SWARTHMORE
C ollege Bulletin

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emolition

... A trackhoe made quick work of Parrish
Annex in early September as it gobbled up the building
and turned it into a pile of rubble within two days. Stone
salvaged from the Annex exterior will be used to build garden
walls once a new academic building occupies the site. For an
update on the Trotter/north campus project, see page 24.

■

SWARTHMORE
COLLEGE BULLETIN • NOVEMBER 1994

4

Saying the “G” Word

The num ber o f students involved in religious organizations on
cam pus h as surged in recen t years. But m any k eep their beliefs
to them selves. Having a spiritual life, they say, g oes against the
attitude that rationality an d faith in God are mutually exclusive.
By Judith Egan

12 Generation X in Cyberspace

Editor:
Jeffrey Lott
Associate Editor:
Rebecca Aim
Assistant Editor:
Kate Downing
Class Notes Editor:
Nancy Lehman ’87
Desktop Publishing:
Audree Penner
Designer:
Bob Wood
Editor Emerita:
Maralyn Orbison Gillespie ’49
Associate Vice President
for External Affairs
Barbara Haddad Ryan ’59
Cover: Visitors to Swarthmore
often refer to Clothier Hall as the
“chapel.” We chose Clothier’s
stained glass windows to symbol­
ize the spiritual experiences of
Swarthmore students, which are
explored on page 4. Photograph
by Deng-Jeng Lee.
Printed in U .S.A on recycled paper.

The Sw arthm ore College Bulletin (ISSN
0888-2126), o f which this is volum e
XCII, num ber 2, is published in Septem ­
ber, N ovem ber, January, February, May,
and August by Sw arthm ore College, 500
College A venue, Sw arthm ore PA 190811397. T elephone (6 1 0 ) 328-8401. E-mail
jlottl@ cc.sw arthm ore.edu. S eco n d class
postage pa id at Sw arthm ore PA and
additional m ailing offices. Perm it No.
0530-620. Postm aster: S en d address
changes to Sw arthm ore C ollege Bul­
letin, 500 C ollege A venue, Sw arthm ore
PA 19081-1397.

Five young entrepreneurs h av e com e up with a new m arket—
m illions o f p eo p le in the w orld on the Internet. From their “hightech frat h ou se” they h av e b ecom e m iddlem en in a business
selling everything from com puter softw are to stuffed anim als.
Photographs and Text by M acarthur McBumey ’92

16 The Critics
Ken Turan ’67, film critic for the Los Angeles Times, an d Ben
Brantley ’77, theater critic for The New York Times, talk about
the ap p roach es they bring to their craft. It’s a tricky balancing
act to b e fair an d objectiv e w hile reporting p erson al reactions.
By Rob Lewine ’67 and Barbara Haddad Ryan ’59

20 Against the Mainstream
“The m ore econ om ic p ow er you get, the m ore p olitical pow er
you get, ” says H eidi Hartmann ’67, the latest Sw arthm orean to
win a MacArthur Fellow ship. The fem inist econ om ist will use
h er “genius grant” to continue h er research on w om en ’s issues.
By Dana S. Calvo ’92

64 Confessions of a Former Faculty Wife
White gloves an d sherry. Luncheons an d h ot toddies. D ecorum
an d grilling. F or an entire class o f p eo p le know n as Faculty
Wives, life on cam pus 25 y ears ago w as fraught with peril. One
such w ife bares h er sou l on surviving th ese rites o f passage.
By P. deVille

2
24
28
29
35
53

Letters
The College
Alumni Digest
Class Notes
Deaths
Recent Books by Alumni

his issue of the Bulletin raises an interesting and provoca­
tive question: What should be the role of religion in a non­
sectarian liberal arts college? It’s an old question at
Swarthmore, one that goes back to the College’s founding
by Quakers and to its later movement toward secular education. In
“Saying the ‘G’ Word,” some of today’s students complain that
Swarthmore’s intellectual atmosphere is inhospitable to their reli­
gious beliefs. Whether or not this is true, the historic tension
between spirit and intellect remains a natural part of a Swarthmore
education.
Some might argue that spirituality has little place in the modern
academic setting, that religious belief is limiting. Don’t “beliefs” pre­
vent a person from questioning, challenging, or objectively seeking
rational truth? Others (those with “beliefs”?) counter that human­
ism, science, and rationality don’t have a corner on truth, that there
are some truths that cannot be
“proved” in a mechanistic manner.
Rather they must be explained in
theological terms.
The Quaker idea that each of us
has an inner light that is a manifes­
tation of God, and that we should
work to make the world a better
place, provides the moral accompa­
niment to which we conduct our academic business.
President Alfred H. Bloom speaks often of “ethical intelligence,”
his important (and very Swarthmore) concept of how the welldeveloped intellect can serve a higher purpose in society. Though
God is not at the center of this concept, it suggests a moral impera­
tive not dissimilar to that handed down by the Society of Friends—
to know your mind and to do good. Yet while such a moral impera­
tive may still be at the core of Swarthmore, many young people
quest for the greater knowledge of the spirit—of the inner light.
College is not just a place for learning; it is where adolescents
become adults. And one of the big tasks of growing up—in addition
to absorbing and understanding human knowledge—is to confront
life’s profound mysteries. This means thinking seriously about God,
creation, life, death, and the beyond. Whether religious or not, the
liberally educated adult cannot avoid these questions. Dean of the
College Ngina Lythcott puts it well when she says, “Paying attention
to spiritual life is important at a time like this. The life of the spirit is
as important as the life of the mind, and we need to nurture it.”
At Swarthmore the tension between spirit and intellect is itself
nurturing complexity of thought. It challenges us to keep our minds
limber and to remain open to a variety of approaches to truth. And
that is the essence of a liberal education.
—J.L

■

2

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.— j -----

Big bang a
bunch of baloney...
To the Editor:
I see you are still at it with the arti­
cle about John Mather ’68 and the
big bang [August 1994]. What a
waste of all that ink and slick paper.
The proposition in the article as
to how we got here is all a bunch of
baloney! The Lord Jesus put it all
here just as He said, and if Mather
wants to controvert Him, he needs
to come back from the grave after
three days and three nights.
I hope you will print this in the
next issue of the Bulletin.
THE REV. LEONARD WILLINGER ’58
Jacksonville, Fla.

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...or just the
wrong sound?
To the Editor:
I was intrigued by Jeffrey Lott’s dis­
cussion of the potential religious
implications of the big bang cre­
ation story [“Parlor Talk,” August
1994], In a universe filled with con­
tradictions, who is to say that myth
doesn’t offer a better shot at truth
than facts, and who is to say that
the big bang is not myth? Certainly
for many in our culture today, sci­
ence is a form of religion. How else
do you explain our belief that
through intense study we can con­
trol or eliminate environmental
problems?
Tod Swanson, a religious studies
professor at Arizona State Universi­
ty, told me my favorite big bang
story. He once participated in an allnight Native American ritual and
was sitting with several participants
in its aftermath when one chal­
lenged him by asking if he knew of
the big bang theory. After he said he
did, his challenger said, “Well, they
got the sound wrong. The universe
was sung into existence.” Don’t you
love our cultural choice of meta­
phor and image for that initial
moment?
THOMPSON WEBB III ’66
Seekonk, Mass.
To penetrate to
the core of things
To the Editor:
My congratulations to the Bulletin
letters department for a whole
renaissance of vitality and exciteSWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

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ment. Now for a bit of the broad
brush on this liberal/conservative
thing.
Some liberals (maybe most, maybe not) are people of good will and
lofty purpose who tend to fall out of
focus on how to get things done,
Some conservatives (maybe most,
maybe not) are sanctimonious ideo­
logues who don’t do much homework. All of which makes for good
fun and games—but the games are
slightly beside the point when it
comes to the future of Swarthmore.
As I see it, the mission of the Col­
lege is not to reach out to this or
that agenda. It is to teach us how to
penetrate to the core of things.
Study some great works, explore
some great ideas, and possibly you
may acquire the skills to solve some
of the world’s problems. Unfortunately these solutions won’t come
wrapped in packages marked “liber­
al” or “conservative.” Let’s get the
train back on the track, even if the
destination remains murky.
TED BROMWELL ’49
Pittsburgh

íly
ise

. Honors Program changes
are “much-needed”
I To the Editor:
As a 1992 Honors graduate, I read
n- | with interest in the August Bulletin
f
about the much-needed revision of
the Honors Program. I think the
ies
option of Senior Honors Study in
rsi- | spring of the senior year is terrific. I
was lucky to be able to take a light
allschedule that semester, which
made studying for Honors exams
ints
while researching/writing a chem­
istry thesis feasible. But some of my
of
friends were not so fortunate. Study1 he
ing for Honors exams while taking
ey
four or five credits appeared to be a
se
very draining experience. I’m also
rou
glad to see that the external examin­
ers will be maintained. They give
Swarthmore Honors a level of
integrity that few college programs
I ’66
have.
lass.
I support eliminating Distinction
in Course. It makes no sense to split
the intellectual achievements of
Swarthmore students into two cate­
gories, provoking invidious compar­
an \
isons and needless ill feeling be­
tween two groups of bright people.

riN

P le a s e turn to p a g e 6 0

NOVEMBER 1994

actoids. We get ’em, we save ’em,
and we love to share ’em. To wit:
One recent report looked at the top
employers of Swarthmoreans including
businesses, government, and other col­
leges and universities.
•In the corporate world, the win­
ners are: IBM, with 62 employed gradu­
ates; AT&T (48); General Electric (44);
Du Pont (41); Westinghouse (28); Pru­
dential Insurance (25); HewlettPackard (19); Digital Equipment and
Merrill Lynch (17 each); Kaiser-Perma­
nente (16); and Boeing and PECO Ener­
gy with 15 each.
•Outside corporate Ameri­
ca the largest employer is the
federal government with 122,
followed by 101 working in
state government and 39 in
local government. Those
unable to escape higher edu­
cation work for the Universi­
ty of California system (78),
the University of Pennsylva­
nia (69), and Harvard and
Swarthmore (50 each).
•Public schools claim 45
graduates, 32 are with the
State Department, and 30 are
members of the U.S. Navy.
Bragging rights
•In 1990 (it takes time to
com pile this data, folks),
Swarthmore graduates were
awarded more National Sci­
en ce Fou ndation fellow ­
ships than any other small
liberal arts college in the
country. The following year
the College ranked second
only to Dartmouth in NSF
awards.
•Out of a total of 914 col­
leges and universities selfidentified as private, fouryear, non-doctoral degree
granting institutions, Swarthm ore
alumni ranked very high in earning
doctoral degrees. From 1981 through
1990, alum ni receiv in g term in al
degrees in econom ics ranked first.
Coming in at third place were those
receiving Ph.D.s in physics/astronomy and political science/international relations. Other fields ranking high
included mathematics and English.
Tabs on Alumni Weekend
More than 1,500 people were on
campus for Alumni Weekend ’94. It
took 100 students and a boatload of
m em bers of th e h ou sek eep in g ,
grounds, dining serv ices, alumni,
develop m ent, pu blic safety , and

■

maintenance staffs to make the event
run smoothly.
Is there a doctor in the house?
Barbara Yost Stewart ’54, associ­
ate professor of biology and the Col­
lege’s health sciences adviser, issued
the latest (1992-93) annual report of
placem ents in m edical and veteri­
nary schools. In 1992 38 Swarthmore
students com pleted their applica­
tions to medical or veterinary school
and 30 were accepted, for an overall
acceptance rate of 79 percent. Not
bad when the national average for
the same period was 38.1
percent.
The greatest number of
alumni (24 out of 97) have
enrolled in the medical pro­
grams at the University of
Pennsylvania, Temple Uni­
versity, the University of
R o ch ester, and Jefferso n
Medical College.
The write stuff
The R eference D epart­
m ent of M cCabe Library
has released the 1992-93
faculty bibliography, citing
320 works. Although th e
vast majority of these are
articles in journals or chap­
ters in books, it’s interest­
ing to n o te w hat e lse
co u n ts: d irectin g and/or
acting in stage plays, musi­
cal compositions and per­
formances (and recordings
of same), and in a definite
sign of Th in gs to Come,
one work done for a se r­
vice on computer network.
On the home front
•Of th e 1,325 students
en ro lled at Sw arth m ore
this semester, 642 are men
and 683 are women.
•Students come from all 50 states
and 39 foreign countries.
•Students and alumni continue to
win national prizes including (in
1993-94), two Fulbrights, two Wat­
so n s, one G oldw ater, one St.
Andrews, one Truman, one Beinecke,
one Mellon, three Rockefeller Broth­
ers, five Mellon Minority Undergrad­
uate Fellowships, and six National
Science Foundation Graduate Fellow­
ships.
•Forty-seven percent of the stu­
dents enrolled in 1993-94 received
financial aid from the College, with
offers ranging from $200 to $27,000.
—K ate Downing
3

B

SAYING
THE “G” WORD
By Judith Egan
lone candle shone from
the front of the Friends
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Meeting House in the twi­
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interdenominational Christian group
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Caritas. “There were people th ere
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whom I knew but I didn’t know they
were religious at all. It was a good
chance for people to quietly acknowl­
edge their faith. And it was good for
me to see that there was more of a
faith community than I had assumed.”
Eugene Sonn has also known reli­
gious com m unity at Sw arthm ore.
Sonn, a senior political science major
and religion minor, grew up in subur­
ban B o sto n in a trad itio n al Irish
Catholic family. “Toward the end of
my high school years,” says Sonn, “I
took my faith as my own; it was no
He and Betsy Geiger are not alone.
longer just a legacy from my parents.” The number of Swarthmore students
Sonn felt Swarthmore was the right involved in religious organizations has
place academically and found that he surged in recent years. Pauline Allen,
fit right in when he arrived. In his first the P ro testan t adviser on cam pus
year, he regularly attended Mass but (and a Quaker), estim ates that last
didn’t particularly work at affirming year 200 students participated in one
his faith. Gradually a deepening took or m ore a s p e cts of h er m inistry,
place. “I wasn’t struck off my horse,” including th e group C aritas. The
Sonn said, smiling, “but I got more C atholic Student A sso ciatio n has
involved in the Catholic group and I grown from a handful of students in
realized I wanted to make a greater the early 1960s to about 100 now.
effort because my faith was becoming Ruach, the student-led Jewish group,
a more primary issue in my life.”
has a 15-member board and a mailing

A

Religious faith
is alive and w ell
at Swarthmore
in the nineties.

