Swarthmore College Alumni Bulletin 1996-11-01

SWABTHMORE
College Bulletin

November 1996

FIRST YEAR-FINAL YEARS

J

osephine's Gates, representing the "exuberance of
summer," were installed at the entrance of th e Dean

Bond Rose Garden early this fall. A gift of Al Mus cari, a
member of the Scott Arboretum, the gates are in mem­
ory of his wife, Josephine, whose love of roses and
lilies (inset) are reflected in the stainless steel and cop­
per creation. The gates were designed by Greg Leavitt
of Glen Riddle, Pa., who is working to make a second
set for the opposite Rose Garden entrance. Alfred's
Gates, an abstraction of beech woods in winter, are
scheduled to be installed this month.

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SWARTHMORE
COLLEGE BULLETIN • NOVEMBER 1996

Aspects of Youth and Age

10 First Year
BY CARRIE GRIFFIN '99

Braving the First Year of C ollege
"College. It is fun. It is work. It is an emotion­
al rollercoaster," writes Carrie Griffin. Her
first book, written at age 19, explores the
unforgettable experience of the first year.

Things From Home
What did you bring to college? What will
you take away? Photographs by Eleftherios
Kostans of members of the Class of2000
with their significant objects from home.

18 Final Years

Carrie Griffin '99 has written about her first year at college.

BY MARCIA RINGEL

Parenting Your Par ents
The sad but rewarding struggle of Candace
Watt '59 to care for—and find care for—her
progressively fragile mother.

Is It B etter in Botswana?
An anthropologist's study of aging
in other cultures illuminates how we grow
old in the United States.

Planning on Aging? Start Today
A last will and testament is only the begin­
ning of good planning for our final years, say
two Swarthmore elder-law attorneys.

Retirement as Reunion
Continuing life care communities like
Kendal/Crosslands provide stimulation and
security for many Swarthmore alumni.

Cover: Nadia Murray '00 holds a treasured pic­
ture of herself and her mother, who died when
Nadia was 15. It's one of many "things from
home" brought by first -year students. Photograph
by Eleftherios Kostans. Story on page 10.
Kay Yellig '30 is a resident of Kend al at Longwood.

2 Letters
4 Collection
28 Alumni D igest
35 Deaths
56 Recent Books by Alumni
60 Our Back Pages

Editor: Jeffrey Lott • Assistant Editor: Nancy Lehman '87
News Editor. Kate Downing • Class Notes Editor: Carol Brevart
Desktop Publishing: Audree Penner • Intern: David Plastino '97
Designer: Bob Wood • Editor Emerita: Maralyn Orbison Gillespie '49
Assoc. Vice President for External Affairs: Barbara Haddad Ryan '59
©1996 Swarthmore College • Printed in U.S.A. on recycled paper

I

t's a wonderful thing to look at life from the high ground of
middle age. As 1 approach 50,1 think back to my freshman
year in college with a knowing smile, remembering my own
journey to independence (and Middlebury, Vt.) some 30
autumns ago. And 1 look forward 20 years to a time when, freed
of the daily burdens of career and accomplishment, 1 might once
again have the opportunity to redefine myself and fulfill a few
more youthful dreams.
This issue of the Bulletin explores the bookends of adult­
hood—college and retirement. Some see these two periods as
our halcyon days, when our freedom is at its zenith; yet for many
they are also days of intense introspection, and sometimes of
great struggle. In our teens and 20s, we strive to learn who we
are and how we might live in the world. Later, as life creeps or
crashes to its inevitable conclusion, we have a chance to look
back at who we have become. If the journey itself is what really
matters (which 1 think it is),
then our consciousness about
that journey—our contempla­
tion, self-awareness, and
expression—is what matters
Maybe if I pl ay my
most.
cards right, I'll get to
For those of us who work on
be a freshman again.
campus, Swarthmore's students
provide a renewable window
into what it means to be young. Their intellectual curiosity, their
questions both naive and profound, and their search for the
truth about themselves and the world give the the College its raison d'etre. And Swarthmore alumni—especially those over 65—
constantly help us understand what it means to live a complete
life. I often find myself reading this magazine's class notes as 1
would an autobiography, working from back to front through
grad schools, loves, careers, kids, retirement, illness, loss, and
death—the sweep of life in 32 pages of 9-point type.
One person on the Bulletin staff has made me keenly aware of
how I m ight try to live the rest of my life. Bob Wood, our 82-yearold graphic designer, is incredibly creative and alive at a time
when others have left their careers behind. His busy life at
Kendal at Longwood, and his never-stale approach to the mar­
riage of words and images that makes a magazine, are an inspira­
tion. Bob "thinks young"—almost like a freshman—but his
designs are informed by decades of experience, it's a perfect
combination for the work he continues to do so well.
Perhaps you remember your freshman year with fondness,
perhaps with pain. Perhaps you look forward to old age (or are
living it) with equanimity, accepting the passage of time as you
accept the quiet rhythm of your heartbeat. Perhaps not. For me
the prospect of growing old is particularly enticing. Maybe if 1
play my cards right, I'll get to be a freshman again.

PARLOR TALK

—J.L.

A)

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E T

"Comprehensive and lucid"

To the Editor:
For years as I shared articles from
the Bulletin with friends, I have said
the Swarthmore College Bulletin is
the best college alumni magazine in
the world. The August issue does
much to solidify that opinion. "Bust­
ed Policy" and the beautiful cover
supporting this article is truly out­
standing.
I am a physician with 30 years'
experience in the substance abuse
field with most of my activity in
recent years in drug-law reform.
Your article said what I have been
trying to communicate but in a
much more comprehensive and
lucid manner. The comments about
drug education—really the absence
of an y meaningful drug education—
are particularly important.
One thing not mentioned in the
article, but hopefully covered in the
book [Drug War Politics, University
of Calif ornia Press, 1996] is the
complication to reform produced
by the widespread use of forfe iture
of "criminal property." The $600
million per year in forfeiture accru­
ing to law enforcement (mostly
local) units in this country accounts
to a great degree for their opposi­
tion to any diminution in the drug
war. 1commend Swarthmore for the
courage to feature this article so
prominently.
BILL WENNER '47

Volcano, Hawaii

Drug crisis traced
to '60s permissiveness

To the Editor:
The argument to recast the drug
war as a health care crisis is flawed
in its fundamental assumptions and
directly contradicts our American
culture. The argument depends on
an ersatz parallel between the con­
sequences of federal prohibition of
alcohol and the alleged conse­
quences of the prohibition of h ard
drugs. It is a parallel that does not
stand up to scrutiny and that leads
to solutions that cannot succeed.
The sociological reactions to
Prohibition, both societal and crimi­
nal, were immediate. And with good
reason: Alcohol has been part of
social ritual across virtually all cul­
tures in all ages, and free societies
have been able to accommodate its

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SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

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popular use and thrive. Prohibition
was an unjustified abridgement of
American freedom and responsibili­
ty. It was entirely consonant with
the American psyche to rebel
against it.
The current pathologies of th e
drug war, by comparison, took sev­
eral decades to develop)—again,
with good reason: No civilized soci­
ety in history has ever survived the
popular recreational use of h ard
drugs. When our government insti­
tuted prohibitions against hard
drugs, Americans accepted the
sanctions as perfectly reasonable
and no abridgement of t heir rights
as responsible citizens. The current
pathologies of th e drug war are
properly traced not to the prohibi­
tions of the '20s, but to the counter­
culture revolution of th e '60s when
radical individualism redefined per­
sonal liberty as personal license.
A more appropriate parallel for
our drug crisis—and a better pre­
dictor for the outcome of th e legal­
ization-health care approach—is
the history of the other major social
crisis that arose from that Pando­
ra's box. Sexual promiscuity, like
recreational drug use, was promot­
ed as a perfectly legitimate personal
choice, a putative "right" by virtue
of not affecting anyone else. For the
next couple of decades, it was glori­
fied by the media and defended by
the civil libertarians. Legal and soci­
etal sanctions against immoral sex­
ual behaviors atrophied, and within
a generation the pathologies
became manifest: rampant disease;
exploding rates of div orce, illegiti­
macy, and abortion; increased
crime and poverty. Sexual promis­
cuity was then defined as a critical
health care problem, and the
Please turn to page 30
The Swarthmore College Bulletin (ISSN
0888-2126), of which this is volume XCIV,
number 2, is published in September,
November, January, February, May, and
August by Swarthmore College, 500 College
Avenue, Swarthmore PA 19081-139 7. Period­
ical postage paid at Swarthmore PA and
additional mailing offices. Permit No. 0530620. Changes of Address: Send address
label along with new address to: Alumni
Records, Swarthmore College, 500 College
Ave., Swarthmore PA 19081-13 97. Phone:
(610) 328-8435. Ore-mail records@swarthmore.edu.
NOVEMBER 1996

