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(04/09/98 9:00am)
This year's Undergraduate Assembly elections were nothing short of a complete mess. They epitomized everything that is wrong with politics. Both the elections themselves and the subsequent Fair Practice Code hearings were circuses of backstabbing, deception and nepotistic arrangements. Ignore, for a moment, Josh Belinfante and Liz Scanlon's bickering over the Student Activities Council referendum. Ignore the 28 charges brought up at the FPC hearing. Ignore the 10 disqualified candidates, the Starburst throwing and the tequila drinking. Instead, focus on the attention garnered by all these accusations of wrongdoing. It seems that the student body is obsessed with politics these days. Suddenly, everyone has an opinion. Fraternity brothers and SAC-funded group members became overnight experts on the referendum. Candidates dared to talk about issues. In short, the brouhaha created by the election and referendum controversies has made the University less apathetic. Thirty-three percent of eligible students flocked to the polling booths, an absurdly high number in comparison with previous elections. Forget Penn's reputation for apathy. At this rate, we just might catch up with the national voter turnout. Now there's a scary thought. Personally, I find this whole deal rather encouraging when compared to last semester's freshman UA campaign. Having been on campus for only a few short weeks, I was rather confused by the conflicting messages I received. On one hand, as University President Judith Rodin so proudly stated, "The Class of 2001 is the most talented class ever to come to Penn." On the other hand, the Quad was plastered with some of the stupidest, least informative posters I had ever seen. Over and over I was told, "Little. Brown. Different," "Vote 23 because that's my number," or any other of the several hundred thousand silly slogans used by what seemed, at that time, several hundred thousand candidates. Sure, there was the odd person with the audacity to go room to room and actually talk about issues. But they were few and far between. This semester I saw something different. No longer was the election solely about who had the best flyer-making abilities. Suddenly, whether or not you were affiliated with a fraternity became important. Candidates began talking about important things like who lit up Locust Walk, who initiated the Quad drainage project and what Cam Winton had or had not done as president of the freshman class. And as I watched huge lines of voters form in front of the Castle, as I told multiple people that yes, indeed, that computer in front of Stouffer was a voting booth, I began to feel good about campus politics. Even the difficulty I had getting an interview with NEC Vice Chairperson Mike Brody due to the crowds of people around him was encouraging. We, as students, do enough complaining about what is wrong with the University. Maybe it's time we do something about it. The UA is there to be the voice of the student body, to put into action the will of Penn's undergraduates. And the election controversy shows just how much a concerned student body can get involved. It's a simple logical progression. More attention to politics leads to more attention paid to the issues during campaigns. More attention paid to the issues leads to higher voter turnout. Higher voter turnout leads to more intense, serious campaigns. We've still got a long ways to go. As long as posters claiming, "I'll make sweet love to a pig for your vote" still show up around campus, Penn politics will still be a farce in the eyes of many. But hey, at least (I think) we've never seen a blitz of ads that read, "Vote Butthead for Class of 1999 President. He, like, doesn't suck or something," as our New Jersey neighbors Princeton did. Campaigns like that serve no purpose other than increasing voter apathy. The circus surrounding this year's election and its referendum was actually a step in the right direction: Toward a body politic that plays a serious, major role in the lives of Penn students.
(04/07/98 9:00am)
The article "NEC decision to invalidate ballot raises controversy" (4/6/98), and the editorial in the same issue both fail to comprehend just how low -- in Scanlon's own words: to the "rock bottom" -- referendum supporters and the DP are willing to go to perpetuate dishonesty. We must remember that we are not in the world of modern political campaigns where, unfortunately, presidents will lie about their past and mislead voters to sway them to their agenda. We are in the world of academia, a place where truth is held to a higher standard. If an organization decides that it should extort voters by "requiring" them to vote for a referendum, lie to them about the money available and do so willingly, the subsequent referendum has little legitimacy and no place in a university community. The DP and others still can't comprehend that one of the reasons the referendum passed was because many students believed that their Student Activities Council groups would receive no funding as a result of the increase in the UA discretionary fund. This is an all-out lie and should be reported as such. However, given that few in the campus newspaper have a regard for truth, it is up to other individuals to ensure that the truth be known. The reality of the situation is that SAC has approximately $630,000 to allocate to its organizations. Even the $200,000 of the reserve fund will not be invested until after this year's appeal process (a direct contradiction to SAC's propaganda campaign). Therefore, SAC is in a fury about something that amounts to less than 5 percent of its budget. The InterFraternity Council and other parties opposed to the referendum did not stoop to the level of lying to persuade voters. We should not be punished for holding ourselves to a higher standard. The Nominations and Elections Committee exists to ensure fair elections. When two-thirds of the body decide that action has been taken to jeopardize that fairness, action is not only justified, but necessary. Students should be proud of the organization that seeks to have truth remain in elections, especially given that others are willing to lie to achieve their objectives. I am not astonished, however, that the DP would side with the dishonest. It has been clear from the beginning where the editorial staff and reporters stand on this issue. It is unfortunate that they abuse their power, but after all, there is no NEC equivalent to hold them accountable. It is time that the DP stop its smear campaign against Greek organizations and begin reporting the truth. But then again, maybe its staff agrees with Scanlon's comment that "it is not against the rules to mislead people."
(02/25/98 10:00am)
The Daily Princetonian PRINCETON, N.J. (U-WIRE) -- During the last three home basketball games, enthusiastic students and sell-out crowds have rocked Jadwin -- literally. Director of Engineering Tom Nyquist called Allen Roth, vice president of Joseph B. Callaghan Inc., an engineering firm located in Philadelphia. Roth and Nyquist monitored the tennis court ceiling -- which lies directly below the basketball floor -- during Friday night's game. Roth said he has just begun to look into the structural implications of the vibration, a process that will take several weeks. "Every structure deflects to some degree," he explained. "The issue seems to be what impact the stands have on the court." Roth said the floor vibrated about half an inch during Friday night's game. "I did see some of the beams deflecting on the underside," Roth said. "But I did not see any of the distress that would signify any structural damage." The referee's decision to assess a technical foul against the fans Friday for shaking the court cut short their observation because the fans stopped jumping, Nyquist added. Both Roth and Nyquist emphasized that there is no danger to Jadwin itself, only concern about the amount of vibration in the floor. "We will review what impact structural changes would make," Roth said, noting that he could not speculate as to what his recommendations would be. This is not the first time in the building's 30-year history that Jadwin's floor has been a source of concern to university officials. In the late 1970s, the university installed diagonal reinforcement braces beneath the basketball court after the floor vibrated during a Beach Boys concert.
(02/12/98 10:00am)
The Associated Press NEW HAVEN, Conn. (AP) -- Following Princeton's lead, Yale University is overhauling its financial aid policy to make it easier for middle-class families to send their children to college without dipping into retirement savings or further mortgaging the house. The changes are expected to pressure other highly selective schools, including the other Ivies, into taking similar action. Yale has decided to exempt up to $150,000 of a family's savings, home equity and other assets from consideration in determining what parents are expected to contribute toward their child's education. No such exemption now exists at Yale, where tuition, room and board will top $30,000 next year. For years, Ivy League schools have admitted students on a ''need-blind'' basis, meaning that finances are not a consideration in admission. When a poor or middle-income student gets an offer of admission, the schools works out a financial aid package, typically a mix of grants, bank loans, contributions from parents and work-study options. Yale's grant portion of the mix averaged about $13,000 a year in 1997. The change means that parents of middle-class students will not be penalized for having sunk all of their money into paying off their mortgage or saving for retirement. Princeton decided to stop counting home equity for most families with incomes below $90,000. The school's plan also would alter financial aid packages to increase grants and decrease loans for students with family incomes between $40,000 and $57,500. Additionally, Princeton will replace loans with grants for students whose family incomes are below $40,000. Experts said other top colleges may have no choice but to make similar changes. ''I imagine a number of schools, mainly their competitors, would follow suit,'' said Lawrence Zaglaniczny of the National Association of Student Financial Aid Administrators. Yale expects half of the students on financial aid to benefit from the new formula, with an extra $1,400 on average being awarded by the school. Princeton expects awards to increase by $3,000 to $4,000 annually. About 2,000 students at both schools receive financial aid. Princeton has approximately 4,600 undergraduates; Yale has about 5,200. Penn, by contrast, has slightly less than 10,000 undergraduates, 4,000 of whom receive financial aid.
