ." Yale's tacit acceptance of the growth of the Greek system seems uncharacteristic to Rosenbaum . "I'm surprised that no one's demonstrated at all. The Women's Center seems to be very lowkey about frats." He paused. "You know, the argument of sexism is perfectly valid- sororities are sexist and fraternities are sexist."

The desire to begin new traditions at Yale has led women as well as blacks to create and form fraternal organizations of their own. Julie Heller, PC '88, sa!d, "I believe in the feminist movement , but Yale is still in many ways a man's school; there are no traditions for women here." Her roommate, Miriam He~an , PC '88, is president of Kappa Alpha Theta.

"People always see fraternities as a breaking apart, but it really pulls people together," she said. "You can't just have a big beer party anymore.

Now everything's underground, and that's added to the fragmentation of the

colleges, not fraternities."

Founded in 1870 by a group of women at DePaul University, Kappa Alpha Theta represents the United States' first "women's fraternity," a title originally created because the term "sorority" had not yet been in use.

Established in September at Yale by a group of sophomore women, Kappa Alpha Theta now has 10 members and 14 pledges. Last semester a Theta m ember and graduate of Washington State University lived in New Haven solely for the purpose of acting as the Yale chapter's consultant.

One entire wall in Heller's living room is plastered with photos of men-everyone from James Dean to Paul Newman. A Yale banner hangs over the fireplace and a Gone with the Wind poster adorns another wall with a

small television set nearby. With both brothers in fraternities, Heller had always maintained a stereotyped view of sororities. But last spring when two of her close friends began the process of starting a sorority, she decided to give it a chance. "For me, it was a shock to move into the college after freshman year- it's sort of isolating," Heller said. "But in Theta, we've got a member from Lima, Peru and one from Lima, Ohio."

Kappa Alpha Theta reflects the changing image of college sororities in the U.S. Increasingly becoming careerminded , sororities are concentrating on establishing professional networks to help their members enter and advance in their chosen fields following graduation. Partly as a result, they've been able to attract record numbers of

Julie Heller, PC '88, and Miriam Herman, PC '88, founded Kappa Alpha Theta with a desire to begin traditions for women at Yale.

The New Journal/April 18, 1986 29

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During rush period, signs like this cover the campus.

new student members and active alumnae. Members of Kappa Alpha Theta know that when they graduate from Yale and relocate, they will be able to find alumnae in virtually every major city in the nation who can provide them with invaluable resources-jobs and social connections.

"Our alumnae are mainly young, professional women," explained Heller, Kappa Alpha Theta's secretary. "It's a real network."

Alpha Phi Alpha was founded by seven black men at Cornell University in 1906, and the first chapter was established at Yale in 1908. Inactive since 1971, Alpha Phi Alpha was reactivated in 1983 by nine students, all of whom had experience with chapters of the fraternity during high school. Rush period is characterized by the fact that members dress uniformly and maintain a vow of silence. Alpha Phi Alpha stresses the values of scholarship, brotherhood, and community service, with the intent of creating a dynamic, supportive group of friends. Corey Nicholson, J E '86,

was one of the founding members.

"We're smaller than most fraternities, and that fosters much more closeness- we're really a cohesive group," he said.

Similar in philosophy and procedures to Alpha Phi Alpha, the New Haven chapter of the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority was chartered in 1984. Its 11 members currently attend Yale, Southern Connecticut College, or the University of New Haven.

Founded in 1908 at Howard University by a group of black women, Alpha Kappa Alpha stresses community service as one of its highest priorities. Alpha Kappa Alpha has a visible rush process lasting five weeks.

Pledges must accomplish a series of tasks, primarily for the New Haven community, which are designed to bring them closer as a group. During this time, the women observe a period of social probation, dressing uniformly, wearing berets and carrying ivy plants. The symbol of Alpha Kappa Alpha is the ivy, a symbol of strength.

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Perhaps the most unclear and abstract issue relating to the Greek system at Yale concerns the impact the growth of fraternities will have upon the residential college system. While many of those in favor of frats contend that the college system never worked for them, others fear that fraternities will threaten to topple the entire system. The university has a longstanding policy of non-interference with fraternities , not working to sustain them or to end them. Yet, the Yale College Programs of Study states that the residential colleges are intended to be "more than living quarters; they are small communities of men and women, whose members know one another well and learn from each other." If the philosophy behind the college system is incompatible with the outlook of fraternities, should the administrators use their legitimate power to protect campus ideals? After all, some argue that if Yale were to announce a policy prohibiting the formation of fraternities, prospective students would have the right to apply to other colleges where the Greek system is considered welcome.

While they recognize that the college system is undergoing a period of transition, Yale's administrators remain confident. "I think the residential college system runs the danger of losing cohesiveness and attractiveness," Wilkinson said. "Yet, there's a great deal more that can be done in¡the colleges. We need masters and deans with imagination and time to serve as facilitators. " Dean Suttle believes in the ability of Yale students and faculty to find alternatives to the "beer and tapes" parties of the past. "I would be surprised to learn that fraternities are any great threat to the residential college system. There have always been groups of students who live off-campus-some 500 each year," he explained. "I think the college system is a viable, vigorous experience that most students will not forego to live in a fraternity house on Lake Place."

