Volume 29 - Issue 3

, INC.

BuiLDING COMMUNrTY THROUGH MEDIA

TheNewJournal Pus usHER

Audrey Leibovich EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Hillary Margolis MANAGING EDITORS

Karen jacobson Gabriel Snyder BusiNEss MANAGER

Dan Murphy DESIGNER

Alec Bemis PRODUCTION MANAGER

john Bullock PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR

Marisa Galvez ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER

Min Chen ASSOCIATE EDITOR

joel Burges AssociATE PRODUCTION MANAGER

Lainie Rutkow REsEARcH DIRECTOR

Dana Goodyear

bookhaoen

Now available at BookHaven: Yale's own jonathan Spence and Annping Chin's The Chinese Century, a lavish photographic journey through China's recent past.

290 York Street • New Haven, CT • 787-2848

2

CIRCULATION AND SuBSCRIPTION MANAGER

Sara Harkavy Caroline Adams • jay Dixit • David Hojfmlln Christina Lung • Yuki Noguchi• • Daphna Renan• *e/ecttd to staffDecember 1, 1996 Mtmberr and Directors: Constance Clement Joshua Civin • Peter B. Cooper • Brooks Kelley Suzanne Kim • Patricia Pierce • Kathy Reich Elizabeth Sledge • Fred Srrebeigh Thomas Strong Friends: Steve Ballou • Anson M. Beard, Jr. Edward B. Bennett, Jr. • Edward B. Bennett Ill Blaire Bennett • Paul S. Bennett • Gerald Bruck Jay Carney • Jonathan M. Clark • Constance Clement • Peter B. Cooper • Andy Court • Jerry & Rae Court • Mesi Denison • Mrs. Howard Fox David Freeman • Geoffrey Fried • Sherwin Goldman • David Greenberg • Stephen Hellman Brooks Kelley • Roger Kirwood • Andrew J. Kuzneski, Jr. • Lewis E. Lehrman • Jim Lowe • E. Nobles Lowe • Hank Mansbacb • Martha E. Neil Peter Neill • Sean O'Brien • Julie Peters • Lewis & Joan Platt • Julia Preston • Lauren Rabin Fairfax C. Randal • Rollin Riggs • Nicholas X. Rizopoulos • Arleen & Arthur Sager • Dick & Debbie Sears • Richard Shields • W. Hampton Sides • Lisa Silverman • Elizabeth & William Sledge • Thomas Strong • Elizabeth Tate • Alex & Betsy Torello • Allen & Sarah Wardell Daniel Yergin & Angela Stent Yergi n

U MB-ER3TheNewTlo._u_rna__l~Vo-LUME-29,N~!__

December 6, 1996

F EATURES

7 p. 7

They Work Hard for Their Money Out to make some fast cash, some Yale students soon discover that donating sperm is not your ordinary work-study job.

BY YUKI NOGUCHI

IO

A Tale of Two Goodyears Although Charles Goodyear's name is embossed on millions oftires, his invention ofvulcanized rubber could not save him from debtor's prison.

BY DANA GOODYEAR

p. 10

14

The Mental Hygiene Machine Students reveal the obstacles they face when undergoing the bureaucratic process ofpsychotherapy through University Health Services.

BY H ILLARY MARGOLIS

p. 14

21

Missing: Minority Weekend The elimination ofminority weekend causes Yale's African American community to worry about how it will draw future freshmen.

BY L OREN B RODY

S T AN DAR D S _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

p. 23

4

From Our Perspective: Broadway, Inc.

5

Points of Departure

18

Between the Vines: Lighting the Past BY DAPHNA RENAN. Endnote: Vision 2000 BY ALEC BEMIS.

23

Cover design by Seth Zucker.

T HE NEW jOURNAL u publuhed fiV<: times during the academic year by The N.w journal at Yale, Inc., P.O. Box }4)1 Yale St:~.tion, N .... Haven, CT o6p.o. Office address: 1S1 Parlr. Street. Phont: <>o)) 4)1-19S7· All contents copyright •996 by The New journal at YaJ.. Inc. All Righa Res.tvcd. Rtproduction eith.r in whole or in pan without written permiuion of the publuh.r and editor in chief is prohibited. While this nuguine u published by Yale College studena, Yale Univenity u not responsible for its contents. Ten thousand copies of each iuue are distributed free ro memben of the Yale and N.w Haven community.

Subscriptions arc available ro those ouaide the area. Rares: One year. st8. Two years, S)O. THE NEY j OUL'IAL u printed by Turley Publications, Palmer, MA; bookke<ping and billing servia. are provided by Colman Bookke<ping of N.w Haven. THE NEW jOURNAL encourageslerten to the editor and comments on Yale and New Haven issua. Write to Editorials, }4)1 Yale Sruion, New Haven, CT o6sw. All letten for publication mwt include address and signature. We reserve the right to edit alllenen for publicarion.

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n this early stage of late-stage capitalism, the businesses along Broadway are unique. An independent movie-house. A bookstore run by its owner. Two pizza places without "hut" in their names.

Besides the two convenience stores and Au Bon Pain, Corporate America seems to have missed Broadway in its global takeover.

Over the last few months, James Tilney and the University Properties Office have been making plans to change that. The staff of University Properties has been on a crusade to get more chains on Broadway, pitching the Yale market to any corporate chain that will listen.

Tilney knows what Yalies want, and Yalies want corporate bagels, corporate books, corporate coffee , and corporate bread!

We at The N ew journal would like to take a moment to disagree. Call us flaming radicals, but something about disgruntled employees serving mass-produced bagels is hardly appealing.

Corporate stores are merely another outpost of the Sellittoya, Inc., Empire, built according to company specs and approved by the omnipotent Regional Manager. The first thing you see when you walk in is an advertisement h0cking the latest special dreamt up in a marketing division. Its soup. Its bread. It's soup in a bread bowl. Take a few steps forward and you're at a counter where an employee in a goofy hat and T-shirt (who, despite the latest Total Quality Management™ program, is annoyed you stepped into the store so near to closing time) is ready to "help" you.

Fast food tastes the same whether you are in Paris, France, or Calhoun, Georgia; corporations spend millions in laboratories making sure that it does. A megabookstore in Salt Lake City, Utah, is pretty

much the same as one in New York City.

Uniformity is what corporations want. It's much easier to make, ship, market, and sell one million of the same thing than one million different ones. The logic of the market is to provide services as quickly and cheaply as possible. Corporations are the most awe-inspiring mechanisms of production and distribution ever created.

But what's lost in the process is character and uniqueness. If the next corporate outpost just promises all the conveniences of home, why leave home in the first place?

Broadway has a character, and just like fast food, corporations aren't good at preserving local flavors. Unlike the owners of the small businesses along Broadway, corporations don't have any vested interest in the com-munity. If business goes down, they can pack up and leave at the drop of a hat:. And they will.

Kin~o's had no qualms about moving out of New Haven. Neither did Macy's or Sam Goody. W ho could blame them, anyway?

The profit margin just wasn't high enough, and, besides, there are shareholders to answer to.

When Corporate America decides to take over, most people are powerless.

Corporations have the money to come into your town, buy a building, and undersell the competition without anyone having much of a say. New Haven is different because the town is already dominated by one corporation: the Yale Corporation. Yale owns enough of New Haven to have a large say as to which businesses set up shops in the city. As a non-profit corporation, though, Yale doesn't have to give in to the pressure of the market. In deciding who leases the shops o n Broadway, the Un iversiy Properties Office should have the courage to keep the city's local flavor and ignore the insipid uniformity promised by corporate storm troopers.

-The Editors

THE NEW jOURNAL

Literary Yangling With its small failures and great successes, patient cadences and frantic rushes, fishing lends itself to casual metaphors. Anyone who's seen A River Runs Through It knows that fishing is supposed to be a lot like life. But some skeptics may have difficulty seeing the connection between pulling a fish out of water and human existence.

Last spring, when James Prosek (BR '97) and Joe Furia (PC '00) conceived the idea of a fishing journal at Yale, they wanted to capture the spiritual quality of fishing without lapsing into cliches. At the time, Furia was a high school senior visiting Yale as a pre-frosh. His cousin, Franny Furia (BR '97), put him in touch with Prosek, aware of their mutual passion for fishing. During one of the classes Furia visited, Prosek passed Furia a note asking, "What do you think of starting a literary fishing journal at Yale?"

The end result of that piece of scrap paper is the Yale Anglers' journa4 a collection of fourteen short essays focused on angling. With some help from psychology professor Nelson Donnegan, Furia and Prosek produce and edit the journal, which brings together an impressive range of amateur angler-au tho rs-i ncludi ng former Attorney General Elliot Richardson, a family friend of Furia. Furia and Donnegan each wrote essays and Aaron Kennon (CC '97) contributed a piece, but most of the authors are friends of Furia or Prosek from outside of Yale-what Prosek calls "non-Yanglers."