P O S T I N G S

S

I

f y ou're coming to Swarthmore any­ and concrete mixers, and of having to
time soon, don't forget your hard remove the gravel and other construc­
hat, your flannel shirt, and your work tion byproducts that collect in our
boots. You'll need them.
shoes.
It seems like the College has been
One of my friends tells me that she
under construction forever. That's feels cheated out of the promised
because, for me, it has been.
Swarthmore experience because of t he
On a visit to the campus as a construction. She has never known the
prospective student, 1 tho ught I h ad silent, pristine beauty that is pictured
stumbled across the long-lost Garden in all the Swarthmore brochures. She
of Eden. It was beautiful, fertile, and, has also never been able to walk
most of a ll, quiet.
dreamily across campus examining the
Things soon changed.
skyward wonderment of the trees.
When I a rrived at Swarthmore in She's too afraid of a ccidentally falling
1993, c onstruction workers seemed to into a ditch.
be randomly excavating different areas
Josh, a biology major on my hall in
all around campus. I re member my fel­ Wharton, wonders if on e year of free­
low freshmen joking that the deep pit dom from digging and grinding and
that suddenly appeared
drilling would be too
one day outside of Wilmuch to ask. Of co urse,
lets was to be a mass
it's too late for him—
grave for all those
he's destined for medi­
I thought
pass/fail first-years who
cal school next year.
I had found
didn't pass. We learned
Now the word on the
later that they were just
street is that the pow­
the Garden
working on the steam
ers that be are thinking
pipes.
about a new dormitory.
of
Eden.
During my sopho­
1 figure that will take at
more year they knocked
least three more
Things soon
down the old Parrish
years—one to choose
changed.
Annex. Some fiendish
and prepare the site,
seniors, I heard, got in
one to construct it, and
trouble for throwing
a third to remove and
rocks at the windows of
replace the controver­
the empty building the night before it sial shrubbery that everyone hates.
was to be demolished. They never let Another rumor promises a new stu­
us have any fun.
dent center, complete with a Subway
Two years later, after months of and a Taco Bell. I'm rooting for an ice
mud and beeping backhoes, Kohlberg rink and a new discotheque while
Hall was finally finished. It's a beautiful they're at it.
building, and who can complain about
Is it ungrateful for us to complain
the air-conditioned coffee bar? So hip!
about construction that is only intend­
I'm a senior now, and they are gut­ ed to improve the quality of our lives?
ting and refurbishing Trotter Hall. It
After the big housing crunch this
looks this fall like a bomb hit it. Once I fall, you'd be hard pressed to find a
saw a hapless engineering student on freshman who would complain about
his way to Hicks who was so befuddled the potential inconvenience of bui lding
by the bright orange plastic fencing a new dormitory. But for those of us
that now decorates the campus that he who have finally made it to singles in
was almost reduced to tears. Don't Parrish and Wharton, a silent spring
laugh. Engineers, you must remember, day seems an important yet unattain­
are under a lot of pressure and don't able wish.
deal well with abstract ideas like bright
Of course, once the construction is
orange plastic fencing. Other students finished, we wouldn't mind if the wor k­
are still searching for the History and ers left behind those snack carts and
Political Science departments.
portapotties; they're awfully conve­
Most Swarthmore students, includ­ nient when you're late to an 8:30 class.
ing myself, are tired of waking at 7
—Katie Menzer
o'clock in the morning to the sounds of Menzer is a senior English major from
dump trucks and jackhammers, of Dallas, Texas, whose columns have
being forced off th e path by bulldozers appeared regularly in The Phoenix.
3

COLLECTION
S W A R T H M O R E

T O DA Y

Emeritus Board Chairman E ugene Lang '38
receives Presidential Medal of Freedom

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Lang. We are deeply honored to have you as such a
close friend and deeply moved that the values at the
core of t his institution, which you determinedly trans­
late into reality through your accomplishments, have
received national and historic recognition."
In 1980 Lang established the Eugene M. Lang Oppor­
tunity Grants, each year giving as many as five entering
Swarthmore students grants for need-based financial aid
plus addit ional support for community service and
social change projects. There are currently 25 Lang
scholars enrolled.
Among the 11 recipients of t he 1996 awards were civil
rights pioneer Rosa Parks; former congressman Morris
K. Udall of Ar izona; former White House press secretary
James Brady; and Millard Fuller, founder of Habita t for
Humanity. Past recipients have included Walter
Cronkite, Bob Hope, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, Dr.
Jonas Salk, Averell Harriman, Barbara Jordan, and
Muhammad Anwar el-Sadat.

ugene M. Lang '38, e meritus chairman of th e Board
of Ma nagers, was awarded the Presidential Medal of
Freedom during ceremonies at the White House on
Sept. 9. The highest civilian honor given by the U.S. gov­
ernment, the medal is presented only by the president to
those persons he deems to have made especially merito­
rious contributions to the security or national interests of
the United States, to world peace, or to cultural or other
significant public or private endeavors.
Lang, who has served on the College's Board since
1971 and as chairman from 1982
to 1988, was honored as the
founder of th e "I Have a Dream"
(1HAD) Foundation. He was
among 11 recipients this year.
In making t he presentation,
President Clinton said: "In 1981
he made a simple promise to
pay the college tuition of eve ry
student from his East Harlem
alma mater who graduated from
high school and wanted to go to
college. We are all beneficiaries
of Eugene Lang's innovative
vision, and it is a great tribute to
him that since 1981 other philan­
thropists, many state govern­
ments, and now, I hop e, our
national government, have
joined him in trying to guarantee
the dream of a co llege education
to all people."
1HAD currently supports 150
projects in 57 cities nationwide.
More than 200 sponsors have
helped more than 12,000 disad­
vantaged students with academ­
ic support and guidance from
elementary school through their
high school years. Many of t hese
students have completed their
college educations.
President Alfred H. Bloom
echoed Clinton's remarks at the
September meeting of t he Board
of Mana gers. "No one has bene­
fited more from your innovative
vision than the Swarthmore
community; for no others have
you opened more enduring
President Bill Clinton cong ratulates Eugene m i
opportunities; and no one is
Medal of F reedom, during ceremonies at the Whilu reapient of the Presidential
more proud of wh at you have
second Swarthmore graduate to receive the Medal ^ T September Lan§is the
accomplished," Bloom said to
was honored in 1977 by President Gerald Ford
°
" James A Michener 2

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Class of2000 the biggest—
and most diverse—ever

T

he largest class ever to enter
the College—411 first-year stu­
dents—arrived this fall, bringing
the College's total enrollment to 1,437.
Because the Class of 1997 is also large,
with 339 members, campus space is at
a premium.
The biggest challenge has been
housing. New rooms were created from
lounges in Dana and Hallowell and an
air-conditioned mobile home was
parked behind the two residence halls
to provide a common lounge area and
study rooms. Former administrative
offices on the second floor of Pa rrish
were converted to dorm rooms, and
the College exercised leases for Strath
Haven Condominiums and converted a
house along Field House Lane for stu­
dent use. "It took some major juggling,"
said Myrt Westphal, director of residen­
tial life, "but in the end everyone who
requested housing got it."
Dining services were also a bit
strained as school opened, with short­
ages of napk ins and silverware until
additional supplies were brought in.
Not only is the Class of 2000 large,
but it is also the most diverse ever.
Nearly 40 percent of t he Class of 2000
describe themselves as being members
of a rac ial minority: 10.9 percent identi­
fy themselves as African American, 13.5
percent as Latino/a, 9.9 percent as
Asian American, and 4.4 percent as
biracial or multiracial. It is the first time
that more than 10 percent of th e enter­
ing class are African Americans, reach­
ing a commitment made by the College
in 1969.
Members of t he class represent 43
states, the District of C olumbia, and 24
foreign countries, and come from a
pool of 4,001 appli cants.
Engineering is the most popular
prospective major among the new firstyear students who indicated their
intended courses of st udy. Next in pop­
ularity were biology, English literature,
history, political science, and psycholo­
gy, although a large number remain
undecided.
The class also comes with outstand­
ing credentials. Of t he 253 who come
from high schools that measure class
rank, 62 were valedictorians and salutatorians, and 81 percent were in the top
10 percent of the ir class.

NOVEMBER 1996

Rebuilding phase underway in gutted Trotter Hall

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monumental wooden staircase to be known as the Tarble Atrium
will occupy this space in the heart of a renovated Trotter Hall
when the 125-year-old structure reopens next fall. The building's
architectural centerpiece will have spacious landings at each level that
will serve as student lounges with seating and computer hook-ups—all lit
by the skylight in the former Clair Wilcox Room. Offices, classrooms, and
seminar rooms for the departments of Cl assics, History, and Political Sci­
ence will have windows facing the Rose Garden.

COLLECTION
Howard Hughes Medical Institute awards $1.2 million for biology research

T

he College has received a $1.2
million grant from the Howard
Hughes Medical Institute
(HHMI) to support new opportunities
in biolo gy research for Swarthmore
students as well as students and
teachers from local high schools.
One of 52 c olleges and universities
to receive Hughes grants this year,
Swarthmore will use the funds to ren­
ovate and equip a new evolutionary
biology laboratory, update psychobiology facilities and a physical chem­
istry lab, fund a new faculty position
in evolutionary biology, and expand
the number of Swa rthmore students
involved in research.
In addition the College will use the
four-year grant to expand support for
summer research by students and
teachers from local high schools and
academic counseling for high school
students.
Although the Howard Hughes grant
is by far the largest received by the
College in the last several months, it
is by no means the only one. Among
other members of th e faculty and

staff, grants were awarded to:
John Gaustad, astronomy, $48,559
from the National Science Foundation
in support of his project "A Wide
Angle H-alpha Survey of the Southern
Hemisphere."
Carl Grossman and Tom Donnelly,
physics, $24,951 from the National Sci­
ence Foundation for equipment to cre­
ate intermediate and advanced
physics laboratories in ultrafast phe­
nomena.
Nat Longley,
physics, $30,790
from the National
Science Foundation
to support macro
neutrino physics.
Lisa Meeden, com­
puter science,
$28,879 from the
Longley
National Science
Foundation for a robot-based labora­
tory for teaching artificial intelligence.
Frank Moscatelli, p hysics, $3,500
from the American Physical Society to
support undergraduate research.
Neilda Mott, Chester/Swarthmore

College Community Coalition: $3,000
from the Allen Hilles Fund to support
the Chester Boys' Choir; $3,500 from
the 1957 Charity Trust to support the
violence prevention
program; $2,000
from Women's Way
to support "Creating
a Village Program"
for residents of the
William Penn Hous­
ing Development;
$3,000 from the
Presser Foundation
Mott
and $5,000 from the
Thomas and Mary Williams Shoemak­
er Fund to support the summer learn­
ing institute; $3,000 from the Douty
Foundation to support the Education
Through Sports program; and $3,000
from the Boeing Employees Good
Neighbor Fund.
Elizabeth Vallen, biology, $110,520
from the National Institutes of
Health/National Institute of General
Medical Sciences for support of "G L
Cyclins and the regulation of DN A
replication."