Dean Wilkinson views the renewed

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strength of the Greek system at Yale with skepticism and reservation. "I don't think fraternities are doing any great harm to the community, but they're short-changing themselves -that's the danger," he said frankly.

"There's a tension when like-minded people get together. As long as one's conscious of that tension and can see it as a platform for launching oneself into the community, then it's good. But if you see the fraternity as a retreat or exclusive at the expense of others, then it's not good."

While Yale is currently experiencing a revitalization of fraternities, several schools are moving in the opposite direction, presently trying to find new forms of undergraduate social life. The trustees of Colby College in Waterbury, Maine closed its eight fraternities and two 1 sororities at the beginning of 1984, because they felt they were antithetical to the new social environment which they envisioned.

Similarly, two years ago Amherst College voted to shut down its eight fraternities which ¡were finally made coeducational. Amherst faculty thought the traditional positive values fostered by Greek organizations, such as a sense of community, were no longer evident. Charges of sexism in attitudes and in the treatment of women were also among the reasons for the faculty-supported decision to get rid of them. Other complaints included allegations of vandalism and anti-intellectual behavior. The University of Pennsylvania in 1984 revoked a fraternity's recognition for one year after a woman was reported raped by five to eight members at a fraternity party.

Although fraternities at Yale are demonstrating an effort to restructure the social life to meet changing needs and demands of new students, strong fears of the proliferation of antisocial acts like hazing and excessive drinking exist. "As someone who never belonged to a fraternity and had no desire to join, I look upon them with some skepticism," Wilkinson explained. "I have three children of my

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"The trend of people wanting to b e superradical, liberal, and non-conformist is fading." own- two at Yale- and yours is a generation that's grown up with Animal H ouse. Well, fraternities weren't like th at in the fifties, and I think that some of the sexism I've seen in initiation r igh ts runs counter to what this institu tion stands for. Waving women's u ndergarments around campus is d istasteful, crude, and sexist."

Dean Suttle believes that the Animal H ouse mentality will eventually cause a backlash in the Yale community. "I can't believe there's a . significant n u mber of Yale students who share th at mentality or want to share it," he said strongly. "If fraternities are to grow and attract membership from a sizable group, it's going to have to be a d ifferent kind of fraternity from the activities of DKE or Animal House."

Founded in 1844, Delta Kappa Epsilon has about 35 chapters in the United States and five in Canada, with the chapter at Yale being the founding one. In 1974 they sold their house for $250,000 to oay the city of New Haven back taxes. Since then, the university has converted the building on York Street into an alumni house. Though DKE is usually considered a football frat, cu_rrently only 25 of the 62 members are football players. j ohn McMullen, PC '88, joined D KE in J anuary. McMullen has a small build and involves himself in a variety of intramural sports at Yale.

H aving grown up in Nebraska, he appears soft-spoken and thoughtful with his just-washed hair and oxford shirt, buttoned to the collar. "I found Yale to foster a somewhat uptight e nvironment. People are preoccupied with deadlines and work, and there's a lack of spontaneity," he explained when asked why he joined the fraternity. l)elta Kappa Epsilon, perhaps more

than any other frat, is known not only to have a very visible hazing process but one characterized by antisocial, sexist behavior. "It's part of the fun, part of the process'; McMullen said.

"The guys pledging assembled every night, and we didn't know what we were going to do. It's what I was looking for- spontaneity."

For McMullen, being in DKE means more than merely becoming a member of an undergraduate organization. "It's not just sign on the line, pay dues, and attend meetings.

T h ey want enthusiasm, to commit to a group. J oining was a way of defining myself within the university as a whole. I guess the word for it is . . . brotherhood." He paused, his blue eyes widening. "I can honestly say that I've had twice as much fun as my previous three semesters. I've doubled my acquaintances by meeting over 60 people who are brothers, and I've had no problems balancing academics with the social advantages."

Tom J urewicz, JE '86, has been a member of DKE since his freshman year and acted as last year's president.

When asked how he feels when Yale students stereotype fraternity members, he r esponded, speaking slowly and forcefully, "I had fun, and I'd do it again. I don't feel a need to protect or to defend frats. When I'm having fun , I'm going to do what I'm going to do regardless of what other people think." Jurewicz's dark eyes remained fixed, gazing steadily at a spot in th e distance. "You go your way, I'll go mine, and we'll try not to get in each other's way."

While one can only hypothesize about the future of fraternities and sororities at Yale, one thing is certain: student opinions run the spectrum. Currently, most students seem to have assumed an attitude of apathy, not believing that frats even haoe a future at Yale, and not caring if more and more fraternities form. A small but growing minority, however, believes that when we all return to New Haven in five or six years, "Fraternity Row" will once again be a

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know any of th e Zeta P si memb ers before he rushed, to live in the house next year.

Others only hope that won't become so popular that freshmen will feel pressured to join. ¡ Adam Reeder, PC '87, didn't even consider frats when applying to college. Yet, he joined Kappa Sigma last year and considers the growth of fraternities at Yale to be a positive development-the wave of the future.

"For me, Kappa Sigma provides encouragement in all the things I do," he said. "It doesn't displace things but enhances them. I always wanted to do community service, and I needed a push." Reeder feels frustrated with the attitudes most Yale students have in regard to fraternities. "Kappa Sigma is a whole lot more than a good party. It's a group of people who feel a close relationship and wanted to do something for the community and the university as well as for ourselves. I've met so many brothers that I never would have met."