The journal also contains excerpted sections from two recent books about fishing: Wade a Little Duper, Dear and

DECEMBER 6,

1996

A Different Angle. Furia did most of the leg-work for the journal, completing the entire journal before he carne to Yale for his freshman year. He arranged the excerpts with the publishing companies, worked on the editing process with the authors, arranged for Kinko's to print the journal, and did all the graphic and layout work.

Furia says all of the pieces are about "life, told through fishing" and the editorial aspect of the magazine succeeds in that focus. The pieces are all short (the longest runs about 2,000 words), each one exploring a particular theme or element involved in angling. Each essay is accompanied by a graphic that corresponds roughly to the piece's theme. The graphics are gleaned from fishing books that are over 70 years old, to avoid copyright laws.

While the antiquated look of the graphics

is in keeping with the classical feel of the journal itself, more recent pictures might lend the journal a more exciting feel.

The intended audience for the journal is mostly Yale alumni and other anglers outside of New Haven, rather than current Yalies. While the journal is available at the Co-op, most of the initial print run of 500 will hopefully be distributed through the mail to interested anglers. If all goes well, contributions from these readers will help finance future editions of the journal and reimburse Furia, Prosek, and Donnegan for their backing of the first issue.

Right now Furia and Prosek plan to publish the journal semi-annually. Their wish-list of possible contributors for this spring includes New York Times editorial page editor Howell Raines and George Bush (DC '48) . With Prosek set to graduate in the spring, the journal is seeking more Yalies with a passion for fishing and a literary bent. In his introductory note at the beginning of the journal, Prosek presents his ultimate utopian goals for the journal and for angling at Yale: a Yale Angling Library and a trout scream running through the Branford courtyard. After reading the journal, these ventures begin to seem pretty worthwhile.

-Dan Murphy

The Bagel Boom's Beginnings The bagel is a staple in the lives of many Americans. With its sidekick cream cheese, the bagel has been combined with almost every variety of fruit, vegetable, and meat to claim its > ground as an all-American; favorite. ~ However, the bagel was not ~ an American creation. Derived ~ from the Austrian wordÂŁ "beugel," meaning "stirrup," the ~

I I

original bagel was open at the top like a horseshoe. Around the turn of the century, it became rounded into the traditional donut shape in Eastern Europe.

The history of the bagel as we know it typifies an American success story. And one bagel in par~i cular, the Lender's Bagel, embodies the dream of Harry Lender. His bagel business began in New Haven more than 60 years ago.

A Polish immigrant, Lender arrived in this country alone in 1927 with only his skills as a baker. The bagel, which had arrived before him, was already popular among Jewish communities in New England. After spending a few years in New Jersey, Lender paid $600 for a bread bakery on Oak Street, the hub of New Haven's Jewish population. He sold bagels and other products wholesale.

Lender's bagel business took off when he moved to Baldwin S~reet in New Haven, where he made bagels daily in the back yard of his home. The business soon expanded, taking over the adjacent yard, while his family over-flowed into the neighboring house.

Murray, the third Lender child, recalls how his entire family was involved rn bagel-making. As Murray grew, his bagel duties expanded. He began as the official bagel counter and then was promoted to boiling them. Eventually, Murray was allowed to shape the bagels, a task which required six to nine months of training.

After finally graduating to baking, he and his brother Marvin took over the family business.

In the 1960s, Lender's Bagels achieved its modern fame. For the first time, bagels were packaged in polyethylene bags and shipped to supermarkets across t he country.

Different flavorsonion, pumpernickel, and garlic- were introduced. The year

1962 saw the first bagel-a Lender'sshaped by an automated machine in

6

New Haven. These advances meant that every American nationwide had access to a Lender's Bagel. The 'bagel boom' was born and Lender's Bagels was at the forefront.

The business continued to expand, so the Lender brothers moved their bakery into two New Haven factories, which st ill continue to crank out fresh bagels. Despite competition from the rising class of sophisticated bagel bars, the Lender's Bagel flourishes as an American tradition.

-Caroline Adams

To Walk a Mile in Another Man's Shoes "There's not too much to tell," says Frank Purpora from behind a dusty showcase filled with dented cartons of shoe laces, responding to niy request to discuS's his "chariry work."

Purpora points me toward a typed letter tacked to the store wall among posters advertising various New Haven communiry events.

Written by the program coordinator at the New Haven Homeless Resource Center, the letter reads: "Thank you so much for the rescue of our program participant who had no shoes fit to wear on his feet ...Just the other day, the young man walked inside the Resource Center with i: happy smile on his face. He looked down at his feet, shook his legs, as if to start dancing. He was so proud of wearing newer shoes and re-thanked me for bringing him to your shop."

Every so often, Purpora says, someone who is down on his luck will come into the shop looking for an old pair of shoes. If Purpora happens to have a pair of unclaimed shoes in that person's size, he gives them away.

Star Shoe Repair, across from the Shubert on College Street, is cluttered but clean. Leather bags of various shapes and sizes overlap on a rack behind the counter.

Odors of leather and shoe polish give a pleasant, pungent bite to the air. The sound of a hammer against leather comes from the store's back room, punctuating Purpora's speech.

A customer walks into the shop, and Purpora chats with him while filling his

order. Now that classes have begun at Yale, he says, the shoes are tumbling in. He can hardly keep up with the business.

The phone rings and Purpora asks Jimmy James, his lone assistant, to answer it.

"There used to be five of us here," Purpora says. Now it is just James and himself.

"We're doing the best we can. There's not too many fellas who want to go into the business. You've got to get your hands dirty."

He smiles and shows his hands, which are calloused and smeared w ith black shoe polish.

Many repair businesses like tailors and dry cleaners, Purpora says, amass a collection of forgotten properry. Although his claim tickets say customers must pick up their shoes within 30 days, Purpora's customers sometimes lose track of time or move away, leaving their belongings behind.

Rather than discarding unclaimed shoes, Purpora tries "to do a good thing" by giving them away to a needy person. He estimates that he's distributed eight or ten pairs this year.

It can be risky chariry to give old shoes away. Occasionally, a delinquent customer has shown up several months after he left his shoes, only to find that they are on someone else's feet. "I've got to be really careful to make sure I only give t he really old ones away," Purpora says.

Although Purpora does not usually seek out needy people, he gave his first pair of boots away 20 years ago to a woman he saw wearing a pair of Birkenstocks in the wintertime. Now, he says, the woman is in her late thirties, has a Ph.D., and is a regular customer.

"I really didn't do it for publicity," Purpora says with a shy smile. As the old aphorism goes, happiness is a comfortable pair of shoes.

-Catherine 0/mder

Yale students discover that donating sperm is not . your ordinary work-study job .

. ==

heir Money: .,

Yuki Noguchi

uring his freshman and sophomore years, David made 40 trips to the Sperm Physiology Lab at Yale Medical School to masturbate into a plastic cup. For most students, workstudy involves mundane tasks, but David, now a junior, veered from the beaten path of student employment: he donated sperm.

"Donation," however, is a misnomer. At the end of the 12 to 15 week "donating" process, he collected a check for $2,000. Two years later, he has probably fathered four or five children whom he'll never know.

On his first visit, a doctor handed David a "specimen cup" and pointed to a drawer that contained a thick manila folder full of Pmthouse and Playboy magazines. Carrying his plastic cup and manila folder, David walked past labs and offices to the public bathroom at the end of the hallway. His journey was not a private one; eyes from neighboring offices and labs turned to watch him as though he were a sperm model strolling down the reproductive catwalk.

The bathro.om was a little cramped, but nothing special.

Certainly not conducive to fantasy. David walked in, locked the door, sat on the cold, impersonal toilet, and commenced his work.

"It was miserable," he says, laughing nervously. "People kept knocking and I was like, 'C'mon, you know what I'm doing in here.' The forced environment makes it very impersonal, makes it a job and makes it ... truly difficult."

Scott, who also donated sperm his freshman and sophomore years, found the initial experience disconcerting. "I was really nervous and uncomfortable, I felt disgusting and dirry and selfconscious," Scott says. ''I'm not like a lot of guys who can just do it standing up or sitting on the toilet." So he took newspapers with him to the bathroom, lined the tiles, and laid on the floor.

On his make-shift newspaper bed, Scott closed his eyes and transported himself into a world of fantasy. "I had to block everything out. Otherwise, it just completely turned me off.

Completely," he says emphatically. Several times, just when he began to fo rget that he was lying on the cold floor of a laboratory bathroom, people would knock on the door or try to enter. "It would bring you back to realiry and you couldn't shout, 'Hey, I'm

D

DECEMBER

6, 1996

donating, leave me alone!'" He'd have to start from scratch again.