WSRN hits the air waves
with new equipment

DENG-JENG LEE

' appy at last are members
of WSRN rad io station's
. staff. With installation
last semester of a state-of-the-art
console, air personalities can now
concentrate on programming
rather than "being preoccupied
with wondering whether or not
the equipment is going to work,"
says Charlie Mayer '98 (pictured
r'ght), the station's chief engineer.
A measure of how bad the '80s
vintage equipment was, Mayer
said, was that "people had to put
more energy into pushing buttons
to start the CDs and cassettes
than thinking about their shows."
Other members of th e station's
crew pictured are (1 to r) Rob Carmichael '96, rock director; Jessica
Howington '98, treasurer; and Jon
Evans '96, programming director.

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Will technology change the way we think about human biodiversity?
By Michael Speirs, lecturer in anthropology

failed to ask the same simple but profound questions:
"Whose genome or body are we going to reconstruct? What
he Swedish naturalist Linnaeus established man's
are the consequences of p resenting a single individual's
place in nature in 1754 when he conferred the name
body or a single composite genome as typical of all Homo
Homo sapiens upon our species. Yet Linnaeus
sapiensT Given the suggestion that the Genome Project will
neglected to define the naked ape as he had the other ani­
reveal the core of our humanity, and considering that Visi­
mals and plants. Instead he merely exhorted the new
ble Human data is already being used in both medical edu­
species of fea therless biped to "know thyself."
cation and biomedical experimentation, I beli eve that these
In recent years two research projects have permitted us
questions are of m ore than purely academic concern.
to make unprecedented strides in fulfilling the Linnaean
Too little thought has been given to the fact that humans
dictum. The Visible Human Project has reduced the corpo­
constitute a polytypic, polymorphic species. These terms
real remains of tw o human beings to binary code that is
simply mean that populations of Homo sapiens, despite the
already available on videodisk, CD-ROM, and the World
unifying elements of reproductive biology, culture and lan­
Wide Web. And the Human Genome Project is mapping
guage, are heterogeneous in appearance and genetic consti­
each of the g enes on the human chromosomes and
tution. While we are, in fact, surprisingly homogeneous at
sequencing all three billion base pairs of
the genetic level, the differences in gene
the human genetic code.
frequencies that do exist between popu­
The first Visible Human was Joseph
lations are the products of the evolution­
Paul Jernigan, a 39-year-old Texan con­
ary process tempered by historical con­
victed of m urder and executed by lethal
tingency and deserve investigation for
injection in August 1993. His body was
the light they may shed on such
frozen to minus 160 degrees Fahrenheit
processes as adaptation and migration.
and imaged from head to toe using the
Similarly there is much of o bvious clini­
same magnetic resonance and computed
cal significance to be learned by medical
tomography equipment used in medical
students from the fact that the range of
diagnosis. The body was then micronormal structural variation in many of
tomed into 1,878 slices, each one millime­
the organ systems of th e human body is
ter thick, which were photographed and
surprisingly great.
digitized. By la te 1994 Jernigan had been
If th e results of t he Visible Human and
reincarnated by the National Library of
Genome projects become the normative
Medicine as a 15 gigabyte data base. Just
standards by which we think of o ur bio­
over a year later, this cyber-Adam was
Michael Speirs teaches human
logical selves, we run the risk of minimiz­
granted his Eve as the library released a evolution and prehistoric archaeology
ing the significance of t he very variability
40 gigabyte record of the body of an
at Swarthmore and human anatomy
that has been celebrated by at least one
unidentified 59-year-old Maryland woman
at the University of Pen nsylvania
anthropologist as "our species' wealth."
who had succumbed to a heart attack.
Medical School.
As early as 1991, a number of pr ominent
It is quite likely th at in coming years,
anthropologists and molecular biologists
these Visible Humans will not only replace many of t he tra­
began to express deep reservations about the lack of att en­
ditional didactic tools of anatomy, such as printed atlases
tion paid by the Human Genome Project to genetic poly­
and dissectors, in training first-year medical students, but
morphism. They launched the Human Genome Diversity
may also come to replace cadaver dissection entirely as
Project, which is attempting to systematically sample and
medical schools emphasize computer-assisted learning and
"immortalize" the DNA of in dividuals from over 500 unique
surgical planning.
human populations, most of whi ch are perceived as threat­
Meanwhile the Human Genome Project, a collaborative
ened by either the encroachment of th e industrialized
international effort underway since 1990, is being touted as
world or the assimilationist imperatives of regional national
the key to the future success of m olecular medicine and
movements.
gene therapy. Proponents claim that the project will revolu­
By failing to both define Homo sapiens and identify a
tionize our understanding of h ow our bodies work, and
type specimen to exemplify the morphological traits that
some have even suggested that its results will answer the
characterized the new species, Linnaeus inadvertently did
question, What makes us human?
us a great favor, setting the stage for an exciting 250-year
As a biological a nthropologist and an anatomist, I am
journey of self-discovery. While it w ould be easy for us to
hesitant to celebrate unreservedly the impending triumphs
turn to the virtual Joseph Paul Jernigan as the quintessen­
of the se projects. Some of m y colleagues and 1 fear that we
tial man, or to accept the DNA sequences that currently fill
run the risk of falling p rey to a "new essentialism" in our
the pages of scie ntific journals as the template of humanity,
study of humanity as, dazzled by new technologies, we
we must not forsake the biocultural approach pioneered by
become increasingly reliant upon them in defining our­
postwar American anthropology in the investigation and
selves as Linnaeus encouraged us to do.
celebration of both the organic and social factors that make
From my p erspective the planners of bo th projects have
each individual a unique and most promising primate.

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NOVF.MBF.R 1996
7

COLLECTION

(Mostly) done with mirrors

W

hen visiting physicist Tom Donnelly (left) joined
the faculty last year, he teamed up with Professor
Frank Moscatelli (right) to continue research that may
someday lead to the building of an X-ray laser. Although
their research won't produce a working X-ray laser,
they're determining which physical systems are optimal
for its realization. X-ray lasers are widely useful in the sci­
ences. They can be used to create microscopes with 100
times the resolving power of ins truments that operate
with visible light, giving unprecedented accuracy in the
study of living biological s pecimens. The professors,
elided by four students, conducted research over the
summer and will continue to use the lab in undergradu­
ate education and research.

Nobel Peace Prize laureate visits

O

scar Arias Sanchez, former president of Co sta Rica
and winner of the 1987 Nobel Peace Prize, met
informally with students and faculty and spoke on the
development of Th ird World countries during a one-day
visit to campus in September. As president, Arias was the
leader of the only country in the world without an army.
Focusing instead on education, housing, health care, and
development, Costa Rica has achieved a literacy rate of
almost 95 percent. Following a luncheon in the Intercultural Center, Arias talked with (1 to r) Rafael Hinojosa '00,
Andrea Carballo '97, and Joan Friedman, instructor in
Spanish.

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Simone Smith, Grenoble program founder, dies

S

imone Voisin Smith, professor emerita of French and a decorat­
ed member of the French Resistance during World War II, died
at her home in Swarthmore on September 28 following a long ill­
ness.
A member of th e faculty for 26 years until her retirement in
1990, Professor Smith taught 16th- and 17th-century French litera­
ture as well as French. In 1972 she organized and founded the Col­
lege's exchange program in Grenoble.
Professor Smith began her studies at the University of Grenoble
until the war interrupted her studies. As she and her family helped
protect Jews, she was wounded and left for dead. She was later
awarded the Croix de Guerre and the Medaille de la Resistance.
When the war ended, Professor Smith studied at Columbia Uni­
versity and taught at the Baldwin School and Germantown Friends
School before joining the Swarthmore faculty.

Bloom and Friends visit North Korea

P

resident Alfred H. Bloom (below right) joined Quaker educa­
tional leaders this summer on a visit to the Democratic Peo­
ple's Republic of K orea (North Korea) to learn about the country's
HB educational system and to discuss expanding exchanges between
Korean and American institutions. The trip, sponsored by the
American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), was a follow-up to
last November's visit by three North Korean diplomats to the Colffigg lege and other U.S. sites and part of de cades-long efforts by the
AFSC to ease tensions in the region. With President Bloom were 0
to r): Edward Reed, Quaker International Affairs Representative in
K Northeast Asia; Kay Edstene, executive director of th e Friends
Committee on Education; an unnamed North Korean guide; and
jl|3 Donald McNemar, pr esident of Guilford College.

New concentrations ... The College has
added two new areas of study t his fall:
Francophone Studies and Latin Ameri­
can Studies. Citing the difference
between the francophone cultures of
Haiti and Quebec, Provost Jennie Keith
said Francophone Studies is unusual
because "the rationale is intellectual,
not geographic. At the core are ques­
tions about the influence of language
and the colonial experience on cultural
identity." Latin American Studies, she
said, "responds to a tremendous inter­
est among students and faculty mem­
bers about the role these countries
play in our own future." The new pro­
gram has resulted in part from the
strengthening of Swarthmore's study
abroad programs and the relationships
built over the years between leading
academics in Lat in America, some of
whom will be coming to the College to
visit and teach, and our own faculty.
With the latest reform in the Honors
Program, students can now take both
concentrations as minors.
Do-si-do ... In a perennial dan ce that
involves Swarthmore, Amherst, and
Williams, Swarthmore edged out the
latter schools to be named the top lib­
eral arts college in this year's U.S.
News and Wo rld Report rankings.
Haverford slipped from fifth place last
year to sixth and Bryn Maw r came in
at 10th, down from ninth last year.
Swarthmore was also ranked ninth
among the nation's engineering pro­
grams at schools that do not offer engi­
neering doctorates.
But it costs ... Money magazine ranked
Swarthmore 90th among the top 100
schools in "Your Best Colle ge Buys
Now" (last year the College didn't
break the top 100). On the other hand.
Swarthmore did place eighth—behind
schools like Yale and Johns Hopkins—
as "costly but worth it."
And pride goeth before a fall... It's
clear, reports one College administra­
tor, that our initiatives in sharpening
Swarthmore's national profile are pay­
ing off in major ways. Overheard of f
campus was the news that "Swarth­
more is the No. 1 arts and crafts col­
lege in the country."