(02/10/98 10:00am)
From Mike Silver's, "Master of My Domain," Fall '98 From Mike Silver's, "Master of My Domain," Fall '98As Bob Dylan would muse in his raspy voice, at Penn, "The Times are a Changin'." The administration is pursuing its most grandiose construction and renovation projects in the last 20 years. Officials have made improvement of service and efficiency a top priority, a decision which led to the recent outsourcing of facilities management to Trammell Crow Co. The University is using strong-armed negotiating tactics in its dealings with street vendors and local retailers. And a new college house system -- which administrators hope will transform residential living -- will go into effect next fall. Unfortunately, the latter explanation may suffice. At Penn, "activism" is often considered an archaic term -- one synonymous with Berkeley, the counterculture and radicalism. For years, our campus has been labeled conservative, apathetic and conformist. Organized protest and student activism seem to be in short supply for an institution as large, urban and full of intellectual ferment as ours. Annual Undergraduate Assembly elections receive a voter turnout of around only 20 percent. The UA is often criticized for being ineffective and out-of-touch with students. And the fruitlessness of reviving '60s-style student activism may have been demonstrated best in the 1995 debate over the Book Store makeup counter. But has this always been the case? Any current discussion of student activism likely will be framed in reference to the 1960s. In 1964, thousands of Berkeley students peacefully protested their administration's prohibitions on free speech. During the Vietnam War, students across the nation brazenly burned their draft cards and supported Eugene McCarthy's anti-war campaign for president in 1968. As a result, the decade has been effusively labeled by many as a "golden age" of student activism. Did Penn in fact epitomize these radical college campuses in the 1960s? Not really. Looking back on the decade, History Professor Murray Murphey noted that "the time period did not affect the university as much as compared to other campuses?. Penn in the 1950s was a very conservative, WASPy, Philadelphia institution, and during the 1960s it was not a hot campus." But the University was not totally immune to the contentiousness of the 1960s. Indeed, several rallies occurred on campus, most notably a 1969 College Hall sit-in protesting University construction. Sometimes, these sit-ins resulted in the cancellation of classes -- especially in the early 1970s, when the Black Power and feminist movements also gained steam at Penn. Yet these protests were generally modest in size, remained eerily peaceful in nature and attracted little in the way of publicity. Combined with a much-maligned student government (until the women's and men's branches merged in 1965), student activism seemed lacking in both organizational structure and sheer explosiveness. Rather than labeling Penn students in the 1960s as apathetic, it may be more appropriate to say they were merely adept at bringing about change in a quieter fashion. For certainly, during this time change did occur. Individualized majors and the pass/fail options became available for the first time, anachronistic dress codes and curfew restrictions for women were eliminated and students finally gained seats on University Council. Of note is the fact that many of these changes can be directly attributed to the work of dynamic student leaders. In essence, student activism -- though more latent and uneven than on other campuses -- subtly transformed our University in the 1960s. And we all stand as the beneficiaries. Uncanny parallels exist between the issues facing University students then and now. Students demanded street lights and armed security guards as early as 1962. Campus publications criticized the fraternity takeover of the student government in the 1960s. And for years, the University invoked the in loco parentis doctrine, attempting to regulate private behavior of students (substitute drinking in 1998 for sexual behavior in the 1960s). And as in the 1960s, student activism is alive and well -- though it may not always be perceptible. The vociferous protests in the aftermath of last year's crime wave certainly succeeded in opening the administration's eyes to the need for increased security. The UA continues to act in the interest of the student body, putting pressure on the administration to place more Spectaguards on duty during the early morning hours and to make long-overdue renovations to the University's decrepit recreational facilities. In addition, hundreds of political, religious, community service and cultural groups remain active on campus. And a new group, the Progressive Action Network, plans on coordinating Penn-related student activism amongst several existing groups. So are the '60s dead at Penn? Absolutely not. Activism -- both today and yesterday -- indeed has lacked the explosiveness of the more famous protests. But the quieter dissent at Penn in the 1960s nonetheless left a legacy which all of us can appreciate -- and we have the potential to do the same thing for the next generation of students. Student activism starts with awareness. Ultimately, it can only be successful if we all play a role, since a small minority of leaders cannot do the work for everyone. Change doesn't occur overnight, however. Thus, I appeal to all of you to individually do something small, like vote in the next UA election; attend a SPEC meeting; keep abreast of the University's outsourcing deals or embark on a community service project beyond "Into the Streets."
(10/16/97 9:00am)
From Carl Seaquist's, "Ahann Ahim," Fall '97 From Carl Seaquist's, "Ahann Ahim," Fall '97 My former department just sent me the student evaluations for the course I taught last summer. Student evaluations are always hard to interpret, and this semester's were no exception. And when students have to fill in the little machine-readable ovals, most professors in most courses get average evaluations: lots of threes, plus a couple of twos and fours out of five. What can a person conclude from feedback like this? Everything's basically alright, but students don't know what they want, or else want conflicting things. So this sort of feedback is not much help to the instructor who wants to improve his teaching, and is looking to his clients --- his students --- for that feedback. I also have had students tell me they always try to give graduate students good evaluations because they know we do not have much power in the system, and they figure we need good recommendations to get jobs in future semesters. I appreciate the sentiment expressed by these students, but such an attitude really does little good for either the University or, in many cases, the graduate student himself. At the University of Pittsburgh, for example, student evaluations never go to the department: they are sent directly to the instructor. So there is no need in a case like this to be easy on the instructor. And since graduate students are just learning how to teach, this sort of kindness cuts off one good source of feedback. Another common criticism is that students like easy courses and are unhappy with challenging courses. This argument has a certain a prior appeal, because it fits in with the attitude a lot of instructors have of undergraduates, and probably has a certain amount of empirical support. But I suspect that, at least at a school like Penn, such criticisms are exaggerated. After a fairly careful reading of the entries for certain departments in the Penn Course Review's latest Undergraduate Course Guide, I suspect the overall grade given to a course is correlated less with the difficulty of the course and more with the quality of the instructor. In fact, most courses have a difficulty rating of between 2.0 and 3.0 out of 4.0, whereas both instructor and course ratings seem to vary more widely. So even if easy courses did receive higher marks, it would appear there are not that many easy courses being offered. The exceptions to this generalization are fairly easy to locate: language- and mathematics-heavy courses tend to be seen as more difficult than general education and survey courses. The fact that Physics 361 (Electromagnetism I), the course that made me abandon a Physics major some years ago, is given a difficulty rating of only 3.3 indicates to me that Penn students in fact DO expect to do a fair amount of work in their courses. The positive correlation between instructor and course rankings is more interesting than the negative correlation with difficulty. As an undergraduate, I always thought that most learning was supposed to go on outside of the classroom. After all, one hour of class time is supposed to mean two to three hours of homework, plus time studying for exams or writing papers. But not everyone feels this way. Compare the rankings in the course guide with the appended commentary, and you can see what aspects of teaching are of the most concern to Penn undergraduates. Instructors with good ratings are usually praised for being interesting and for giving good lectures, whereas instructors with low ratings tend to be seen as boring. Course design and selection of readings are mentioned in the written comments, but seem to correlate much less with instructor quality than are lecturing skills and the appearance of accessibility to students. Students are, as I said earlier, our clients and our customers. One of the great things about the corporatization of the academy is that this is now becoming more widely acknowledged. Because they are our customers, we should be responsible to them for the education we provide. And quality of instruction should certainly be considered in hiring and promotion decisions. If it is recognized what aspects of teaching student evaluations are good at measuring, then they become a necessary and useful part of the process of judging instructors and departments. But they are not transparent documents, and to simply look at the aggregate numbers they provide is to misuse an important source of information on teaching at the University. If a university wants to evaluate the quality of its teaching, it must first have public discussion of what constitutes good teaching, then create means of evaluation that focus in on those qualities that it wants to measure. The current system used in most universities does not do this. It tacitly presumes that everyone knows what constitutes good teaching, and therefore assumes that all measures of teaching quality are compatible. Such an approach will not improve teaching, and might end up, if applied universally, selecting teachers for odd and restricted abilities.