With experience, the process became less arduous. "It's almost like you're watching a movie of someone else doing this," Scott says. In retrospect, he finds the procedure humorous and surreal.

"It's not like I don't have respect for human life or the whole process of fertilization, but partially I did it because it's funny. I mean, I'm a sperm donor," he laughs. "The end is kind of pleasant.

When it's all over you have this heroic feeling, like, ' I did it.'"

Scott was in and out of the miserable bathroom within five or ten minutes. If you calculate his earnings per hour, he made a killing. If you calculate by the sperm, he wasn't making much. But then, what are billions of sperm to a man in his sexual peak?

Actually, donors do face sacrifices. They are re¡quired to abstain the day before and the day of donation. Scott was not draconian about abstaining. "Whatever. I'm a teenage guy ... " Even so, David says, "It was the kind of job you hated, but it made no sense to quit. Each time I went in, I thought, 'Ugh, this stinks,' but each time I was getting $50 more, and that's a lot of money. So I stuck with it and finished my 'term' and now I'm $2,000 richer."

D

r. Gabor Huszar's phone rings, the fax machine spits out pages, and colleagues come in to grab fertility journals. It comes as no surprise that his expertise¡ is in such high demand; he was one of the founding directors of Yale's fertility program in 1983, and he remains at the forefront of developments in reproductive treatment. Huszar says reproductive technology has been revolutionized in the last ten years, with new discoveries continually transforming the field.

Donated sperm has always been in short supply, but in recent years the demand for sperm has increased, according to a 1994 issue of Human Rtproduction. Huszar estimates that 150 students have participated in the program since its inception 13 years ago.

In most cases, because the lab has only 40 samples of sperm from each donor, the actual number of children born per donor is less than five. The average hovers around 3.8. Most of Huszar's patients have partners who suffer from congenital disease, sperm

7

• • • • free money," Scott says with a laugh. "You have to work; it's a pain in the ass. Twice a week you have to go down there. It's degrading. I think sexual relations are a personal thing. This is ery mechanical, and not romantic."

N

donated sperm are used primarily for the fertility program and not merely for research, about half of the respondents lose interest, Huszar says. For the half that drops out immediately, the moral issue of fathering genetic children seems far more complicated than donating sperm for research purposes.

Those who remain interested after Huszar's debriefing undergo an initial test for high sperm concentration and motility.

Additionally, their sperm must withstand freezing and thawing because the sperm is cryogenically preserved. The lab then runs blood tests on potential donors, testing for AIDS and other diseases and disorders.

Overall, the screening process is arduous for potential donors and expensive for the lab.

ong sperm banks, Yale's is unique, ccording to Huszar. is one of only a handful of in the U.S. that freezes its n sperm. In most cases sperm are large, impersonal, for-profit organizations that provide sperm in much the same way L.L. Bean provides clothes. Home pages advertising sperm malformation, or have banks even appear on the Internet. vasectomies during previous "Essentially, this has become an marriages. Other patients want industry where you have major freezing eff tried on rwo different occasions to become single mothers. ·laboratories," Huszar explains. "They have participate in the program and was Helping infertile couples is important nation-wide networks to collect sperm rejected both times. He had to give to students, but only second to financial from men, and you go to a doctor if you tial spe rm samples to determine payoffs. "You get $50 for one time. I need the treatment, and the doctor orders whether he had high enough levels of mean, I've worked other jobs as a the sperm in. " Yale keeps its operation sperm concent ration or, in his words, construction worker, a garbage ··- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "i.iber-sperm." "Basically, they man, a waiter, and I know how doctor handed David a II specimen cup" told me I was a healthy boy, I just much $50 is for someone with didn't have quite the sperm count my earning potential," Scott and pointed to a drawer that contained that they needed;" Jeff says. Only

1

A

says.

a thick manila folder full of Penthouse and Playboy magazines.

David, too, says the $2,000 reward loomed large in his decision. "It's not like you're donating your body to science for an altruistic cause. I think the money issue is always there," he says. "I think that if a family is responsible enough and caring enough to go to the effort [of finding a donor], I wouldn't mind being the genetic father for someone else's child. When you ask foster children who their parents are, they don't say, 'my genetic parents.' The father and mother are the people who raise them.''

According to Jeff, if a moral issue exists, it lies within the structure of the program. "Offering $2,000 to a student could be considered financially coercive," he says. "I mean, if I wanted to do something altruistic, I'd tutor or volunteer, not masturbate."

Ethical questions aside, the participants agree that the process of donating amounts to drudgery. "It's not

8

small, personal, and non-profit. Keeping the donation and treatment process in a tight loop provides patients with personalized care, says Huszar. Although medical journals often recognize Yale's fertility program for its excellence, the lab has no intention of using its reputation to expand into a large commercial operation.

As the mastermind of the program, Huszar's subjective judgment plays a large role in donor screening and selection. His only prerequisite is that sperm donors are college students. He limits donors to this group because it is an easily classifiable category and because, he says, this group is at lower risk in terms of drug use and HIY. The program posts recruitment flyers at five colleges in the area. Flyers request sperm for research purposes, but donations are used primarily to provide sperm for childless couples. When they discover that

a small percentage of men have sperm levels high enough to satisfy the requirements of the program, so Jeff laid concerns about his reproductive health to rest.

"I referred about eight people," David says. But all eight were rejected after their initial sperm test. For his friends, being rejected did not seem to be a psychologically emasculating experience.

"Once you're in the billions of sperm it's no big deal. I think it bothered them more that they were out 2,000 bucks."

According to Huszar, about 50 to 60 percent of the initial donors are accepted into the program. Physical attributes are not the only factors in Huszar's decision to accept or reject a donor; Huszar takes the donor's character and personality traits into account as well. "Sometimes I am not sure about the . particular person. For example, if I have questions and they do not have the answers, or if I feel I'm getting evasive answers, not straight-outof-the-heart answers, then I don't choose

THE NEW JouRNAL

them," he says.

Huszar has a height requirement that D avid did not meet, even when wearing shoes. But because he met the other requirements, Huszar let the height requirement slide to accommodate David.

Huszar won't fudge the requirement for everyone, though; Scott says his friend was told he was too short and rejected from the program.

Finally, after .the donor passes the interview, the donor's physical characteristics are entered into a computer database. Using this data, the lab matches the donor's characteristics with patients'.

Just because patients purchase the sperm does not mean it comes with any gu arantees. Huszar emphasizes to his p atients t h at with a ny pregnancywhether the sperm is from the donor or the husband-comes the possibility of congenital malformation.

"The fact of the matter is, I have done a much more careful analysis of the donors than a lot of people who meet, fall in love and marry each other," Huszar says.

"Everybody is very happy with their children. They come back a second time, they send me pictures-! have a whole drawer full of pictures."

But David, Scott, Jeff, and anyone else who has donated sperm to the lab will never see the pictures in Huszar's drawer.

Upon acceptance into the program, each donor signs a contract t hat ensures the privacy of both the donors and the offspring.

So what do the donors think about fathering children through the program?

"I've debated this, " says Scott, who describes himself as a philosophical nihilist. "This is an interesting justification: In strict Darwinian terms your purpose is to replicate yourself. I believe I have pretty strong genes-I think a lot of people do-and I feel no qualms about propagating those genes throughout the human species. I'll have no emotional connection with my children, but then again, if you go far back everyone is related to... moss.

In order to p revent an emotional connection, Jeff stresses the importance of ensuring legal distance from potential offspring. When h e attempted to donate, maintaining anonymity was Jeff's biggest concern. "I would never, ever, want the child to know who I am, and I would not want to know who the child was," Jeff says. 'Tm not fathering a child, I'm just helping other people who can't."

Scott has no qualms about selling his gametes. "I'm not ashamed, and I find that I am a lot more relaxed about my entire sexuality as a result of having gone through this whole process. " Being a father, albeit a pu rely genetic one, demands some moral and ethical introspection. Having resolved those issues, however, donors find t h at participation becomes a unique, mindexpanding experience.

1m] And lucrative besides.

..

David, Scott, and jeffare pseudonyms.

Yuki Noguchi, a junior in Ezra Stiles, is on the staffofTNJ.

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1996

9

\ Although Charles Goodyear's name is embossed on millions of tires, his invention of vulcanized rubber could not save him from debtor's prison.