On April 12, 1985, the Yale chapter of Kappa Sigma became a colony, signifying a trial period when a group of students indicate to the national chapter that they'd like to become a fraternity. In order to get their charter, the members of Kappa Sigma had to complete five community service projects, one of the aspects that sets it fraternitie~

34 The New JournaVApril 18, 1986

apart from othef ' fraternities. The members of Kappa Sigma chose to register as a student agency, wanting to establish a positive tie with the university. Currently looking for a house, its 25 members rely on their alumni for funding. There are over 500 alumni in southern Connecticut alone, and Kappa Sigma has an alumnus advisor who works at YaleNew Haven Hospital.

In contrast, one freshman, who belonged to a fraternity during his first semester before deciding to quit, finds it a frustrating inevitability that fraternities will have an increasingly strong impact and effect on Yale in the future. "There are three different groups who are interested in the Greek system: juniors and seniors who're bored and looking for exclusive groups; sophomores who suffered during the strike; and freshmen without SAC who don't know what to do," he explained , sitting under the flourescent lights of MachineCity. "A fraternity is like a tribe, complete with formal r ituals, ceremonies, alliances, and a chieftain. I nherent in the frat structure is the fact that they are turned into themselves, very incestuous- a bunch of guys looking for a formal recognition of their friendship. The whole scene now is

very admini'strative- bureaucratic friendships, not natural but forced interplay. They're trying to creaU a brotherhood."

The Greek system does provide its members with an organized structure for creating a social network, but what about the Yale student who does not want to feel pressured into joining a fraternity or sorority? What viable alternatives will there be for next year's freshman class? Though students have been asking for some sort of center for years, it seems as though one won't be materializing in the near future. "In effect we do have a student center . . .

CCL!" Wilkinson said, laughing. "Ten or fifteen years ago we did try to have one in a corner of Commons, but it flopped; it was a much larger and more sophisticated version of Durfee's- a disaster," he explained. "The more ideal thing-pie in the sky-would be a centrally-located facility, the home for the hundreds of student organizations. Then students would have a purpose for going there. It's a remote possibility right now, for lack of space and funding, but I'm convinced that anything that's a good idea will happen eventually."

In the fall of 1984, when several students got together and decided to found Sigma Nu, they were not interested in waiting for the appearance of Yale's "eventual" student center. Today, with approximately 60 members. the fraternity leases a house on Lake Place. John Miles, DC '88, a Sigma Nu brother, imagined what Yale will be like in five years. "I see more fraternities-a whole row of them behind the gym. It's close to campus and the houses are affordable."

He paused for a moment, beginning to smile. "There will be a bunch of frat parties every weekend instead of a few SAC parties like there used to be. If the administration continues not to have any social events on campus, Lake Place will become Yale's new social center."

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36 The New Journal/April 18, 1986

Opening Doors Jennifer Lee

If you smile at Elizabeth Shieldkret, CC '88, when you pass her in the street, don't be offended if she doesn't smile back. Shieldkret hasn't snubbed you, she just hasn't seen you. When people greet her, she admitted, "I recognize them from their voices, not their faces." At first glance Shieldkret looks like any other knapsack-carrying student on campus, wearing a sweater and jeans. But if you look closely you might notice that behind the thick, rose-tinted lenses and bifocals of her glasses, Shieldkret's brown eyes aren't focusing directly on anything. Most people don't look closely, however, so when Shiedkret tells people that she's legally blind, they're usually surprised.

"I always tell them jokingly, 'Don't settle for imitations, because there are illegally blind people out there,'" she explained. Turned pensively towards the sky she added, "Sometimes they even seem shocked and pull away; it takes them a while to get used to the idea that I am a handicapped person. While J>e<>ple at Yale are growing more aware of the problems of blacks and gays and Other minorities on campus because of all the organizations, forums and publicity, I don't think most people

even realize that there are also disabled people here."

Last November Shieldkret and other members of the Yale community gathered in the new Resource Office for Students with Disabilities located on Wall Street. They were there to form an organization that finally gave voice to the 19 disabled students on campus. While particular disabilities of the students at the meeting ranged from dyslexia to deafness to muscular dystrophy, each one shared a desire to have the buildings on campus made physically accessible and to provide the general Yale population with information on the handicapp~d.

They also desired to have recreational, academic and cultural programs made fully available to them- those same programs that non-disabled students take for granted. Hence, members at the meeting embraced Shieldkret's suggestion that the organization be called EASY or Equal Access for Students at Yale.

"Our motto is, 'A disability does not have to be a handicap,'" said Rosette Liberman, shaking her head. As Assistant Director of the Resource Office for Disabilities, Liberman

brings the same idealistic fervency to the cause of the disabled that she once gave to the Civil Rights Movement during the 1950's. "The word 'handicap' has negative connotations implying limitations," Liberman said. She believes that student insens1t1vtty towards the physically d isabled is rooted in ignorance, and that once they are made more aware, the nondisabled will become more helpful and cooperative.

At the meeting, Liberman proposed that increased awareness of the disabled on campus would also encourage Yale administrators to accelerate and expand their existing programs. In enthusiastic agreement, several students began speaking at once, debating the utility of table tents, posters and bakesales to promote awareness. "Excuse me, everyone," interrupted Dean Rita Brackman, who, as Chairperson of the University Advisory Committee for Disabilities, has already been sensitized to the problems of the disabled.