(09/18/97 9:00am)
The Daily Collegian STATE COLLEGE, Pa. (U-WIRE) -- The day five shots rang out on the main campus lawn was a day few students will ever forget. It is the date marking one year since the death of a fellow student and the attempted murders of four others. One bullet on the lawn that morning resulted in the death of 21-year-old Melanie Spalla of Altoona, Pa. Another bullet wounded now 23-year-old Nicholas Mensah, a native of Ghana living in Philadelphia. That day, Jillian Robbins spread a tarp under trees in the northwest corner of the busy HUB lawn. At about 9:30 a.m., Robbins began firing her 7-mm Mauser rifle, apparently at random, at pedestrians she said she did not know. Robbins was disarmed by 1997 graduate Brendon Malovrh. Malovrh found Robbins behind the trees and wrestled the gun away from her. She then pulled out a knife and tried to stab him. Malovrh stepped out of the way, causing Robbins to stab herself in the thigh. Using his belt, Malovrh tried to stop her bleeding after she sat down. Robbins was arrested at the scene of the crime that morning. After a year of waiting, there still has not been a resolution to the crime. The date for Robbins' trial has not been set and Centre County District Attorney Ray Gricar said he couldn't predict when jury selection will begin. Gricar will seek the death penalty for Robbins' one count of first-degree murder and one count of third-degree murder, he said. Robbins is also being tried on five counts of attempted murder and five counts of aggravated assault. Gricar expects Robbins will plead not guilty by reason of insanity. While students deal with the one-year anniversary of the shooting, they will not only be observing the day for a fellow student, but also remembering the mysterious 20-year-old woman who opened fire on their campus last year seemingly without motive.
(09/11/97 9:00am)
Plus, we have the added protection of separation of church and state. Based on these protections, can we assume that, as a culture, religious bigotry doesn't exist? Or, even if it does, Penn students are too enlightened? Unfortunately, we cannot. In the last several years persons in the Penn community have painted swastikas in the Quad on Hitler's birthday, phoned bomb threats to Hillel during Holocaust Remembrance Week and made bomb threats to the Muslim community and their friends during the Persian Gulf War. While I would hope most of the Penn community, regardless of religious affiliation, is appalled at such extreme behavior, religious bigotry usually takes a subtler turn on this campus. I define religious bigotry as any hurtful or potentially harmful behavior which imposes itself on "the other," whether an individual or a group, which has its basis in the belief of the innate superiority of one's own religion and the innate inferiority of the religion of the other. And, such behaviors and prejudicial attitudes are always condoned as being divinely justified. Christian bigotry usually takes the form of harassment. During the first semester it is usually a total stranger (or new acquaintance) telling you "I really like you but I fear for your soul if you don't come to Jesus." Translated this means "My religion is the only one with merit and your spiritual experience, religious belief, God, or lack thereof is dead wrong." Of course other Christians, whose religious experience or beliefs are different are not exempt from this kind of harassment either. Unfortunately, an arrogant presumption of being right can and is used for justify bashing sexual minorities, verbally and physically, imposing restraints on women's freedoms, allowing double standards for men and women, continuing idolatry of the male, not to mention bombing family planning clinics, and painting swastikas on the doors of a Jewish classmate. As a pastor, I am supportive of a strong commitment to one's God or obedience to one's religious moral code. But, if in our zeal and religious "commitment" we shut out the possibility of broadening our own understanding of God or if we condense the complexities of the spiritual journey into a simplistic, one line ideology, then our so-called "commitment" is not only self-righteousness but borders on bigotry. Of course it is satisfying to be right. It is indeed very comforting to be able to say, "And God agrees with me because the Bible says so and that makes you wrong." College years are a time to blow open the safe confines which kept our worlds small during childhood. It's a time to question and possibly to challenge some of the values and beliefs of our community and family. If we will apply the same intellectual quest to our faith and religion as we do to the other areas of academic life, contrary to losing our religious convictions, we may instead lose the naivete of a childhood belief system that life is predictable, and that mystery can be solved like a Sherlock Holmes novel. The wisdom from spiritual insights can rarely be condensed to a bumper sticker or a one sentence sound bit. By opening our minds we may discover that we gain a deeper faith, a greater appreciation for complexity, and an understanding that mystery is far greater than we had imagined. This may cause us to humble ourselves when we speak of God, our religion, our faith, or lack thereof. This shift in attitude is the antidote for religious bigotry. It opens the door to interfaith dialogue and prevents religiously inflicted wounds. This humility is what starts us on a mature, spiritual pilgrimage lasting throughout our lives. And humility is the beginning of wisdom. Have a great year and may we all become wise.
(08/07/97 9:00am)
Image is nothing. Thirst is everything. Obey your thirst." The folks responsible for this catchy phrase knew exactly what they were doing when they had to figure out a way to sell more Sprite. The recent offbeat advertising campaign -- many of whose spots spoof other ads -- featuring this slogan has "significantly" increased sales over the past year, according to a spokesperson for the Atlanta-based Coca-Cola Co., which makes Sprite. Those ad men just might be on to something, at least when it comes to selling a product. I don't sing when I chew Wrigley's Spearmint gum. I've never gotten into a Pink Floyd concert with the help of Mentos candy. And I refuse to yodel for a Klondike ice-cream bar. Yet, in real life the opposite of that Sprite slogan -- which once happened to be the slogan in commercials, featuring then-long-haired tennis star Andre Agassi, for the Canon EOS camera -- is often true. Image is especially important on resumes. Going for that plum job? Your high-school stint at Wal-Mart suddenly becomes a "consumer relations internship." The University is no stranger to image-building, as is any other college or company. They've spent plenty of money on public relations, trying to promote Sansom Common and other projects, usually drowning out the protests of a portion of the University community. Recently, however, administrators haven't been so successful in protecting the University from public scorn. For starters, the proposed vending ordinance angered vendors, whom the University targeted to move or lose their businesses, and students, who didn't like the timing of the ordinance and how it discouraged debate. A benefits overhaul angered faculty members, and Physical Plant employees were upset over contract negotiations. It seems that whenever the University sets out to build something, redefine something or change something, even the best "commercial" messages get lost in the anger of the long-forgotten masses. But the masses can save the University's future, a future that lies (no pun intended) in its image. Here's a more common example: I recently had a small, intimate gathering at my house with 75 of my closest friends while my parents were on vacation. All was well until I emerged from the back porch to see a high-school buddy peering out my front window. "I'm watching the cops come into your house," he said. As one might expect of someone in an extreme panic, I bemoaned the end of my Ivy League career, asked for the number of the nearest truck-driving school and pleaded with my best friend to bunk in her garage until I could safely move to Guatemala. The police ordered everyone to leave the house. There were countless punishable offenses that night, and I've been to several parties where the police slapped the host with thousands of dollars in fines. But why not me? Because of my image: class valedictorian, Dean's List at the University of Pennsylvania, volunteer work at the local hospital. They hadn't heard my name at the station. Do you always look so respectable? So polite? So scared? they asked. I've often lamented my "smart, good-girl" persona. People often wrongly assume I read the encyclopedia on Friday nights. But at that point, I thanked God for the police officers' willingness to stereotype me. They saw my image -- and not me. The University's administration needs as great a scare as I had. Without the support of students, faculty members and local residents, Penn could appear to be a monopolizing ogre, eating away at the very elements which at one point provided its backbone. If the academic and business giant that is the University of Pennsylvania is so powerful without such support, imagine how great it could be with that support. And all the administration needs to do is consider the needs of its constituent groups. It's true that you can't please everyone all the time. But the door should always be open. If nothing else, the University should listen to its constituents. Even the worst politicians make that effort -- sometimes. Of course, a full overhaul of the University's image will take time. But each new issue provides new turf for the administration to begin healing the gulf that has been widened between it and the students, faculty members and locals. Maybe image is everything.