A Tale of Two Goodyears Dana Goodyear precipitously, as if he and "Clarissa" have been thrust forward in t noon the cemetery is not a quiet place. Nor does it b ristle with the horror of the undead, despite the teen apology, the urchin offspring of the proud monument looming thriller admonition "T HE DEAD SHALL BE RAISED " behind them. "C.G." and "Clarissa" are none other than the inscribed on the lintel of the Egyptian revival gates. The inven tor and his wife. That Charles and Clarissa are twice benches just outside the gates bear trinities of men in plaid, freed memorialized perplexes me. My curiosity is piqued. for an hour from the Law School scaffolding. Inside, people pant "He was"financially strapped," the superintendent of the in Lycra. It is Indian summer, Lizzie Borden hot. ~---cemetery explains, clicking his tongue behind his teeth 1 turn right on Sycamore Aven ue and walk and giving a slight shake of the head, as if he really almost to the end. Plot 46. My distant cousin feels sorry for Charles. Neither of us can figure Charles, an inventor, is buried here with his out who paid for the dignified portion of the family plot. It is certain that the estate first wife and five children. My great-greatof Charles Goodyear, inventor of great-great-great-great-grandfather was his great-grandfather. I have been here vulcan ized rubber, could not have many times before, mo re out of managed much more than a pair of curiosity t h an excessive ancestor · shrinking violets of t he "Clarissa" and "C .G. " va'riety. Upon h is worship.

Plot 46 is elevated a bit, set off death, Charles owed $200,000 in from its neighbors by a low wall. A 1860 money.

I wonder if the city of New three-step stairway, framed by Haven sprang for the monument. granite parentheses, fans from an opening in the wall. Something in Or perhaps one of his more the gesture of the paren t heses magnanimous creditors felt pangs of remo rse for this martyr to offends me. It alleges to include manufacturing. Maybe the Grove the passerby, to invite trespass, but serves to d ismiss like the flip of a Street Cemetery contributed in exchange for the privi lege of wrist. I step over the wall in protest of the stairway's snobbery. co u nting C h arles among its Smack dab in the middle of the Chronicle of Eminmt People buried there. plot is the austere gray monument to Charles. Its countenance is too serious, oor Charles was not so lucky in life just this side of laconic. T he lettering of our shared surname is four inches high. as he was in death. Had only such generosity been extended in his Born New Haven, 1800. Died New York, 1860. The south face of the block remembers his lifetime, Charles' tale would be a more cheerful first wife, Clarissa; the east face is dedicated to his one. Su ffering like Job, a figure with whom h e deeply identified, Charles labored toward the realization of children, and the north to his second wife, t he n ubile Fanny. There are other graves scattered in the plot, one unmarked, his vision: stabilized India rubber. To · this end he endured great poverty, brought his family to the brink of starvation, and spent another assigned to a mysterious Agnes.

But two are of greater interest to me, gravestones worn down more than one night in debtor's prison. His cousin-biographer Grace casts his struggle in heroic terms: "In the heart of this sickly, to a dental white, side by side. "C.G." says the one, "Clarissa" the small, sallow, nervous man there was the white fire of high resolve, other. Both are washed out, marked up, modest. "C.G." tilts

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THE NEw JouRNAL

no ble p u rpose, self sacrifice, and lo fty fortitude that illumines the lives of the greatest on earth."

Whatever else he may have been, it is fair to say that Charles was obsessed with rubber. In 1831, India rubber came to North America from South America in the form of rubber shoes. The New England factories quickly took up its manufacture. Charles got th e rubber bee in his bonnet in 1834 when, desperate fo r income, he went to the Roxbury Rubber Company with an improved design for a life vest valve. Mr. Roxbury told him t hat if he wanted to make his mark on the rubber products industry, he should forget valve design and turn his mind to the rubber itself. T he problem was that the damn stuff wouldn't stay put: it melted in the summer and snapped in the winter. Wishing h im luck wit h the fi ckle substance, Roxbury slapped C harles on the back and bid him Godspeed. Charles was arrested and detained in debtor's prison on the way home.

Throughout the 1830s Charles experimented tirelessly, relying on the advances of friends and speculators, living hand to mouth in cramped attic spaces and the back rooms of chemists' shops. He combined, with various success, India rubber gum with magnesia, lime, and b ron.ze. Some of these concoctions were patented, winning h im marginal acclaim. He transformed Clarissa's silk undergarments into rain hats and mailed President Andrew Jackson a rubber letter. But extremities of hot and cold still reduced his work to nothing, and Charles' straits remained pretty dire. He bartered rubber trinkets for bread. He pawned most of the family furniture.

C harles was serious and dedicated , quiet though keen of purpose. As a youth growing up in New Haven, he had hoped to become a minister. But his father Amasa, also an inventor, apprenticed Charles in his facto ry and steered him toward industry.

Nineteenth-century New Haven bustled with savvy young entrepreneurs. But Charles never quite mastered the well-timed ruthlessness required of his profession. Instead, he approached his quest for stable rubber with a religious zeal. It was his calling.

The goal of his pilgrimage proved an elusive one. Like Charles h imself, India rubber was both frai l and durable; it teetered between states as precariously as his fortunes. Its abilities as a modern material were variously praised and belittled. Likewise,

DECEMBER 6,

1996

those from whom Charles sought financial backing for h is experiments both exalted him as a genius and derided him as a lunatic.

T

he pinnacle of Charles' career, the happy accident for which he is famous, the reason that my last name is as familiar as Kleenex, happened one winter evening in 1839. I imagine it occurred i n the place now occupied by Jonathan Edwards College, his humble little house. It stood on the corner of H igh and Library St reets, now the path separating Jonathan Edwards and Branford Colleges, light from its thinly curtained windows making shallow incursions against the black of a night without street lamps. From Library Street an icy path led to the house's k itchen door. From without, the pitch and fa ll of a heated conversation could be heard.

"But can't you see, my boy, that it's precisely the nitric acid which consumtf-" "No, no, I see, but I disagree. I say that it is rather the process of boiling the gum which renders it less viscous!"

"Please, Charles, dear gentlemen, I beg your pardon, might the discussion not better be held in the sitting room? O r perhaps after supper? Gentlemen, would you stay for supper?" Clarissa turned her flushed face toward the group clustered around the butcher's block, where she was hoping to roll out her dough, and then quickly resumed the posture of gazing into the watery soup. She knew they would have the decency to decline.

For dinner that night there would be boiled potato soup and bread. Charles always liked his bread a spot fried. Besides, he was looking pale; a little fried bread and a bowl of soup would take the chill from his bones. She wished his damn fool brothers and the others would just leave him be. .

Clarissa opened the window to the blustery February night.

The men looked up at the sudden cold, aware of an interruption, but they con tinued their conversation nevertheless. Charles nodded as if to say, "soon dear." Clarissa lit the pilot light below the griddle.

"Gentlemen. The patent I have obtained from Mr. Hayward, the one for sulfur treatment shows great potential- the mailbags were only a minor setback-"

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"Charles, they all melted! All 150 of them, commissioned by the Federal Government, an utter waste, an embarrassment you won't recover from.

Mark my words you won't make your name in sulfur treatment. Go back to magnesia."

"You are wrong. That batch was defective. I am sure the answer is in sulfur, somewhere. I am running a new series of experiments right now. Look, do you see this piece here-" It was getting late for supper. The griddle was sizzling hot. And there was no ·end in sight to this conversation. These men were just goading Charles, egging him on. His color was rising and promised a headache. "Charles!"

"-What!" The rubber patch that had been in his hand traced a wobbly arc through the air, landing with a thwack on Clarissa's sizzling griddle. Once in the pan, the rubber behaved most unexpectedly. It did not melt. And the next morning, after spending the night tacked to the outside of the house, it was not frozen. The rubber was vulcanized. harles and Clarissa's ship seemed to have finally come in. A little extra heat was all it took. Charles secured himself a patent and lent it to an up-andcoming rubber shoe tycoon, Mr. Leveritt Candee, who began churning out boots by the dozen.

Charles saw some of the proceeds from this venture. More profitable was the sale of the patent to his brother-in-law William De Forest for $50,000. This sum was the richest

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reward that Charles received for his efforts.

He used a good deal of it to pay back the debts he owed. He sank the rest of his own money, and quite a bit belonging to his new investors, into further publicity and experimentation.

In 1851, Charles and Clarissa set off for London to show the world the wonders of rubber at the Crystal Palace Exhibition Hall.

There he astonished crowds: the crowning glory of the demonstrations was a writing desk made entirely out of rubber. But the exhibition was a costly undertaking, and Charles had borrowed h6l.vily to finance it.

The English patent he had been banking on was not forthcoming. Fleeing anxious creditors, Charles crossed the Channel to try his luck in France, investing still more money in the Parisian Exhibition there in 1852.

His exhibition in Paris caused an even greater stir than the one in London. The Empress Eugenie, wife of Napoleon, spied a rubber watch set with diamonds. The Empress was smitten by its elegance: the piece was graceful, yet so cutting edge. She would not rest until it was hers. But the emissaries she dispatched to obtain it from Charles were politely rebuffed. When Napoleon himself came to reason with Charles, he apologized humbly, "I cannot let you have it. It was made for my wife." Not entirely without business acumen, Charles agreed to create a replica for the Empress.

Quid pro quo, Napoleon bestowed the Grand Medal of Honor and the Cross of the Legion of Honor upon him.