list of 100 stu d en ts. Swarthmore
Christian Fellowship, a more conser­
vative group than Caritas, draws an
average of 60 students to its weekly
worship on Friday evenings. A newly
formed group of religious liberals
drew 15 students to its first meeting
last semester, with an additional 25
expressing interest this fall. Only the
number of students attending Quaker
Meeting has held fairly steady for the
last few years, with about 10—12 at
Swarthmore Friends on an average
week, accord in g to Carol Rickert,
Meeting secretary.
According to P. Linwood Urban,
Charles and Harriet Cox McDowell
Professor Emeritus of Religion and an
ordained E piscopal m inister, this
resurgence of religious interest “is a
response to what many perceive as
the oppressive secularism of Ameri­
can culture and the pervasive skepti­
cism of intellectual life, at Swarthmore
as elsewhere in the academy.
“There is certain type of secularism
that is so empty,” Urban said. “Faith
has been around a long tim e, and
m any stu d en ts feel it c a n ’t be so
bankrupt as is often claimed. Faith
prom ises that th ere is real signifi­
cance to human existence. When peo­
ple seek meaning in response to the
dismissiveness of secularism, it often
takes shape in a religious context.”
Ngina Lythcott, dean of the College,
agrees that young people are seeking
m eaning in th eir lives: “Religious
searching is part of the work of ado­
lescence, and College is a place where
people begin to make their own deci­
sions, often separating themselves
from the faith of their parents, quesSWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Father John Freeman celebrates mass weekly in Bond Hall. He seeks to create “a parish church on campus.
tioning everything about their lives.
Paying attention to spiritual life is
important at a time like this.”
With five thriving religious organi­
zations on campus, a significant num­
ber of Swarthmore students—perhaps
as many as 40 percent—identify them­
selves as religious or as having inter­
est in religion as an expression of
faith. This may be a paradox in a bas­
tion of America’s higher education
establishment, traditionally seen as
secular and skeptical in orientation.
Swarthmore’s Quaker roots notwith­
standing, only a few years ago a stu­
dent poll revealed roughly 30 percent
of Swarthmoreans considered them­
selves atheists, according to Jerry
Frost, the Howard M. and Charles F.
Jenkins Professor of Quaker History.
But the larger paradox may reside
in the perception of many who call
themselves religious that a contempo­
rary academic community does not
provide a wholly friendly environment
for the practice of faith. And various
people interviewed for this article
point out that under the rubric of mulNOVEMBER 1994

ticulturalism that pervades Swarth­
more and many other campuses, the
idea of religion as the expression of
faith plays no visible part.
“There’s definitely the feeling out
there that if you’re so medieval as to
believe in God, you’d better keep it to
yourself,” said Ben Thomases ’97, a
member of the board of Ruach. In a
recent issue of The P hoen ix, Thom-

T

he number
o f students
involved in
Swarthmore’s
religious groups
has surged, but
a tension still
exists between
faith and
intellectualism.

ases authored an a rticle titled “Is
there a God At Swarthmore?” in which
he noted, “As far as I can tell, [ques­
tions of faith] are not considered care­
fully at Swarthmore.”
Dean Lythcott acknowledges this
can happen: “Some intellectuals feel
that being religious is anti-intellectual.
I’d like to believe that a well-rounded
person has a spiritual aspect to his or
her life th at is resp ected and nur­
tured. Not necessarily church-based,
or even God-based, but a sense of the
spirit, a con nected ness to the uni­
verse.”
he tension between “secular” and
“religious” has been at work at
Swarthmore since the College’s early
y ea rs. In th e d ecad es follow ing
Swarthmore’s inception, a recurrent
q u estio n tu rned on th e b a la n ce
between the influence of the Society
of Friends and the secular momentum
of academic life. Initially, seeing to the
education of its students under the
“guarded care of Friends” included
the discouragement of other forms of

T

5

worship, according to Richard Wal­
ton’s Swarthm ore College, An Inform al
History. Walton cites several instances
of the College’s suppression of reli­
gious diversity on campus in the 19th
century. Hicksite Quakers, eschewing
ministers, did not proselytize; but the
Friendly commitment to religious tol­
erance did not encompass the promo­
tion of religious diversity. To some
degree the very impetus to found the
College was a defense against the en­
croachment of the rampant evangeli­
cal Christianity of the 1860s.
By the time Joseph Swain was inau­
gurated president in 1902, he felt it
necessary to avow a commitment to
the continuance of Quaker influence
at the same time he quoted Lucretia
Mott’s famous words, “We must never
degenerate into a sectarian school.”
Under Swain’s leadership the College
set a course for greater educational
excellence; the waning of Quakerism
in College life, well-remarked ever
since, was commonly seen as a paral­
lel trend.
A lthough th e re w ere religiou s
groups other than Quakers on cam­
pus prior to World War II, it was only
after that time that such groups con­
stituted a formal presence, according
to Lin Urban. “By the time I came to
Swarthm ore in 1957, the Christian
Association was very active. A New­
man Club was also established about

ulticulturalism ’
is very selective.
It doesn Yinclude
religion. There is an
attitude that it’s
all right to denigrate
religious beliefs in
a way that wouldn Y
be acceptable with
race, for example. ”
—Leah Oppenheim ’96

M

th at tim e for Roman C atholic stu ­
dents, and there was an ongoing Jew­
ish Activities Group. To be sure, there
has always been a large proportion of
secularists among the student body
and faculty.
“I do think that recen tly th e re ’s
been a resurgence of religious activi­
ties; religious students are more vocal
than they have been,” Urban contin­
ued. “It seems clear that the student
body reflects so ciety at large. For
many people in our country, things
seem to be changing so fast th at

DENG-JENG LEE

there’s a perceived threat to tradition­
al values of all kinds. So it’s suddenly
important to people to ground their
values in something ultimate. There’s
a searching for a religious base for
social concerns. This is true of many
liberals as well as conservatives.
“T h e re ’s also som eth ing that
comes from the Quaker ethos but is
not pure Quakerism— and which is
certainly not ascribed to by all Quak­
ers—which is that religious interests
are private affairs. But when public
concerns are supported by religious
grounding, conflicts can arise. Can we
keep religion to ourselves if ultimately
it is the source of our deepest commit­
ments?
“There are many big issues facing
society now, for example all the life
and death issues such as abortion and
euthanasia and the issues about over­
population and preserving the envi­
ronment. You can ’t deal with them
unless you have a theory about what
a human being is. These momentous
issues are forcing individuals to make
some fundamental decisions about
what they think human beings are and
what they’re here for.”
ather John Freeman and campus
minister Sue Harte have served the
Catholic community on campus for 13
and eight years, respectively. They
share responsibility for the Catholic

F

STEVEN GOLDBLATT ’67

Ben Thomases ’97 is active in
Eugene Sonn ’95, a Roman

Catholic, says that “toward the
end o f my high school years, I
took my faith as my own; it was
no longer just a legacy from my
parents. ”H e’s involved in the
Catholic student group and the
conservative Christian Fellow­
ship. He sees no conflict in this
dual participation.

Ruach, the Jewish student
group. “There’s definitely a feel­ David Seligman ’95, a Unitari­
ing that if you’re so medieval as an Universalist, helped start a
to believe in God, you’d better
group o f religious liberals. “Unikeep it to yourself, ” he says.
tarianism is a lot like Swarth­
Not taking his own advice, he
more—very intellectual, ratio­
recently wrote an article for
nal, supportive o f ideas, ” he
The Phoenix titled “Is there a
says. “Although this m akes it
God at Swarthmore?”
easy to fit in here, there’s no
overriding sense o f community
[in the group]. ”

Eric Ellingson ’96 o f the
Swarthmore Christian Fellow­
ship sees evangelical outreach
as one o f the group’s missions.
This sem ester SCF is sponsoring
eight weekly Bible study groups
and daily prayer groups. “We
want to get people interested by
being visible, ” he says.

Student A ssociation, with
particip ation fluctu atin g
from year to year but typi­
cally embracing about 100
students. Freeman, a dioce­
san priest, and Harte, Jesuit
trained, are appointed by
the Philadelphia A rchdio­
cese and also se rv e th e
Catholic co m m un ities at
Bryn Mawr and Haverford.
While both share in the min­
istry, Freeman sees his role
as a “shepherd,” who deals
primarily with sacramental
matters, while Harte is more
oriented toward social and
community service.
Freeman and Harte each
con tribu te to th e w eekly
celeb ratio n of M ass and
toward th e cre a tio n of a
“parish church on campus,”
offering th e stu d en t who
may be exposed to secular
education for the first time a
bridge to hom e, a way to
sustain a religious identity in
the flux of a new environ­
ment. And with a large num­
ber of international students
in the Catholic community,
Harte and Freeman also see
their ministry as offering a
significant cultural link.
Off campus Harte leads students in
social service projects about one day
a month through the Catholic Worker
community in North Philadelphia. “We
want to expose them to the rich tradi­
tion of social justice in the Catholic
church,” Harte says. Student workers
perform a range of manual labor, from
community gardening to child care,
and in the process, Harte says, they
expand their experience, participating
in church communities of a kind they
are not used to.
Ruach is supported in part by Hillel
of Greater Philadelphia, a professional
organization that facilitates Jewish life
on A m erican cam p u ses. M argie
Jacobs is the newly appointed Jewish
adviser, and, like Freeman and Harte,
she serves the tri-college community.
Hillel appoints the campus adviser
after community consultation to serve
as a resource to all Jewish students.
But at Swarthmore the Jewish group
is entirely student-led and directed
and encom p asses a wide range of
NOVEMBER 1994

beliefs among its members.
A related stu d en t group, th e
Sw arthm ore Z ionist C on n ection ,
focuses on political and cultural activi­
ties related to Israel. As Jacobs ex­
plains, “For many Jewish students, the
political and cultural ties to Israel are
their means of Jewish expression.”
Swarthmore Christian Fellowship
(SCF) emerged in 1982. It is sponsored
by Intervarsity Christian Fellowship, a
nondenominational evangelical Prot­
estan t organization th at o v ersees
campus m inistries throughout the
United States and abroad. Fellowship
is student-run, though Intervarsity
provides staff as well as four retreats/
training conferences each year. Meet­
ings for worship are held each Friday
evening. Eight Bible study groups con­
ducted by students meet weekly and
prayer groups meet daily. SCF also
sponsors training seminars and offcampus retreats in the fall and spring.
This year SCF plans to conduct
Bible study in every campus dorm to
make it more accessible. Eric Elling-

Quakers m ake up a small minority o f
students these days, with only about a
dozen showing up to Friends Meeting
each week and no active student group.
son ’96, one of its leaders, describes
outreach as an essential part of Fel­
lowship’s mission: “We want to get
people interested by being visible. So
we sponsor various service-type evan­
gelism projects. But our focus is on
prayer and Bible study this semester.”
The cam pus group C aritas was
formed in 1985 to draw wide participa­
tion and to find ecumenical common
ground. Adviser Pauline Allen is sup­
ported by Partners in Ministry, a coali­
tion of the Swarthmore Presbyterian,
Ep iscop al, United M ethod ist, and
Lutheran churches and Swarthmore
Friends Meeting.
Partners in Ministry was formed in
1982 in order to help establish a new
campus ministry in response to stu­
dent requests for an alternative to the
stro n g ly fu n d am en talist cam pus
C hristian group of th e tim e. Such

broad ecum enical support by local
ch u rches is unusual, as, typically,
campus religious advisers are sup­
ported by a particular denomination
or national foundation, as are the cur­
ren t Roman C atholic, Jew ish, and
Christian Fellowship ministries. Part­
ners in Ministry describes itself as “a
Christian m inistry of presence and
spiritual nurture.... We provide a bal­
ance for the sometimes exclusionary
humanism at the College and in the
culture at large.”
Sw arth m ore’s new est religiou s
association, Unitarian Universalists
and Religious Liberals (UURL) started
last spring when David Seligman ’95
and Melissa Dustin ’97 approached
Dean of Admissions Carl Wartenburg,
an ordained Unitarian Universalist
minister, for advice. Though Seligman
said the group “is not yet sure what
type of support we want from outside

resources like Wartenburg, local Uni­
tarian churches, and the Unitarian
U niversalist A sso ciatio n ,” th ere is
agreement on a need to explore spiri­
tual questions. Their weekly gather­
ings are held on Sunday afternoons.
Although there have been Quaker
student groups on and off in the past,
there isn’t one at this time. According
to Paul M angelsdorf ’49, Morris L.
Clothier Professor Emeritus of Physics
and an active Friend, that may be in
part b e ca u se P ro te sta n t ad viser
Pauline Allen is a Quaker and many
students who might organize a sepa­
rate Friends group belong to Caritas.

ric Ellingson feels the growth in
membership of Christian Fellow­
ship over the past few years is partly a
positive sign of the better atmosphere
on campus. But Ellingson, a biology
major from Vermont, went on to say
th at th is does not
mean that all Fellow­
ship members feel at
ea se in p u blicly ex­
p ressin g th e ir faith.
“T h e re ’s a fine line
here. When it’s crossed,
when someone says, ‘I
believe th is is tru e ,’
people can b eco m e
uneasy. It makes them
u n co m fo rtab le, and
th a t’s the end of the
co n v ersa tio n . They
think you can’t discuss
faith as you would any
other subject. It’s just
not popular h ere to
say, ‘This is the truth.’”
Ben T h o m ases of
Ruach agrees. The son
of a Conservative fa­
th e r and a Reform
m oth er, he said he
feels some disappoint­
ment with “the expec­
tation that th ere’s an
appropriate division
betw een the rational
and the possibility of
faith in God. And peo­
ple really don’t like to
discuss the subject—
th ere’s an active dis­
mmmmm
like of it.” He added,
Members o f Caritas paint banners to decorate their
“People have the wrong
meeting room in Bond Hall. Adviser Pauline Allen
conception about reli­
(left rear) would like to see an interfaith center there.
gious involvem ent,

E

Ruach members prepare a dinner each
Friday night in their kosher kitchen in the
basement o f Bond Hall. Leah Oppenheim
’96 (above left) is a Ruach board member.
th at it m eans som e kind of fanati- 1
cism.”
In his first years at Swarthmore,
Catholic Student Association member
Eugene Sonn was somewhat reluctant
to reveal his religious identity because
of such stereotyping. “I knew people
who would treat me differently if I told
them [who I am],” he said. But in time
he overcame that reluctance, in part
because of the crystallization of his I
religious conviction. “I don’t know if 1
became more outspoken or if it was
something that happened because of
growing up.”
Last year, seeking additional oppor­
tunity for spiritual expression, Eugene I
Sonn began to attend Christian Fellow-.
ship in addition to his continued
involvement with the Catholic group.
He sees no conflict in this dual partici­
pation, though he acknow ledges
friends suggested he “be carefu l”
when he began to branch out.
“It’s com plem entary to my faith,
not contradictory,” Sonn said. “Con­
serv ativ e C h ristian s a c c e p t the !
authority of the Bible. Catholics have
that, plus the authority of the Church.
It’s another vibrant faith community.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Because it’s student-driven, it’s easy
to join in, to share the daily issues of
faith with others. I feel recharged, the
way I feel after Mass.”
Though Sonn said his faith-directed
interest in social activism made this
choice of Swarthmore seem natural,
he believes there is a considerable
amount of religious stereotyping in
the College community. “T h ere’s a
sense that if you’re religious you’re a
dupe, that you can’t have intellectual
prowess if you can fool yourself into
religious belief.”
nother spiritual seeker is Leah
Oppenheim ’96, a religion major
from Brookline, Mass. Raised in a Con­
servative Jewish family, she is on the
board of Ruach but is also a member
of Caritas and UURL. She feels that
though she is a Jew who does not
believe in Jesus as the savior or messiah, her participation in Caritas and
with the religious liberals fulfills a
need to work with issues of spirituali­
ty and religion, ideas she finds in­
teresting to talk and even argue about.
Yet she too sees a reluctance in the
community at large to get involved in
such issues.
“There is an attitude that it’s all
right to denigrate religious beliefs in a
way that wouldn’t be acceptable with
race, for instance. There’s a view that