(07/31/97 9:00am)
We all have a romantic vision of the heart-stopping, day-to-day drama of a newspaper's or magazine's existence: The newsroom is buzzing with signs of life. Reporters are hunched over their notepads, feverishly scribbling down that all-important quote before they get set to bang out copy into the typewriter. An anguished editor rushes into the printing room holding a breaking front-page story and calls out, "Stop the presses!" But those scenes may just be too romantic to be true. If you look more closely, the reporters, editors and presses belong to another era where the lighting flickers, people wear suspenders and you hear the dings and clacks of a typewriter instead of the whir of a computer. And everything's in black and white. If you try to bring that image up to date -- from the 1940s to the 1990s, let's say -- it just doesn't work. Adding color, modernizing people's clothing and upgrading the technology fall short. Why, in people's minds, have newspapers and news magazines become antiquated like that, even when they're still a part of life? The New York Times still gets churned out every day. Time and Newsweek are as integral to a newsstand as its vendor. Maybe we associate news with another time. Much of the 1990s fluff news has flaunted the very definition of news. In an audacious move, Time -- not Rolling Stone or People -- recently flashed the female singer Jewel's face on its cover. And Newsweek, for a story about the rise in cigar smoking, put entertainer and Playboy centerfold Jenny McCarthy on its cover last week. Even the Times, with its supposedly stringent standards for news, isn't immune to the madness. The Kennedy family's "new legacy" was a front-page news story earlier this month. This is the 90s kind of news. But once upon a time, there was real news. Headlines came at you with the force of a battering ram: "HITLER INVADES FRANCE," "U.S. BOMBS HIROSHIMA," "MARTIN LUTHER KING SHOT" and "SAIGON FALLS" were all real stories. Those were real times, full of war and death and change. Now the only change is in the half-percentage point Federal Reserve Board Chairman Alan Greenspan might raise interest rates. We're basking in the sunny glow of world hegemony, communism conquered, political parties embracing and nations united under the universal desire for a Big Mac. Our only emotional tumult is reserved for, as a recent article in The New Yorker put it, "sympathy for the armies of editors and producers who [have] to wring news out what seems to be turning into an embarrassingly newsless society." But is there really no news out there except for Jenny McCarthy and company? Or are we, ensconced in the comfort of newslessness, eager to avoid it? After all, why would we want to worry about real issues when we can worry about whether the new generation of Kennedys is carrying on the family legacy? News is not a given. It's a choice, and we can choose to send those reporters out to scribble it down. Or we can choose to retire it to a black-and white-photo in the back pages of our memory.
(07/10/97 9:00am)
On one hand, some were relieved that the First Daughter didn't boost the egos of any of those schools -- she sure dealt them a blow. On the other hand, football and basketball fans might have to throw out those presidential insults they were preparing to use against whichever Ivy school Chelsea chose. No matter which school she decided to attend, however, Chelsea will have a college experience different from that of the average student. Not only do her parents have slightly more clout than just about everyone else's -- the little things in Chelsea's college life will invariably be, well, a bit unrecognizable to Joe or Jane Penn. This is how the average day of a Penn student will differ from Chelsea Clinton's typical day: Morning blues: Penn student: Wakes up at 9:15 a.m. for 9 a.m. class after hitting snooze button four times. Chelsea: Dad wakes her up with 8 a.m. telephone call for her "daily briefing." Classroom hijinks: Penn student: Nearly falls asleep in history class, daydreaming that professor is going to reveal that he has a bomb strapped to his chest. Chelsea: Before class, Secret Service agents check professor to make sure he doesn't have a bomb, firearm or any other type of weapon. Check driver's license to make sure he really is the professor. At the bookstore: Penn student: Charges $400 worth of new textbooks to parents' Citibank credit card. Chelsea: Charges $400 worth of new textbooks to parents' Bank of Indonesia credit card. Food, glorious food: Penn student: Faces dinner choice of curried chicken and white rice or cheese pizza. Chelsea: White House chef commutes each evening on Air Force One to cook fabulous dinners for Chelsea and friends. Parents' weekend: Penn student: Parents take him or her out to mid-priced restaurant downtown after a big football game and a campus tour. Chelsea: Dinner at McDonald's follows the big game. The campus tour is canceled because too many other parents are demanding to know if taxpayers are funding Chelsea's education. McDonald's runs out of french fries. Greek rush: Penn student: Rushes every sorority as required by the rules. After much anticipation and anxiety, finally receives a bid from one of her top choices. Chelsea: Is currently deciding which sorority to join after every single one sent her a bid last month. Campus safety: Penn student: Carry a fake wallet to toss to robber. Walk in groups of three or more and in well lit areas. Chelsea: What the heck do you have to worry about when a horde of Secret Service agents is trailing you wherever you go? Anyway, that Stanford campus sure is dangerous. Okay, you can stop laughing now. Really. Seriously, everyone has his own one-of-a-kind college experience. But Chelsea Clinton's four years on the West Coast will be truly unique. Unfortunately, it will prove more difficult to shelter Chelsea from the media and the outside world at Stanford as it was at the exclusive Sidwell Friends school and in the White House. Will students just leave her alone and let her have her own life? Probably not -- she will undoubtedly attract a large following as students left and right try to earn her friendship, more for the chance to meet her father than to get to know Chelsea. Even if she gets straight A's and becomes a campus leader, she may struggle to maintain her dignity because of the constant hubbub that's bound to surround her 24 hours a day at Stanford. This is Donald Trump Jr. times 100. What's the biggest difference, then, between Chelsea Clinton's college experience and that of the average Penn student? Anonymity. And power. And money. And so on.