"Everyone, please talk facing Mary Schulze, who's deaf and reads lips."

Brackman went on to explain the administration's policy. "We are addressing as many aspects of disabled The New Journal/April 18, 1986 37

While Y~e'1 disabled are gaining physical access to university bulldinga, they continue to aeek wider acceptance to the student commu01ty.

students' lives as are brought to our attention and trying to meet their needs.

Ultimately, our goal is to be able to provide an equal experience at Yale for the disabled. While Yale has had a slow start and some things are just beginning, we have come a long way in t?e past year and a half." To make tts buildings accessible to wheelchair users, Yale has spent 1.8 million dollars since 1976, adding ramps, handrails and wheelchair lifts, as well as altering doorways, elevators and bedroom and toilet facilities.

Last year's opening of the Resource Office and the formation of EASY reflect Yale student and administration efforts to knock down architectural and attitudinal barriers preventing the disabled from entering the mainstream of the college community. Although the 1973 Rehabilitation Act prohibited discrimination against otherwise qualified persons with disabilities, it lacked any regulations to enforce its implementation. Thus, the movement to make the campus accessible to the disabled did not effectively begin until 1978. At this time, the government 38 The New Journal/April 18, 1986

grafted onto the Rehabilitation Act the Section 504 regulation which mandated that federally-supported institutions make their programs accessible or risk loss of financial aid. In 1979, the first undergraduate with a full disability entered Yale.

According to Margit Dahl, assistant director at the Yale Admissions Office, a disabled student's application is judged in the same way as any other applicant's. "The fact that they are disabled does enter the discussion, but its significance varies from case to case," she said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Whether the university can accomodate the student's disability, however, is not a factor of consideration. We are not under any pressure to admit disabled students." It seems that the reason why there are so few disabled stuaents at Yale is that not many apply. Brackman added, "Although Yale does not discriminate against the disabled in admissions, it lacks an active recruitment program that would make the disabled person feel welcome here."

Indeed, the prospect of overcoming

architectural and attitudinal barriers is intimidating. David Heaton, GRD '91, had the high grades and test scores enabling him to get through the door of admissions at the Yale Graduate School. Yet, once he arrived on campus, Heaton found th at the doors of many classrooms, bathrooms and dining halls were too narrow to get through in a wheelchair. Heaton started using a wheelchair three years ago after he began law school at the University of Cahtorma. "Most mobility-disabled don't apply to Yale because there are just too many architectural barriers and bad weather," said H eaton, unfolding his arms for a moment to reveal the word "California" on his orange t-shirt.

"Instead, they go to college campuses in California that are newer and therefore built to be wheelchairaccessible."

Because Yale was built whe n disabled people were out of sight and therefore out of the minds of the architects who planned i ts construction , the campus poses numerous obstacles. All buildings on

Old Campus and the Yale residential colleges are inaccessible to wheel-chair users. The only exceptions are McClellan Hall on Old Campus, Davenport College and Morse College. Students in wheelchairs cannot pick up their mail at Yale Station, listen to concerts at Sprague Hall, or attend language classes at William Harkness Hall. Woodbridge Hall, Cross Campus Library, and SSS are other frequented buildings at Yale that are either completely inaccessible by wheel-chair or accessible only via complicated routes.

For wheelchair user Ann Kohanski, DC '88, Yale's architectural barriers have had serious ramifications. As a freshman, she was separated from the rest of her class on Old Campus and forced to live in Davenport College.

Each semester Kohanski misses the opportunity to explore classes during "shopping period" because she must submit her schedule one month earlier so that her classes can be placed in wheel-chair accessible locations.

Nonetheless, Kohanski is pleased that the administration has relocated classes and provided other accommodations, such as a van equipped with a wheelchair lift; this service saves Kohanski, a Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry major, from overexerting herself by climbing science hill.

For one disabled student, attending Yale has been positive in light of her past experiences. Iorijoko, TO '89, sat in a large leather armchair overlooking the courtyard, her feet barely touching the floor. Joko's words sounded muffied and unclear due to the cerebral palsy that damaged the part of Joko's brain that controls movement, speech and hearing. A graduate of a Catholic boarding school in California, Joko has achieved a straight-A record during her first year at Yale. Although she is from japan, she decided to study in the United States because Japan lacks academically challenging programs for the disabled. She also believes that attitudes here towards the disabled are more tolerant that they

loriJoko, TD '89, baa learned to deal with her handicap: "I've gotten used to working harder to do everything everybody else does with ease."

The New Journal/April 18, 1986 39

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Her knapsack also contains a small tape recorder, a magnifying glass and a mini-telescope. are in Japan. "In the United States, the attitude is that the individual is most important, whereas in Japan, the em· phasis is placed on society. It is part of the Japanese character that if you deviate from accepted standards, then you are an outcast," Joko said . "I have been told, 'People like you should stay at home.' When I was a little girl in Japan, the other children wouldn't ac· cept me because I was differentbecause I couldn't speak well and move well, they thought I was stupid."