NOVEMBER 1996
9

First Year
Braving the first year of college wasn't easy
for Carrie Griffin '99. So she wrote a book about it.
By Carrie Griffin '99
Photographs by Eleftherios Kostans
Editor's Note
One of m y favorite times each year comes just before
Labor Day, the day the new class arrives. The fresh
young faces, the nervous parents lugging piles of
belongings up the stairs, the tentative teenage greet­
ings ("Where're you from?"), and the endless naive
questions ("Is this Parrish Hall?")—all bring the cam­
pus alive after the quiet peace of summer.
Carrie Griffin came to Swarthmore a year ago, an 18year-old student like any other. Away from home and
friends, thrust into an unfamiliar academic and social
milieu, the first-year students (they call themselves
both that and "freshmen") are starting a personal jour­
ney unlike any they have experienced. Griffin experi­
enced all those things, but in addition to coping with
her first year of college, she wrote a book about it.
With support from the Psychology Department, she

T

his is my first book. It feels strange to even say
that I'm writing a book. It's scary to be alone
with the computer and the sound of t he clickclacking keys. 1 have no idea what font to use,
how long this should be, or when it will be finished.
College. It is fun. It is work. It is an emotional rollercoaster. It can be the most thrilling experience for the
average 17-or 18-year-old.
My book is a collection of v oices—not only mine,
but those of s tudents from places like Penn, Loyola,
Swarthmore, Penn State, and many other schools. We
are the voices of authority, for this is our experience.
This is what is now for us. Come along with us on the
journey. While there is no one universal freshman
experience, in our different and varied interests, we are
the 'typical' college students of t he '90s. No one else
can provide a picture as candid as ours.

Hey, Mr. Postman
It came on a Saturday afternoon. I cannot recall what I
had been doing. I rem ember only the clang of t he
screen door as my father went out and trudged toward
the mailbox. 1 heard the mailbox close and my father
return to our foyer. He shuffled through the mail, sort­
ed it into piles of " Mom," "Dad," "Socks" (my parents'
10

sent questionnaires to 350 students at a dozen colleges
and universities, then interviewed many of them. She
also wrote of her own odyssey, creating a story of rare
candor for a person so young. The result was Braving
the First Year of College: Freshmen Discuss the Transi­
tions, Changes, and Personal Growth, a 200-page
manuscript completed last summer.
Though Griffin's intended audience is the 17-or 18year-old about to go to college, we thought her book's
autobiographical passages would give Bulletin readers
an extraordinary insight into the world of y oung peo­
ple as they struggle with separation and loneliness, try
out new ways of looking at and engaging the world,
and ultimately gain new knowledge of themselves and
their capabilities.
—Jeffrey Lott
childhood nickname for me) and tossed a pile in my
direction. There it was: SWARTHMORE COLLEGE, OFFICE OF
RESIDENTIAL LIFE.

1 don't know why, but I wa nted to leave the thick
manila envelope on the coffee table and escape the
house. It's not like it had to be opened that day. That
was my rationale at least. By opening it, I was acknowledging that I wa s leaving for college in less than a
month.
Don t get me wrong. I h ad waited my entire high
school career to go to college. I k new it would be so
much better than the four years 1 had spent at my
snobby suburban Baltimore parochial school, where
the biggest issues rocking the educational landscape
were skirt length, PDAs (public displays of affe ction—
quite a no-no in our dean's eyes), and BMW or jeep
color. 1 had envisioned college as a place where I
would find people like me—people not embar­
rassed to admit that they occasionally enjoyed a
class, people who were not fearful of being
themselves.
High school was not that—so why did I
find myself clinging so desperately to the
one thing that I ha d loathed so much for
four years? The best four years of my

life were ahead of m e. Right?
My father was staring at me from across the room.
He looked as puzzled at my lack of action as I was hes­
itant to open the envelope. I loo ked again at the gar­
net-colored return address—"Swarthmore College."
This was the place 1 had chosen. Yes, there was my
name on the envelope. OK, let's go for it.
I re member tossing the inconsequential papers
(dormitory descriptions, meal plan, placement test­
ing) onto the floor and searching for the One Paper.
There it was ... Carrie Griffin ... Class of 1999 ... email: cgriffil ... Room: Hallowell 033.... 1 felt like 1 was
reading my fate—a fate that had been decided by a
woman unknown to me, a dean by the name of Myrt
Westphal. She had looked at my roommate question­
naire, consulted the gods, and decided that my room­
mate would be...
1 frantically rifled through the pile of 'inconsequen­
tial' papers on the floor. With a sigh of relief, 1 found
the page that was supposed to accompany the room­
ing sheet. "Hmmm ... Monica Butler,* Class of 1999."
Consulting the accompanying address directory, I dis­
covered that my future rooming partner was from
Syracuse, New York, a place 1 had never been. I ha d no
friends named Monica. I k new nothing about this girl
(excuse my lack of political correctness) except her
street address and middle name, Ann. That was
enough for one day.
The idea of l iving with another person for a year
was frankly frightening to me. I was accustomed to the
privacy and the privileges accompanying my onlychild status. I ha d shared a room during camp and
summer programs, but the extent of m y 'cohabitation'
had been a month at the most. I did not know what I
should realistically expect from a college roommate,
or what it would take for me to be a good roommate
myself.
We had lunch, and 1 called my best friend Michelle
and told her the news. She wanted to know every­
thing, but the everything 1 knew was somewhat limit­
ed. How much is there left to say when you know a
name and an address? Let's picture a 'Monica' from
Syracuse. What does she look like? Does she have an
accent? Does she have bizarre habits?
I wa s soon to find out. The phone rang, and my
*The names of students in this article have been changed.

Things From Home
The Bulletin asked members of this year's freshman class—the Class
of2000—to tell us what they had brought to Swarthmore that was of
personal significance to them. The photographs accompanying this
article show first-year students and their "things from home."

Carrie Griffin, author of this article (and now a wise old sopho­

more), chose to wear her father's Vietnam War dogtags for her portrait.

mother jumped to answer it. With a bewildered look,
she handed the telephone to me.
"It's not Michelle or Tiffiney," she whispered.
Michelle and Tiffiney were my best friends from high
school. Naturally, I w as a bit apprehensive when I too k
the phone from my mother. While I got calls that sum­
mer from other friends, I could tell that this one was a
bit different.
"Hello? Carrie? This is Monica. We are going to be
roommates."
"Hi! Yes, we are. 1 got the papers today."
"Me too."

Orientation/Disorientation

"For some reason I never realized that all the freshmen
were in the same situation as me. It isn't like everyone
but you is comfortable and settled in after the first week."
—Steven, Swarthmore College
The morning of A ugust 29,1995, my family borrowed a
minivan from my cousin, and we loaded it with all of
the essentials for my voyage into adulthood: clothes,
linens, books, toiletries, medicine, lamps, furniture,

and my sentimental objects—stuffed animals, letters
from friends, yearbooks. In essence, junk from my past.
Somehow, I fe lt more at ease leaving home if 1 could
take most of home with me.
As 1 packed my things, 1 became misty-eyed at the
most trivial things—movie stubs, gum wrappers, used
pencils. Each object seemed to link me inextricably to
my parents, my friends, my home, my past. I recall our
last meal, my last trip to the bathroom, the last phone
call to Michelle. 1 remember turning out the light in my
bedroom and feeling like I w as going to burst into
tears.
The drive to Swarthmore was not a pleasant one. As
the van turned off of my street, I lo oked back to see my
dog wagging her tail. 1 kept my eyes on her until I c ould
no longer see the familiar blue house with the neatly
tended garden. I w as miserable.
1 knew that I would be at Swarthmore in two hours. 1 J
knew that when 1 got there, I wo uld have to unpack,
meet my new roommate, and mingle. I knew that my
parents would leave sometime that afternoon and I
would see them in a few months. I knew the timetable !
of e vents for the next week of o rientation. 1 knew all of
these things, but the fear of t he unknown
hovered over me and sank my heart.
We arrived. I was nervous. Forgive the
drama, but there was no way to escape fl
now. Like it or not, I was a freshman in fl
college.
From the outside, my dormitory
looked like a gray concrete slab. Ironically, I h ad stayed in Hallowell as a
prospective student, so the twisting hall­
ways and cement-block walls were slightly
familiar to me. I w as placed on a newly reno­
vated hall of 12 people. I scanned the num­
bers above the doors until I fou nd Room 033.
My roommate had not yet arrived. For some
reason, this fact consoled me. I cou ld take
some time and unpack my things without
being pushed into meeting new people and
having new experiences.
I re member my first night on campus.
After playing those often annoying let's-getto-know-each-other games that always have
to do with alliteration and vegetables, we
were all tired. Two strangers were heading in
the same direction as I wa s, so we walked
together. One male companion, who later
became a very good friend, turned to me
and confessed that he did not know if he
could find his way back to his dorm, and
then before 1 could chuckle and offer some assistance,
ne admitted that he missed his family already. In the
um of t he crickets and the rustle of the trees, someow we all felt comfortable discussing with each other
how we were feeling.