A

NOVEMBER 1994

to be religious is to be closed-minded.
It’s paradoxical, but that attitude is
itself closed-minded.”
Oppenheim, who calls herself “reli­
gious but not observant,” believes
that Swarthmore “is not a comfortable
environment” for those who wish to
be religiously observant. “‘Multiculturalism ’ is very selectiv e. It d o esn ’t
include religion.” To illustrate her
point, she cited the view that celebrat­
ing the High Holy Days was “not a
good enough reason” to be absent
from class. And those who try to be
m ore observant have a hard tim e
doing so, she added. “There should be

f~T^here is a
A sense that if
you're religious,
you’re a dupe,
that you can’t have
intellectual prowess
if you can fool
yourself into
religious belief ”
—Eugene Sonn ’95

m ore effort to resp ect people who
have made a choice. It’s crucial for
people to work together.”
David Seligman, who helped start
UURL, has a slightly different perspec­
tive. He grew up in Ardmore, Pa., and
Fairfax County, Va., in a Unitarian Universalist family. “Unitarianism is a lot
like Swarthmore—very intellectual,
rational, supportive of ideas. And it’s
broadly defined, so there’s a lot of free
th ou ght and religiou s to le ra n ce .
Whether it’s even a religion depends a
lot on your perspective.
“Although this makes it easy to fit
in at Swarthmore, there is no overrid­
ing sense of community here,” Selig­
man continued, noting that he misses
the positive experience provided in
his church youth group. “As a friend
of mine said, here it’s a bunch of neat
people getting to g eth er but doing
their own thing. And there’s definitely
a perceived conflict between intellect
and faith. But I think religious groups
are tolerated like anything else.”
Catholic adviser Sue Harte also has
a more positive outlook: “Eight years
ago there was more of a sense that
religious belief is suspect. Catholics
felt a greater challenge to their reli­
gious faith. Now they are more com­
fortable in their identity.” Neverthe­
less, Harte also believes there is more
sensitivity to cultural than to religious
9

The Christian Fellowship draws an average
o f 60 students to its weekly worship on
Friday evenings. Like nearly all student
religious groups, it receives som e support
from an organization off campus.
identity on campus.
Not every religious student has a
group to join . Sam priti Ganguli, a
senior econom ics and political sci­
ence double major and an East Indian
who grew up in the Philippines, is
Hindu. “It’s difficult to worship in the
tra d itio n a l s e n se at Sw arthm ore,

because there are no Hindu temples
in the near vicinity. But I am able to
worship in my room, or I may go to
Meeting or Catholic services and wor­
ship in my own way there. Sometimes
I go to the amphitheater and take time
out to meditate and think and pray. It
doesn’t really matter if it’s a temple or
a church or an outdoor space, just as
long as th e r e ’s som ew h ere quiet
where I can be contemplative.”
Ganguli feels no obstacles to the
practice of her religion, yet concedes
that not even her closest friends know

how religious she is. “I don’t
want to say th is about
everybody, but I get the
feeling that if I were to talk
about my stron g faith in
God, I think people would
look at me a little different­
ly. They would automatical­
ly think I was very conser­
vative, perhaps, or that 1
was su p e rstitio u s. At
Sw arthm ore— and maybe
it’s not ju st Swarthmore,
maybe it’s this age in peo­
ple’s lives—it’s vogue to be
antiestablishment. And reli­
gion is an establishm ent.
God is an establishment in a
lot of ways. And so I feel like
if people knew that aspect
of me they’d imagine that I
wasn’t as sophisticated in
the way that I think about
things. T h ere’s som e dis­
dain, a little bit of con­
tempt.”
Y et sh e thinks things
could be hard er for her:
“People find Hinduism fasci­
nating and exotic. People
will say to me, ‘I think it’s so
exciting that you’re Hindu.
Tell us about yoga, tell us
about s a c rific e , tell us
about ritual and prayer.’ It’s
interesting from an intellec­
tual standpoint. But if I were
to talk about som e of the
very orthodox belief sys­
tem s, for exam ple about
how wom en should be
placed in society , I think
people would re a ct very
strongly against that. And if
I w ere a fundam entalist
Christian? I don’t think I’d
have very many friends on
th is cam pus. I don’t think people
would respect what I said. I think that
they would find that everything I said
was tainted by that; in a lot of ways
they’d find me closed-minded. I think
we all can learn from different peo­
ple’s experiences, not just from those
whose religions are exotic to us.”
Steve Laubach ’96, treasurer of the
Catholic Student Association, related
an experience that he called an “eyeopener.” Studying for an imminent
exam, he grabbed a sheet of scrap
paper from a pile in a campus corriSWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

dor. The back side caught his atten­
tion: It was notes from a faculty com­
mittee meeting dealing with issues of
le
admission and how to select “people
lk
who would fit in,” in Laubach’s words.
in
“They said students from Catholic
ld
high schools would be too rigid for
1
Swarthmore,” he recalled . He was
ilshocked to read this, and although as
:rI ; a Roman C atholic he was m ildly
I I offended by the comments, he saw it
mostly “as a reflection of a society
)e
against Catholics.”
e’ I biased
“The level of religious intolerance
0)e I on campus passes by without notice,”
said Professor of Philosophy Richard
liI I Schuldenfrei, who has served as
adviser to the campus Jewish commu­
a
nity. “There’s a feeling that such prej­
ce
udice is justified because it goes with­
ct
: I ' out saying that religion is essentially
in i superstition.” Conservative Christian
students— “fundamentalists” in com­
Jt
s- Ì mon parlance— have an especially
n- I heavy burden to carry, Schuldenfrei
notes, b e ca u se of th e p articu lar
emblem that defines those religions in
I
absolute belief of the truth of scrip­
r:
li- j ture, for example. “They have to work
le j 10 times harder than anyone else,”
Schuldenfrei claimed, in order to be
;o
Ui I taken seriously as intellects.
To illustrate his point about stereo­
is ,
typing, Schuldenfrei described a Col­
is
lege co m m ittee m eeting in w hich
’s
someone characterized graduates of
cRoman Catholic secondary schools as
re
being in need of remedial programs to
æ
develop a more reflective learning
sI , style because the model they were
used to was the catechism. (The same
>e
meeting described above by Steve
ik
Laubach.) Schuldenfrei was appalled
i
to hear this view expressed, and he
if
challenged it.
1
Dean of Admissions Carl Wartend
burg, who also attended the commit­
>n
tee meeting, disagrees with the notion
le
that Catholics cannot thrive at Swarth­
at
more. “We were talking about learning
d
styles, not religious faith. Students
rs
from som e parochial sch o o ls, and
ik
even some public high schools, strug­
>
gle when th ey first arriv e h ere
;e
because their academic training is not
in harm ony with th e pedagogy at
ie
Swarthmore, where we stress critical
:d
thinking and analysis over memoriza­
etion and rote learning.”
lt
Sch u ld enfrei, a m em ber of th e
P
Swarthmore faculty for 28 years, char11 I
Lit

IN

NOVEMBER 1994

acterizes himself as “a non-ecumenical Jew who turned back to Judaism, a
secular, moral, and religious way of
living that is more than religion.” As
both religion and cu ltu re, th en,
Schuldenfrei noted, Judaism is part of
the landscape of cultural diversity
Swarthmore seeks.
“Yet there is absolutely no push for
religious diversity,” Schuldenfrei said.
“The term ‘religious’ encom passes
something that is wildly diverse, com­
plicated, and interesting. But in the
secular mind, the notion of religion is
all wrapped up. ‘Religious’ is seen as
one categ ory of thing— as clo sed ­
mindedness, a crutch, as opposition
to the new, or as Freud said, a solu­
tion for n eu ro tic ten d en cies. [At
Swarthmore] the deep commitment to
the idea of open-mindedness includes
being nonreligious, and people are

P

rotestant adviser
Pauline Allen, a
Quaker; sees an
opening up toward
faith. “We have a real
richness o f spiritual
tradition here. We need
to keep that in focus
and to be intentional....
People are beginning
to em brace religion
as a part o f culture.
The time is ripe. ”
quite closed-minded on the issue.” He
and others on campus remarked on
the absence of religious groups in the
College’s new Intercultural Center,
which provides facilities and support
for the Swarthmore Asian Organiza­
tion; the Lesbian, Bisexual, and Gay
Alliance; and Hispanic Organization
for Latino Awareness.
When Dean Lythcott was asked
why no religious groups are housed in
the Intercultural Center, she replied:
“Swarthmore today is self-consciously
nonsectarian. As the direct Quaker
influ ence waned and Sw arthm ore

became a secular institution, I suspect
that the College took a giant step to
put some distance between itself and
all organized religion.” The legacy of
this policy remains today, but Lyth­
cott sees this as slowly changing. It is
her dream to establish a more formal
interfaith center in order to create “a
shared space where people of all reli­
gious faiths can come together.” She’d
like to see a meeting room for groups,
an office for the religious advisers,
and places for the advisers to have
private conversations with students
or where “meditative” activities can
take place. Lythcott explains, “The life
of the spirit is every bit as important
as the life of the mind, and we need to
nurture it.”
For the first time, the Dean’s Office
this year has provided modest bud­
getary support for the religious advis­
ers’ administrative and office expens­
es. Individual computers and an office
laser printer have been provided.
Dean Lythcott believes it is her role to
offer some support to these groups
because she sees her office as a hub
of student services and all the various
people who have opportunities to
connect with students as its spokes.
The religiou s ad visers are among
th e se sp ok es and can p rovid e a
unique set of connections.
P rotestant adviser Pauline Allen
would also like to see an interfaith
center on campus. She does not see
this as, say, a réintroduction of sectar­
ianism. But she observes, “Historically
in the R elig iou s Society of Friends,
faith is not antithetical to education.
We have a real richness of spiritual
tradition here. We need to keep that in
focus and to be intentional.”
Allen notes that Bond Hall, where
small lounges are provided for cam­
pus religious groups, to a lim ited
extent functions already as would an
interfaith center. Moreover, she said,
smiling, “Students need a place where
they’re free to use the ‘G’ word. Reli­
gion is an important part of culture,
and I see an opening up toward faith.
People on campus are beginning to
see the need to em brace religion as
part of culture. The time is ripe.” ■
Judith Egan is a free-lan ce writer. H er
article for the February 1994 Bulletin
explored the teaching o f poetry writing
at Swarthmore.
n

A DAY WITH

Generation X
in Cyberspace
t ’s not tidy,
but it’s
headquarters
for one of
the most
promising
start-up
businesses
of the
computer age.

I

Photographs
and text by
Macarthur
McBurney ’92

“A high-tech frat house,” is how Guy
Haskin ’94 describes the rented house in
Nashua, N.H., where he lives and works
with four other recent college grads. The
local Domino’s driver knows the place
by heart— even the usual order: one
large with pepperoni and onions, one
with mushrooms and green peppers. A
roll of toilet paper sits atop the desk of
CEO Dan Kohn ’94. Guy’s Phi Beta Kappa
key is stuck in Silly Putty on the corner
of his computer monitor.
It’s not tidy, but this is the corporate
headquarters of The NetMarket Compa­
ny, one of the most promising start-up
businesses of the computer age.
The cast: Haskin, senior program
developer; Eiji Hirai ’88, chief informa­
tion officer; Kohn, chief executive offi­
cer; Roger Lee, Yale ’94, president; Mark
Birmingham, Princeton ’95, summer pro­
grammer. (Dan dubbed Mark “VP in
charge of the grounds” because he
cleans the pool.)
The idea behind NetMarket is to sell
stuff over the Internet, a vast potential
marketplace estimated at 20 million
users in the United States and millions
more abroad. Except NetMarket doesn’t
actually have any stuff to sell. No tele­
phone sales staff like L.L. Bean and no
warehouse full of sweaters or boots.
Other companies provide goods and ser­
vices; NetMarket builds a custom

designed virtual storefront. You sit at
your computer, connect with NetMar- i
ket’s computer, and place your order. *I
The stuff comes from somewhere elsea warehouse in New Jersey, a local FTI|
florist, a distributor in Dubuque. Just
punch in your VISA number and quick as|
a Macintosh can beep, the goods are onI
the way.
When I arrive on a Tuesday night in !
early August, the guys are heading outtcj
dinner at Chili’s. “You’re not taking the
computer to dinner are you?” says Marl
to Dan, who makes a rude joke about
“daughter boards.” (“Mother boards,”I
gather, are computer microprocessors, |
and presumably they have daughters
who could date guys like Dan.) Roger j
mostly rolls his eyes at the geek humor.
The others revel in it. At Chili’s we’re
ordering appetizers. I’m trying to get

Four young entrepreneurs, (from left) Dan
Kohn ’94, Guy Haskin ’94, Roger Lee (Yale ’94),
and Eiji Hirai ’88, live and work in a rented
Nashua, N.H., house. Kohn and Lee hatched the
idea for NetMarket when they met at the
London School o f Economics in 1993. Summer
programmer Mark Birmingham (Princeton ’95)
ventures outdoors to collect the “snail mail, ”
a computer hacker’s term for anything that does
not arrive in a virtual m ailbox on a computer.

“The usual” arrives from Domino s just
in time for Babylon 5, the NetMarket sci-fi
show o f choice. Dan and Guy stay on to
watch Models, Inc. “Since we don’t have
lives o f our own, it’s useful to watch such
intense and overdone lives, ” says Guy.
“It really is useful, ” sm iles Dan.

Six months after most of them graduated, negotiations for a buyout a al
their job titles straight when the wait­
ress asks the president for his ID card
after he orders a beer. “Rog,” asks the
CEO, “have you ever met a waitress who
wasn’t hot for you?”
Dan then jams the conversation back
to business: “OK, let’s go through this
conference call.” They are planning to
talk with some people the next day
about creating a NetMarket interface to
sell airline tickets. It’s potentially a very
big deal.
NetMarket is just a middleman con­
necting companies with customers on
the net, sort of like the shopping chan­
nels on TV. They provide the access,
expertise, and— most important—the
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Generation X in Cyberspace

encryption software that allows retail­
ers to take secure credit card orders
directly on computer. Their first en­
crypted transaction, the sale of a com­
pact disk to a customer in Philadelphia,
rated a front-page story in the business
section of The New York Times.
To date they have contracts with
firms selling recordings, flower arrange­
ments, science fiction books, computer
software, jewelry, china and crystal, and
stuffed animals. In some cases potential
customers can see pictures of the mer­
chandise on their screens before buy­
ing, and in the future they may be able
to listen to a cut or two of a disk or
browse through a book before making
NOVEMBER 1994

the purchase. And for many products,
discounts are deep because the system
dramatically cuts order-processing
overhead.
Between bites, the guys lose me in an
avalanche of arcane abbreviations
known only to hackers and those in the
airline reservation business. CRS, EDI,
PGP, EDIFACT, LAN, WAN (which one
would be faster?), AAA, STP, ISO. They
seem to relish the obscurity of their
acronyms.
Dan: “What’s the ‘A’ in FACT?” Guy:
“Have to know. Add it to your collec­
tion.”
After onion rings and a long day of
P lease turn to p a g e 61

By Rob Lewine ’67

16

1994 ROB LEWINE '67

W

hen th e a d o le sce n t Ken
Turan ’67 first lurched into
my field of vision in a corri­
dor of Wharton Hall in the fall of 1963,
I thought I was meeting my first Egyp­
tian. I had never met anyone with a
name like Turan.
Forget that he was tall and pale,
betraying more than a suggestion of
Brooklyn eth n icity in m anner and
speech. It was the name. Unconscious­
ly I’d made inner reference to Turhan
Bey, star of The Mummy’s Tom b, one
of the many vintage black-and-white
movies I’d seen on television in the
’50s and early ’60s. As it turns out,
Turhan Bey—still alive and now a pro­
fessional photographer— is Turkish.
But I had believed he was Egyptian
and thought m om entarily that Ken
Turan was too. Such was the power of
my youthful ign oran ce and of the
vivid impressions made on me, and on
most of us, by film.
T od ay I have a b e tte r se n s e of
who’s Egyptian and who’s not. And
Ken Turan, after more than 20 years of
reviewing for the P rog ressiv e, N ew
W est/Califom ia, GQ, and National Pub­
lic Radio’s A ll Things C on sidered, is
still deeply involved in film as the crit­
ic for the L os A n g eles T im es and a
weekly correspond en t for Monitor
Radio. He has a passion for movies
and traces the discovery of that pas­
sion to the weekend screenings at the
Clothier Hall of our youth.
“They showed classic Am erican
and foreign films,” he says. “I discov­
ered things I’d never imagined exist­
ed.” In his sophomore year, he joined
the selection committee, helping to
devise the screening schedule; as a
junior he became head of the group
for the rest of his stay at Swarthmore.
In the Pacific Palisades, Calif., home