Nevertheless, because of the historical isolation of the disabled, most people at Yale know little about their strengths and weaknesses, which often results in discrimination and alienation of the disabled person from the rest of the community. "What's the use of being able to get to a party," Shieldkret said, "if once you get there no one talks to you?" Non-disabled people often feel uncomfortable and embarrassed around the disabled, particularly those with vis ible handicaps. When Margaret Chisholm, reference librarian at the law school, broke her leg and began using crutches to move around, she struggled not only with the heavy manual elevator gates where she works, but also with a deep sense of loneliness. "There was a real difference in the expressions of people in the street when it was not clear whether my disability was temporary or not," Chisholm explained. "When I was on two crutches, it was obvious that my disability was temporary; strangers on the street would look at me and nod with an expression that seemed to say, 'Too bad.' But when I used one crutch or a cane, a lot of people acted as if I had a permanent

disability. Strangers in the street tended to look away from me as if I should be invisible."

The disabled must battle not only against false stereotyping but also against patronizing attitudes. "People ask me, 'How can you be at Yale if you are dyslexic?'" said David Chrisman, PC '86. "There is a stereotype of dyslexics being dumb. Actually, dyslexia is a disorder of information processing and memory storage in the brain and has nothing to do with level of intelligence." Mary Schulze, SY '87, said strongly, "Sometimes people can be overy overprotective. They'll decide to take me under their wing and treat me like a child. They'll assume I haven't heard anything at all and answer for me instead of aJlowing me to answer for myself."

Increased contact and information make the non-disabled more sensitive to the needs of the disabled so that the disability- not the person- becomes diminished. George Loebach, DC '87, Ann Kohanski's roommate, explained, "While other people just dash across the street, Ann always has to look for a ramp on the sidewalk. As a result, I think Ann has a lot more patience than most people and she's willing to fight for things." She paused. "I don't think of Ann as different, as a handicapped person. I just think of her as 'Ann'- someone who's short, has curly brown hair and likes to ride horses. I never think of treating her any differently from any of my other friends, and Ann certainly doesn't ask for special kid-glove treatment." Laura Teodosio, MC '86, described the first time she met Kohanski. "I felt a little self-conscious, scared that I might offend her with a thoughtless word or reaction.'' Yet, Teodosio found her own stereotypes and prejudgments quickly shattered after getting to know Kohanski. "She was very self· sufficient," Teodosio admitted . "She doesn't use her handicap as a crutch and only asks for help when physical barriers prevent her from doing something. herself."

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by the Yale College Council made it easier for the disabled to help themselves. Teodosio, a participant in the group, helped Kohanski to do her laundry, pick up her library books in the stacks and retrieve her mail from Yale station. "It made me feel good that I could give something of myself to someone who really appreciates it ," Teodosio discovered. Other volunteers took notes for students with hearing loss or read texts to the visually impaired. "People were genuinely concerned and eager to help. In fact, there were more volunteers than disabled students," said Elizabeth H aines, JE '87, who organized the program . "At Yale, the greatest resource is the people. A volunteer service is more than just the immediate physical convenience; the disabled need to be in contact with people."

To compensate for their disabilities, disabled students at Yale devise their own methods of coping. As a visually disabled student, Shieldkret needs help to reduce eyestrain and improve eyesight. Like many students at Yale, she carries a knapsack crammed with papers, pens and books. But in addition, Shieldkret's knapsack also contains a small tape recorder, a magnifying glass and a mini-telescope.

She reads all of her course books while listening to tapes that she orders from a service called Rtcordmgs for the Blind.

"Listening to the tape speeds me up and lets me read longer," Shieldkret said, pointing to the cassette labeled J ohn Stuart Mill- On Liberty in the

recorder. While Shieldkret depends on her hand magnifying glass to see the print of a dictionary or phonebook, she uses her mini-telescope, or "geek-ascope" as she calls it, to magnify objects which are farther away, like blackboards and street signs.

Shieldkret found a professor to be cooperative during a test when she asked to be switched to a different room because of dim lighting.

While disabled students at Yale prefer to rely on their own resources to deal with their disabilities, often they must seek the cooperation of the faculty and administration. "For the disabled person, independence is like money to the poor," said H eaton. "I'm in a wheelchair, so it's more difficult for me to get silverware or to carry a bag of groceries. But even though letting others do things for me may seem more efficient, it's satisfying for me to be able to do things by myself."

To compensate for her disability, Schulze must wear two hearing aids. Though in lectures she tries to read the professors' lips, she said that lip-reading becomes significantly more difficult when the professor has a beard or moustache, speaks with a foreign accent or speaks while facing the blackboard. In such situations, Schulze asks her professor to wear an auditory trainer, a microphone with a receiver connected to her hearing aid that amplifies the voice in her ear. The administration has also cooperated in accomodating Schulze's needs outside the classroom by installing a flashing

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strobe light in her bedroom to serve as a fire alarm .

Yet in spite of help from caring individ uals, Schulze found that she could not overcome the lim itations of her disability. W hile her crew coach was aware and thoughtful about her hearing loss, Sch ulze still had to give u p the sport. "I didn't always hear the coxswain, and sometimes because I was off a stroke , I'd take away from the strength of the team, " Schulze explained. "Being deaf is a constant struggle, but it doesn't help to get bummed out about it. I just try to find ways of getting a round and making the best of the situation." R efusing to let her h earing disability prevent her from exercisin g, Schulze can be seen

running on Prospect Avenue or lifting weights at Pay ne-Whitney gymnasium .