(07/03/97 9:00am)
A brief review of recent major news stories: Attorneys for 40 U.S. states announce a landmark but flawed settlement with the major tobacco companies. The Supreme Court, in a flurry of far-reaching decisions, voids part of the popular "Brady Bill" requiring states to conduct background checks for prospective gun buyers, opens the door for state-funded special education in religious schools and tells states to decide controversial right-to-die issues by themselves. Hong Kong reverts back to Chinese rule. The Middle East peace process breaks down -- again. And so on and so forth. Now for a short quiz: What major American personality was almost entirely absent from the nation's airwaves and newspapers during this historic period? Let me give you a couple of hints: He has the most famous pasty, white thighs in America as well as weaknesses for pies, McDonald's food, shady real-estate deals and Arkansas state workers. His absence is not, however, particularly surprising -- especially to anyone who followed last year's presidential elections. Think back to Clinton's giant Hill Field rally. Do you remember hearing or seeing anything interesting, historic or courageous (apart, of course, from President Rodin's infamous black leather miniskirt) during the rally? Neither do I -- and for a good reason. Nothing of any interest or import happened at the Penn event, or at any of Clinton's other pre-election visits to the nation's college campuses. The speech was the same, the jokes (about Socks having his own Web page) were the same. And, as in all the other speeches, Clinton's Quaker address was entirely devoid of new ideas. Well, not entirely devoid of new ideas -- just devoid of any large-scale initiatives with which to define his second term. I suppose it makes a certain sense. After winning an election by trying not to offend anyone (by, say, offering up something that might actually make a difference, like a workable health-care plan), Clinton has apparently decided to follow the same strategy in office. So we get Clinton's proposed presidential commission to study, and presumably attempt to solve, the nation's racial problems; tax credits to help low-income families afford two years of public college (bad news, Penn parents). And, most recently, his plan to rescue the nation's inner cities by helping 2,000 police officers purchase houses in poor neighborhoods. All of which, on paper, sound fine -- which is exactly the problem. The proposals are designed to be totally unobjectionable, and indeed, the Republican congressional leadership has indicated that it will support all the new plans. You don't have to be a cynic (or, God forbid, a Republican) to question what, if any, impact these modest proposals will have. We are left, therefore, with a president seemingly content to ride out his last years in public office, one trying not to rock the boat. It often appears like Clinton is trying to gather strength for another election, to complete some nice, small new programs to get some positive publicity before Election Day 2000 -- when Vice President Al Gore will inevitably be up for the nation's highest office. But the strategy that won him re-election is entirely inappropriate for his second term. There are, after all, no more elections to win, no more offices to hold. Having done what every politicians wants to do more than anything else -- win re-election -- Clinton should devote the rest of his time in office to doing something grand, something worthy of a president who billed himself as the Man from Hope. The nation's problems are too vast and varied to be solved by small-scale, uncontroversial, ideas like a commission on racism. America needs, and deserves, better. The president's reluctance to try anything daring is understandable for a man whose first term was almost destroyed by grandiose plans such as his attempt to reform the entire American health care system. But having won re-election, and with the economy zooming to record heights and his Republican opposition in disarray, the time is right to dust off the political boxing gloves and get back into the ring. Now is the time to experiment with one of those radical ideas Clinton must have developed while not inhaling weed at Oxford. What, after all, is there to lose? Clinton, like most American presidents, has been said to be concerned about his place in history. But the man often referred to as the "Ultimate Politician" seems to have forgotten that history is not an election, and that the great are remembered not for treading softly and not upsetting the balance too much on either side, but for leading a hesitant and fearful nation to a brighter tomorrow. It is a lesson William Jefferson Clinton would do well to remember.
(06/01/97 9:00am)
Of the 4,793 students accepted to the class of 2001, slightly less than half will enroll in September. Studio City, Ca. The Admissions Office sent letters of acceptance to 31 percent of the applicants for the class of 2001 this year. The 2,333 students who accepted the University's offer of admission represent 49 percent of the total number of admitted applicants -- the same yield as last year. Stetson said that the high matriculation rate again means that few students be admitted off of the wait list. Penn had accepted 4,793 of its 15,459 applicants this year. Applications to the University's class of 2001 dropped 2.7 percent from last year's high of 15,771, when 30 percent of the applicants were admitted. Every Ivy League school except for Columbia University saw a similar decline in applications, and most Ivy universities accepted slightly higher percentages of applicants than in recent years. Admissions officials across the Ivies suggested that applications to many top schools declined this year because students are being more realistic in evaluating their chances of acceptance. And Stetson maintained that he was not worried about the decrease in Penn's applications, stressing that he was "encouraged" by the small size of the decrease since applications tend to fall substantially when institutions are plagued by the type of crime problems that the University experienced last semester. The matriculating students include 1,487 in the College of Arts and Sciences and 354 in the School of Engineering and Applied Science. Stetson said these schools may admit some students off the wait list to meet their goals of enrolling 1,500 and 370 freshmen, respectively. Both the Wharton School of Business and the Nursing School enrolled more students than had been anticipated. Wharton had a goal of enrolling 390 new students, but 417 have already matriculated, while Nursing had a goal of 70 matriculants and 75 enrolled. The dual degree programs remained popular, with 38 students enrolling in the International Studies in Business program between Wharton and the College and 46 choosing the Management and Technology program between Engineering and Wharton. Five freshmen also enrolled in the new Nursing and Health Care Management program. Members of the class of 2001 will come to the University from 48 of the 50 states. Idaho and Wyoming are the only states not currently represented. But while there were no applicants from Wyoming this year, Stetson said that he hopes to enroll a student from Idaho as soon as financial aid issues are resolved. Additionally, 209 international students will make up almost 10 percent of the class. And Stetson said the number of minorities in the incoming class increased from 769 to 802, including 535 Asians, 141 African Americans, 118 Latinos and eight Native Americans. A record-high 189 matriculants are from California. Virginia, Georgia, Colorado, Minnesota and Utah are also represented in unprecedented numbers. Students from the traditionally well-represented states of Pennsylvania, New York and New Jersey comprise 45 percent of the class, a slight decrease from the 49 percent who matriculated into the class of 2000. Stetson attributed the decline to a decrease in applicants from these states. The matriculants into the class of 2001 had an average Scholastic Assessment Test score of 1363, six points higher than the 1356 average for the class of 2000. The average SAT II score was 675, up from 667 last year.
(05/29/97 9:00am)
It's sad but true -- I have been a summer-school SEPTA slave, and lived to tell. But before you drown me in your pity, let me tell you a tale of triumph. In the summer of 1995, I lived in Swarthmore Borough and took summer classes at Penn. I stayed in a first-floor studio apartment with a view of the Swarthmore train station, about 150 yards away. Unfortunately, my proximity to the station meant I became complacent about making the train on time. About a minute or two before the train's scheduled arrival, I would dash out my door, sprinting toward the "safety bush." The safety bush was a shrub next to the road. If I reached this marker before my train appeared from around the bend, I knew I was close enough to make it and would slow to a walk. The safety bush was important; since the train ran only once an hour, I would miss class if I didn't clear it before my train appeared. I tried to give myself a greater margin of error for important classes. For my economics final I took the extraordinary step of taking the train arriving two hours before the test began -- leaving myself an insurance train. As usual, I nearly missed this train. Dashing through the apartment door, I found myself trapped: The front walk -- and the only opening in the ring of hedges surrounding the apartment -- was blocked by a rented trailer. Damn movers! Two-minutes till the train. Instinctively, I charged the ring of hedges like a bull at Pamplona. Head down, I bulldozed into my apartment's landscaping at full speed. Everything went? green. D'oh! I had made it only halfway through. I ingloriously wormed my way forward until I fell onto the sidewalk, jumped up, and sprinted for the all-important safety bush. I crossed into the safe area just as my train appeared in the distance. Catching my breath on the train, I thought the ordeal was finished. It was just beginning. After two-and-a-half stations the train abruptly stopped. No big deal, I thought -- probably just a signal problem. Five minutes passed. Fifteen. Thirty. The conductor announced that a live power line was covering the tracks, and a PECO crew would have to fix it before the train could move. Great. Now both of Philadelphia's legal monopolies were imperiling my grade in -- of all things -- economics. Forty-five minutes since we had stopped and still no progress. I had wanted to walk to a pay phone and call a cab, but I was told it is illegal to exit a train between stations. After a delay of sixty minutes, the train finally began to roll -- backward. We stopped at the nearest station and were allowed to exit while the train waited. I started to panic. I called a cab, but only one taxi company serves that part of Delaware County. Its drivers are famous for taking their own sweet time arriving -- if they stoop to respond at all. The conductor announced the train was reboarding, though he wasn't sure if the wire had been fixed. The exam was 45 minutes away. I made a quick decision and boarded the train, trusting SEPTA more than the cab company. Presuming we traveled on schedule, I figured I would make it to the exam with a few minutes to spare. But we stopped again; the wire was still down. I started to hyperventilate. I paced up and down the isle, receiving dismissive glances from the jaded passengers. "What'sa matter, son?" the conductor finally asked. "You got to go to the bathroom or something?" I told him my plight, and he said he'd see what he could do. The exam was in thirty minutes. Twenty-five minutes. I lost hope and started to sulk. At T-minus twenty minutes, we moved forward. But I was indifferent. Without a miracle, I would be late. "This is now an express train!" the conductor bellowed, parting the waters between me and the Promised Land. "Next stop -- University City." I was saved. A few minutes later the train glided into University City Station. I was sprinting down Spruce Street even before the train had stopped. I dashed in front of cars, thinking only, "Williams Hall, Williams Hall, Williams Hall." I arrived just as the instructor began to hand out exam booklets. In retrospect, the conductor probably was not the savior I took him to be. Given the trains backed up behind us, he probably would have made the train an express one anyway. But I like to think he took pity on a small, powerless summer-school student and SEPTA slave. Blessed are the meek.