Whether it’s a play in New York or a screening in Los Angeles, the
opinions of two influential Swarthmoreans matter to artists and
audiences alike. Meet Ken Turan
’6film critic f
Times, and Ben Brantley ’77, theater critic for The New York Times.

words to a page, checking his pad dur­
ing brightly-lit scenes, filling 60 to 80
pages by th e closing cred its. The
notes are fragments. Initially they con­
cern only plot points: “All-American
small town,” “Dreyfuss is unhappy,”
“blank look,” “black fingernails.” As
en Turan sees three to five films a the film begins to reveal itself, more
week for the Times—and three to description emerges: “menace in sim­
five films a day when covering the ple dialogue,” “casual heart-stopping
Cannes and Sundance film festivals. violence.” Later on, preliminary judg­
He prefers his regular viewing regi­ ments are formed: “too careful?” “very
men to th e o v errich festival diet. knowing dialogue,” “one of those great
“When you see that many pictures a movie moments.”
day for 10 days,” he says, “you under­
stand why critics are not eager to go
“A great film,
to Cannes. It’s exhausting.”
Tu ran ’s arran gem en t with his
even a good film,
paper is an enviable one: He writes
about the films that interest him and
will excite you,
gets to leave th e re s t to his c o l­
make you come
leagues. As lead reviewer, however,
he is implicitly obligated to cover the
alive. One of
“major” studio releases—the movies
the things I like
that are expected to be important or
successful, or ones that will be talked
about film is its
about.
Usually Turan sees films at studiopower to do that.”
arranged scre e n in g s. He p refers
Ken Turan ’67
watching alone to sitting in large the­
aters with audiences recruited by the
prod u cers to co n d u ct m arket re­
Later, just before he begins writing
search . Such show ings are often
his
review, Turan transcribes these
scheduled for comedies in the belief
bits,
fleshing them out, re-experiencthat critics won’t realize a picture is
meant to be funny u n less people ing the film in the process. Glancing at
around them are laughing. But Turan his notebook after a screening on the
says: “I’m there to think about the film Warner Bros, lot, I’m amazed that he
and get a clear idea of my own reac­ can reconstruct a cinematic experi­
tions. To have other people reacting en ce from su ch sp are p ro se. But
around me is just an intrusion. It’s Turan says th at his im p ression s
irrelevant if other people are laughing remain vivid, that the notes are all he
or getting it. I’m not an applause needs to jog his memory.
For Ken Turan, criticism is an in­
meter.”
At a screening he sits in an aisle ten sely p erso n al a ctiv ity with a
seat in the back of the room. From the twofold responsibility: to himself and
film’s first moments, he scribbles in a to his readers. To himself because
reporter’s notebook, seven or eight who he is informs his reactions. “God

he shares with his wife, photographer
Patty Williams, Ken and I spent sever­
al hours in the most structured con­
versation of our 30-year friendship,
talking about reviewing and the state
of the film industry.

K

doesn’t tell you what a good film is,”
he tells me. “You react personally to
what you see on the screen, so the
kind of person you are very much
comes into play.” And to his readers
becau se the point of the exercise,
especially for a large-circulation daily
like the Times, is to provide guidance
for people deciding whether to see a
given film.
Recalling a conversation with Clive
Barnes, former theater critic for The
New York Tim es, Turan agrees that
the critic’s role is to engage the audi­
ence in a dialogue on which the artist
can only eavesdrop. The object is not
to give advice to the work’s creators
or to be part of the creative process
but to inform the public of the merit
(or lack thereof) in the work itself. The
best a critic can do is to engage the
work honestly and be the best writer
he can be.
But a contradiction lies at the heart
of the enterprise: The critic is expect­
ed to be objective and fair and at the
same report his personal reactions.
It’s a balancing act, and perspective
can be elusive. Sometimes the more
Turan strives for objectivity, the less
he’s sure that it exists. “When I come
out of a film and I’m not sure what I
th in k ,” he says, “it’s b e ca u se I’ve
reacted in a way that I think maybe no
one else is going to react. When I feel
that way, I say to myself: ‘Somewhere
in there you know what you thought.
You’re just resisting yourself.’” So selfexamination is a constant part of the
process.
No matter the movie or his take on
it, Turan’s reviews are among the best
of the form—well-crafted, entertain­
ing, enjoyable purely as writing. The
reader has the sen se th at the film
under discussion has been thoughtful­
ly considered; there’s no hint of a per­
sonal agenda. Most enjoyable— for
17

NOVEMBER 1994

m e, at any ra te — is th e n egative
review th a t allow s T u ra n ’s selfdescribed curmudgeonly nature to
flower. He’s not a crank (although he
thinks he is), but it’s fair to say he
doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
The reviews of films that miss their
mark are the funniest, but the touch
rem ains light. T h ere’s no bile; the
edge is found between the lines. On
Jean-Claude Van Damme’s attempt to
soften his action-hero image in Timecop, Turan writes: “His battered Ham­
let look is suitably brooding, and as a
co n c e s sio n to th is new im age, he
probably beats the tar out of fewer
people than he has in the past.”
One of T u ran ’s great stren g th s,
apart from the clarity and style of his
writing, is the integrity of his position
as a reviewer. He may be the only per­
son in Los Angeles neither writing nor
planning to w rite a screenplay. So
when he dislikes a film, th e re ’s no
tem ptation to nail its creato rs to a
cross of frustrated ambitions. “I want
other people to make better films,” he
tells me. “I don’t want to be making
films m yself. I have zero desire to
write a screenplay.”
For th is re a so n Tu ran rem ain s
somewhat of an outsider to the Holly­
wood community. When I ask if that’s
how in d u stry p eo p le s e e him , he
replies, “If I’m doing my job right, they
do.” He doesn’t write about films that
friends have worked on and doesn’t
hobnob with filmmakers, preferring to
avoid their company altogether for
the sake of preserving his critical dis­
tance. His concern is not that empa­
thy for an acqu aintan ce will fuel a
favorable review but th at punches
may be pulled if the picture is bad:
“When you do that, this person you’ve
met perhaps thinks kindly of you, but
you’ve misled your readers. I get a lot
of people asking, ‘Why did you send
me to this film? I thought it was awful.’
When I hear that, I want to feel in my
heart that I really liked what I saw.”
Turan never loses sight of the fact
that the movie business is a dollarsand-cents activity. While some execu­
tives and producers care about quali­
ty, movies are made because some­
body thinks they’ll turn a profit. The
lure of money is seductive; it often
pushes other considerations out of
p eo p le’s m inds. Even if th e intent
Please turn to “Turan, ”page 62

■

Q

/

© 1994 ROB LEWINEW

By Barbara Haddad Ryan ’59

any professional th eater criticism,
Tim es executives were impressed by
his film reviews in Elle magazine.
ll the world may be a stage, as
uE lle was a w onderful gig,” he
Shakespeare had Jaques pro­ recalled. “You got to achieve a critical
claim in As You L ike It, but not voice where no one was paying atten­
all the men and women are merely
tion.” But the Tim es paid attention,
players. Some get to sit out front as and in May 1993—while also working
critics. And one of the most influential on an 8,000-word profile for The New
seats in the house is reserved for Ben Y orker—Brantley wrote four “audi­
Brantley ’77 of The New York Times.
tio n ” review s for th e paper. They
“I’m shocked th at this has hap­ made him an offer, and he took it.
pened. It’s inevitable and absurd at
Before reporting for work, he spent
the same tim e,” Brantley said in an a month at a favorite haunt in Upstate
interview, about becoming the T im es’ New York, reading six plays a day
second-in-com m and th eater critic. plus essays and reviews by Eric Bent­
Tall and lean, d ressed casu ally in ley, R obert Brustein, and Kenneth
black, he looks youthfully unintimidat­ Tynan. By late July of last year, he
ing and effortlessly cool. He seem s was ready to cover his first produc­
bemused to find himself the No. 2 the­ tion as a Tim es critic. The show was
ater critic, behind David Richards, for A n n ie W arbu cks, and he gave it a
the nation’s (and maybe the world’s) mixed review.
most influential newspaper.
The theater industry didn’t react
He was recommended for the job casually to the elevation of this neo­
by th en -ch ief critic Frank Rich. Al­ phyte. Variety (headed by Peter Bart
though Brantley had never published ’54) was “incredulous,” Brantley said.

A

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

“Its headline said, ‘Dramatic Shake-Up
at Times,’ and it was the lead story on
the ‘legit’ theater page. It stressed my
lack of experience.” How did he react?
“You shut down,” he said, “or you’ll go
crazy. There were a couple of nice
pieces in The V illage V oice; one re­
viewed the new reviewer.”
As Frank Rich gradually phased out
his position as the Tim es’ No. 1 critic
(Richards succeeded him last fall),
Brantley spent his first year on the job
covering productions both on and off
Broadway, sometimes four a week. He
said he’s glad that the second-string
critic traditionally concentrates on offBroadway because “it’s so much more
interesting.” But these days he does
both, as well as regional th ea ter,
although Richards gets first choice.
B rantley proudly m ain tains a
Swarthmore student’s relentless thor­
oughness: “I research every single
play, like a series of term papers. I
read everything the playwright’s done
previously. I read about other produc­
tions. The Lincoln Center Library has
videotapes of productions from two
decades, and I’ll look at those.”
There are at least two schools of
thought on this approach. The oppo­
site school says that if a critic’s per­
spective is far more informed than
that of the “average” audience, his or
her reactions will be totally different
and therefore of little help to them.
“But to judge a work on its own
terms,” Brantley says, “you need to
know the author’s background, and
what they’re trying to accom plish.
And it’s not ju st a m atter of back­
ground. The fascination of G rease! [in
revival] is how it differed from the
original, which I saw when I was 15.
It’s a distorted remembrance of a dis­
torted remembrance. I think people
like being given some context.”
Tim es critics— along with the rest
of the th e a te r com m unity— have
deplored for decades their own over­
whelming influence on which shows
will thrive or fold. Although the New
York Post, Daily News, and N ewsday all
cover the theater, the consensus is
that only the Times counts. Brantley is
as uncomfortable as his predecessors
with this situation. “It’s not your name
that matters,” he said. “It’s where you
are, and th at’s creepy. It’s one per­
son’s opinion, and you want to create
a dialogue with the audience, not tell
NOVEMBER 1994

them what to think.”
He said he must ignore the enor­
mous financial impact of his reviews.
“If you didn’t, you’d be paralyzed,” he
said. “You’d be too circumspect.”
B ran tley said h e ’s n ever been
accosted by an angry producer or star
after a negative review, although he’s
received letters later. And occasional­
ly a member of the audience will send
him a nasty note. Edward Albee wrote
to praise his review of two Albee oneact revivals.
It’s not the mail but the phone calls
that complicate Brantley’s life. There’s
so much activity off-Broadway, and so
many off-Broadway th eater people
have called asking for a review, that
h e’s had to get an unlisted phone
number. And even off-off-Broadway
these days “is pretty good,” he said.
“It’s wonderful when it works.”

"I research every
single play, like a
series of term
papers. I read
everything the
playwright’s done.”
B en Brantley ’77
Does he ever have second thoughts
about anything he’s written? “About
everything,” he said with a sigh. “The
poor copy desk. I can file on a Friday
and call several tim es [requesting
changes] for the Monday paper.”
He said the reviews he regrets “are
those that are the most nebulous, out
of cowardice.” Couldn’t it be more a
matter of compassion? “But that’s not
fair to the audience,” he said.
What he finds totally compelling
about the stage, he said, is that “it
happens only in that moment. A per­
son is making magic— or an absolute
fool of himself—in the present tense!”
Brantley said he’s been pleasantly
surprised by his artistic freedom at
The New York Times. “You’re allowed
your own voice more than anywhere
else I’ve worked. Other [publications]
were the reflection of one person’s
character, and you had to shape your­
self to that to some extent.”

Brantley recalled with a wry grin
that he used “kid” in the lead of his
first review: “The kid can belt.” A sea­
soned Timesman warned him, “They
[editors] won’t like that.” But it was
published, he said. “The famed stylebook of the T im es has eased up. I
expected to have som eone take an
iron to my prose, but it hasn’t hap­
pened. T h ey ’ve only asked me to
sh o rten th in g s.” He did n ote th at
what is deemed not “fit to print” has
included an earthy line from D esdem on a’s H andkerchief.
rantley grew up in Winston-Salem,
N.C., editing the “teen ” page of
the local paper and getting involved
in high s ch o o l dram a. He c h o se
Sw arthm ore becau se he wanted a
small college close to New York City.
He said Swarthm ore “gave me the
tools for journalism: You have to be a
qu ick study, be able to m a ste r a
topic, and write a paper.”
He took a semester off to work at
The Village Voice, where Mary Perot
Nichols ’48 was news editor. “I was
feeling claustrophobic,” he said, “and
New York was one thing that I fell in
love with from a distance that didn’t
disappoint up clo se.” At the V oice,
“basically I answ ered phones, did
photo research, and went to movie
screenings.”
Brantley also interned one summer
at th e now-defunct W inston-Salem
Sentinel, where he not only covered
the news and wrpte features, but also
reviewed theater and films “because
the theater person was on vacation
and they didn’t have a movie critic.”
At Swarthmore he reviewed a few
plays for The P hoen ix and starred in
th ree Gilbert and Sullivan produc­
tions. As Commencement loomed he
decided to continue in journalism ,
which he calls “an artisanal craft,” but
he was determined not to start as a
copyboy. It happened that publishing
magnate John Fairchild was on the
board of visitors at Wake Forest Uni­
versity, where Brantley’s grandfather
had chaired the English Department.
Through th at connection he hired
Brantley to write for W om en’s W ear
D aily (WWD) and W, a fashion and
society chronicle.
“My first beat was sportswear,” he
Solid. “That was my graduate school,
Please turn to “Brantley, ” page 63

B

19

I

A gainst
th e

New
MacArthur Fellow Heidi Hartmann ’67
challenges accepted econom ic theory by putting
women at the center o f h er pragmatic economics.