As a result of the rising concern for the disabled in the Yale community, they feel that they are finally beginning to e njoy some of the same r ights an d privileges that the non-disabled have always taken fo r gr a n ted. M eanwhile, most disabled stu dents seem to work hard, viewing their situation with maturity and humor. "If I didn't have any handicap, I might have ended up like m y cousin, who's very intellige nt but who neve r had to try hard for any thin g, s o he n ever really accomplished anything," Joko said. " Because I have a disability, I've gotten used to working harder to do

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But facing restrictions and dealing with frustration has made me a stronger and more sensitive person." Shrugging her shoulders, Kohanksi said, "There are lots of tedious inconveniences, but I don't think it's an excuse for not doing your best." She added with a grin, "And from wheeling around in a wheelchair, I've developed such powerful arm muscles that I can beat almost anyone at arm-wrestling."

Nonetheless, each of the 19 disabled students · at Yale agrees- that the struggle never ends. When David Chrisman was · diagnosed as mildly dyslexic twelve years ago, · he found support at home from his parents and four siblings, all of whom are dyslexic.

Yet Chrisman must deal with his learning disability alone as the only dyslexic on campus. Because dyslexia impairs short-term verbal memory storage, Chrisman finds that reading assignments, writing papers and following lectures ·take longer for him than for other students. Despite his frustrations, however, he remains enthusiastic about his decision to study at Yale, feeling that his problems have helped him to gain perspective. "As Wordsw~rth once said," began Chrismaq, nodding to the stack of poetry b<ioks under him arm, "A deep grief . . ." He narrowed his brow, struggling to recall the words he had just read for his English course. ". . .

Or is the word 'distress'? I can't remember. Anyway, 'A deep grief or distress hath humanized n1y soul._'" His face brightened once again as he said ' "Nonetheless, I am glad for havmg nad the opportunity to study at Yale. I mean, where else do people get excited about Wordsworth?" .

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The New JournaVApril 18, 1986 4-3

Books/Lenny Picker ~------

A Dishonorable History Joining the Club: A History of jews and Yale by Dan A. Oren Yale University Press, 1986 440 pages, $29.95 For a week in the fall of 1980, the front and editorial pages of the Yale Daily News (YDN) were dominated by a heated exchange over accusations of anti-Semitism at Yale: "Yale callous to Jews, Wolf says in sermon," "Goldstein, Giamatti, alumnus deny rabbi's charges of anti-Semitism," "Yale Jews debate Wolf allegations."

Hillel Director and Jewish Chaplain Arnold Jacob Wolf sparked the controversy by his remarks at the last Yom Kippur service he presided over at Yale. The YDN quoted Wolf as condemning a "long and dishonorable history of anti-Semitism at Yale," as well as a continuing insensitivity to Jewish concerns. While there is good reason to suspect the YDN of presenting a skewed picture of the substance and focus of Wolfs statements, the initial article fueled numerous responses, and the dispute made its way into The New York Times.

Yale Professors Harold Bloom and John Hollander added their views to the controversy in a letter to the YDN: It is our judgment as jewish members of the Yale faculty that there is no basis in reality for any of [Wolf's) allegations.

Nothing is more irresponsible or harmful than totally unwarranted and unsupported accusations of antiSemitism. Rather than refute point by point Rabbi Wolrs list of complaints or particularize his falsehoods, which might seem to give weight to such foolish fancies, we prefer to observe that his performance was totally at variance with the best traditions of the rabbinate.

Anyone still sharing Bloom and Hollander's views regarding Yale's past should read Dan A. Oren'sjoining the Club: A History of Jews and Yale, published last February. Dr. Oren, '79, Medical School '84 and currently a H

The New Journal/April 18, 1986

Dan Oren, '79, turned his senior essay into a comprehensive history of jews at Yale.

post-doctoral fellow in psychiatry, meticulously documents Yale's treatment of Jewish applicants, students and faculty, from the university's humble beginnings as a small Congregationalist seminary to the present day. After nearly a decade of probing through Yale archives and extensive interviewing of past and present members of the university community, Oren has uncovered irrefutable proof that Yale does indeed have in its closet, as Rabbi Wolf claimed, "a long and dishonorable history of anti-Semitism." joining the Club has resonance beyond Yale's confines; it may be the most thorough study of restrictive admissions towards Jews in existence, and the evolution it traces of the Yale Administration's attitudes towards Jews and other minorities parallels a similar progression in American society. While Oren clearly focuses on Yale, he often refers to analogous policies and postures on the part of fellow Ivy League institutions and

shows that the infection of Yale by racism was not an isolated case, but a more virulent one. Indeed, it is to Yale's lasting shame that it was the last Ivy school to abandon its primitive quota system.

As an undergraduate Oren was active in Jewish life on campus, serving on the Board of Yale Hillel and on the search committee for Rabbi Wolf's successor. A sophomore year class on American Jewish history started his exploration of Yale's admissions policies regarding Jews.

His term paper for the course mushroomed into a senior essay, which in turn became the basis for his book. joining the Club divides Yale history into three sections: 1701-1878, 1878-1941 and 1941-1977. For each period, Oren examines the numbers and status of Jews in the student body, faculty and administration, their feelings regarding their Yale experiences and the views towards them held by the university at large.