The promise of a patent in France seemed likely, and indeed essential if Charles

THE NEW JouRNAL

1as to reimburse his increasingly impatient reditors. It was denied him on a echnicality. Charles was escorted off to :lichy Prison. His son delivered the Cross f the Legion of Honor to him in his cell.

This was the last ironic twist of fate for he beleaguered Charles. His few remaining ears dissolved in unhappiness: he returned ::> England, Clarissa died, and Charles was 1iled for his exhibition debts. A second narriage to young Fanny Wardell in 1854 nay have provided a momentary bright pot, but marital bliss was soon ·vershadowed by the illness of his daughter. )espite his own failing health, Charles lecided to return to New Haven to be at his laughter's bedside. He died on his way here.

The turn of the century brought cars, nd the beginning of the end of obscurity or the Goodyear name. Exactly how the tire ompany adopted the name is uncertain. In II likelihood it was purchased along with he patent. There is a detectable wince when family historian writes, "No Goodyear has ver held an important position in the ;oodyear Rubber Company." I suppose it ;ails some Goodyears to be a household .tame only by proxy, and the wounds of :harles' hard luck are thus never allowed to lose. noon the cemetery is not a quiet ace. The streets coursing by its tes and running alongside its high valls are thick ~ith traffic. But inside, :harles' grave is silent and stately. Not even be smaller gravestone, suggestive in its nodesty, tells his complete story. Standing here, I hear car after car go by, tires budding against the road in their endless evolutions. Charles never knew the full amifications of his discovery, through the nillions of tires embossed with my cousin's tame are reminders of his achievement. But cannot conceive of a memorial more fitting han the Goodyear blimp. That nonumental silver balloon, hovering in the teavens, iridescent with sun, bears witness o the strange apotheosis his cousin Grace xpected of him. It fulfills the promise of the :;rove Street Cemetery gates.

181 'Jana Goodyear, a junior in Davtnport ';allege, is research director ofTNJ.

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1996

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Students reveal the obstacles they face w hen seeking psychotherapy at University Health Services.

The Mental Hygiene Machine Hillary Margolis t is difficult to forget the label branding a doorway on the third floor of University Health Services (UHS): a plaque with white letters screaming "MENTAL HYGIENE." For Sandra, walking through those doors was always disconcerting. Even in the waiting room, she did not feel at ease. Sitting in a brown vinyl chair perusing a painfully out-of-date N~ Yorktr, Sandra once saw an acquaintance enter the room. They glanced at each other and smiled self-consciously, but neither of them felt comfortable enough to say hello.

When Ken went to Mental Hygiene for his initial appointment, he stepped into the elevator, intending to get off at the third floor and turn left. As the elevator doors slid closed, a hand slipped between them and in walked Ken's residential college dean. Ken turned right instead of left when the elevator reached the third floor, pretending to head towards Undergraduate Medicine and away ftom Mental Hygiene. "My dean is just not the kind of person you would want to know about your mental health," Ken says with an ironic smile.

Alexis describes walking through ¡ the Mental Hygiene doors as unnerving. But with a year of Mental Hygiene experience under her belt, Alexis does things differendy. "There's actually a door that you can go in through the stairs, so that you don't have to take the elevator, and you can go right into the office," Alexis says, clearly excited. Ken also speaks of the back entrance, which he calls "the secret door." Ken found the secret door in time for his first therapy session, a few weeks after dodging his college dean and avoiding the entrance that says "Mental Hygiene."

Unfortunately, I never realized the secret door existed. Had I known, I m ight have used it as a sophomore when I approached Mental Hygiene after a year of anorexic behavior. I can now look back and say that Mental Hygiene did a fine job of providing me a therapist and showing me how to cope with eating at Yale amidst endless trays of soylada and fishburgers. I liked my therapist's quiet, sympathetic manner from the start. Once a week I went to her small, warm office, which glowed with brownish light and boasted exotic-looking knickknacks. At the beginning of each meeting she asked me how I was doing and listened quiedy. Sometimes she spoke only a few sentences in the entire 50 minutes we sat in her office. By the end of the session, my eyes were often blurry from the dim lighting, and I could barely discern the therapist's oudine from the wall behind her. But I would emerge from the office feeling fresher and looking forward to the next week.

Yet the sense of embarrassment never disappeared from my visits to Mental Health Services. Two years later, I am more comfortable confessing that I had an eating disorder than admitting that I went to Mental H ygiene. Each time I walked through the department's doors I

I

felt ashamed, weak, and scared that someone might recognize me. The stigma attached to Mental Hygiene may stem from beyond the walls of UHS-from the public's preconceptions about what it means to use psychotherapy-but the often institutional and mechanical nature of Mental Hygiene only accentuates this stigma. Inside the department's doors, students find comfort in the willing ears of their therapists.

However, they also find a process that erases their privacy and treats them with the personality of an automaton.

M

ental Hygiene: the name itself is sterile, hardly inviting.

Walking through the department's doors, I felt as though I was going to the dentist, as if I would emerge 50 minutes later with my brain polished and whitened. The name holds unlimited promise-go in for a quick check-up and come out with a perfecdy flossed brain-but it also gives the impression that anyone entering the department has a mind in need of fixing.

The term "mental hygiene" became popular in the 1920s, during the era of Sigmund Freud. & Freud's writings made their way into mainstream culture, Yale established its mental health department, explains Dr. Lorraine Siggins, acting director of Mental Health Services. Her voiee boasts an Australian accent, tinged with a hint of conservatism that her sweater suit confirms. During her 30 years here she has wimessed the transformation from all-male to co-ed Yale, and the comings and goings of countless students.

Each year, about 1,000 students, graduate and undergraduate, come to Mental Hygiene. The plaque on the entrance is only the first indication of Mental Hygiene's institutional nature. Studenrs undergoing therapy often feel like products of an out-of-dare machine.

Lengthy waiting periods for appointments and inaccessible services do nothing to overcome the stigma that already surrounds psychotherapy.

If anything, Mental Hygiene reinforces the stigma with its awkward approach to highly personal concerns. Siggins, fop example, uses bureaucratic language to describe student problems. She hesitates to categorize some problems as "more serious" than others. Instead, she terms conditions such as manic depression "more traditional psychiatric

illnesses."

L

ike many students, Alexis was hesitant to approach Mental Hygiene. "I have trouble admitting that I have weaknesses in general," says Alexis, a sophomore. Her words imply that using Mental Hygiene signals a "weakness," though Alexis hardly seems weak.

Lounging on her bed, she speaks indifferently, as though recounting a weekend of beer-guzzling rather than a semester of group therapy for

THE NEw joURNAL

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For some, "the secret tkJor" is the only anonymous, and therefore comfortable, way to approach Mental Hygiene at University Health Services. an eating disorder. But Alexis tells few people about her weekly visits to Mental Hygiene.

Ken, a senior, also hesitates to reveal his use of Mental Hygiene, even though the issues that brought him there seem typical of college students. Ken exudes an intelleCtual air and speaks in modulated tones.

"I have difficulty finding spaces here to contain psychological issues," Ken says. He then translates this into layman's terms: "I wanted a place where I could talk about things, a space where they exist separate from my everyday life."

Ken claims not to feel ashamed about his visits to Mental Hygiene.

Yet his eyes wander around the room rapidly, his cheeks darken a shade, and his voice rises as he explains that people would misinterpret the situation if they discovered he goes to Mental Hygiene. "I don't have the time to deal with people's crap about the shit they give you for why you are going," he says. His voice changed drastically from the measured tones of a few minutes earlier. "It will be calked about, it will come up in drunken conversation. It will fuck up your relationship with going to Mental Hygiene. Because of the rumor mills and because of people talking about it-not because it's a secret."

H

oused in the gray concrete slab of UHS, Mental Hygiene emanates an impersonal air. Irs offices are mechanically arranged for comfort; a steady flow of students file in, each ready to undergo the weekly inspection. Stu~.:nts may then find

DECEMBER 6,

1996

themselves passed along to different therapists like machine parts in an assembly line. Going to Mental Hygiene reminded me of punching a rime dock; 50 minutes after entering the office, I had done my work for the week. When I left Yale for vacation, I felt as though I had emerged from the Mental Hygiene machine-inspected, stamped, and ready to proceed with my Yale career.

Despite the mechanical attributes of Mental Hygiene, the process fails to run like a well-oiled machine. The machinery may break down before a student even enters the Mental Hygiene doors. Sandra called the department at the beginning of her second semester at Yale, when she found herself in a state of depression. "When I first called Mental Hygiene, it was discouraging," Sandra says. "The guy who answered the phone said, 'Our demand is so high-you have got to understand that we're all very busy and we can't accommodate requests."'