20

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

By Dana S. Calvo ’92

you’re a smart girl, why can’t you get
this?” A grown woman, running with
or a woman who ju st had the best and brightest in the country,
$275,000 slipped into her bank Heidi Hartmann was reminded she
account, Heidi Hartmann ’67 is was just a “girl.”
During her last two years at Yale,
blue-sky calm.
“People tell me it’s long overdue, Hartmann wrote her dissertation on
which of course isn’t really true: You the value of housework. Barbara R.
can hardly expect to get one of these Bergmann, a Distinguished Professor
of Economics at American University,
awards.”
In June Hartmann was named a commented on that work, which drew
MacArthur Fellow; the “genius grant” on Marxist theories: “The Marxists, for
rewarded Hartmann, co-founder and all their faults, do have a big view of
director of the Institute for Women’s society. So Heidi was able to view the
Policy Research in Washington, D.C., sphere of reproduction as well as the
for bringing w om en’s issu es into sphere of production. And of course
workplace and social policy. For the housework is part of that work of pro­
next five years, Hartmann will receive ducing w o rk ers,” Bergm ann said.
portions of the grant, on which there Since Hartmann’s dissertation was
published, Bergm ann a s s e rts , its
are absolutely no restrictions.
And in a town where people are author has moved further and further
judged by their influence as well as away from the Marxist views on which
their affluence, Hartmann seem s to the paper relied. Yet Hartman herself
have touched down at the epicenter believes she still holds many of her
radical economic beliefs.
of Washington’s inner loop.
After receivin g a Ph.D. in e c o ­
“The more econom ic power you
get, the more political power you get,” nomics from Yale in 1974 and working
she said at a noisy cafe on Dupont Cir­
cle. But she laughed out loud and
“Mainstream
shook her head at the idea of herself
as the city’s most recently anointed
economics doesn’t
royalty. “As wealth goes, 57 extra
acknowledge women
thousand dollars a year is good, but it
doesn’t bring you up into the capital­
as individual actors
ist class, I don’t think.”
And th e re it w as— a p ragm atic
with interests
economist grounded in the effortless
separable from
mannerisms of a mother of three, a
wife, a daughter, and perhaps one of
their husbands.”
the most important feminists of this
era.
at the New School for Social Research
eidi H artm ann w asn ’t alw ays in New York for two years, Hartmann
made to feel so important. Her landed in Washington in the middle of
dealings with sex discrimination in the renascent women’s movement as
academia began in 1969 at Yale where a young single mother with a 4-yearshe and three other women (in a class old daughter working full time.
In time she settled in at the Nation­
of 40) began their graduate economics
studies. During her first few days of al Academy of Sciences, where she
classes, two of the other women in the made what she believes are her great­
program asked her why she, as a mar­ est contributions, dealing with two
ried woman (sh e was m arried to issues that pushed their way into the
Frank Cochran ’66), was in graduate unreceptive corporate world in 1981
school. “Meaning: Y ou ’ve already through a report she helped write
found your husband, so what are you called “Women’s Work, Men’s Work:
doing here?” Hartmann said. “I was a Equal Pay for Equal Value.” The report
little surprised and said, ‘Well, I guess grappled with pay equity for women
and raised the visibility of sex segre­
I wanted to go to graduate school.’”
Later that year a male professor gation in the workplace— men and
who was frustrated by her inability to women stereotypically cast in differ­
grasp a co n ce p t snapped, “Heidi, ent jobs.

F

H

NOVEMBER 1994

American University’s Bergmann
admitted she was initially skeptical of
what Hartmann had to say on equal
pay until she sat in on a seminar. “By
the time it was finished, I had come
around,” she said. “Her tenure at the
A cadem y of S c ie n c e s was really
im portant for the equal pay move­
ment. Through her research she was
able to take it from a bad joke to at
least having som e people say it’s
respectable.”
After working at the Academy, and
then a two-year stint as a census fel­
low with th e A m erican S ta tistica l
Assocation-National Science Founda­
tion, Hartmann started working for
herself. She founded the Institute for
Women’s Policy Research in 1987 with
Teresa Odendahl, an anthropologist
whose controversial 1990 book Chari­
ty B egins at H om e argued that privi­
leged in stitu tio n s or people w ere
more often the beneficiaries of elite
philanthropy than the needy. (Until
re ce n tly O dendahl served on th e
board of th e in stitu te , but at th e
moment she is not affiliated with it.)
From th eir office on 20th Street
near Dupont Circle, Hartmann and her
staff of 10 produce research papers
th at are used to su b sta n tia te th e
demands of women’s issues policy­
m akers, fou ndations, or o th er re ­
searchers. Abridged versions of the
reports appear in policy journals.
For example, in 1992 the Institute
published “Combining Work and Wel­
fare, an Alternative Anti-Poverty Strat­
egy,” which showed that single wo­
men on welfare are not, contrary to
popular belief, lazy. Rather, many of
them are working but possibly not
reporting their income for fear of los­
ing benefits. Many of th ese women
work in cy cle s— on and off— in an
effort to maximize the benefits of the
welfare system.
The report concluded that welfare
recipients should be allowed to keep a
portion of th eir jo b earnings each
month without reduction in cash and
health insurance benefits provided by
the state. It also urged policymakers
to re-examine the disincentives for
welfare m others to work full time,
chief among them loss of child care
and health care benefits for barelyabove-poverty-line jobs with no bene­
fits.
“I think when you’re dealing with
21

%
IMag

WA
poor women you have two problems:
They’re poor and th ey ’re wom en,”
said Cathryn H. Porter, research direc­
tor of the Center on Budget and Policy
P rio rities, a nonprofit cen ter th at
examines issues affecting moderateto low-income earners. Porter began
working with Hartmann when th e
Institute’s welfare report was coming
together. “It’s hard to get people to
pay attention to this research. You
have to give a lot of credit to someone
like Heidi who keeps working in this
area. It’s not like you win something
every day.”
For Hartmann traditional ways of
looking at econom ics have becom e
obsolete; the system ’s efficacy has
dwindled as women have becom e
m ore lib erated . “M ainstream e co ­
nomics is good at maintaining the sta­
tus quo,” she argued. “Mainstream
e co n o m ics d o e sn ’t acknow ledge
women as individual actors with their
own set of interests that is separable

Hartmann thinks
that the rising rate
of illegitimate births
is a marker of an
increasingly liberated
female community.
from their husbands: It tends to think
of the household as having one utility
function.”
She speaks about the “household”
as if she were appraising an inefficient
factory. According to her, the maleconceived “household” works with
outdated data from genderless eco­
nomic theories and with inefficient
machinery—the mechanism of a sti­
fled homemaker.
“The way the household is maxi­
m izing its u tility is to say, ‘Well,
honey, sweetie, since you make less
money than I do in the labor market, I
guess you should stay home with the
kids and I’ll work,”’ says Hartmann.
M ore co n se rv a tiv e eco n o m ists
might argue that Hartmann has dis­
card ed very real p roof th at even
today the most economically efficient
tra d itio n a l h ou seh o ld s c a s t th e
22

woman as full-time homemaker. But
Hartmann disagrees: “If the woman
wants to maximize her individual utili­
ty, she might want to work outside the
home to increase her long-term eco­
nomic utility. Marriage is a less stable
economic arrangement than it used to
be.”
In the long term, Hartmann is work­
ing toward “building the intellectual
capital of the women’s movement.”
She is fighting for publicly supported
child care and parental leave as well
as for equal opportunities for poor
women.
Her ideas are by no means widely
accepted by prominent economists.
Just two years ago the Nobel Prize in
Economics went to a man who assert­
ed that markets themselves will solve
problems of discrimination and that
women freely choose the roles they
play. The Nobel-worthy work of Gary
S. Becker, A T reatise on the F am ily,
enraged many feminists.
In a telephone interview from his
office, Becker, professor of economics
at th e U niversity of Chicago, dis­
missed the notion of giving women
“special treatm ent.” He said, “Given
that we’re vigorous in trying to stamp
out discrimination through civil rights
laws, then I don’t believe women need
to be assisted by particular govern­
ment policies. I would disagree that
compulsory child leave policies and
the like are helpful.”
Cathryn Porter of the Center on
Budget and P olicy P rio rities ad­
dressed the abyss that divides Becker
and Hartmann by calling Hartmann a
policy-maker whose work deals with
reality, not theory.
“M ostly what we try to do is to
inform the debate so it takes place
around proof and reality rather than
around s te re o ty p e s ,” said P orter.
“Heidi was a major part of that.”
To those involved in policy-making
in Washington, Hartmann commands
respect for her fresh approach to the
timeless and thorny issue of poverty.
Porter attributes Hartmann’s solid
reputation to her loyalty to women
Heidi Hartmann ’67 will spend her
$275,000 MacArthur Fellowship on closeto-home causes: growth money for the
Institute for Women’s Policy Research, a
sabbatical for herself, gifts for her staff,
and college tuition for her daughters.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

wage earners. “In many ways her work
may be a little different because she
looks at it from a woman’s perspec­
tive, and I think that’s a valuable one
to have.”
“It’s not that econom ists ignored
women. They ignored gender alto­
gether,” said Ellen Magenheim, associ­
ate professor of economics at Swarthmore. “Heidi Hartmann has forced
them to look at women as mothers,
wage earners, and partners.” But even
though Hartmann’s ideas are provoca­
tive, Magenheim said, they may still
fall on deaf ears. “She’s raised a lot of
issues that people never gave thought
to. Whether they buy her policy rec­
ommendations is another story.”
While many econom ists and wel­
fare reformers favorably acknowledge
Hartmann’s am bitiou s work with
women’s issues, they refuse to sit qui­
etly when she begins to talk about
some of her newer ideas, like the ris­
ing rate of illegitim ate birth s as a
marker of an increasingly liberated
female community.
“The tendency to have a child out­
side of marriage is increasing all over
the world,” Hartmann says. “And I
think we have to recognize that that’s
part of women’s liberation—the abili­
ty to have a child without being tied
to a particular man may be something
that women see as a benefit.”
Hartmann admits that illegitimacy
has negative implications but adds,
“Poor parenting of any kind has nega­
tive implications for children, but it’s
not clear th at illegitim acy is synonomous with poor parenting.”
o what will Heidi Hartmann do
with her $275,000? “I probably
won’t blow it on frivolous things that
might be pleasant, like a Jaguar or
something like that,” said Hartmann
plainly. In fact, she’s already allotted
most of the money to prudent, closeto-home causes: the college educa­
tions of her two younger daughters
(with John Wells), 11 and 14; personal
gifts to her dedicated staff; growth
money for her institute; and to a sab­
batical for herself.
“A lot of female political candidates
are asking me for money,” she said,
but as much as she adm ires th ese
trailblazers, Hartmann says she has to
pick her fights. “You could definitely
spend all of it on political candidates,

S

but that’s another thing I won’t do,
because as worthwhile as that is, it’s
not my priority. My priority has been
on somewhat longer-term strategies.”
Before heading off to an 11 a.m.
staff meeting, Hartmann laid down a
gauntlet about antiquated perceptions
of women’s mothering roles: “If raising
children were enough for women,
they wouldn’t be in the labor market.”
She looked out the window onto

19th Street, paused for a moment, and
then continued. “And just as we’ve
never con sid ered raising children
enough of an accom p lish m en t for
men, there’s no reason we should con­
sid er it th e only accom p lish m en t
women should aspire to.” ■
D ana S. Calvo ’92 is a new s assistant
an d o c c a s io n a l w riter fo r The New
York Times, Washington bureau.

Swarthmore “geniuses”
H eidi Hartmann ’67 join s six other
Swarthm ore graduates on the elite
list o f MacArthur Fellows. The
award, popularly known as the
“genius grant, ” has been given since
1981; its g oal is to provide creative
individuals with the tim e an d re­
sources to pursue their w ork freely.
No conditions are p laced on how
the funds m ay b e used, and no
applications are accepted.
Here are the six other Swarth­
m ore “gen iu ses”:
Philip D. Curtin ’45
Curtin received the award in 1983
for his work in African and world
history. His research has varied
widely, from Caribbean history to
the economic history of West
Africa and the Atlantic basin, and
he has written on historical eco­
nomic anthropology and on the
historical epidemiology of Africa
and the tropical world.
John J. Hopfield ’54
In 1983 Hopfield was recognized for
his work as a physicist studying
neural networks. His research cen­
ters on models of the brain as a
computing system, and he is also
involved in examining the problem
of how to create computing cir­
cuits and devices that can make
decisions in a manner approximat­
ing the way neural systems do.
Sara Lawrence Lightfoot ’66
Lightfoot, a sociologist of educa­
tion, received the award in 1984 for
her work studying the organiza­
tional structure and cultural con-

text of schools. She has examined
the patterns and dynamics of class­
room life, the relationships
between adult developmental
themes and teachers’ work, and
socialization within families, com­
munities, and schools.
David C. Page ’78
Page studies mammalian genetics
and was honored in 1985 for his
work focusing on the mechanisms
in fetal development that deter­
mine sex. His findings suggest that
a small number of genes determine
the sex of an embryo and that a
similarly small number of genes
play pivotal roles in the chromoso­
mal disorder known as Turner Syn­
drome.
Jane Shelby Richardson ’62
In 1985 crystallographer Richard­
son received the award for work
she has done with her husband,
David, using X-ray crystallography
to determine the molecular struc­
tures of individual proteins. Her
drawings of protein structures
have been widely reproduced and
have influenced the way proteins
are visualized.
Michael S. Schudson ’69
Sociologist Schudson investigates
the impact of the mass media on
public and private life in the United
States and was honored in 1990. He
is an interpreter of public culture
and collective or civic memory,
and his essays explicate the effects
of television on American thought
and politics.

23
NOVEMBER 1994

eCOLLEGE
328 students arrive
as C lass o f 1998
First-year students—328
strong—arrived on campus
in late August and brought
with them an unsurprising
strong sense of diversity
and academic prowess.
Figures compiled by the
Admissions Office indicate
the following about the
members of the Class of
1998:
•31 percent were either
valedictorian or salutatorian of their senior high
school class; 14 percent
ranked in the top 2 percent
of their class and 42 per­
cent in the top 10 percent
of those high schools pro­
viding class rank.
•The majority scored
between 600 and 749 on
the verbal portion of the
SAT and between 650 and
799 on the math.
•66 percent come from
public schools, 26 percent
from private schools, 6 per­
cent from international
schools, and 2 percent
from parochial schools.
•43 percent of the class
members are receiving
some level of financial aid,
ranging from $200 to
$27,000. The average finan­
cial aid offer to those
demonstrating need
(including grant, loan, and
work study) is $19,080.
•191 of the enrolled firstyear students are women
and 137 are men out of an
application pool of 3,393.
Carl Wartenburg, dean of
admissions, expressed con­
cern that “for the second
year in a row, women appli­
cants, admittees, and
matriculants outnumber
men. While this mirrors a
more general national
trend, it is our aim to enroll
24

a class that has a more
even male/female ratio.”
Of this year’s total of
1,325 students, 43 percent
are from Middle Atlantic
states, 13 percent from
New England, 11 percent
from the West; 10 percent
from the Midwest, 10 per­
cent from the South, 4 per­
cent from the Southwest, 2
percent from Mountain
States, 6 percent from 39
other countries, and .3 per­
cent from U.S. territories.
Students of color num­
ber 74 African Americans
(5.5 percent), 156 Asian
Americans (11 percent),
and 65 Latinos (5 percent).

Construction is
under w ay fo r new
academ ic building
Following the demolition of
Parrish Annex in late
September, construction
crews have moved rapidly
to lay the foundation for a
new 47,000-square-foot aca­
demic building. By midNovember, steel beams
were rising on the site just
north of Parrish Hall.
The building is the first
part of a project that will
transform the teaching and
learning environment for
more than half of the Col­
lege’s academic program.
Following the completion
of the new building, centu­
ry-old Trotter Hall will be
gutted and completely ren­
ovated.

A pile of Apples ... Heather Dumigan, manager o f the Col­
leg e’s computer store, stands among som e 500 boxes o f comput­
ing equipment delivered in late August. To accom m odate the
large shipment, temporary quarters for the store were set up in
the lounge o f Tarble-in-Clothier. The equipment, bought largely
by first-year students, included computers, printers, monitors,
and laptops.