JB

Laura Pyle misses her horse, Sebastian, who stayed
behind in Franklin, Va. One of Sebastian's old horseshoes
hangs over her desk and reminds her "of him and of all the
rides we had together. I hope it will bring me luck here. I'm
sure / could use some extra."

12
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Lance Langdon: "The day before I left for Swarthmore, I filled a bottle
with beach sand. It reminds me of California sunshine, beautiful waves,
and ever-elusive girls. Barefoot walks on the moonlit beach, smoky bon­
fires, my best friend's '67 Mustang—part of all of that is here with me."

Loneliness

"I remember calling my mom around Halloween and
completely breaking down and crying hysterically
because I had no one to go to dinner with. It just seemed
indicative of all the loneliness and isolation I felt at the
time."
—Jane, University of Pennsylvania
Freshman orientation meant loneliness. Yes, I was
meeting people all of the time, but you reach a point
where you just want to see something or someone
familiar, when you want to go to the dining hall and sit
at the same table for two meals in a row, or walk across
campus and have someone remember that your name
is Carrie—not Courtney or Corey or Connie.

NOVEMBER 1996

It was one of the last days of orientation when, along
with the other freshmen on my hall, I was going out for
the evening to take part in a Swarthmore tradition. For
many years, each incoming class had been shown the
film The Graduate. As we entered the campus cinema,
it was packed, and we got separated. By the time we
had found each other again, there was nowhere for us
all to sit. Tired and lonely, 1 decided to leave the film,
and as the lights started to dim in the theater, 1 entered
the darkness of the September night.
1 walked past the woods on the way to my dorm,
and I stopped and sat on a bench hidden in the
amphitheater. I had never felt so alone. For some rea­
son, it had all hit me that night. More than anything, 1
wondered what I was doing here at Swarthmore,
why had 1 chosen to come to a school where 1
knew no one. It was depressing and frighten­
ing to question what it all meant. What my
place in the world was in relation to
others. Whether or not I could ever
be happy at college.
As I opened the door to Hallowell,
I found three people in the lounge
for my floor. They were debating
the relationship between values
and a religious belief system—
whether a person could be ethical
without buying into formal religion. I
grabbed a chair and listened. Eventu­
ally, we all introduced ourselves, and I
joined the conversation. An hour later they decided to
go to The Jumping Cow, the coffee shop at the Swarth­
more train station, and they invited me to join them.
Though I was still feeling alone, I was much more calm,
rational, and content with my present situation. I
decided to decline the offer, but not because I wanted
to wallow in my own misery. Instead, 1 wanted to call
some friends from home and let them know that 1 was
OK. In fact, I was more than OK.
It's essential to understand the difference between
the loneliness experienced by college freshmen and
the tendency, as the weeks pass, to yearn for time
alone. Loneliness can be destructive. The search for
personal time and space, however, has been one of the
most wonderful transitions to occur to me as a person.
Solitude allows me to refocus my perspective and to
rekindle my energy. I loved my nighttime psychology
class in part because of the walk home. At 10 or 11 at
night, the air was fresh, the campus dimly lit, and my
step was light. Not being surrounded by the voices of
the day helped me listen to my own voice. I remember
being amazed at the beautiful stars and the wonder of
my journey as a human being.

13

John Leary brought "around 15"pictures
of the girlfriend he left behind in Rockville,
Md. "It's what many people experience
leaving home and going to college."

Carving a Path
in the Academic Wilderness

"Expectations of college: Fantasy: girls, girls, girls, girls,
parties, fun. Did I m ention girls? Reality: College is work.
It's as simple as that. If y ou are a freshman and think,
'Yeah, dude, I'm going to party every night!', think
again."
—Johnny, Anne Arundel Community College
I entered Swarthmore presuming 1 would be a biology
major in the premed program. Feeling like you have a
sense of d irection and purpose is alluring but it can
often turn into a false hope. Once 1 got to college and
found a place in the classroom, I re alized that 1 was
interested in a wide variety of th ings, from Asian reli­
gions to the psychoanalysis of popular culture to
Southern African politics. What I al so realized was that
courses like chemistry and biology, which I ha d
expected to be the source of my greatest success and
pleasure, left me cold and lifeless. Yet I still continued
to trudge along on the premed track through my sec­
ond semester.
Meanwhile, as I fell asleep reading my biology text­
book, I fou nd myself excited by other things. In order
to meet my primary distribution requirements in the
humanities and social sciences, I to ok a wide range of
14

classes, from multicultural political science to interpre­
tation theory to Hindu religion to Chinese history. By
the end of my second semester, I co uld happily
respond to the question, "So, what are you majoring
in?" with a "Well, I wa s supposed to be premed. I'm not
going to do it anymore. I h onestly don't know. 1 like a
lot of t hings. I ha ve time to figure it out."
In b iology and chemistry I felt hopelessly lost. I
sought out the tutoring clinics. 1 formed study groups. I
highlighted. 1 recopied my notes. 1 even tried to make
science jokes. In all areas, I seemed to fail. Wasn't 1
doing all of the right things? Wasn't I try ing? I had to
admit to myself that I h ad been fooling myself with my
high school rationalizations that my best effort would
always yield success. I ha d to realize that 1 would not
always be even remotely successful at what I tried.
Despite my frantic behavior at times, I ne ver once
avoided an assignment or turned one in past a dead­
line. And for the most part, neither did my friends. On
the whole we all seemed well-equipped to churn out
the work and maintain a normal, enjoyable life. In fact,
I fou nd myself more productive when I jo urneyed to
the library with friends, or set aside time to work, but
still made plans to meet friends for an evening of enter­
tainment after the sweat and labor. I rea lized that in
t l e wilderness of a cademics, balance is a priority.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Special Issues:
Diversity, Struggle, and Change

"Definitely the most dramatic change, for the better, was
that I wa s introduced to so many different lifestyles, back­
grounds, and cultures during my first year.
—Jacinda, Smith College
For some people, coming into a diverse college com­
munity can be an enlightening experience. In my con­
servative Catholic high school, 1 had very little experi­
ence with homosexuality, gender issues, and other cul­
tures. 1would like to think that I have always had a sen­
sitivity to different experiences, but college put the
casual words to the test, and I reveled in placing faces
with causes, concerns, movements, and efforts. It was
incredibly empowering and enlightening in my own
growth process.
While no one interviewed for my book directly
addressed his or her answers to the topic of race and
ethnicity, it was a reccurring theme in the interviews.
Some students of co lor marveled at how they had
gone from predominantly white suburban environ­
ments into the increasingly diverse environment of col­
lege, finding friends not only across the racial lines, but
also among people of similar backgrounds.
Freshmen questioning their sexuality, or coming to
the conclusion that they are homosexual, bisexual, or
even heterosexual, often find the college atmosphere
conducive to such exploration.
In speaking with several friends from my high
school years, and even more people for this book, I
realized that college is an apt time for women, espe­
cially, to be challenging stereotypes and positions cre­
ated and perpetuated by the media, society, and cul­
ture. While many women continue to clear paths in
nontraditional fields, such as the sciences, there is a
movement toward also celebrating more traditional
choices, like studies in the humanities or social sci­
ences, as valid options and instruments of f eminism
and equality.
So often, when one speaks of diversity, it is viewed
merely in terms of race or sexuality or any of t he
other factors mentioned, leaving out a group compos­
ing 10 percent of the population—the physically chal­
lenged. The issues facing the handicapped have
always been of sp ecial concern to me because I
was born with an orthopedic condition called
Larsen's Syndrome. It was not expected that I
would live, and when I did , the doctors held lit­
tle hope that I wou ld walk.
With hard work and struggle, I made it out of a

Eva Allen's red clogs are part of

her Scan­
dinavian heritage. "They remind me of Hans
Christian Andersen's story of the little girl who
couldn't take off her beautiful red dancing
shoes. I couldn't leave home without them."
Allen is from Portland, Ore.

NOVEMBER 1996

wheelchair. I also surpassed the intellectual expecta­
tions and generalizations cast upon me by the public
school system. Today, I consider myself to be fiercely
independent. 1 often forget that I am a member of the
physically challenged population. The only remnants
of my 38 operations are a few scars and the leg braces
that I wear
Attending college, as could be expected, came with
its own set of new challenges. Socially, 1 was entering
an environment in which I did not know anyone. Would
there be questions? 1 had dealt with worse than ques­
tions in the past—stares, comments, prejudice. While 1
saw myself as being somehow beyond being labeled as
physically handicapped, was I in dependent enough to
take care of my own needs?
In my whole first year at Swarthmore, I only remem­
ber three or four people asking me about my disability.
It was never an issue, and for one of t he first times in
my life, I felt 1 was surrounded by people of a like mind,
people who saw me and loved me for who I am, who
did not categorize me,
who did not
exclude me from
activities because
of ignorance sur­
rounding what I
could or
couldn't do. I
was free to
be myself,
to party,
to dance,
to laugh,
to flirt,
to cry.

Samira Mehta's best

friend in Woodbridge, Conn, gave her a handmade
quilt. "It made the dorm room look like my room immediately. It reminds me of
her love when I feel lost and alone in this sea of people."

Chris Fatljul of Stock ton, N.J. explains: "My grandfather gave me this quarter,
and I wore it all through high school in the hope that it would bring me luck and
wisdom. Now I wea r it here, and I've had an amazing time so far."