(05/29/97 9:00am)
It's sad but true -- I have been a summer-school SEPTA slave, and lived to tell. But before you drown me in your pity, let me tell you a tale of triumph. In the summer of 1995, I lived in Swarthmore Borough and took summer classes at Penn. I stayed in a first-floor studio apartment with a view of the Swarthmore train station, about 150 yards away. Unfortunately, my proximity to the station meant I became complacent about making the train on time. About a minute or two before the train's scheduled arrival, I would dash out my door, sprinting toward the "safety bush." The safety bush was a shrub next to the road. If I reached this marker before my train appeared from around the bend, I knew I was close enough to make it and would slow to a walk. The safety bush was important; since the train ran only once an hour, I would miss class if I didn't clear it before my train appeared. I tried to give myself a greater margin of error for important classes. For my economics final I took the extraordinary step of taking the train arriving two hours before the test began -- leaving myself an insurance train. As usual, I nearly missed this train. Dashing through the apartment door, I found myself trapped: The front walk -- and the only opening in the ring of hedges surrounding the apartment -- was blocked by a rented trailer. Damn movers! Two-minutes till the train. Instinctively, I charged the ring of hedges like a bull at Pamplona. Head down, I bulldozed into my apartment's landscaping at full speed. Everything went? green. D'oh! I had made it only halfway through. I ingloriously wormed my way forward until I fell onto the sidewalk, jumped up, and sprinted for the all-important safety bush. I crossed into the safe area just as my train appeared in the distance. Catching my breath on the train, I thought the ordeal was finished. It was just beginning. After two-and-a-half stations the train abruptly stopped. No big deal, I thought -- probably just a signal problem. Five minutes passed. Fifteen. Thirty. The conductor announced that a live power line was covering the tracks, and a PECO crew would have to fix it before the train could move. Great. Now both of Philadelphia's legal monopolies were imperiling my grade in -- of all things -- economics. Forty-five minutes since we had stopped and still no progress. I had wanted to walk to a pay phone and call a cab, but I was told it is illegal to exit a train between stations. After a delay of sixty minutes, the train finally began to roll -- backward. We stopped at the nearest station and were allowed to exit while the train waited. I started to panic. I called a cab, but only one taxi company serves that part of Delaware County. Its drivers are famous for taking their own sweet time arriving -- if they stoop to respond at all. The conductor announced the train was reboarding, though he wasn't sure if the wire had been fixed. The exam was 45 minutes away. I made a quick decision and boarded the train, trusting SEPTA more than the cab company. Presuming we traveled on schedule, I figured I would make it to the exam with a few minutes to spare. But we stopped again; the wire was still down. I started to hyperventilate. I paced up and down the isle, receiving dismissive glances from the jaded passengers. "What'sa matter, son?" the conductor finally asked. "You got to go to the bathroom or something?" I told him my plight, and he said he'd see what he could do. The exam was in thirty minutes. Twenty-five minutes. I lost hope and started to sulk. At T-minus twenty minutes, we moved forward. But I was indifferent. Without a miracle, I would be late. "This is now an express train!" the conductor bellowed, parting the waters between me and the Promised Land. "Next stop -- University City." I was saved. A few minutes later the train glided into University City Station. I was sprinting down Spruce Street even before the train had stopped. I dashed in front of cars, thinking only, "Williams Hall, Williams Hall, Williams Hall." I arrived just as the instructor began to hand out exam booklets. In retrospect, the conductor probably was not the savior I took him to be. Given the trains backed up behind us, he probably would have made the train an express one anyway. But I like to think he took pity on a small, powerless summer-school student and SEPTA slave. Blessed are the meek.
(04/30/97 9:00am)
The world at her fingertipsThe world at her fingertips"Penn is a university becoming. It's developing now. So am I." Barbara Zaucer speaks five languages fluently -- English, German, Italian, Serbo-Croatian and Slovene. She plans to learn Swedish next year. She has lived with roommates from Italy, Slovenia, Norway, Sweden, the Ukraine and Jordan -- "the one from Jordan prayed three times a day." She attended an International Baccalaureate program at the United World College in Italy and spent a year at the University of Ljubljana in her home country of Slovenia. These days, she's a 20-year-old freshman German Literature and International Relations major at Penn. She intends to submatriculate into the German Department's graduate program before continuing on to Oxford University for law school. After that, she plans to become an international diplomat and then (maybe) president of her home country, though she concedes it would be a "great responsibility." "I think it's cowardish not to recognize that," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear (a gesture she repeats every several minutes). "Once you are elected, you are actually taking care of a whole nation. I'd love to do it if I could do it really, really well. That is such an awesome responsibility." The self-assured Barbara has never shied away from a challenge, though. "Coming to the United States was a big decision for me," she says. "My life would probably take a completely new direction. I thought, 'Am I sure I want to leave here and go to a whole different continent?' I wasn't really sure I wanted to do that." She explains that since her home country is not a member of the European Union, its two million citizens cannot enjoy the privilege of a reasonably priced European education or scholarship money to study outside of Slovenia. Had her family not been "well-off in terms of Eastern Europe" and open-minded, she wouldn't have had the option to study overseas. Still, she let her acceptance to Oxford University expire, then turned down offers from Harvard and Yale and decided to focus on her studies at home in Ljubljana. Repeated calls from Penn's admissions office and a "really nice" scholarship made the final decision easy. "I love Penn because the spirit of belonging to the University is so strong," she says, glancing out her Hill College House window at the lights illuminating Franklin Field. "People say, 'I go to Penn,' which means 'I'm a part of Penn'." The transition to American culture, which Barbara describes as "much more pragmatic and goal-oriented" than that of Eastern Europe, was not simple. "Coming here, you face all those stereotypes -- you're from Eastern Europe so you have a chic haircut, you eat pizza with utensils, you're sophisticated and cultured or you're snotty. "I have friends from all over the world, which makes me a much more tolerant person. I don't care where a person comes from or what their dad does," Barbara says. "And in a way, I think I'm more mature than many of the people here who are away from home for the first time." But she has found an open-mindedness among Penn students. "While I've met a couple of people here who are like my stereotypes of Americans, many people surprise me about how open they are," she offers. "I think people find it very hard to approach someone from another ethnical background," she explains. "We are familiar with people and events that are part of our everyday routine. When you are confronted with something that's totally new, you're going to be more cautious. "For me, being European and being different, I just have to convince people that I'm me. I have to behave spontaneously." Barbara says, though, that her time spent in the United States has affected the way her high school friends perceive her. "We had a reunion over Christmas and everybody got together and I showed up saying, 'Hi, how's it goin'. I had never said 'like' and 'um' until I got here," she laments. "My friends said that shows weakness of culture since we had learned [Received Pronunciation] English, a very stuck-up British sort of thing. They were ripping on me big time." Her friends also drilled her with questions about her new home. "In Europe, there is still the misconception of America's being one big democracy. That's not the case. But they ask me what the food's like and what music you all listen to." Barbara says e-mail has helped her correspond with friends from around the world, including her boyfriend/friend (she wouldn't clarify) at Oxford. But she emphasizes that in this "global village, one-boat concept" world, nothing can compare with a hand-written letter on real stationary. She also keeps in touch with friends and family on the phone -- racking up telephone bills as high as $350 per month. "My mom is my alarm clock," she says. "She calls often so I wake up pretty early. I try my best not to sleep in, anyway." After all, Barbara is busy with several international affairs organizations on campus and is considering joining the horseback riding club. She also plays the violin (seven years of lessons), loves to downhill ski and paint glass -- "I painted our house in Slovenia, above all the doors and stuff." She finds time to party downtown, where "I never get carded." And she has had "the ultimate Penn experience of going to frat parties." "There were all sorts of weird drinks there 'sex on the beach,' 'screwdrivers'," she laughs. "I said, 'Excuse me'?" But for Barbara, the challenges of adjusting to a new country have only been the beginning of the changes she has faced. "You hear so many things about intellectual challenges. It's actually time to face them now. Penn is a university becoming. It's growing and developing now. So am I." n