Sandra felt lucky co be allotted even 50 minutes of Mental Hygiene's time. "I understand they have very limited resources. In some way I felt I was not bad off enough to deserve their time," she says. ''T

hey told me they would call me within two weeks after my intake, which was a total lie," Ken says, dearly disgusted.

The intake appointment is intended as a diagnostic consultation, to be quickly followed by a session with an assigned therapist. Instead of the purported two-week waiting period, students who don't call at the beginning of the semester, like Ken, may face a

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four- to six-week time lag between their intake and their first session. The system seems to mock these students for having their emotional crisis at the wrong time.

By early October, Ken still had not heard from Mental Hygiene. "It had been so long since I went to my first meeting that I couldn't remember why I was g6ing in the first place," he says. When a therapist contacted him, scheduling conB.icts kept them from meeting immediately. "The receptionist told me he would be out of the office the Monday, Wednesday and Friday of next week," Ken says. His first meeting 'was scheduled for November 15, seven weeks afrer he first went to Mental Hygiene.

Siggins explains the waiting period as the price of an expeditious Mental Hygiene machine. "In universities in general, because mental health care is used more frequently than in the population at large, there is always a high demand. No one feels they have gotten to the point where no. one has to wait ," Siggins says. Her reserved tone contrasts sharply with the voices of students who wait four to six, or even seven, weeks for :~,n appointment. e faults of the process include more han the time lapse between intake nd session. The entire method of matching students with therapists falls short of its promises. In the world of private therapy, people preview therapists as if interviewing someone fo r a job opening, considering various therapists until they find the right one for them. At Mental Hygiene, the process works in the opposite direction.

During the intake appointment, therapists screen students. The department assigns therapists based on the characteristics students exhibit during the intake and the availability of staff.

Inevitable mismatches occur between students and therapists. Alexis, who has resigned herself to working with a therapist whom she finds only tolerable, sees no available recourse for finding an alternative therapist in Mental Hygiene. "I don't know

how," she says matter-of-factly. "It's not as if ~ we can shop around." ~ For all its pretense of catering to students' ~ needs, the system lacks flexibility. Siggins ~ balances the pain of waiting for an appointment and the failure to accomodate students' requests against the benefits of 24hour-a-day services. These services take the form of an on-call psychiatrist available within half an hou r. "We try to see the people who are urgent right away, so we need some flexibility in our schedule to pick them up," Siggins says, meaning that students who are not in obvious "crisis" have to wait in line for appointments.

The 24-hour service provides Siggins' explanation for why the cogs in Mental Hygiene's machinery often turn slowly, but only one or two students a day use the on-call service. The majority of students may not realize it exists. "I expect that most people know about it," Siggins says without concern.

Mental H ygiene publicizes the 24-hour phone number, but only to a select group: freshmen counselors, residential college deans, and students who have aleady had an intake session. "Students who call in are usually in evaluation, or friends of people in evaluation," Siggins says. She seems to assume that those already involved in therapy are the only ones in need of 24-hour help.

Yet even students who approach Mental Hygiene do not necessarily gain access to the on-call service. When I fuse went to Menral H ygiene on a Thursday, 1 left with an appointment slip for the following Monday.

Four days feels torturous for someone who is not eating. No one provided me with the option to see an on-call psychiatrist, an option I might have gladly accepted. Never having had a problem of that caliber before, I did not know enough to ask for immediate help.

As a Mental Hygiene rookie, Ken also feels out of the department's information loop. At the beginning of the semester, before he was "in evaluation," Ken had a fight with one of his best friends that left him emotionally distraught. "I didn't want to be dead, but I d idn't want to be alive either. I

THE NEW JouRNAL

wanted to be gone," Ken says without a hint experiences with Mental Hygiene, perhaps some of t he stigma attached to the of melodrama. T he idea of calling Mental Hygiene in a moment of crisis seems foreign department would disappear, Siggins argues.

However, Mental Hygiene has to him. "Who do you call at Mental Hygiene?

What would I do?" he demands. If Ken had developed a far from pristine image among its client ele. The negative factors of an pursued the idea, he could have found the overloaded and non-user-friendly service phone number by talking to a freshman frequently accompany the positive elements co unselor. Or he cou ld have asked his residential college dean, the same man that of counseling and emotio n al support.

Ken would dodge a few weeks later when Students often find their sessions beneficial, b ut cannot forgive the impersonal exiting the UHS elevator. machinery sur-rounding therapy.

F reshmen may be even less likely to Siggins, however, believes that Mental inquire about Mental Health Services. "In one Hygiene provides effective services, and that sense, I stumbled onto it," Alexis says. "I had any stigma preventing more students from done something like it before in high school, using its services stems from society at large and that made it easier. If you've never been involved in counseling, if you don't know ¡ rather than Yale's Mental Health Services in your dean, or you aren't familiar with the particular. Yet, Siggins usually does not like to reveal the exact number of Yalies who process ... " H er voice trails off, as if Mental Hygiene represents a daunting presence to a visit Mental Hygiene to people outside the mental health profession. "I would not want newcomer. people to think that all those students at T he involvement of a dean or freshman Yale are troubled," she says with a nervous counselor str ips t he process of the smile. She insists that this reflects the confidentiality that Mental Hygiene promises. potential misunderstanding of the Confidentiality is a guiding principle behind community rather than any personal sense any psychotherapy. Many private therapists' of stigma. offices have two doors; one leads into the Still, her comment mirrors students' office from the waiting room, while the other ambivalence towards Mental Hygiene and leads out of the office into an alternate their hesitancy to share the experiences they hallway. Patients never even see each other. By have there. Those who enter the cont rast, the rows of chairs in Mental department face an often flawed, H ygiene's waiting room provide an ideal mechanical process. Students exiting Mental location to spot aq uaintances. Mental Hygiene do not necessarily emerge shiny H ygiene sits directly across from Underand new. At times, the process leaves them graduate Med.ic~e-not from a urinalysis lab embedded with nicks and scratches, and or an x-ray room, but from the department wrapped in packaging that pronounces: where all undergraduates migrate for illnesses "Handle With Care." This may explain why ranging from tickly throats to walking some students prefer the anonymity of the pneumonia, a department with an exposed back staircase when entering Mental waiting area primed for an influx of students Hygiene. When Alexis informed me of the who will inevitably know someone walking presence of the secret door, I could not help into Mental H ygiene. wishing I had noticed it myself two earlier. iggins depends on word-of-mouth to destigmatize Mental Hygiene. "The Sandra, Ken, and Alexis are pseudonyms. way to affect undergraduates," she says evenly, "is through other undergraduates.

Hii/ary Margolis, a senior in Morse College, is They won't listen to anyo ne else." If editor-in-chiefofTNJ ¡ students would open up more about their

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The New journal Thanks: Loren Brody foe Furia Goodyear Tires Grove Street Cemetery Grace Goodyear Kirkland New Haven Historical Society Dawn Ogawa Catherine Olender Asa Piyaka james Prosek Genny Taft Lee

D ECEMBER

6, 1996

~ng

17

oticing that the old school bus was nearly full, I anxiously approached a tall student holding a crumpled list of names and asked if there was still room on the bus headed for Greenwich, Connecticut. He turned to someone else and started speaking rapidly in a foreign language. The conversation that ensued did not include me, nor could I understand it. As I realized they were speaking German, I became exceedingly conscious of the Jewish star that dangled gently from a gold chain around my neck. Finally, the man smiled at me and told me in English to go ahead and board the bus. As I squeezed past the rows of filled seats, I continued to hear the syllables of his foreign tongue. I felt anxious, and frustrated ~ith my own anxiety. It was not the people who were making me nervous, but the history.

Several weeks earlier, I had stopped in front of a sign: Hitler's WiUing Executioners. The poster was an advertisement for the Scholar's Symposium to which I was now headed, as well as the title of the recently published doctoral dissertation of Daniel J. Goldhagen, assistant professor of government and social studies at Harvard. The subject of the Shoah, the Hebrew name for the Holocaust, had always drawn me. "Shoah" returns me to my grandmother's room where I sat as a ten-year-old girl, giddy with excitement as my grandma removed a dusty, worn green album from her dresser. The black-and-white faces that looked sternly back at me were beautiful and poised. I tried to find in each detail-the nose, the eyes-similarities that I might share with my ancestors. But my grandmother could not indulge me. After the first page of photos, she began to quickly flip through the rest of the album. Confused, I asked her to slow down. "They're all dead," she said with no emotion. "Dead."

Later that day, I told my mom what had happened. Shocked, she told me that the album was the only tangible memory my grandmother had of her seven brothers and sisters, her parents, and her relatives, all of whom had died in the Shoah. My mother had known of the album,

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and as a girl had often asked my grandmother to look at it, but my grandmother had always refused.

So why had she shown it to me? She seemed to feel a need to do so, not realizing how painful the process would be for her. Fifty years later, she feels an urgency to tell what happened so her story does not disappear with her. I, too, feel a need to search for explanations of the Shoah, because I cannot know the people behirid the photographed faces. Maybe that's why Goldhagen's title stopped me in my tracks.