Lessons in Independence and Growth

"It is a beautiful thing to have the liberty to make your
own choices, although I of ten feel that because my choic­
es no longer have the validation of a third party, they are
more significant and daunting."
—Sarah, Swarthmore College
College is a time of ch ange. The change stems from the
newfound independence. Gone are the limitations, cur­
fews, suggestions, and replacing authority figures are
the voices of n ew friends and of the self.
College offers a blank tablet. The super jock of the
local high school has the freedom to pursue his virtu­
oso violin talents. The formerly awkward, nerdy girl
can become the diva of the parties. The rigid stan­
dards and expectations of w hat constituted social
acceptance and favor within the high school clique are
replaced by a vast spectrum of i deas and styles.
I attempted to sample as much as I could during my
freshman year. I learned how to knit by joining the
campus knitting club—the Knitwits. I discovered the
gross injustices committed against indigenous peoples
by being involved with Amnesty International. 1
learned of the plight of t he homeless through Empty
the Shelters. 1 tutored children in a housing project. I
interned with the Chester-Swarthmore Coalition. I
joined a Student Council committee that worked with
faculty and staff members on revising equal opportuni­
ty procedures and sexual harassment policies. 1 attend­
ed a World Wide Web publishing seminar. I listened to
everyone from Nobel laureates to human rights
activists speak on campus. I attended a Dave
Matthews concert. I journeyed into Philadelphia for
doses of art, culture, and adventure. I grew intellectual­
ly, emotionally, and socially—by leaps and bounds. I
began to ask myself what I wanted out of l ife.
Both independence and growth were intoxicating.
Each day held something new, and I was growing
increasingly confident that 1 could deal with each situa­
tion—without my parents, without my friends from
home, just alone, all by myself.

Going "Home" Again

"I don't enjoy going home that much anymore. I usually
think I really want to go home and when I get there, I
wonder why I wanted to return. So much baggage comes
with being home. I have changed so much since I left
that I feel like I am on leave from my life when I go
home."
—Veronica, Swarthmore College
It was Monday evening, May 13. My exams had ended
the Friday before, and I ha d decided to stay a few extra
days on campus to get my things together and say
goodbye to friends. My roommate and I de cided to go
into Philly to have dinner at an Italian restaurant where
there was a good jazz band. As we shared a pizza, all of
the memories came back to me, and 1 was overtaken
NOVEMBER 1996

by a tremendous sense of bittersweet happiness. 1 had
survived my freshman year. 1 had done even better
than that—I had enjoyed it.
When we returned to Swarthmore that night, my
room was eerily empty. Where my posters and pic­
tures had hung was now a blank white wall. Books
didn't litter the floor. My few clothes were in boxes.
(My parents had carted away everything else the
weekend before, leaving me with the bare essentials.
They had promised to return for me on Tuesday.)
1 called my best friend, Tina. 1 told her, as tears
began to well up in my eyes, that I didn't want to go
home. 1 wanted to stay. I wanted us all to stay. She
laughed at me because 1 had been so eager only a few
days before to leave campus and begin summer. Now 1
sounded like 1 would have to be dragged from my
room.
It wasn't until the end of m y first week at home, after
I had spent days sleeping late and wandering around
the house in my pajamas, that I rea lized how much had
changed. The problem was, things at home hadn't
changed at all. Things 1 had romanticized or had for­
gotten while I was at Swarthmore, like the early bed­
time of my parents and their familiar jokes and rou­
tines, returned to me with full force. 1 became increas­
ingly unhappy because I felt l ike I ha d changed so
much, yet everything outside of my little world had
stayed the same.
Sometime during my third week at home, I rea lized
that I needed to do something, anything, to change my
summer situation. I called Swarthmore and asked
about the possibility of m oving back to campus for the
summer. I was told that there was one room available.
My next challenge was to find a job. After calling and emailing several contacts, I found a job for a month with
Byllye Avery, the founder of t he National Black
Women's Health Project, who lives in Swarthmore. I
had worked with her during second semester at a
housing project in Chester, and I was excited about the
opportunity to help her again.
If so meone would have asked me in September or
even October where I wa nted to be during the summer
of 1996,1 would have told them, most definitely, at my
house. But when I returned home, I rea lized that 1 did
not know where my home was any longer. It was my
parent's home, and the place where I ha d grown up,
but coming into adulthood meant that my home was
now portable. So I de cided to return to Swarthmore,
throw myself into my book and my work, and call a
stuffy, sweltering dorm room home for a month. Col­
lege had taught me that wherever I am, I can make my
home. Suddenly the process of packing my things and
moving out had lost its sadness and nostalgia. It was
now just an exercise in freedom and adventure. I was
ready for both. •
Carrie Griffin is planning a special major that would com­
bine sociology/anthropology with psychology. She is search­
ing for a publisher for her book.
17

Final Years
We can't prevent ourselves or our loved ones
from growing old, but we can learn to embrace the
inevitable with grace, love, and common sense.
By Marcia Ringel
Photographs by Sam Erickson '88

W

ith each Commencement
a subtle but inexorable
change occurs in the
pages of this magazine.
Alumni don't notice it at first, but as
the years go by and more classes
graduate, they find their Class Notes
slipping in reverse toward the staples
that bind the Bulletin together. This
steadfast annual march toward the
status of Oldest Living Class joins
thousands of life's reminders that
Swarthmore alumni must, as chimney­
sweepers, come to dust.
In th is issue of t he Bulletin, we look
at a number of perspectives on aging,
beginning with the sad but rewarding
struggle of C andace Watt '59 to obtain
care for her progressively fragile
mother.
We then take a look at what it's like
to grow old in the town of Swarth­
more—and in societies around the
world—through the research of Jen­
nie Keith, College provost and profes­
sor of an thropology. Keith reveals her
international findings and her person­
al take on aging and the elderly, a
major focus of her studies for many
years. In addition we learn about the
work of Maria Gleaton Cattell '56, who
has studied old age in both the United
States and Africa.
The emerging legal specialty of p ro­
viding services for the aging is the
focus of p art three. Attorneys Harry S.
Margolis '77 of B oston and Armond D.
Budish '74 of C leveland are leaders in
this important field and have written
extensively about the legal concerns
of th e elderly.

A final section takes us to Kendal at
Longwood, one of the nation's most
respected continuing-care retirement
communities. We introduce you to a
few of the many Swarthmore alumni
who live there and learn more about
the innovative community from Lloyd
Lewis '49, the pioneering former exec­
utive director of K endal and its nearby
twin, Crosslands.

As her mother's
health failed,
Candace Watt '59
maintained a
difficult balance in
a generational
role reversal.
"A good old age" is something we
all desire. We can't prevent ourselves
or our loved ones from growing old.
But we can learn to embrace the
inevitable, to grapple with it on our
own terms for as long as possible, and
to live consciously in the world
instead of retiring from it. The pur­
pose of this article is to help us do
that.
Marcia Ringel's profile of Dr. B ennett
Lorber '64 appeared in the August 1995
Bulletin. She recently became eligible
for membership in the AARP.

E

leven years ago Cyrena Watt,
age 81, fell and broke her wrist.
That small fracture was the cat­
alyst for major changes in her life—
and her daughter's.
Candace Watt '59 quickly discov­
ered that parenting a parent demands
immense reserves of energy, ingenu­
ity, and tact. She had to learn about
institutional care for the elderly and
how to preserve her mother's
finances and her dignity—all the while
holding down a full-time job. Her story
is by no means unique.
Since her husband's death in 1977,
Cyrena Watt had lived alone quite
comfortably in the Connecticut house
where the family had lived since 1945.
"She loved New Haven and was very
rooted there," Candace said. She kept
a part-time job selling greeting cards
and stationery on commission, driving
to customers' homes. But when her
arm healed, Cyrena—by then very
hard of hearing—retired her driver's
license. Now she needed help.
Candace's sister, Rebecca, lives in a
Denver suburb. Candace and her hus­
band, Marvin Cohen, live in New York
City, where Candace is paperback edi­
tor for book publisher W.W. Norto n,
her employer since 1961. Although the
Watt sisters conferred regularly and
made many decisions together—as a
nurse, Rebecca had especially useful
knowledge about drugs—Candace
was the obvious choice to assist their
mother in person.
Frequently she visited Cyrena for
the weekend or left work at noon and
took the two-hour train trip to New

18
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

Haven for her mother's doctor
appointments. She cooked, cleaned,
drove her mother to the grocery
store, and assumed the care and
maintenance of an old house. As Cyre­
na's eyesight dimmed, Candace paid
the bills and did other paperwork.
The burden grew heavy. "I was anx­
ious about her all the time, jumping
whenever the telephone rang," Can­
dace said. "1 would drop everything
and go up." She and Rebecca "kept
track of a list of medications a mile
long," fending off possible drug inter­
actions and persuading the doctor to
raise some dosages more slowly.
Twice the local mom-and-pop pharma­
cy supplied the wrong-strength nitro­
glycerin patch for Cyrena's angina.