(04/30/97 9:00am)
Risky BusinessRisky Business"I feel like I'm doing something wrong because I'm having fun." X-Men, Thor, Wolverine, Spiderman -- for Tafari Smith, these names conjure up a childhood passion he hopes to someday parlay into a career. Tafari has collected his more than 1,000 comic books, now neatly packed into seven boxes of nearly 200 books each, for the past eight years. "I was a little parasite," he explains with a laugh that shows off his braces (he's worn every color rubber bands -- red, blue, orange; this time they're green). "I'd collect from [my older relatives and friends] when they were done collecting." His comics range in price from $2 to $700 with X-Men #12 at the top of that span. The bottom line didn't escape Tafari's keen Wharton sensibility. So he has his heart set on working in the comic book field -- in a management position, of course. "I'd like to be running the company [he cites Marvel and DC Comics], making decisions about what characters to bring to TV," he says excitedly. "Only one in a thousand make a lot of money in that business, and I have no clue how to get into the field, but it's what I want to do. "I read everything, even though I'm sort of out of my collector phase. I had the perfect plot when I was 14, but you just lose the magic." Tafari's cozy Van Pelt College House room is only a 20-minute drive from his Overbrook neighborhood. Though he was born in Jamaica and retains his island citizenship (his father still lives there, though Tafari moved to the States with his mother and two older brothers when he was 12), Tafari considers Philadelphia home. "Philadelphia's in such a state, it really gets me down," he opines. "The neighborhoods are being devastated and they're not coming back. "Mayor [Ed] Rendell is one of my heroes. He's got a lot of common sense. For me, it doesn't matter if you're a Republican or a Democrat as long as you vote with your heart." Tafari says that once he makes his first million dollars, he plans to fund different academic programs in the Philadelphia schools especially at the William W. Bodin High School of International Affairs, his alma mater. "There are better uses than collecting interest on my money." For high school, Tafari had to travel an hour and a half from his 63rd and Jefferson home first on the 46 bus, then the El and finally the 15 bus. "You get to learn a lot of excuses about being late," he explains. "Sixty percent were valid." During senior year, he applied to Columbia ("because of New York"), Harvard ("because it was Harvard"), the University of Rochester ("because I had a scholarship from Xerox that would have paid for a full ride") and Penn ("because of Wharton"). "I really wanted to be at Columbia, but then I thought, 'You're not really talking about Columbia, you're talking about New York'," he says. "They really focus on stuff that I hate, you know, like Plato and stuff. So I chose Penn and I just don't go home often." He did admit to an occasional home-cooked Sunday night dinner, though, for when he's feeling "just a little homesick." Even though coming to Penn wasn't a big geographic move for Tafari, the academic adjustment was still tough. "I came here thinking this is high school. You didn't have to study in high school. I got here and you had nothing? and then a midterm. "During Econ last semester, I had the lowest grade on the first midterm. I looked at the list and thought, 'Maybe you have a different Tafari'." But Tafari still plans to pursue a double Wharton concentration in Marketing and Management, and a College minor in French. Penn has lived up to Tafari's expectations for the most part, though he suspects "when we're juniors, maybe we'll start killing each other for jobs -- we'll start stabbing each other in the back." For now, though, he's found Penn students relatively level-headed, except when it comes to conversations about race. "In high school, it didn't matter what race you were. Here, it's so important," he says. "You can't touch the topic of race at all without people getting all defensive. It's not a violent tension -- everyone's putting out feelers and seeing what's sacred ground. In the classroom, there are tensions, too. You might have one intention when you're saying something, but someone takes it another way. "When two cultures come together, you have to understand where everyone comes from. My roommate, he's white and he's from the South. And we get along great. Once I explained my jokes, we can laugh together." For fun, Tafari enjoys traveling to visit friends in New York and checking out Olde City downtown. He also has plans to take swimming lessons soon. "I could walk to the beach in five minutes from my house in Jamaica, but I never learned how to swim," he admits. "I just bought the goggles and the Speedos, so now I'm all set." But Tafari doesn't draw a stark line between his social life and academics. "Most people in Wharton want to be stock brokers and stuff and I wanna work in comics. I feel like I'm doing something wrong because I'm having fun." n
(04/30/97 9:00am)
Pride and prejudice There's a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Albert Shen's hallmate, Brad, sticks his head halfway into the room. "Are we imbibing before or after?" asks Brad, who is already dressed and ready for the Science and Technology Wing's (STWing) annual banquet. "In the middle," Albert shoots back, glancing at his watch and then down at his own jeans-and-a-T-shirt attire. "Most people have the idea that STWing is full of computer nerds," he says with a grin. "That's not really so." Originally from Colorado Springs, Colo., the Electrical Engineering major says he chose the living-learning arrangement because of its close-knit community and intellectual component -- well, okay, he also liked King's Court's big rooms. "If people are inside, their doors are always open," he explains. As to why he chose engineering? "I come from a family of engineers," Albert says, noting that his parents both work in engineering and his brother is studying for an engineering degree from Cornell. "I've always wanted to do it. [My parents] told me that engineering is a good field to be in. "And you're pretty much guaranteed a job," he adds as an afterthought. "Money's pretty important. I guess I get that from my dad -- he was forced to migrate from China to Taiwan? during the Communist takeover. "He didn't have anything and had to start off in the slums. He taught me that you have to save everything." Ten years from now, Albert sees himself "working for a circuitry company designing computer circuits, doing what I have to do, and then going home and doing what I feel I like doing." That seemed to be a common theme for 18-year-old Albert, who says his motto is: "I'm just a kid, so I might as well have fun." "[High school] just didn't compare to college life, in the freedom and the social atmosphere," says Albert. "[Penn] tends to be more relaxed than other schools I've seen." But on certain issues, Albert says his own attitude doesn't match the relaxed Penn he has come to know. "I think I'm probably a little bit racist," he offers unabashedly. "I was one of six non-whites in my high school." He says that during Penn Relays weekend, he felt "uncomfortable in that surrounding, surrounded by so many blacks." "I tend to agree with the general stereotype that blacks are more aggressive and violent," he admits. Albert tells the story of the time he was out running on campus as a "group of black guys started shouting racial slurs at me." "They said, 'Look at that yellow boy,' and told me to run faster and stuff." Albert, of Chinese descent, says he was hurt, though he doesn't really associate himself with the Asian community on campus. "I never grew up with that sort of community," he says. "It's really close-knit here, but it seems forced. It seems like, 'You're Asian and you should want to be in that group'." lbert thinks his Western lifestyle and upbringing has molded his outlook on life -- especially with regard to crime. "I'm looking forward to going home this summer so I don't have to assume that something's hiding in every shadow," he says, adding that he only knows five students in his class from the West Coast. But Albert explains that he takes precautions against becoming a victim of crime, leaving his credit cards and cash at home when he goes out at night. "I wouldn't mind being mugged," he offers honestly. "I think it would be an interesting learning experience. It would be something new." Albert characterizes himself as someone who is always looking to try out new things, especially sports -- from mountain biking to skiing, hiking and running. He played on the Ultimate Frisbee team in the beginning of this year, though the practices conflicted with his classes. Next year, he plans to join the Penn Cycling Club. Albert says his friends tell him he is "perpetually happy," especially when spending quality time with his girlfriend of six months, Mukta, who lives on his hall (she called in the middle of the interview and he spoke in whispers for a few minutes before promising to stop by soon). In other ways, though, Albert says he is quite cynical -- for example, politics. "I guess I'd be a Democrat, but I haven't really thought about it," he offers. "I never felt that I ever had the opportunity to do anything about it." n