DANA. OREN

JOINING

According to Oren, through 1878Jews at Yale experienced relatively little anti-Semitism:

THEACLUB History of Jews and Yctle

... scholarly achievement continued to be a hallmark of the Jewish students in the college. Few in number, the Jewish boys were an accepted part of the campus community. The presence of students of all leading religious denominations and the permission that Yale granted for all students to attend the Sabbath religious services of their choice were sources of pride to the college faculty.

In the last quarter of the 19th century, prejudice against .J~ws at Yale increased, concomitant both with the increase in societal anti-Semitism and an alteration in the character of Yale.

Contemporary students unfamiliar with Yale history might be surprised at the very different atmosphere that prevailed 60 to 80 years ago.

According to Oren, ". . . academic effort came to be placed well below the pedestal of an all-absorbing extracurricular life of sport and snobbery.

Throughout the country, learning and good grades had become unfashionable while social status dominated student energies." In this new Yale, the quintessential sign of success was membership in a secret society or fraternity.

Joining the Club reveals that, by the 1920s, Yale had shifted to a policy of restrictive admissions known as "Limitation of Numbers." in effect a 10 percent quota on accepted Jewish applicants. Yale adminstrators involved in formulating and implementing this policy indict themselves in correspondence and memoranda which Oren uncovered.

The author is scrupulously evenhanded in his presentation of these materials, often pointing out where a formal policy or harsh statement was mitigated in practice.

Even with this balance, however, a disturbing picture emerges. In 1922

Dean of Freshmen Roswell Angier viewed Jewish students on the whole as "personally and socially unacceptable" and "more or less in the nature of a foreign body in the class organism." In 1918 Yale College Dean Frederick Sheetz Jones feared that the "Jewish element . . . will overrun us." After Jewish students won "every single scholarship of value," Jones proposed a "ban on Jews." Such insensitivity and racism penetrated to the highest levels.

In 1933 University President James Rowland Angell ( 1921-193 7) jokingly suggested to the chairman of admissions that a pogrom might be the answer to Yale's Jewish problem: am extremely interested in the Hebraic record which you are kind enough to send me. The oscillations from year to year are rather larger than I would have expected. In any case, the material is very informing, and it seems quite clear that, if we could have an Armenian massacre confined to the New Haven district, with occasional incursions into Bridgeport and Hartford, we might protect our Nordic stock almost completely.

Oren discloses that anticipation of Nazi intentions was not limited to a chance comment by Angell. In a letter

found by Oren in his research, a Yale faculty member is quoted as having said, "If there are Jews who want to go to college, let them go to Harvard. Let Hitler be Harvard's president. He'll take care of them." Compatible sentiments echoed from the student body and alumni.

In addition, Oren finds that discrimination against Jewish applicants was also manifested at the medical school, which was, ironically, under the stewardship of Dean Milton Winternitz, a Jew. And those Jewish students who were accepted faced numerous barriers to successful integration into college life. For example, an alumni committee composed entirely of non-Jews charged that Yale coaches "consistently kept out Jewish athletes, thereby hurting team performance."

Rectification of Yale's anti-Semitic policies was long in coming. Oren identifies two major factors in the shift of attitudes towards Jews throughout the Yale community. The development of the residential college system was a conscious effort at social integration, and the Second World War, which starkly demonstrated the price of racism, was followed by the spread of the doctrine of meritocracy. President A. Whitney Griswold (1950-63), prodded by Hillel Director Richard J. Israel, University Chaplain William Sloane Coffin and influential alumnus William Horowitz, was . instrumental in effecting the changes in the Yale admissions process that led in the 1960s to the lifting of the "Limitation of Numbers" policy, years after other Ivy League institutions had done so.

Oren does touch upon evolving Yale perceptions of other non-Protestant minorities, but he clearly states how the problems of Jews differed: "In contradistinction to other ethnic and minority groups, Jews became an issue at Yale (and elsewhere) in the twentieth century because so many of them achieved intellectual success The New JoumaVApriJ 18, 1986 45

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I enclose a check for 0 one year $10 0 two years $ 18 ' offer el'tends only to those living wi thin the continental United States and outside the Yale campus .

In Appreciation As Commencement approaches, The New Journal wishes to acknowledge the important contributions made to the magazine by members of the Class of 1986. We extend our thanks to Anne Applebaum, Joyce Banerjee, Rich Blow, Mark Fedors, Katie Hazelwood, Rob Lindeman, Hank Mansbach, Lauren Rabin, Tony Reese, and Patrick Santana for all of their hard work, talent and enthusiasm. On the large scale and the small, their dedication has shaped The New Journal. We are grateful for the time and energy that they devoted to the magazine, and we wish them the best of luck in their future endeavors.

SUMMER 1986

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before they received social approval . . . . In the Yale setting, the gap between the intellectual achievements of the Jews and their social acceptance was bound to generate tension."

Dr. Oren is to be lauded for his diligence in uncovering an unpleasant chapter in Yale's history , and for presenting his findings in a readable and cogent form. His years of effort are clearly evident in the comprehensive nature of his book, replete with documentation, analysis and recollection . Joining the Club is a judgemental history, as is only appropriate to its subject matter; a neutral tone to the bigotry of past generations is akin to indiffere nce to modern-day manifestations. Oren refrains from speculating as to how Yale would have P,een different "had it chosen not to succumb to the sway of intolerance and insularism." Yale prides itself on a record of leadership; unfortunately, after reading this book, it is patently clear that the movements of which the university has been in the vanguard have not all been worthy ones.