Goldhagen believes the German masses were willing perpetrators.

Could this really be true?

Of course they were, the man next to me on the bus claimed in a thick German accent. A graduate student at Yale, he recently arrived from Germany to study chemistry. He had read Goldhagen's book, which attributes the inhumane atrocities of the Shoah to an antiSemitism inherent to not only the Nazis and SS leaders, but also the common German on the street. Although the graduate student believed this hypothesis to be rrue, he was surprised that people had found it revelatory.

The German grad student, however, had never heard a survivor tell his story. My elementary school education, on the other hand, is marked with vivid memories of Holocaust survivors divulging their horrific tales. Of course, he had learned about the Second World War and the Holocaust. But he had not heard personal accounts, not from his own grandparents and elders who had wimessed the atrocities. Yet he still had many of the same pressing questions that I did. He felt a disturbed curiosity, a need to understand.

A

s we entered Temple Shalom, where the symposium was held, I spotted a tall, red-headed German srudent. He was Lucz Bemers (BK '99), head of Yale's German Club. He had never been in a synagogue before, but he had been in close contact with the temple to facilitate Yalies' attendance at the symposium.

THE NEW JouRNAL

Having read Goldhagen's work, Berners arrived both skeptical and curious. In Germany he had been taught about the Shoah in a factual manner. "My teacher tried not to evoke too much emotion, and dealt with [the Shoah] as a topic of history...with an explicit warning: 'You see the numbers ... '" Inside the temple, a power outage intensified the evening's drama.

The halls, aisles, and beema, or stage, were lit by small white candles. I shuddered, t:hi$ng that 50 years ago, Jews had crouched down hiding in dark attics and corridors, guided by the candlelight. Now, in this same light, we would attempt to better undersrand that past.

Rabbi R. Lennick emerged from the darkness. His figure, illuminated by a soijrary beam of light, cast a shadow on the Torah ark behind him. Both this single lamp and the microphone from which he welcomed us were powered by a generator. Ironically, the generator was from Berlin, Connecticut.

The evening's two speakers stepped out of the shadows. Yale English and Comparative Literature Professor Geoffrey Hartman (GRD '53), a scholarly figure with a sweeping white beard and equally sweep4tg portfolio of renowned works, had been invited to challenge Goldhagen's controversial thesis. When Goldhagen addressed the audience, I was impressed by his calm and collected demeanor. He defended his book's charge that the German population of the Third Reich was not onJy fully conscious but also enthusiastic and proud of its involvement in the Shoah.

Hartman respects the force with which Goldhagen represents and interprets the past. Goldhagen strives to understand and explain the why rather than the hfJW of the Shoah. Previously, Hartman stated, the inhumane aCts were justified as obedience to an oppressive authority.

Researchers attempted to discover how mankind could commit such atrocities, focusing on the psychology of human nature. But Goldhagen argues that the why is more obvious than people want to admit; antiSemitism was intrinsic in the German nature.

DECEMBER 6,

1996

Goldhagen's descriptions of the voluntary cruelty stunned me. He ~ described how Police Battalion 101 rook pictures of the brutal !l roundups and jubilantly mailed them to lovers and wives. He attributes :? this participation to an "eliminationist anti-Semitism." Goldhagen ~ asserted that this sentiment had always been present among the Germans. All that was necessary was a vehicle through which to vent it, ~ which appeared with the Nazis' "Final Solution." The Germans, ;j Goldhagen asserts, jumped at the opportunity to prove themselves just ~ and courageous individuals; the genocide was viewed as a personal test ~ of the German soul. Their actions were not done forcedly, but eagerly. g While his writings are disturbingly graphic, Goldhagen insisted that ~ they are not produCts of anger. He argued that throughout his endeavor, he maintained emotional disrance and presented only a political and intellecrual analysis based on facts. His vivid descriptions, he explained, are necessary to put the reader in the perpetrators' shoes. Furthermore, he was not intellectually shocked with his findings. Recently, in Rwanda and Yugoslavia, brutal slayers were believed to have thought that what they were doing was right. Why, then, would the Germans have believed differently?

Berners agrees. When he initially read Goldhagen's book prior to the symposium, he initially believed that the work was written in anger.

The symposium converted his views. "Seeing him speak, and the way he spoke, gave me a positive impression. It is a book that seeks understanding, and not provocation," he said. Berners is not alone.

Dana Schwerdt (ES '00), a German-Jewish student who irnmigrated with her family to the United States, recalls: "My whole family read [Goldhagen's] book together, and we all felt that there was no revelation behind the book."

The support that Goldhagen received from the German youth on his recent book tour shocked media and critics. While the German scholars with whom Goldhagen shared the stage were highly critical of his work, the predominantly young German audience accepted and

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even rooted for Goldhagen as he argued his theory. They pounded their fists on tables in encouragement during Goldhagen's speech.

Schwerdt rem embers her surprise upon learning about the acceptance of the book by Germans. "I guess I judged them wrong," she says. "I thought they would be unpleasantly affected by having to relive the issue." But maybe that is exactly why the third generation Germans are so eager to face the Shoah. They do not have to relive the blame because the actions were not theirs.

After the evening, H artman remained disillusioned with Goldhagen's theory. H e received no direct responses to his citations of Goldhagen's failings. In an interview following the symposium he recalled, "I felt somehow as if Goldhagen was a politician that had been through it too many times." Hartm an d escribed Goldhagen's responses as readymade. This, he concluded, made a scholarly debate impossible. While the confrontation may have been artificial, Hartman still acknowledged the significance of events such as this. "We don't know at this point how much [Goldhagen's work] has contributed to the study of the H olocaust, " H artman admitted, but he emphasized that "active thinking" about the Holocaust must continue. But does Goldhagen go too far?

Hartman noted, "Goldhagen refuses to accept that it must have meant something for [the Germans] to kill Jews."

W:

en the symposium-concluded, I eboarded the bus and found a place next to an elderly man working his way through Goldhagen's text. As we began our return trip in the darkness, I asked him what he thought of the evening.

He began t o explain the significance of maintaining my Jewish faith, but he never answered my question. I realized that the evening had not provided an answer either; Goldhagen's talk, though interesting, was not completely satisfying. But, as I looked at the man next to me, I thought of how different our experiences have been. He had the courage to remember. We need the courage to continue questioning while we still can, because we are the last generation that can receive answers first-hand.

IJil

Daplma Rman, a fteshpmon in Morse Colkgt, is on tht stajfofTNJ. THE NEw JouRNAL

The elimination of minority weekend causes Yale's African Am erican community to worry about how it w ill draw future freshmen .

Missing: Minority Weekend loren Brody

A

sha Muldro (DC '97) got on the train in Providence, Rhode Island, not sure where she would sleep that night.

She had been accepted early at Brown and had gone there for its minority orientation weekend. But Muldro didn't click with Brown. The high school senior quickly packed her things and hopped on a train for Yale. She arrived in New Haven, lugging a heavy bag and confused about how to get from Union Station to campus. She was two days late for Yale's minority weekend, and she hadn't even registered.

By chance, Muldro met a woman also on her way to the AfroAmerican Cultural Center, where she was scheduled as a panelist over the weekend. The woman helped Muldro into a cab and got someone to carry her bag. T ired from the hectic trip, Muldro began to relax.

When she arrived at the center, Muldro still needed a place to stay. What happened next surprised her. "All these then-freshmen women were like, 'I'll host her, I'll host her.' It was like coming home."

T he minority weekend that made Muldro feel so welcome, and that encouraged her to attend Yale, will not convince future minority students of

says. "Segregation is more institutional and rigid, and I can't help associating it with the time when there was legal segregation, which was recent in this country's history. Separation is much more of a natural process for some people." · Muldro emphasizes that she has chosen the route of social separation; she considers her white roommates her friends but socializes mostly within the black community. Some African American students say they stick together in response to an unfriendly white Yale. "You often hear white people talk about the black tables [in dining halls], about how many black people live off campus," Charlene Flash (MC '98) says.

"That's by nature of [Yale) just not being welcoming. You want to be comfortable where you live."

Flash is not entirely comfvrtable where she lives. College social life does not appeal to her. "When residential colleges · host activities, they cater generally to what the white community finds entertaining," she says. "The very reason Yale even has things like cultural centers is because Yale at large is like a cultural center for the white community, just by nature of its being a predominantly white institution."

Despite the liberalism generally embraced at Yale, African Americans Yale's benefits. As of last year, the ~--------============ minority pre-frosh days no longer exist. still experience situations in which they I. I ne very reason Ya e even as feel that Yale's white community judges ow in her senior year of college, 1·k ltu 1ce te · them solely by the color of their skin.