As construction gets
underway, nearly 80 per­
cent of the project’s $26.7
million cost has been given
or pledged, including a gift
of $8 million by Jerome
Kohlberg Jr. ’46. The proj­
ect’s budget includes an
endowment of $5 million
for the upkeep and mainte­
nance of the two buildings.
The as-yet-unnamed
three-story facility will
house the departments of
Economics, Modern Lan­
guages and Literatures, and !
Sociology and Anthropolo- j
gy. It will include a modern
languages laboratory,
classrooms and seminar
rooms, and a ground-floor
student commons. It will be
faced with stone from the
same quarry as was used
for Parrish Hall 125 years
ago.
Plans have also been
drawn for significant
changes to the landscape
of the north campus,
including the regrading of
the area in front of Trotter
Hall, making the current
sub-basement into an easi­
ly accessible first floor.
Reconfiguration of campus
roads and a newly land­
scaped plaza between Par­
rish Hall and the new build­
ing will make the north
campus into an exclusively
pedestrian area.
Trotter Hall will house
the departments of Politi­
cal Science, History, and
Classics. Together, the two
buildings will accommo­
date nearly half of the Col­
lege’s faculty members and
60 percent of its class­
rooms.
The new building is
expected to be occupied
by the second semester of
the 1995-96 school year.
The Trotter Hall renova­
tions will then begin and
are expected to take about
18 months.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

E

C a m p u s s e c u r ity w a s
b e e fe d u p e a r ly th is
s e m e s t e r fo llo w in g tw o
a rm e d r o b b e r ie s o n c a m ­
p u s w ith in t h r e e d a y s o f
e a c h o th e r.

At around 9 p.m. on
Sept. 12 a male student was
robbed at knifepoint of his
watch and wallet as he was
i walking on the Rose Gar­
den Circle. In the early
morning hours of Sept. 15,
a female student walking
toward Parrish Hall on the
| Clothier Circle was robbed
of her book bag. The asI sailant then cut a portion
| of the student’s hair with a
small knife. Neither student
1 was physically hurt.
Owen Redgrave, direc­
tor of public safety, said
steps have been taken to
try to minimize further inci­
dents. “We have added
extra officers to our normal
patrol schedule and the
Swarthmore Borough
police increased the fre­
quency of their regular
patrols through campus.”
In addition, Redgrave
said, physical plant em­
ployees have replaced and
repaired outdoor lights and
have worked to identify
areas on campus that were
insufficiently illuminated.
Other areas being explored
are increasing the number
of hours of the College’s
existing Safewalk Program,
especially to service
requests for escorts from
the Computing Center at
closing time; equipping
safewalkers with radios
linking them to the dis­
patcher for quick response
to calls for service and to
Public Safety; and provid­
ing safewalkers with spe­
cial outfits for easy identifi­
cation by members of the
community and as a deter­
rent to criminal activity.
IN

NOVEMBER 1994

Last call: It’s 610
Please remember that the
College’s telephone area
code will change perma­
nently to 610 on Jan. 1. You
can still reach Swarthmore
offices using 215 for the
remainder of 1994, but it’s
best to change your phone
books now. After Jan. 1 you
will be unable to reach us
using the 215 code.

0

L

L

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ment management, human
resources, financial man­
agement systems, comput­
er systems, and institution­
al research and planning.
Interpersonal skills for con­
sensus building, an under­
standing of higher educa­
tion funding, and the ability
to communicate complex
financial issues are high
priorities for the position.
Those wishing to apply
or make nominations are
encouraged to contact Vice
President Harry Gotwals,
chair of the search commit­
tee, by mid-December.
Sw arthm ore ranked
third in U.S. News
For the 11th straight year,
Swarthmore College has
been named one of the top
three liberal arts colleges in
the U.S. News & World

VP Bill Spock ’51
to retire in spring;
replacem ent sought
William T. Spock ’51, vice
president for business and
finance at the College since
October 1989, has an­
nounced that he will retire
in June. A former member
of the Board of Managers,
Spock has overseen a 50
percent increase in Swarthmore’s endowment, an $18
million deferred mainte­
nance effort, major com­
puter and communications
upgrades, and significant
revisions of the College’s
personnel and compensa­
tion policies.
A search committee has
been named to fill a slightly
modified position—vice
president for finance and
planning. The new title
reflects the College’s need
to anticipate and plan for
internal and external
changes.
The new vice president
will report to the president
and will oversee endow­

G

E

R eport annual rankings of
America’s best colleges
and universities.
In the No. 3 spot for the
third year in a row, Swarth­
more was again edged out
by Amherst and Williams
colleges, which were
named No. 1 and No. 2
respectively. Rounding out
the rest of the top 10 were
Wellesley, Pomona, Bowdoin, Haverford, Davidson,
Wesleyan, and Carleton.
Bryn Mawr came in 14th.
The survey covered
nearly 1,400 accredited
higher education institu­
tions. It combined reputa­
tional ranking with data
provided by the colleges,
including information on
student selectivity, faculty
resources, financial re­
sources, graduation rate,
and alumni satisfaction.

MATTHEW SCHENK '95

Increased security
follows two robberies

C

Dukakis on campus... Former Massachusetts Gov. Michael
Dukakis ’55 returned to campus on Oct. 3 to spend a day talking
with students about economic growth and health care reform. Cur­
rently a visiting professor at Northeastern University, Dukakis met
informally with College Democrats before discussing “Economic
Equity in a Dynamic International Economy” with students. That
evening before a full house in the Lang Performing Arts Center, he
talked on “Health Care Reform: Where Do We Go From Here?”A
proponent o f universal coverage, Dukakis said the fight has been
going on for decades but he was upset by Congress’ unwillingness to
make sweeping changes this year. “The race is not for the swift or
the strong, but for those who persevere, ” he said. “And in this case,
we’ll just have to persevere. ”
25

E

'

j

i

I

Student in judicial
case chooses
not to return
The male student involved
in last winter’s widely pub­
licized College judicial case
did not return to Swarthmore this semester. After
successfully completing an
agreed-upon course of
counseling, and following a
thorough interview with a
College committee, he was
offered in August the
opportunity to return to
Swarthmore. He chose
instead to continue his edu­
cation at Boston Universi­
ty, where he had spent the
spring and summer
semesters.
Earlier in August the
female student filed suit
against the College in Fed­
eral court seeking to pre­
vent the male student’s
return and seeking mone­
tary damages of more than
$100,000. At the publication
date for this issue of the
Bulletin, the lawsuit was
still pending.
Alcohol rules
are tightened
In a move to .comply more
fully with the federal Drug
Free Schools Act, the Col­
lege has made significant
changes in its rules regard­
ing the use of alcohol by
underage students. Col­
leges are now required to
have specific institutional
policies that prohibit the
consumption of alcohol in
violation of state laws.
Previously, the College
had simply informed stu­
dents that it was illegal in
Pennsylvania for those
under 21 years of age to
drink. “But we did not
serve as an enforcement
agency for the state,” said
Assistant Dean Tedd
Goundie. “We regulated
parties in an organizational
way and had sanctions for

26

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misbehavior that may have
resulted from the misuse of
alcohol, but we never pun­
ished underage students
merely for drinking.”
New College policy,
which is published in the
Student Handbook, specifi­
cally states that underage
drinking is prohibited. It
includes disciplinary sanc­
tions ranging from a firstoffense warning to fines
and possible suspension or
expulsion for repeated vio­
lations. Students will be
informed of the health risks
associated with alcohol,
and the College will pro­
vide assistance to students
seeking to overcome alco­
hol abuse.
The policy, whose revi­
sion was led by Associate
Dean Bob Gross ’62, states
that the College views its
students as “adults, with
the adult privileges of pri­
vacy and autonomy, and
with adult accountability
for their actions.” It re­
spects “the freedom of
each individual to ... make
lifestyle choices” but em­
phasizes the right of all to
“work and study in an envi­
ronment free from the
effects of substance
abuse.”
Alcohol is “the drug of
choice” at Swarthmore,
said Dean Goundie, who
blames many of the behav­
ior problems that confront
the deans on the misuse of
alcohol: “I’d be hard
pressed to think of one
incident of vandalism,
assault, or sexual miscon­
duct where alcohol wasn’t
involved. Security officers
aren’t going to be busting
in on parties looking for
underage drinkers, but if a
student under 21 is disor­
derly or obviously drunk,
we will add the new penal­
ties to the sanctions we
have always used.”

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Flag flap ... Ben Stem ’96 (left) and roommate Geoffrey Cline ’96
raise the American flag on the dome o f Parrish Hall. After months of
debate, students voted 376 to 239 to keep the flag flying. Some stu­
dents had protested in April when College officials allowed student
members o f the Conservative Union to hoist Old Glory atop Parrish
for the first time in 30 years. Some international students opposed it
because they said it symbolized bloodshed. Socialist students sug­
gested it stood for oppression o f the proletariat. Others thought it
simply looked out o f place. In September the debate turned to a vote
organized by the Conservative Union, and the flag won. The October
flag-raising was a bipartisan effort: Cline is a member o f the Conser­
vative Union and Stem is a member o f the College Democrats.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

E

Dining Services
helps disabled
start new com pany
Linda McDougall is still liv­
ing up to her title as
Employer of the Year for
her work with persons with
disabilities. McDougall,
director of the College’s
dining services, and the
Delaware County Interme­
diate Unit (DCIU) have
helped a group of persons
with disabilities establish
their own cleaning compa­
ny that is contracted to the
College’s dining hall. The
DCIU is a state-sponsored
agency that provides edu­
cational and employment
opportunities for persons
with learning disabilities.
The new business, E.T.C
(Extra Thorough Cleaners),
has approximately 20 em­
ployees, ranging in age
from 18 to 50. A supervisor,
job coordinator, and man­
ager direct and help with
the whole operation, but
most of the work is done
by the employees. They
mop, clean, and scrub—all
with the enthusiasm of
working for their own busi­
ness. “Every day they’re
NOVEMBER 1994

getting better, and they’re
very dedicated to what
they do,” McDougall said.
Work at the College is
just a start for the fledgling
company. McDougall and
the DCIU hope that one of
its members will eventually
rise to be a supervisor for
the company. And McDou­
gall and DCIU hope that
this plan will work well
enough so that similar proj­
ects might be established
with other commercial
markets.
The idea began with
McDougall, who needed to
replace the previously con­
tracted crew. She had al­
ready hired eight workers
through DCIU to work inde­
pendently at the dining hall
and recommended that the
College hire more DCIU
members. She and the
DCIU then recommended
that they form an indepen­
dent business that the Col­
lege could contract with.

McDougall, who in May
was named Employer of
the Year by the Delaware
County Association for the
Rights of Citizens with Men­
tal Retardation, hopes that
the project will succeed
and serve as a model for
other workers with disabili­
ties. “They’re just a great
bunch of people, they’re
really fun,” said McDougall.
“And it’s a good experience
for the other employees,
who take them under their
wings. I think they have
taught us lessons about
how to be committed.”
—Paul Krause ’96
M cCurry chides media
in M cCabe Lecture
Michael D. McCurry,
spokesman for the U.S.
State Department and prin­
cipal assistant secretary for
public affairs, delivered the
annual Thomas B. McCabe
Memorial Lectureship on
Oct. 20.

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Prior to his address on
“U.S. Foreign Policy in the
Media,” more than 30 pres­
ent and past winners of the
Thomas B. McCabe
Achievement Awards
attended a private dinner
with McCurry. The lecture
each year brings leaders
from business, govern­
ment, education, and
medicine to the College
and is named in honor of
the late Thomas McCabe
T5, an emeritus member of
the Board of Managers.
While praising the “pow­
erful role the media plays
in advancing the goals of
U.S. diplomacy,” McCurry
chided the press for de­
manding “snap judgments,
instant analysis, and rapidfire commentary.”
But, he said “without
media you couldn’t con­
duct diplomacy in this day
and age. All communica­
tion is global, all news is
instantaneous.”

STEVEN GOLDBLATT '67

VCR Alert! College
is on the tube Dec. 24
A five-minute video of
Swarthmore College will be
featured Saturday, Dec. 24
(at 7:30 a.m. in most time
zones), on cable televi­
sion’s The Learning Chan­
nel. The half-hour program
is called Campus Directory.
If you know any prospec­
tive students or their par­
ents, urge them to tune in.

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Volunteers Weekend... Mimi Geiss, associate
director o f Alumni Relations, leads a workshop on
event planning for Connection chairs and mem­
bers o f the Black Alumni Planning Committee dur­
ing the annual Volunteers Weekend. Held Sept. 16
and 17, the weekend brought back to campus 80
alumni volunteers to take part in workshops on

planning. Attendees above (clockwise from top)
included Pam Knitowski, assistant director o f
alumni relations; Mark Shapiro ’88 (not visible);
Patrick Naswell ’92, Chal Stroup ’49, Phil Gilbert
’48, Rachel Weinberger ’80, Ginny Mussari Bates
’73, Freeman Palmer ’79, Tracy Collins ’89, and
Jackie Edmonds Clark ’74.

ALUMNI

DIGEST

have some trouble in writing about
the Alumni Council’s election pro­
cess because this year’s elections saw
a 17 percent increase in voting over
last year’s, with more than 4,200 alum­
ni (out of a total of 14,764) voting.
Most colleges would be delighted with
th is resp o n se and th rilled by the
in crease. Why not let well enough
alone?
In recent years—and after consid­
era b le re fle c tio n — th e p ro ce ss of
electin g one man and one woman
from each of seven geographic areas
was changed to permit alumni in each
region to vote for two candidates of
either sex. In the past four elections,
37 wom en and 19 men have been
elected to Alumni Council. Should we
ignore this trend toward a two-to-one
female/male ratio?
Also, the Nominating Committee
works extremely hard to propose four
stellar candidates for each Council
zone with the discouraging knowledge
that only two will be elected. We cur­
rently present a single slate of candi­
dates for Council officers and for
Alumni Managers. Why not do this for
the entire Council membership?
The Committee also struggles to
find two men and two women from
each geographical area. Is geographi­
cal representation important? For that
matter, does it make sense to have
election regions that group Texas with
North Dakota and W est Virginia or
Alabama with all territories, depen­
dencies, and foreign countries?
Swarthmore isn’t alone in trying to
think through these problems. Many
other institutions have engaged in
election soul-searching, and we’re ask­
ing some what they think works best
and why. We appear to be among the
few who still have direct elections.
Even though we realize that alumni
are likely to have many different—and
probably conflicting—solutions, as we
work to improve the system, we’d like
to hear from you.
Gretchen Mann H andwerger ’56
President, Alumni Association

I

Seattle Connection.... Deb Read ’87 and Menno van Wyk ’67 (above) organized a Sept.

18 hike for alumni and parents in the Monte Cristo area o f the Cascade Mountains. The
group o f 35, led by a guide from the Trust for Public Land, explored the 250 acres o f alpine
meadow and forest o f the former gold rush site.

Boston: On Oct. 8 Boston was the site
of the first Traveling College, which
included panelists Marion Faber, pro­
fessor of German; Barry Schwartz,
professor of psychology; Jacob Wein­
er, professor of biology; and students
Allison Gill ’95 and Benjamin Stern ’96.
The panelists talked about what’s hap­
pening on campus today and an­
swered questions from the audience.
Dinner followed the discussion, allow­
ing more time for conversation. Ginny
Mussari Bates ’73 organized the event.
London/Paris: Dean of Admissions
Carl Wartenburg met local alumni and
parents at receptions in London on
Oct. 11 and in Paris on Oct. 18. Lucy
Rickman Baruch ’42 organized the
London event, while Elizabeth
McCrary ’83 and Gretchen Mann
Handwerger ’56 coordinated the
reception in Paris that was hosted by
Holly Warner, mother of Balthazar
Alessandri ’97.
On Nov. 4 the Paris Connection
gathered for a guided tour of Radio
France, hosted by François Picard ’88.
Following the tour and some refresh­
ments, the group enjoyed a concert
by the Philharmonic Orchestra of
Radio France.
28

Los Angeles: Alumni, parents, and
friends gathered for an evening of
music and fireworks at the Hollywood
Bowl for their season finale. Tobee
Phipps ’79 planned the event, which
included a picnic before the perfor­
mance.
Philadelphia: Swarthmoreans spent a
Friday evening strolling through some
of the most beautiful hidden gardens
and courtyards in Society Hill. The
tour was arranged by Peggy MacLaren
’49 and Mary Grace Folwell ’91. Later
the group had dinner at Pizzeria Uno.
On Nov. 12 the Philadelphia Con­
nection, along with Alumni Council,
got a special treat when David Wright
’69 and Don Fujihira ’69 came to cam­
pus to do one of their famous wine
tastings, long a favorite event of the
New York Connection.