Leaving the family home
Isolation intensified the depression
that had begun after Cyrena's hus­
band died, and she began to express
anxiety about living alone. Through
the Yale housing service, Candace
offered a large sunny bedroom and
kitchen privileges at her mother's
house to a graduate student in
exchange for low rent and minimal
household help. Three such tenants in
five years "found Mother critical and
demanding," Candace recalled. "And
she complained about all of t hem."
Cyrena wasn't eating properly. Her
eyesight and emphysema worsened
along with her hearing. The time had
come to seek alternative living
arrangements. This conclusion was
echoed by a multidisciplinary team at
the Adler Geriatric Clinic at Yale-New
Haven Hospital. "Having an objective
evaluation enabled us all to avoid any
blame or guilt for her neediness or for
my becoming overwhelmed," Candace
said. Thus began five years of " wading
When Candace Watt moved her late mother to an assisted-living fac ility,
through bureaucracy and red tape to
she recalls, "My mother asked me thoughtfully, 'Is this for the summer
obtain the care you want for your
or is this for good?' She nodded silently at the answer."
loved one."
After rejecting many retirement
communities (too much indepen­ very high on Mother's list.") Neverthe­ medications, and fill her pill m inders."
dence) and nursing homes (too little), less, Candace said, "The tension was So she continued her trips to New
Candace and Rebecca found St. Paul's so high when we sold the house that it Haven and wondered about the
Church Home, an assisted-living facili­ took months to get over it." For finan­ future.
ty in a large, pleasant New Haven cial advice they consulted an elderhouse. Its stated goal was "to care for law attorney recommended by the The miasma of Medicaid
Four years later St. Paul's announced
older women—keeping each individu­ Adler Geriatric Clinic.
Unfortunately St. Paul's couldn't it would soon close, largely for finan­
al's independence alive, while reliev­
keep up with Cyrena's growing needs. cial reasons. Candace Watt suddenly
ing her of drudgery ."
The house had to be sold. A " soft "She could not have lived there," Can­ had new assignments: Find a nursing
and genteel real estate agent that dace said, "if I h adn't been available to home and sign her mother up for
Mother liked" handled the details, take her to appointments, buy what Medicaid—within two months.
"I f elt guilty as a middle-class perCandace said. ("Lovely manners were she needed, do her bills, order her
NOVEMBER 1996

19

Is it I

son transferring money to get Mother elder-law attorney referred by the one
on Medicaid," Candace said. To quali­ in New Haven. "The fact that one
fy for Medicaid, a recipient's funds needs a lawyer to apply for Medicaid
must be "spent down" (or given away) gives you some idea of how tricky it
years before Medicaid is invoked. The is," Candace said. At the same time
Our culture sets people
key is to outlast the "lookback peri­ she had the painful task of selecting
od," which varies from state to state her mother's funeral home because
up for failure in old age,
and can be changed at any time by that cost, if pr epaid, can be exempted
law. Providentially, Cyrena had trans­ from the spend-down.
says anthropologist
"Mother was bored and tired"
ferred her assets to her daughters
Jennie Keith, who has
when the house was sold; the look­ when these arrangements were dis­
back period for them was three years. cussed, Candace said. "She expressed
studied the elderly in
"We had paid St. Paul's Home a a passing regret that she couldn't
have
the
funeral
in
our
church
in
New
total of $120,000 in monthly fees. She
diverse societies.
would have been wiped out if we Haven."
Finally a bed was found at the Jew­
hadn't transferred her money. 1 felt
ne way to view the position of
resentful that our entire family funds ish Home and Hospital for Aged in the
the elderly in the United States
were expected to go to this." Candace Bronx, N.Y., a 30-minute subway ride
is from an anthropologist's
worries about a friend who is facing from Candace's Manhattan office. The
perspective. One pioneer in the crossthe same problem but "doesn't dare fees, fortunately covered by Medicaid,
cultural study of aging—who is als o
were almost $100,000 a year.
bring it up with her parents."
working to improve the lives of the
For Candace, Saturday and Sunday
All along Cyrena had been fairly
elderly in North America—is Swarthstaunch. "She was the most amazing visits were OK. But lunchtime visits
more Provost and Centennial Profes­
combination of narcissistic and hero­ on weekdays were short and not
sor of A nthropology Jennie Keith.
ic," Candace said; she complained sweet. "It was awful because 1 couldn't
Keith was the lead author among
about small things while taking major stay," Candace said. "1 had to take off
changes in stride. But "it depressed my work hat and put on my 'mother'
seven anthropologists who research­
her to transfer the money. She asked, hat. I didn't like it." Still, "Mother knew
ed and wrote The Aging Experience:
she was lucky," since few people on
'I don't have any money now, do 1?'"
Diversity and Commonality Across Cul­
"What the elderly hate the most," her floor received regular family vis­
tures, published in 1994. The research,
its. "She wrote lots of touching notes
Candace said, "is powerlessness."
called Project AGE (Age, Generation,
Learning and complying with the to me."
and Experience), was supported by a
rules is overwhelming. "There is too
grant of more than a million dollars
big a disconnect between Medicare A peaceful passing
from the National Institute on Aging,
and Medicaid," Candace said. "You Despite her sadness Cyrena consis­
and, in Keith's case, a Lang Faculty
either have to bankrupt yourself or tently complied with her daughters'
Fellowship. It resulted in the most
turn cartwheels to protect your decisions. When aged parents "refuse
comprehensive, detailed worldwide
money. I'm glad we had the compe­ to think about something, you have to
analysis of ag ing ever published.
let them alone," Candace said. "It's
tence, devotion, and will to do it."
The investigators studied societies
After it was clear that Cyrena need­ very hard.
on four continents: the !Kung and
ed to be in a nursing home, Candace
"Toward the end," Candace contin­
Herero in Botswana; the villages of
began the labor-intensive application ued, "Mother said to other people that
Clifden and Blessington in Ireland:
process at seven different facilities. she actively wanted to die. Older peo­
four economically diverse Hong Kong
"You have to phrase your answers ple hope they will pass away quietly
neighborhoods; and closer to home,
correctly," Candace said. "1 wou ldn't and not be trouble to anybody."
Momence, 111., a nd Swarthmore, Pa.
wish on anybody navigating through
Cyrena Martin Lyman Watt died on
Two goals, the book states, were "to
those waters." One requirement: For Jan. 21, 1996, three months before her
discover the mechanisms through
Medicaid you need all bank account 90th birthday.
which attributes of different settings
statements for the previous 36
She had signed a living will nearly
shaped pathways to well-being in ol d
months, a bill or canceled check for 20 years before and appointed Can­
age" and "to reconnect the experi­
all withdrawals of $500 or more, and dace and Rebecca her health care
ences of older people's daily lives
an "explanation" for deposits of the proxies when she moved into the Jew­
with the characteristics—such as
same size. Cyrena's doctor also had to ish Home. "I admired her for being so
social class, resources, stability, and
be prodded to fill out a separate willing to discuss these issues," Can­
culture—of the settings in which they
lengthy medical questionnaire for dace said. "It was a blessing to me to
live."
each different home. Particularly cru­ know when she was dying that I w as
According to Keith, for the !Kung of
cial was the Patient Review Instru­ doing what she wanted, sitting by her,
Botswana, a sign of vitality in old age
ment (PR1), an official assessment by a holding her hand, and finally letting
is the "complaint discourse," in which
registered nurse of the extent of care her go, not wondering in great dis­
one is expected and entitled to coma proposed resident will need.
tress whether I w as doing the right I plain: Aged parents make concerted
The family consulted a New York thing."
I efforts to shame their adult children

O

20

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

better getting old in Botswana?
into fulfilling an understood obligation
to support them. Yet older people in
the U.S. retai n rugged independence,
resisting help from adult children
even when they sorely need it.
In Swarthmore, residents over age
60 constitute a quarter of t he non-stu­
dent population, the highest propor­
tion among the societies studied.
What Keith found ironic is that
Swarthmore is "a wonderful place to
be an old pe rson" as long as you have
the capacity to live out your life as
desired.
"People in the upper middle class
work hard for mo st of their lives to be
independent," she continued. Then
suddenly t hey can't drive and every­
thing changes. (Keith notes that
among th e Herero in Botswana, the
continued ability to ride a donkey has
comparable importance.) "If you live
in Swarthmore and can't drive," Keith

observed, "you are dependent on
other people," especially because the
town has no taxi service.
"These problems reveal our cul­
ture's values and how we set people
up for failure in old age," Keith added.
"If yo u follow our society's rules, your
benefits are maximized when you are
50 but won't serve you so well when
you are 80. In other societies, they will
serve you well all the way through—
or even better when you are old."

Breaking lifelong ties
As in many similar suburbs across the
United States, older people living in
private homes in Swarthmore are frus­
trated when they can no longer install
a lightbulb in a ceiling fixture and
become frightened when they hear
about a friend who fell down or had a
stroke and wasn't found for days. At
Please turn to next page

In suburbs like Swarthmore, there's a "threshold at which people have to decide,
Should I stay or should I go?" says College provost—and leading an thropologist of aging—
Jennie Keith. She's working to make suburbia more hospitable to the elderly.
NOVEMBER 1996

Just "sit and eat"
That's the optimal
lifestyle among the elderly
in rural Kenya, finds
Maria Cattell '56.

A

nother Swarthmorean who
studies old age is Maria
Gleaton Cattell '56, Ph.D., a selfstyled "late bloomer" who earned
master's and doctoral degrees in
anthropology from Bryn Mawr Col­
lege in the 1980s.
Most of Cattell's field research
has taken place in Kenya and South
Africa. She also carried out an 18month community study in the
Philadelphia neighborhood of
Olney. Among her more intriguingly titled articles are '"Nowadays It
Isn't Easy to Advise the Young':
Grandmothers and Granddaugh­
ters Among the Abaluyia of Ken ya"
and "Praise the Lord and Say No to
Men: Older Samia Women Empow­
ering Themselves," both of wh ich
appeared in the Journal ofCross-Cultural Gerontology.
Cattell's 1994 book, Old Age in
Global Perspective, examines crosscultural and cross-national data to
compare aging worldwide. From
one society to another, the book
notes, definitions of "young" and
"old" vary greatly, as do behavioral
expectations at different ages. In
fact age itself doesn't necessarily
count for much; the passage of
time may be counted with markers
other than years. Among the Samia
of K enya, a society on which Cattell
has focused much of he r research,
many older people don't know or
care how old they are. The old are
defined as "those who have cleared
many granaries"—that is, eaten the
harvests of many seasons. An opti­
mal lifestyle among the Samia is to
"sit and eat," meaning to sit by the
fire and eat food prepared by rela­
tives.