Yale in 1986 is a hospitable environment for the Jewish student or faculty member. A recent alteration in the Yale Corporation by-laws has led to a rabbi receiving serious consideration for the position of University Chaplain. President Giamaui went to great le ngths to assist the fundraising campaign to establish a Judaic Studies program. The insensitivity to which Rabbi Wolf alluded in 1980 is still aJ: ~a rent in incidents when occasional faculty members are less than accomodating towards religious Jews who require extensions or rescheduled exams because of their observance. By and large, however, any discomfort at being Jewish at Yale is isolated and internal in origin. Joining the Club serves as a cautionary reminder that this was not always the case, and must not be taken for granted .

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Lenny Picker is a smior in Berlceley.

46 The New Journal/April 18, 1986

Afterthought/Heinrich Von Staden

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A Time for Conversation Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

-T.S. Eliot

Afterthought? Not in an Epimethean sense, I trust. The years as Master have not prepared me for afterthoughts, especially not while the "after," though imminent, still lies ahead. But I welcome the invitation to comment on an aspect of the experience.

As an experiment in education outside the classroom- a frequently unobtrusive education that occurs in a dazzling range of modes and contexts- the residential colleges repreeent an indubitable success. The greatest achievement of the colleges is, however, also their most fragile and endangered. I don't mean out-celebrated specimens of architectural mimesis, but cultural intercourse and intellectual discouse.

Twenty-five years ago Richard B. Sewall, professor of English and the distinguished first Master of Ezra Stiles College, said: "This . . . is the noblest work of these colleges: to facilitate conversation- the meeting of mind with mind, person with person. Young with young, old with old, and (hardest of all) young with old." This "noblest work" of the colleges is their most fragile tradition. When not tactfully nurtured, it withers faster than most other features of the system.

Conversation of "young with old" and "old with old" (the "old" often being quite young) in the colleges is not in a phase of high energy or high art. Over the last two decades, conversations between faculty fellows and students, and fellows and fellows, have dwindled drastically. In the fall of 1965, 637 fellows took 19,896 meals in the twelve colleges; in the fall term of 1985, only 416 fellows took a mere 2,466 meals in the colleges-a decrease of 87.6 percent in these opportunities for informal interaction between faculty and students, faculty and faculty, in our colleges. (Occasionally we recuperate fragments of what we've lost: I treasure, for example, the weekly Monday lunches of the Ezra Stiles faculty Fellows, at which we take turns giving informal talks about our research.) Even more disheartening are the statistics for junior faculty: a decrease of 95.44 percent from 1965 to 1985 in college meals taken by junior faculty. This is but one way of quantifying the massive withering of a faculty presence in the colleges.

The intellectual and social texture of our residential college communities has suffered accordingly. Informal cross-disciplinary exchange between faculty, though it continues in other, more structured forums, has diminished, and our mission of facilitating, inter alia, the more difficult kind of conversation, of old with young, has been significantly hobbled.

The reasons for the reduced faculty presence in the colleges probably are numerous, and I who live in the fifth century B.C. -a mere visitor in the twentieth-won't pretend to fathom them. The reduction and then, in 1980, elimination of college meal privileges for faculty played a role, but I suspect a more complex process of alienation has been at work, especially in the lives of junior faculty. President Giamatti and Provost Brainard deserve the warmest thanks of all who care about the colleges and about intellectual exchange at Yale for their recent decision to restore limited meal privileges to Yale College junior faculty, effective next fall. It is a significant exhortation. But it should be only the beginning of a multi-dimensional and, indeed, daunting, yet necessary, process of social and intellectual recuperation- necessary, if the colleges are to realize more fully their extraordinary potential.

I hasten to affirm that the "conversation of young with young" in the colleges is flourishing. I suspect the students don't need help, but like others I have tried to flood Ezra Stiles with a variety of shared cultural experiences, and to encourage intellectual, artistic, and personal exploration within the discreet, supportive, informality of our college community. Even the trifling domesticities we foster-a shared cup of coffee, the casual studybreak exchange- seem to help weave contexts hospitable to the sharing of those hundred indecisions, visions, and revisions.

Occasionally our larger college community too realizes much of its potential, and when it does, Diotima's response to Socrates' question, "What, then, is eros?" appears to be instantiated multiplicatively: "Eros is something that interprets (hermmeuon) and ferries back and forth . . . and, being an intermediary between two, eros fully fUls both, so tha.t in itself all is bound together . . . and through it all social intercourse and all conversation exist . . . ."

"Master" often is but a euphemistic pJetaphor for "slave," but the continuing, though embattled presence of conversati"n in the colleges has allowed my service (servitium > serous) to be aptly described by Plato's oxymoro l. coinage dhekl-douleio., "voluntary slavery."

The remarkable students and fellows of the college have thoroughly ensured that my service was animated not only by joy and love, but above aU by a steady, though far from metrical, pulse of enriching conversations. I fervently hope this fragile joy will be vigorously protected and tactfully nurtured and enhanced by our institution.

â&#x20AC;˘

Heinrich von Staden, Professor of Clo.ssics and Comparative Literature, is returning to full-time teaching and research after six years as Master of Ezra Stiles College.

The New JournaVApril 18, 1986 47

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