(04/30/97 9:00am)
Of soundmind and bodyOf soundmind and body"Athletes are in the libraries as much as everyone else." Matt Schmidt leans back on his elbows, and stares at the green Urban Outfitters cloth covering the ceiling of his Quad single. The room's dull green glow makes the Rochester, Mich., native feel right at home -- since he spends more than 20 hours a week in the swimming pool. A high school recruit, Matt explains that most of his friends from home chose to attend Michigan State, including his twin sister -- "I knew I'd miss her. We share everything." But despite some initial anxiety about living far from home (he admits he is still "homesick all the time -- e-mail, pictures, everything reminds me."), Matt has settled into life at Penn and found his own niche. That began with the swim team, a full-time commitment in the fall. "I was the only one of my friends dumb enough to stick with [swimming]," he jokes. "In high school, it wasn't fun anymore. Some people get trapped, but I'm not the best anymore so I have to do it for other reasons." He cites the close-knit friendships and the desire to stay in shape -- "I never cared about that before, really." Matt says his two recruiting trips last year sealed his decision to come to Penn, even though he doesn't consider himself an "average Penn admit" academically. "A lot of people didn't think I could make it here," he says. "I'm not getting A's. But I expected harder [classes]. They're really, really hard, but if you work hard, too, you'll do fine. "Athletes are in the libraries just as much as everyone else." The International Relations-major-to-be (unless he changes his mind, of course) admits that swimming certainly helped his admission. "I sort of knew I was in. Since [the swimming coach] kept calling, I pretty much knew it." But Matt has been careful to keep the relentless hours of swimming practice and meets in perspective. "It's so much easier for me to be a part of it now, because it isn't my whole life." His "other" life includes his recent initiation into the Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity -- "I definitely joined for the right reasons." "I've heard a lot of horror stories about fraternities, but it's just a bunch of involved students partying and having a good time. "They promised no hazing and there really wasn't. I don't take shit well -- everything we did was productive." Matt explains that his pledge name was C-3PO, because "they thought I acted like a robot." "I was so offended at first. They had to get to know me, cause I'm not. I'm very judgmental. Maybe quiet at first; they think that means I'm cold." Matt says Penn has forced him to meet lots of different people -- "and that's good." "The Midwest is known to be WASPy, and it is WASPy. It took me a while to suck it all in, but it's worth it." Now, Matt says he feels part of something special at Penn. "We've been labeled all of these stupid things -- X-Generation, Grunge. I don't see myself as part of that. I see myself as part of the class of 2000. That sounds better." n
(04/30/97 9:00am)
Southern comfortSouthern comfort"I was working to complete myself here and I think I've accomplished that." Caroline Rigsby remembers scouring the plowed farm fields near her Nashville, Tenn., home, searching the dirt for ancient Indian arrowheads. She can recall the feel of the delicate flint between her fingers -- rough edges, sharp at the tips, but worn smooth at the center. She and her father would look for hours, tracing and retracing their steps. Her passion for archaeology was born of those summer afternoons, as she began to piece together the stories of history through their physical remnants. "Two summers ago, I heard about [an archaeological] dig 45 minutes from my house," recalls Caroline, who moved to Atlanta during high school. "I begged them to let me volunteer. They let me help them out and actually do some real work. But, of course, a few days after I got there, the money ran out and they had to pack up and go home. It was still neat." When the 19-year-old "southerner-at-heart" began looking for colleges, Penn made the list primarily because of its archaeological museum. "The opportunities here to learn are incredible -- this summer I'm going to Bordeaux, France, with Dr. Alan Mann on an archaeological trip," she says. "On the other hand, my Anthropology major was the source of my biggest fear. I was pretty worried that people would look down on me and say: 'Why are you here? With Wharton and everything?' "Penn was the only school I didn't visit. It wasn't what I expected when I finally got here. The Ivy League stereotype scared me, but I have learned so much from everyone at Penn. My mind has been expanded and challenged." For Caroline, those challenges have only been enhanced by the inherent cultural differences between the north and south. She compares the homogeneity of the languid south with the more fast-paced, diverse culture of Philadelphia. "When I first got to Penn, I couldn't keep the 'ya'll' out of my speech," she says, laughing. "They called me 'Scarlett' at the beginning of the year. By now, I think I've lost a lot of the accent." But overcoming her accent was nothing compared to adjusting to Philadelphia weather, she emphasizes. Caroline still finds herself holding close to her childhood memories, not the least of which are her pale pink bunny rabbit slippers, worn thin at the heels. She has kept them since the third grade -- "when things were different, and I was the tallest in the class." "Snoopy is my hero," she adds, quite seriously. "When I was 2 or 3, there was this store called The Cabbage Patch. There was a huge Snoopy on display and I told my dad I wanted it. He bought it for me and until last semester, it was my constant companion. "But I brought it to school at the beginning of the year. My friends were playing with it and it got decapitated. I had to send it home for surgery." Home has always been a source of comfort for Caroline, though her parents divorced when she was only 2 years old. She and her mother have lived together for 14 years, supporting each other as close friends. Still, she adds, "my dad and I are very similar -- I owe him a lot." "I have 18,000 steps and halves [siblings]. I've been the oldest, youngest and in the middle. But I prefer being an only child. That way, you're really independent and you never have the chance to fight with brothers and sisters." That independence has spilled over into Caroline's college life, where she has a single room in lower Quad. "I am rejuvenated by being alone. I don't have to entertain anybody," she adds, her eyes scanning the dorm room that she has made her own. "And I don't have to watch anyone brush their teeth. I totally freak out when I see someone brushing their teeth. I mean, I want them to keep them clean, just not when I'm around." A string of bright yellow sunflower lights outlines the wall above her bed, interrupted by numerous posters of Snoopy and photographs of Albert Einstein. "Einstein was a total failure in school. It just goes to show that you can't judge someone by facts or tests." Such sentiments are Caroline's trademark; she emphasizes that she would "so much rather be happy than rich. I don't want to work behind a desk for the rest of my life." But she is far from laid back -- on the contrary, she spends a great deal of her time studying, and the remainder working as an ambassador for the Office of Admissions or talking for hours with other members of her class. "This hall is just crazy. There are people from Morocco, Turkey and the [United Arab Emirates]. There are some really exceptional people here. I have benefitted so much from my conversations every day." Those conversations include weekly discussions with her Intervarsity Bible group, which meets Friday evenings. "I was working to complete myself here, and I think I have accomplished that," she says, fingering the silver cross hanging at her neck. "Now I feel complete." n