BLACK ALUMNI WEEKEND
Mark your 1995 calendars for Black
Alumni Weekend, March 1 7 -1 8 . It’s
the 25th anniversary of SASS, and a
celebration and some surprises are
being planned. Watch your mailbox
for further details.

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

LETTERS
Rightly or wrongly Distinction in Course
sounds like a second-class award even
though it is given to people who are
capable of and have demonstrated
equal or greater achievement than many
Honors students.
I hope that giving grades for Honors
work, which should bring back to the
program students who hope to go to
professional schools, will also reduce
the stress on some of the participants.
While 1enjoyed the seminars, research
work, and studying I did for Honors, I
sometimes regret that many people,
myself included, were so unproductively worried about the entire Honors
exam that we forgot to enjoy our senior
year at Swarthmore as much as we
should have. I encourage students and
faculty members to remember that the
process of preparing for Honors should
be fun! It’s your last chance to luxuriate
in the experience of being a Swarthmore
student before entering either the real
world or even the “semi-real world” of
graduate school.
SARAH GILLMOR ’92
San Francisco

An appreciation
To the Editor:
As a parent of a Swarthmore alumna
who graduated in 1993,1have been
receiving and reading your Bulletins for
the last five years. I send this apprecia­
tion of your May 1994 issue [on Swarth­
more in the 1960s]. Since this particular
issue has plenty of thinking of the [Viet­
nam] war years, I was glad to read this.
Because we in this country are in the
midst of a civil war, the experiences
shared in this Bulletin are of great value
to us. Thank you.
THE VERY REV. SYDNEY KNIGHT
Dean, Cathedral of
Christ the Living Savior
Sri Lanka

Sproul telescope wasn’t
third largest in nation
To the Editor:
The article regarding the “Staying Pow­
er” of the 24-inch Sproul Observatory
refractor is most interesting, but the
statement that in 1912 it was the largest
refractor on the East Coast and the third
most powerful in the nation is incorrect.
Already there were Alvan Clark & Sons
refractors of 40 inches at Yerkes Obser­
vatory (1897), 36 inches at Lick Observa­
60

Continued from p ag e 3

tory (1887), 26 inches at U.S. Naval
Observatory (1877), a duplicate 26-inch
instrument at the University of Virginia
(circa 1883) and a 24-inch at the Lowell
Observatory (1896). Clearly the loca­
tions of the two 26-inch telescopes are
“East Coast,” which might qualify the
Sproul as the third most powerful on the
East Coast at that time.
The continuing utility of truly antique
large refractors is really quite remark­
able. In no small degree, it is made pos­
sible by ongoing, innovative, “high-tech”
enhancements made to the instrument.
However, one must view with a certain
awe the remarkable quality of the large
objectives fabricated by Brashear, Clark,
Grubb, and others working under rather
crude conditions and with primitive ma­
terials. It is to be hoped that the Charge
Coupled Detector will be added to the
Sproul, giving it many additional years
of usefulness.
THOMAS D. SHARPIES ’40
Atherton, Calif.

Mr. Sharpies is correct. The instrument
was the third largest in the East—still an
ambitious undertaking for a sm all Quaker
college. There are no current plans to add
a CCD to the telescope but the possibility
is under consideration.— Ed.
The Quaker spirit
at Swarthmore
To the Editor:
When I look back on attending Swarth­
more in the 1960s, I realize that the
Quaker spirit was a fundamental part of
so much that we did. It gave the aca­
demics a sense of higher purpose, and it
gave strength to the struggles for civil
rights and against the Vietnam War that
were so much a part of our lives.
A year ago at my own 25th reunion, I
was disturbed to discover to what
extent the College now thinks of itself as
“an institution with Quaker roots” rather
than “an institution operating in the
Quaker tradition.” It bothered me that
the students seemed to have very little
idea of what the Quaker tradition meant.
I was quite surprised by the reaction
to a “collection” of my classmates that
we began with a generous period of
silence and then spoke in the worship­
sharing tradition, one by one, of our
expectations on leaving Swarthmore
and some of the passage since. Folks
said that they were profoundly touched.

Amidst all the moneygrubbing and com­
paring of hairlines, offspring, and
careers, this simple event let us know
that we had more in common than our
differences.
CHRISTOPHER KING’68
Walpole, Mass.

Maypole mania redux
To the Editor:
I suppose maypole mania has its limits,
but the letters from Carin Ruff ’87 and
Dana Nance Mackenzie ’79 in the August
Bulletin unlocked my own memories of
participating in this ritual in the mid’60s. I concur with Dana Mackenzie that
it marked one of the high points of my
time at Swarthmore.
Sharpies Dining Hall was opened in I
the fall of 1964, my junior year; and we
performed the maypole dance on Shar- j
pies terrace in May 1965. The dance,
contrived by Irene Moll and done to the
music known as “Christchurch Bells,” i
included a concluding figure in which
the 16 dancers form a square, and then
repeatedly cross diagonally to one of
the adjacent sides. The result is a beau­
tiful shimmering mantle of interlocking
colored ribbons falling from the top of
the pole. Carin Ruff is indeed correct in
calling it a logistical nightmare and one
of the amusing features was that after it
was over, it was necessary to “undance”
the figure by performing it backward.
This was certainly the first perfor­
mance of the dance on Sharpies terrace
(since the terrace didn’t exist previous­
ly). I cannot recall that or any other
maypole dance performed in earlier
years, so I suspect that this was the
beginning of the tradition. However,
human memory is frail and faulty and
perhaps folk dancers from previous
years can trace the tradition back to an
earlier origin.
BILL WHIPPLE ’66
Bethany, W.Va.

Bill W hipple’s classm ate Thompson
Webb, in a postscript to his letter above,
notes that the m aypole dance was well
established when he began folk dancing
at Swarthmore in 1963. “I helped intro­
duce Friday night dancing on Sharpies ter­
race and also Morris dancing in 1966,
when we planned to tour the campus with
a hobby horse on Parents Day, but it
rained hard all day. ’’Here endeth the
m aypole chronicles. — Ed.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

tallest of the group. 1think
nothing of the good-natured
jokes about Eiji’s driving until
he pulls out of the parking
space and backs straight into
the car behind him—slow
speed, no visible damage.
(Dan taught Eiji to drive only
last February, when Eiji was
UNIX systems manager at the
College.)

Mm

W:

ft t

Generation X
in Cyberspace
(Continued from p age 15)
work, impending deals can’t hold the
floor. “I got some Tri-Flow for our bike
chains,” says Guy to Roger. Mark pro­
poses shooting pool after dinner, but
Dan is still processing, “What’s the ‘A’
in FACT?”
Dan pays with a credit card. NetMarket has two accounts payable—
one for “outsiders,” which they pay,
and one for themselves, which they
don’t. None of the partners draws any
salary and all money for any personal
purchases must come from outside
sources—loans from parents, savings,
etc. This dinner is deemed business,
however. Dan leaves a 21 percent tip,
and Eiji—trying to be fiscally responsi­
ble—remarks, “Dan, this is NetMarket
money, not your money.”
“Have you ever been a waiter?” Guy
interjects.
“NetMarket is never going to pay
me back,” Dan closes.
Outside, Roger and Mark head to
one car to drive to the pool hall. Guy
calls, “Shotgun!” as he and Dan head
for Eiji’s tiny two-door Honda. “Damn,”
mumbles Dan, who at 6'2" is the
NOVEMBER 1994

re’re back at the house
around 10 p.m. By 10:10
dinner has settled and the late
shift is starting. “I’m really
tired,” Guy whines. “I’m actual­
ly fired up,” says Eiji. “Good.”
says Dan. The discussion goes
back to debugging the CD
ordering system. Eiji teaches
Dan as they discuss which
problem to fix first. They’re
after the so-called “BoogieFever Bug” named after some­
one who had trouble finding
this 70s classic.
“Computers are my compan­
ions. I have no life,” says Eiji. By 1:40
a.m. he’s lying on the floor. His eyes
are closed but he keeps mumbling
with Dan about the PGP encryption
system and Babylon 5, the NetMarket
sci-fi show of choice. Dan tries to get
Eiji off the floor and to bed, but Eiji
wants to work the bugs out of the CD
ordering program. Dan doesn’t want
Eiji to add any bugs to the system in
his tired state and says he’d rather
have Eiji conscious in the morning.
an’s sleep deprivation worries
weren’t unfounded. At 8:45 the
next morning, Eiji is sleeping on the
couch, fully clothed with only his
shoes removed. “My intention was to
take a short break, but...” he said.
“That was around 3 a.m.” He’s back
hacking again by 9:15.
Everyone breaks around noon for
fresh white bread from the automatic
bread maker. Bread machine bread
appears to be a staple in the NetMar­
ket diet. They’re not entirely without
health consciousness, though I don’t
know if they ever use the pool. No one
seems to notice it sparkling just out­
side the kitchen window. “We don’t
get much sun,” Dan told the Times
reporter, “but we’re down to a case of
Coke a day.”

D

They dive into the bread, pillage
the fridge for drinks, and then move
back to the NOC to work. NOC is Net­
work Operations Center—the main
room with all the desks and comput­
ers. In most homes it’s called the liv­
ing room.
All business stops when Babylon 5
comes on the air Wednesday night.
During “B-5,” as the show is known,
the five enjoy “the usual” from Domi­
no’s. The pizzas don’t last long. Dan
and Guy stay on afterward to watch
M odels, Inc. Aside from sleeping, this
is the most non-working time I saw in
two days.
The Swarthmore outlook persists
even when they are watching an alto­
gether cheesy, meritless babefest like
M odels, Inc. “Since we don’t have lives
of our own, it’s useful to watch such
intense and overdone lives” on the
show, says Guy during a commercial.
Or maybe it was during the show—it’s
hard to tell the difference. “It really is
useful,” smiles Dan.
ednesday morning. Guy gets a
curt E-mail message from his
mother at Stanford. “Guy, you are
turning your mother’s hair gray. The
number is 415-etc.” It’s been two or
three weeks since he called, Guy says.
“I sent her E-mail last week, but E-mail
isn’t the same as a phone call. Not to
my mother.”
When I last spoke to them, they
had hired a secretary and a house­
keeper as well as a couple more
Swarthmoreans, Josh Smith ’92, a
UNIX wizard, and Kit Buckley ’94 for
his skills in industrial design. Less
than six months after most of them
graduated, negotiations for a buyout
by a multibillion dollar corporation
were almost complete, and NetMarket
was set to move all operations to
Cambridge, Mass., by late November.
New headquarters and separate hous­
ing will make them all commuters and
perhaps provide space for lives as
individuals. I wonder if they’ll miss the
start-up days. I wonder if they’ll work
less or just never go home. ■

W

M acarthur McBurney ’92 is a photogra­
phy intern at the New Haven Register.
You can offer him a perm anent jo b at
<m m cbum ey@ aol.com >. For m ore
inform ation on NetMarket, sen d your
E-mail to <info@ netm arket.com >.
61

TURAN

“...the black-and-white Ed Wood
turns out to be a thoroughly entertaining if eccentric piece of business, wacky and amusing in a cheerfully preposterous way. Anchored
by a tasty, full-throttle performance
by Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi, Ed
W ood is a fantasy for the terminally
disaffected, proof for those who
want it that an absence of normality
and even talent need not be a bar to
happiness or immortality.”

Continued from page 18
exists to make a film with adventurous
elem ents, it’s opposed by an even
stronger tendency: an unwillingness
to make daring decisions. In the stu­
dios’ executive suites, where job qual­
ifications are vague and tenures short,
cre a tiv e ch o ice s tend to be made
defensively—with an eye toward likely
justifications when things go wrong.
(Turan invents hypothetical, post-dis­
aster dialogue: “‘How was / to know
the 3,000th Sylvester Stallone movie
would fail? The o th er 2,999 made
money.’”)
The break-even point for any proj­
ect, given advertising and distribution
costs, is considered to be two and a
half times its budget. Because films
have becom e so expensive to pro­
duce—a studio-generated picture now
averages about $40 million—a picture
has to be seen by a lot of people to
make money. With the creative pro­
cess ruled by caution if not fear, a
film’s more sophisticated components
are often made bland or eliminated
e n tire ly in h op es of en su rin g th e
widest possible audience. Rough edits
are screened for select groups and
changes are based on the audience’s
responses—not an ideal approach to
cre a tiv e s y n th e sis. A ccord ing to
Turan, it’s not even effective. A party
atm osphere prevails among invited
audiences. How they react is not nec­
essarily how paying custom ers will
react; what’s learned may be of dubi­
ous worth. But testing thrives in the
belief that “audience pictures”—and
money makers—are forged in the pro­
cess.
Thus Turan often finds him self
reviewing films that are more product
than art. (The term “product,” in fact,
is Hollywood shorthand for produc­
tion, as if in recognition of the surfeit
of unoriginal releases.) Since he sees
far more films than the average movie­
goer and the ratio of mediocre films to
good ones is high, Turan has to guard
against undue accom m odation. “So
much of what you see is bad and you
don’t want to write that everything is
junk, so you find yourself starting to
like more films to keep yourself from
feeling that you’re wasting your life
looking at bad work.”
62

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HOOP DREAMS

Ken Turan on...
ED WOOD
“Though most Americans manage
to shuffle through their lives with­
out having heard of him, to a devot­
ed few (a very few) the name of
Edward D. Wood Jr. is worthy of
veneration.
“A 1950s filmmaker of such
unstoppable ineptitude (Glen or
G lenda, Plan 9 From Outer S pace)
that people who ponder extremes
consider him the worst director
ever, Ed Wood’s strange personality
and startling lack of talent have
been enough to turn him into a cult
figure for those fascinated by the
outré and abberational.

onfronted with a real stinker, the
task of producing an interesting
review can be a real challenge; Turan
hopes for the picture to be bad in an
amusing way, so that it’s fun to write
about. The ultim ate pitfall for any
reviewer is to become so imbued with
cynicism that the thought of seeing
another film is abhorrent. This hasn’t
yet happened to Ken Turan and prob­
ably won’t. He’s too enamored of film
and of the potential for good films to
galvanize audiences in an uplifting
way. “I have rarely found it to fail,” he
says, “that a great film, even a good
film, will excite you, make you come
alive. One of the things I like about
film is that it has the power to do
that.”
What makes a good film? For Turan
it’s this simple: It’s the picture that
delivers what it promises. The ads say
that the film is a com edy, and you

C

“Basketball is not just a game. The
quintessential city sport, played
with reckless passion on random
patches of concrete, it classically
offers a way out of poverty for its
best players, but there is more.
“When it’s used right, basketball
can also provide a way in for those
who have the wit to use it, a chance
to dramatically combine the excitement of competition with the provocative look at the complexities of
urban life. And H oop D ream s certainly does it right.
“By focusing on the personal side
of the city game, H oop D ream s tells
us more about what works and
what doesn’t in our society than the
proverbial shelf of sociological studies. And it is thoroughly entertaining
into the bargain.”

