Tracy searches for equity

It is not an assignment you are looking forward to. A feminist lawyer has filed a complaint against Penn charging violations of gender equity and you are doing a feature on her. Then you call to ask for directions to her office, and her secretary curtly asks why you want to know, and who the heck are you? You think to yourself it will be a long morning. A musty spartan hall leads to the office, and the door is bolted. You knock on the door of the Women's Law Project, a little wary of the presumably male-hating, vitriol-spewing lawyers inside this office. Carol Tracy, the executive director of the Women's Law Project, soon appears. Her smile is disarming. Her brown eyes dance with energy. She leads you into a conference room/law library to talk. Tracy is indeed a feminist lawyer. She fervently fights sex discrimination of any kind, even sex discrimination that forces young men to pay higher rates for auto insurance. She helped design the women's studies department at Penn. She served as executive director of the Women's Center. She teaches a women's studies class at Penn. And she focuses her legal work on women's rights. But she is not the militant troll you might infer with the words feminist lawyer. She doesn't raise her voice to make a point. She is charming. She is self-deprecating. She is friendly. And it is this unique combination of toughness and charisma behind her success as a crusader. Her latest battle is gender equity. The Women's Law Project has filed a complaint on behalf of Penn athletes and coaches alleging the University has violated Title IX. The gender equity complaint is one of the toughest issues facing athletic director Steve Bilsky. According to the complaint, some of the assistant coaches in men's sports made more money than head coaches of women's sports. The complaint probes numerous other inequities involving facilities, uniforms, recruiting, practice times and medical support staff. Currently, there is no lawsuit filed, but that could change. "Because I have had such a long relationship with Penn and a certain amount of loyalty, I think this case can be settled short of litigation," she said. "I know Penn has the capacity to do that." Tracy is a veteran of taking on the Penn system. She arrived on campus in 1968, the same year as Bilsky. Bilsky came to campus as a basketball recruit, Tracy was a no-name secretary. She quickly changed that. The 20-year-old Tracy rallied together veteran secretaries in an effort to form a union. "When you look at someone who is 20 years old, who takes on a university by trying to unionize, that is impressive," said associate medical school dean Helen Davies. Her attempt failed, and the administration was not as keen on the young maverick. Robert Davies was advised not to hire Tracy as a secretary in the veterinary school because of her union efforts. He rejected the advice. It wasn't long before Tracy challenged the administration again. Two nursing students were brutally gang raped at the corner of 34th and Walnut in the winter of 1973. Rape was an event all too familiar to the Penn campus that year, the gang rape being the last of a series of violent sex crimes on or near campus that year. The director of public safety claimed Penn was not responsible for the incident. Then he reasoned that if women didn't wear such provocative clothing, they wouldn't get raped. Tracy and other student leaders spearheaded a sit-in at College Hall. Thousands of women gathered to force the administration to enact extra security measures. Professors encouraged women to skip classes. Some men wanted to join in, but the women told them to go away. The results of that sit-in are still evident. The Women's Center is now in the center of campus. Blue security lights now dot the streets. Escort Service transports students around campus. Tracy designed the first walking escort route, and decided to place her residence as the first stop. She was amazed when the police agreed to the route. The whole incident showed her the power she had to change things. "The reason I went to law school was to do women's rights law," Tracy said. "Then when I got out I found out there were only three jobs in Pennsylvania doing that, and about 20 in the United States." At Penn, Tracy fought her battles from inside the establishment as the director of the Women's Center. Now she is outside the system. But she still knows how to put pressure on Penn. She will use all outlets, including the media. She is well practiced at playing mental ping-pong with reporters, especially after her organization's battle with Planned Parenthood went all the way to the Supreme Court. But Tracy doesn't want this case to be a high-profile affair. She would rather spend her resources fighting to keep abortion legal and to keep clinics accessible. The Women's Law Project has only four full-time lawyers. It derives revenues from contributions. Tracy's organization will only take special cases, and usually they are high-profile cases which will impact women across the nation. The devotion of the coaches and athletes convinced her to take the Penn case. So far, she has tried not to be too abrasive with Penn, and wants to give Bilsky a chance to settle the issue by committing to increase the compensation of women's coaches and to provide better facilities. It is strange for her to be dealing with Bilsky now. She was never a sports fan, but for some reason always remembered watching him play one time at the Palestra. She remembered the short guy -- the hustling wind-up toy who never seemed to wind down. Tracy was never an athlete at Penn, but she doesn't wind down either. Along with changing the system, she has helped rape victims, drug abusers, women prisoners and students. "People get tired of helping others," Davies said. "But I have not known Carol to get burnt out. That is extraordinary."