1ngs I e CU ra n rs IS ause Keith Horton (JE '97) sometimes Muldro has made herself an active member of Yale's African Yale at is like a cultural center feels that the community mistrusts him ~ for no other reason than him being a ;.

American community. She was involved 11 for lie COf11mumty. young black male. This semester he ~ in starting the Black Pride Union her asked a white male in Branford College~ freshman year and the Black fo r directions to the college's computer lab. The white student 5: Undergraduate Law Association her sophomore year, as well as being questioned him rather than answering him flat out. He wanted to ~­ an ethnic counselor this year. Some people view the black know whether Horton had been to the computer lab before and ~ community as self-segregating. Muldro's perspective on blacks' place whether he was familiar with Branford. In Horton's opinion, the il at a predominantly white Yale leads her co a different conclusion. student was really asking him, "Do you go to Yale?" as if to say he ~ Many white students, she says, misunderstand that there can be a looked more like a trespassing New Haven hoodlum. ~ cohesive black community within a larger integrated Yale.

Based on small incidents like this one, a collective frustration has 3 "I would say there is some self-imposed separation. And I would built in the black community. Only when an incident goes public ~ stress the difference between separation and segregation," Muldro

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does it become obvious to the entire Yale community that race is still a divisive force on campus. The most vivid example occurred in 1990 when employees at Naples Pizza kicked out eight black students. The employees claimed that the students were overly intoxicated. An altercation ensued, in which the students allege the employees used racial slurs. Black students launched a major boycott of the restaurant. Some continue it to this day.

Controversy erupted again this October when Glee Club director David Connell chose "My Old Kentucky Home," a 19th century song containing the word "darkies," for a performance to be given at the Bard College Festival of Music. The two African American Glee Club members refused to sing the song. They found "da~kies" insulting because it hearkened back to days of black slavery and legal subjugation.

Yale has failed to erase the traces of its oppressive past. Though they are subtle, the vestiges remain. Flash notes that Calhoun College is named after one of the major defenders of slavery. To her, use of the word "master" is uncomfortably evocative. More direct is a painting hanging in the Berkeley College dining hall that portrays a black female slave with silver collar around her neck. Similarly, in Woodbridge Hall a portrait of Elihu Yale with a chained slave kneeling before him hangs in the Yale Corporation's boardroom.

•

c is against this backdrop of ignorance and insensitivity that the disappearance of minority weekend has caused deep concern. Activities geared specifically to minority students now take place at the general pre-frosh weekend: Director of Minority Recruitment Robert Jackson explains that the university's main reason for eliminating the separate minoriry weekend is that it misrepresents Yale. "You basically had segregated programs before," he says.

"Yale is composed of many types of people."

Though some African Amer ican students echo his views, many feel they needed che initial support that minority weekend provided. They needed to know chat there is a strong network of black people at Yale. Muldro and Horton both formed their first good friendships at Yale during the few days they spent here as

I

seniors i n high schoo l. H orton gives minority weekend much credit for h is decision to attend the un iversity and is disappointed that it didn't happen lase year.

"When they got rid of minority weekend, they got rid of one of the most effective measures to ensure that [minority] students attend Yale."

The decline in African American enrollment for the C lass of 2000, a drop co 7 percent from t h e previous year's 7.4 percent, suggests that Keith may be right.

This is amidst an already disturbing trend in w h ich black fres h man e n rollment has decreased each year since 1993. Muldro's and H orton's class was 11.5 percent African American , the highest percentage in Yale's history. It is not that Yale is accepting fewer African Americans-Jackso n says accep tances h ave rema ined relatively steady-it is that fewe r are deciding to attend. Yale's black students say insensitivity on campus discourages prospective African Americans. M i nority weekend was an opportunity for prospective blacks to find support before integrating into the larger campus community. With out such a weekend, many blacks feel they would not have been aware that such a comm unity exists, and they might have chosen to go to a school where one is more apparent.

The Annual Black Solidarity Conference began at Yale last year, not in direct response co the cancellatio n of m inority weekend or specific events o n campus, but in an effort to mobilize and unify blacks nationwide.

This year's confere n ce, e ntitled "Empowerm ent 2000: Bu il ding Black Leadership for the 21st Century," drew Yale undergraduates, alumni, and students from colleges nationwide. They gathered in part co d iscuss the recent surge in public hostility coward affirmative action that threatens their community. ·'· The people who gat hered at the conference fo und it necessary to assert themselves collectively as blacks. In doing so, they claim for them selves an identity distinct from the white community. Theirs is a positive, pro-active self-separation. This is the strong group of Afr ican Americans w hom, with out minority weekend, prospective freshmen may never see.

I8J

Loren Brody is a junior in Silliman Colkgt.

THE NEw JouRNAL

Vision 2000: Growth strategies tailored to today's burgeoning undergrpduate marketplace

by Alec Bemis ood afternoon. Welcome to the 1996 Yale University Stockholders Meeting.

The first section of tonight's presentation features one of the more exciting developments in our undergraduate profile: the rejuvenation of the Yale Business and Economics Forum (YBE). Celebrating 25 years as an established undergraduate extracurricular sub-discipline, the YBE has obliterated its former image as an irrelevant group created for padding the resumes of future CEOs and upper-echelon management personnel.

In the fall quarter, the YBE developed into a dynamic voice for chose interested in business fields. Once a sidebar domain to our standard post-baccalaureate industries-medicine, law, politics-business-related fields have exploded in the past decade. As the number of students fascinated by the diverse challenges offered in global careers in management consulting, international banking, and ocher corporate ventures has skyrocketed, a vital, new organization has arisen to satisfy the diverse needs of this market.

The numbers are in. In less chan three months' time, the YBE's unpaid student yield has skyrocketed from 10 to 270-an increase of 2,600 percent. Factor in the newly instituted membership fee of $10 and the paid yield of 110 student units, and you can see chat the gross income in this division has surpassed all expectations. But how has the YBE coped with ~e ocher movers and shakers in today's competitive Student life marketplace? To answer that question, I introduce the man responsible for this bold new direction: YBE Chairman David C. Bilas.

"I had a three-prong plan for revitalizing the group, because it was doing terribly. We had a membership of ten people last year. So I had a few goals I wanted to hit, and it looks like it's worked out pretty well."

Tell the stockholders how you accomplished your objective and turned this loss leader around.

"First thing we needed to do is we needed a product people would want to see. So last spring I went on a pretty massive letter writing campaign just to generate some guests to come. We weren't expecting a very good success rate; we were expecting a pretty low success. But as it turned out our success was much higher, and we actually weren't able to bring in all the people who wanted to come because we just couldn't fit it in the schedule.

"Second thing we needed to do was generate membership. We had the product so we changed our marketing approach. We wanted to expose the group's name a lot more so I tried to figure out how we could market the group better. We did simple things like a web page-little

G

things that were never done before which seem so obvious-like table tenting, better postering. We tried to create a brand new image. I tried to come up with some kind of logo-something recognizable like the Political Union has. That worked out.

"Then we needed the revenue. So I decided to charge membership. I was the first chairman to ever do that in the history of the group, and it worked out pretty well. I thought we had a product that people would be willing to pay for. We wanted to be able to compete with the Political Union, who as it turned out actually didn't end up having a good schedule this year, so we felt we had to undercut them a little bit-our entry strategy. So we charged ten bucks. We knew they charged $15 so we figured that might be attractive given our schedule."

How do you deal with the challenges of an expanding, global marketplace?

"We're building up membership in SOM right now. We're doing a pretty aggressive campaign there to get graduate students involved."

This type of visionary leadership brought Yale Universiry to the pinnacle of America's college ratings this year and continues to keep Yale ahead in the burgeoning job market.

After all this good news, I know you will be disheartened to hear the addendum to this report of rising profits: the chairman is graduating in the second quarter of 1997.

However, the YBE is confident that it will continue to make the innovative management decisions which have brought it newfound popularity among undergraduates. And in case you are still concerned about the impending change, we have been assured that Chai.rman Bilas is committed to aiding in the tranSition to a new management team.

Before closing off this meeting, however, I would like to report chat we believe Chairman Bilas' future endeavors will one day bring returns to the Yale Corporation.

"I'm looking into consulting, !-banking-the obvious things. Also places like Proctor and Gamble. And I'm also trying to maybe work at some of the companies of the CEOs whom I've invited."

A great list, I assure you: Raymond Smith, CEO of Bell Adantic; Kenneth Wolfe, CEO of Hershey's Foods; Leonard Lauder, CEO of Estee Lauder; John F. Smith Jr., CEO of General Motors; and Gordon Bethume, CEO of Continental Airlines.

"Some of them seem kind of interesting to me so I might want to go into that-some kind of smaller, non-conventional type of job." -

Alec Bemis, o junior in Berkeley College, is designer ofTNJ,

DECEMBER

6, 1996

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