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laugh. That the film is an adventure,
and you find it exciting. “Audiences
are hungry for the things that movies
can give th em ,” he says. “They’re1
extrem ely grateful, even shocked
when a film actually entertains them.
It’s like they finally hit the jackpot."
Essentially, then, a good movie is true
to itself.
When I ask if he thinks he’ll ever
tire of reviewing, Turan acknowledges
that the time may come when he no
longer wants to write about film and
applies his jo u rn alistic skills elsewhere. But from the story he then
tells, it’s clear that he’s of a breed for
whom the appetite for movies is in the
blood and th at h e ’ll always be a
moviegoer.
“One year,” he recalls, “Patty and I
were in Cannes, which, as I’ve said, is
exhausting because you’re seeing so
many films in a day. We went to Paris
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

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mentary story line, characteriza­
tions and affectionate spoof songs
are nearly lost amid the clumsy
spectacle and high-decibel orches­
trations of this road show.”

RICHARD III

1

Ben Brantley on...
GREASE!

I

“Hey, remember nostalgia? Remem­
ber that funny, innocent way people
used to look at the past?
“The extraordinary accomplish­
ment of the Tommy Tune produc­
tion of Grease!, a revival of the longrunning 1972 musical about the
1950s, is to make you perversely
sentimental about lost sentimentali­
ty, to pine not for a simpler time but
for simpler ways of evoking it.
“If you squint, you can discern
the bones of the originell, a corny,
good-natured paean to adolescent
randiness....
“But somehow the musical’s rudi-

“As conceived by Mark Lamos, the
[Hartford Stage] company’s artistic
director, this production features
the gifted Richard Thomas working
hard to find the Freddy Krueger in
Shakespeare’s meanest monarch.
This is no icy, insinuating Machiavelli of a King, in the manner of Lau­
rence Olivier or, more recently, Ian
McKellen. No, Mr. Thomas wears
his psychosis very visibly on his
back, which has as exaggeratedly
convex a hump as you’re ever likely
to see.
“His choirboy face distorted with
furry eyebrows and his hair abristle
in an electric-shock cut, Mr. Thomas
is made up to frighten the horses.
Limping furiously through Christine
Jones’ futuristic rusting metal box of
a set, the actor scales up every dark
element in Richard’s tortured soul,
with black irony and sadistic sexual­
ity writ very, very large. This is an
egomaniac who is all unleashed id,
and the entire production seems to
take place on some nasty, frenzied
plane of the unconscious.”
© T H E NEW YORK TIMES

afterward—Paris is the best place in
the world to see American films—and
;s
there was an obscure American film
e
playing. I th ou ght I’d n ever get a
d
chance to see it back home. So we
n.
went, and the funny thing was not
only that we went, but that we ran
ie
into another critic w ho’d been in
Cannes, who also had gotten sick of
;r
film in Cannes, but saw that this film
;s ! was playing and felt he couldn’t miss
io it.”■
d
sRob Lewine ’67 has been a Los Angelesn
based free-lan ce p h otog rap h er sin ce
ir
1976, shooting assignm ents for m agaie
zines, design firms, film studios, and ad
a
agencies. His m ost lasting m em ory o f
his friend Ken Turan at Swarthm ore is
I
of Turan talking much too loudly while
is
listening to the B e a tle s ’ Rubber Soul
o
album through L ew in e’s stereo h ead-

e,
:s

IN

NOVEMBER 1994

BRANTLEY
Continued from page 19
and it was wonderful exposure. At a
party I’d go up to Norman Mailer, like
a mosquito, and say, ‘Tell me about
your new novel.’ After eight months
they sent me to Paris, and it was a
rather heady period, very decadent.”
At 24, Brantley became chief fash­
ion critic of WWD. He also produced
profiles of personalities from Bette
Davis to poet Steph en Spender.
(Stephen Spender in W om en’s W ear
D aily? “He was a friend of Mr. Fair­
ch ild ’s ,” B rantley said. “That was
enough justification.”)
Still in his 20s, he returned to Paris
as Fairchild’s European editor and
p u blish er. Ranging from England
(where he went to the theater when­
ever he could) to the Soviet Union to

Morocco, his job was to oversee story
assignments, cover fashion, and write
profiles, travel, and business stories.
“It was a very rarified world,” he re­
called, “like a suit that didn’t really fit.
It was a wonderful experience, but
boring after a point. I had to think of
the people as characters in a novel.”
One day at lunch in New York with
writer Jacqueline Carey ’77, he abrupt­
ly announced that he was going to
quit his job. He walked back to the
office and did. Management was not
pleased: “They thought I was incredi­
bly ungrateful. But I love bolting. It
really is a wonderful sensation— ‘I’m
potential again! I’m potential again!”’
Brantley’s potential led him to a
successful free-lancing career, writing
for Vanity Fair, Elle, H arper’s B azaar,
and The New York Times Men’s Fash­
ion supplement. In 1987 he became a
contributing editor at Vanity Fair, then
run by British editor Tina Brown. “She
was famous for buying up every writer
in New York,” he said. “But she didn’t
know what to do with me, so sh e’d
send me to Paris or Monaco. The wind
would have shifted when I got back,
so my stories w eren’t published. It
was a dream job for the ’80s.”
lthough Brown wanted to take
advantage of Brantley’s expertise
in fashion, he preferred profiles, “like
M arilyn M onroe w anting to play
Grushenka.” He was one of four writ­
ers sh e to ok with h er when sh e
moved to T he N ew Y orker, but he
stayed only a year. “I was very frus­
trated,” he said. “Tina was feeling her
way, and she didn’t want to spring the
barbarians at the gate on the existing
staff. When I told her I was leaving,
she said she should have brought me
in after she’d placated the others.”
Being a Tim es drama critic, Brant­
ley said, is “my dream job.” In addition
to the creative satisfactions, he enjoys
its “invisibility—I like being faceless.”
But for all his so p h is tica tio n , he
couldn’t resist walking a visitor past
the Golden Theater, current home of
J a c k ie M ason : P o litica lly In correct.
Hanging from the marquee is a quote
from a review by Ben Brantley of The
New York Times. ■

A

A ssociate Vice President B arbara Had­
d ad Ryan ’59 spent eight years as a the­
ater an d film critic for the Denver Post
an d the Rocky Mountain News.
63

By P. deVille
t’s hard to believe that a mere 25 or
so years ago, the faculty of Swarthm ore— and m ost colleges—was al­
m ost exclusively male. So male, in
fact, th at a term like Faculty Wife
unabashedly defined an entire class
of people, of whom I was one. For
th o se too young to know, Faculty
Wives were a distinct species, though
no analogue comes to mind for pur­
poses of com parison. (Bar Wives?
Clergy Wives? Not likely.) And like
most categories, this one absorbed
those who met its terms and require­
ments and provided a kind of short­
hand for the species. The F.W. was
thus a manageable, knowable thing.
At Swarthmore there was even a
social organization specifically for
Faculty Wives—the “Campus Club.”
When an F.W. first arrived at Swarth­
more, she was required to attend cer­
tain social events put on by the club
where she could be officially looked
over as she was “welcomed.” And in
the process, give or take a misstep or
two, she learned the ropes of Faculty
Wifehood.
What brought all this to mind was
an old photograph I came across of
myself and my husband, newly mar­
ried, standing on Parrish porch. I had
on a dark suit and wore white gloves.
He sported tie and jacket and short—
very short—hair. The occasion might
have been his introduction party at
Swarthmore, usually hosted each fall
by the chairman to welcome new fac­
ulty m em bers to th e departm ent.
Attending were other chairmen (and
if I recall correctly, two chairwomen,
both of whom went by the title chair­
man, then accepted unselfconscious­
ly as a gender-neutral term) as well as
administrators and assorted spouses,
who cam e to look over th e latest
departm ental acq u isition —in this
case my bridegroom.
I confess I have near-perfect amne­
sia of this event, in retrospect proba­
bly a good thing. Nevertheless a kind
of generic recall of similar rites of pas­
sage fetches up some surprising takes
on The Way We Were. For instance, in
those days we drank sherry or bour­

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bon or scotch, not white wine. And we
filled rooms with smoke—puffing on
cigarettes, often without filters, and,
no fooling, pipes and cigars. People
played tennis, but nobody ran except
m em bers of track team s. And stu­
dents, bless their hearts, called my
husband Professor or Doctor or Mis­
ter. And when I served them raw
chicken at our first seminar dinner,
they ate it, or most of it. And said it

was delicious, thank you very much.
In those days there was a special
rite of initiation for Faculty Wives
under the aegis of the Campus Club.
The Newcomer’s Luncheon, as it was
called, was hosted by the president’s
wife at the president’s house. This
was a scary event, because you were
on your own with no manly shoulder
to lean on, no husbandly deflection of
an unwanted question from a veteran
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

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Faculty Wife or an imposing dean of
women.
You were escorted to the luncheon
by your sponsor, another F.W. from
your husband’s department, someone
who’d been through the ordeal her­
self. But at the luncheon you were
seated with strangers, all senior F.W.s.
These ladies questioned, chatted, and
offered advice that if not spoken out­
right was delivered by an averted
glance or a puzzled look. And they
were masters—m istresses?—of indi­
rection, a conversational style that’s
gone by th e b oard s, but one th at
served as a marvelous model of How
to Extract the Information You Want
Without Being Obvious About It—
even though, you came to realize, it
was obvious. For example, consider
this dialogue:
Senior F.W.: It seems our new fac­
ulty members must be getting youn­
ger and younger. Why dear, you don’t
look more them 18 yourself.
Me: Oh, I’m 26 actually.
Decorum reigned at th e se lun­
cheons. And time passed slowly. But
you got through the grilling somehow.
Even when, rattled, you almost served
your salad onto your butter plate, but
for a gentle, low voice that said, “Dear,
the oth er o n e.” (D isco n certed but
grateful for the cue, I wondered how
many demerits that racked up on my
scorecard.) And there was worse to
come when the conversation some­
how elicited a shocking revelation
about my family—given the occasion
and the mores of the times.
Senior F.W. #1: And where do your
parents live, dear?
Me: My mother lives in St. Louis.
Senior F.W. #2: Oh, your father’s
passed away?
Me: No, he’s living.
Silence (alive with curiosity).
Me: He left my mother for another
woman.
Senior F.W . #1: How dreadful.
Have you met her?
Me: Oh, yes. She was my best friend.
Senior F.W. #2: Goodness, dear,
what do you mean?
Me: My college roommate....

Silence (total).
Senior F.W. #2: That sounds exact­
ly like a novel I read. By John O’Hara, I
think....
End of conversation.
Why oh why did I drag out the fam­
ily skeletons? What made me tell them
about my 50-plus father’s untimely
romance? I blew it for sure, I realized
too late.
No one actually gasped. But the
silence of the Wives spawned an im­
mense thought: My husband would
never be reappointed. Should I tell
him? How would he be able to carry
on with his classes knowing that he
Weis washed up after only a month on
the job? My misery knew no company.

In those days there
was a special rite
of initiation for
Faculty Wives, hosted
by the president’s
wife at the president’s
house. This was a
scary event....
I decided to sleep on it.
The next day was th e fo o tball
game. More introductions and names
to master, but it seemed a little easier
outdoors. You couldn’t be expected
to remember all those people with so
much raucous, joyous noise. (Yes,
Swarthmore won!)
Afterward we were invited for hot
toddies at the home of a senior faculty
member, a man about my father’s age.
My mouth would be clamped shut
this time, even though the damage
was done. I tried to look on the bright
side, remembering words spoken by
one veteran Swarthmorean, though in
a slightly different context: There was
still Harvard. There was even Yale.
Our host had thick gray hair and
horn-rimmed glasses and a far more
seemly attitude toward life than my

errant father. The senior professor’s
wife, like him, was also old— at least
50. No undignified M ay-September
affairs to embarrass their children, for
certain. As we walked toward the high
sto n e p illars of W h ittier P la ce, I
mused that it would have been a nice
place to raise a family. There was a
sm ell of sm oke in th e air and the
leaves were full gold. The men looked
so thoughtful and solid in their Harris
tw eeds and corduroys, th eir wool
R o o ster ties and lo afers. And the
women had vitality. They looked con­
fident. (Of course, their husbands had
tenure.) Some had kids in tow, and
one or two had infants in prams. I
knew then that I’d never know the
joys that this place, this moment,
seemed to epitomize.
I stole a look at my husband. I real­
ly had to tell him; it wasn’t fair to keep
him in the dark. How would he take it,
I wondered....
And then a voice rang out, calling
my name. It sounded oddly familiar,
somehow. My husband seemed sur­
prised. We turned around.
“Don’t you rem em ber m e?” th e
elderly lady said, amused. “We sat
together at the Newcomer’s Luncheon
yesterday.”
Oh, my God, what luck. What was
her name again? Had I ever heard it?
She extended her hand to my hus­
band, “I’m Jane Doe,” she said pleas­
antly. “It was so nice to meet your
wife. She’s delightfully candid. You
know, that’s something we admire at
Swarthmore. We’re lucky to have you
both here.” My husband expressed
his appreciation for her kindness, and
she wandered off.
I was silent, flabbergasted.
“Well,” he said, “A real snow job.
You must have charmed them. How’d
you manage that?”
I was all nonchalance. “Nothing to
it,” I said. ■
“P. deV ille” b ecam e a Faculty Wife in
the early 1960s. She h as a d eep fond­
n ess fo r S w arthm ore an d th e era o f
white gloves, sm oky w elcom ing parties,
an d inquisitive colleagues.

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Alumni College Abroad:
Two Exciting Trips in 1995
Midsummer Eve in Scandinavia
ext summer’s Alumni College Abroad offers a
unique European experience with Robert Savage,
Isaac H. Clothier Jr. Professor of Biology, and his
Swedish wife, Gisela. Join them as they travel
through Finland, Sweden, and Norway, sharing their
expert insights on the region’s history, cultures, and
natural environments.
The trip will begin in Helsinki, which retains an
exotic character that sets it apart from other
Western capitals. An overnight cruise will take the
group to cosmopolitan Stockholm—the historical
and modern city of islands. North, in Uppsala, they’ll
visit the 13th-century cathedral and Viking burial
mounds. A memorable highlight will be the annual
Midsummer Eve celebration in Borlange.
The Norwegian itinerary will include scenic
Lillehammer; a ferry cruise in the fjord region of
Balestrand; colorful Bergen with its Floibane cable
car and medieval Hanseatic harbor; and ancient
Oslo, with diverse attractions from the Kon Tiki
Museum to striking folk art and architecture.
Departure will be June 16, returning July 3.
Please call (800) 544-6335 for details.

■

South African Safari
n October the Zoological Society of Philadelphia invites
Swarthmoreans to join an exciting South African safari designed
exclusively for them. The leader will be Dave Wood, senior curator of
large mammals. Dave has appeared often on national television with
the Zoo’s rare white lions.
Alumni, parents, and friends of the College will begin this unique
adventure in Johannes-burg, whose zoo was the white lions’ original
home. After a visit to the capital city of Pretoria, the group will cross
the wilderness on game drives through renowned Kruger National
Park and the Hluhluwe Game Reserve, where the white rhino was
saved from extinction. The itinerary also includes Zululand,
Swaziland, Shakaland and Durban, with its picturesque beaches on
the Indian Ocean. An optional extension to historic Capetown is avail­
able. There will be ample opportunity to learn about the variety of
South Africa’s rich cultures and traditions.
The dates are Oct. 21 through Nov. 3, an ideal time for these desti­
nations. Space is limited. For more information, call (800) 323-8020.

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