21

Planning on

Continued from pag e 21
some point they think about moving
away to be near a child or to enter a
retirement community.
rowing old is complicated, not golis said, "by the time clients get to
"It's bizarre in cross-cultural terms
only physically and emotional­ us, it's often too late. They usually
to think of it as taking a risk to stay
come to us in a crisis situation," such
'ly, but legally. In the past 30
where you have lived for 35 years,"
as when a parent or spouse has been
years,
the
intricacies
of
health
care,
Keith said. For "a good old age," Keith
said, "it's enormously important to be housing, and personal finance have diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease
in a place where you have a personal led to a new legal specialty. Harry S. and the family is "facing $5,000 a
history." However, Keith acknowl­ Margolis '77 and Armond D. Budish month in fees," Margolis said.
The lawyer meets with the family to
edges that this may be very difficult to '74, both with law degrees from NYU,
do. "The next best strategy," she says, practiced other forms of law for a "look at their finances and explain
"is to join a group of peers that can while, but were drawn to the emerging that they won't be bankrupted," Mar­
provide a new basis for personal iden­ specialty of elder law about a decade golis said. "There's a lot of protection
ago. Both write copiously on the sub­ in the law for spouses of nursing
tity and social participation."
"The British health care system, in ject, one to fellow specialists and the home residents." Since the fine points
spite of its financial problems, allows other primarily to consumers. They
people to stay home and be part of a also teach lawyers and health profes­
community," Keith said. In Ireland, the sionals about the legal protections
elderly receive health care services at available to the poor and middle-class
home; "relatives can be involved with elderly.
you without taking care of you ." In the
United States, however, health care is What elder-law attorneys do
oriented to technology for acute care A specialist in elder law can help peo­
rather than to preventive and mainte­ ple resolve "a panoply of le gal issues"
nance care for the chronic conditions that attend aging, according to Margo­
that typically beset the elderly. "It's a lis, an attorney with ElderLaw Ser­
totally different orientation," she said. vices, a four-attorney practice in
"There are 15 MRI m achines within 12 Boston. Among these are dealing with
miles of Sw arthmore, more than in all complex federal programs, such as
Medicare and Medicaid; areas in
of Bo tswana."
While Keith thinks globally, she has which family members' involvement
Armond Budish '74
acted locally, working with a new task increases over time (guardianship,
force on senior citizens organized by a planning for incapacity, living wills,
borough council member to address durable powers of attorney); finding
Two Swarthmore
these issues for residents of Swarth­ long-term care; obtaining and paying
alumni are
more. The group "cuts across ages for a decent place to live; fighting the
and backgrounds to explore what it denial of lega l rights; and age discrimi­
spearheading a new
will take to help people stay," she nation on the job. Decisions about
said. Some wishes have been granted. nursing homes, Margolis said, consti­
area of law that
An optometrist has come to town, for tute the largest share of elder law
focuses on the needs
example, and "there's a place to have because of their powerful impact on
a cup of coffee and a dish of ice individuals and their families.
of the elderly.
cream. But there's still no taxi.
The need for institutional long-term
Keith's own wish list includes apart­ care is exploding for the fastest-grow­
ment houses with a resident younger ing part of the population, those 85
person who is paid to respond to and older. Although more and more
health issues and generally "notice if women are working outside the home,
they don't appear." The task force is most care is still provided by family
members, Margolis said. Middle-class
also exploring intergenerational hous
ing in Swarthmore, perhaps including families once were able to pay for
nursing home care, he observed; "but
students from the College.
Overall, however, Keith believes, now 75 to 80 percent of the popula­
American society places its older citi
tion can't afford it." Ironically, he
zens in a distinctly untouchable cate­ noted, Medicaid will subsidize longgory. "The deep mystery for an term care in a nursing home but not in
anthropologist," she said, "is how we a person's own home.
can separate the elderly personally,
Forethought is essential, yet rare.
residentially, and through public poli­ Although the services of a specialist in
elder law should be sought early, Marcy from our own futures."
Harry Margolis '77
22

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

aging? Start today.
vary by st ate, it's important to hire a
lawyer who practices in the state
involved. Elder law practitioners can
help locate appropriate care, coordi­
nate private and public resources to
pay for it, and make sure the person's
legal rights are respected.
Margolis' interest in elder law
stemmed from doing pro bono work
for Greater Boston Elderly Legal Ser­
vices while working at a large Boston
law firm. For seven years he has been
the editor of Th e ElderLaw Report, a
monthly newsletter for lawyers pub­
lished by Little, Brown, which also
publishes Margolis' book The ElderLaw Forms Manual. Sold nationally
and partially revised and updated
twice a year, the manual offers sample
letters to clients and forms for wills,
trusts, powers of a ttorney, directives,
and marketing matters. "Just about
every elder lawyer gets Harry's manu­
al," said A rmond Budish. Margolis is
currently adapting the book into com­
puter software.
Margolis wishes more people
would learn about aging issues before
they need them. He considers the
most important estate-planning instru­
ment to be "a good durable power of
attorney." For this, he urges, hire an
expert; "Don't just pick up a form at a
stationery store." And "Do it today."

Telling the world about Medicaid
At Swarthmore Armond Budish
majored in political science and
served as president of the Student
Council. After law school he "went
home t o Cleveland," where he was a
corporate litigator and trial attorney.
A p ersonal experience led him to
another path. "My grandmother was
in a nursing home and lost every­
thing," he s aid. "Medicaid law would
have protected her, had 1 an d other
members of t he family known about
it. The ordeal led to Budish's first
book, Avoiding the Medicaid Trap: How
to Beat the Catastrophic Costs of Nurs­
ing Home Care (Henry Holt, 1989,
revised 1995; Avon paperback, 1996).
As the book led to talk show
appearances, Budish found himself
becoming a national spokesperson on
elder-law issues. In the past few years,
November 1996

Finding good advice

attorneys, with their specialties indi­
cated, for $25. Professionals who
he National Academy of Elder
work with the elderly may obtain a
Law Attorneys, a nonprofit pro­
copy free.
fessional association, was founded
The NAELA suggests that poten­
in 1988 to provide and advocate for
tial clients request a referral from
high-quality legal services to the
any attorney they know and trust.
elderly. The group has about 3,000
Other agencies to approach include
members in 50 states. The American the local chapter of th e Alzheimer's
Bar Association approved NAELA as Association or the American Associ­
the sole provider of el der-law certifi­ ation of Retired Persons (AARP) or
cation programs for attorneys.
the social service department of a
Harry Margolis is a fellow of NAELA
nearby hospital or nursing home.
Margolis advises asking for referrals
and Armond Budish is a member.
from hospital discharge workers,
A series of f ree booklets called
insurance brokers, financial plan­
"Law and Aging" discusses estate
ners, and especially friends in the
planning and probate, health care
same state.
decisions, Medicare, Medicaid,
Resources: National Academy of
trusts, age discrimination, and relat­
Elder Law Attorneys, 1604 N. Coun­
ed issues. A free pamphlet titled
try Club Road, Tucson AZ 85716,
"Questions and Answers When
(520) 881-4005, fax: (520) 325-7925,
Looking for an Elder Law Attorney"
e-mail: info@naela.com. Internet
is available from NAELA for a selfusers can download free informa­
addressed stamped envelope.
tion, including the "Law and Aging"
Personal referrals are not provid­
series, from the group's Website
ed, but the group sells a state-by(http://www.naela.com/elderlaw).
state registry of s ome 400 elder-law

T

he estimates, he has done hundreds
of radio and television interviews. In
1993 he founded the elder-law prac­
tice Budish & Solomon with two other
attorneys. A second book, co-auth­
ored with his wife, Amy, followed in
1994: Golden Opportunities: Hundreds
of Money-Making, Money-Saving Gems
for Anyone Over 50 explains "500
things seniors should know," Budish
said, about Medicare, Medicaid, tax
and pension laws, COBRA, a nd other
points of i nterest.
Professionally, the switch to elder
law was "significant, but one 1 do not
regret at all," Budish said. "By nature
I'm much happier as a problem solver.
I'm utilizing laws created for people—
not utilizing loopholes. It's very satis­
fying because I'm helping people pro­
tect themselves, their finances, and
their families. Everything I wri te about
elder issues draws a tremendous
response."
While the IRS and Social Security
Hisnense excellent materials and pro­

vide toll-free information hot lines,
Budish said; "Medicare has less and
Medicaid has nothing."
Of even greater concern, Budish
said, is "the mood in an unsympathet­
ic Congress to balance the budget on
the backs of the elderly poor and mid­
dle class. These are the people who
are going to get creamed." He disap­
proves of Medicaid block grants to
states, of allowing states to set their
own standards for nursing homes, and
of abolishing the federal prohibition
on adult children's having to pay nurs­
ing home fees for their parents. "Adult
children have so many problems of
their own," Budish said.
Budish's outspoken criticisms have
angered Ohio politicians. Several
years ago a governor's commission
there proposed legislation to strip the
license of any attorney who told peo­
ple how to protect their money under
Medicaid. That proposed law, Budish
later learned, was unofficially dubbed
"the Budish Bill." It did not pass.
23

Retirement as reunion
In retirement
communities like
Kendal/Crosslands,
many Swarthmoreans
have found security,
stimulation, and a
chance to help each
other enjoy life.

F

ew Americans plan living
arrangements for their later and
final years until those years are
upon them. Tradition and inclination
demand unlimited independence, yet
it often becomes impossible for an
elderly person or couple to live alone.
One relatively new—and increas­
ingly popular solution—is to move to
a continuing-care retirement commu­
nity. For an entry fee and monthly
fees, CCRCs offer incrementally inde­
pendent living combined with meals,
housekeeping services, and health
care, including long-term nursing care.
Planning is essential; the finest com­
munities have long waiting lists.
The Quaker-pioneered Kendal and
Crosslands communities in Kennett
Square, Pa., and their growing number
of cousins around the country are
widely acknowledged to be the cream
of th e CCRCs. Lloyd W. Lewis '49, now
president of U.S. Re tirement Commu­
nities of Newtown Square, Pa., was
Kendal's first executive director and
remains a pioneer in t he development
of innovative communities like
Kendal, which now governs itself. In
fact self-government prevails in the
best CCRCs. Kendal and Crosslands
residents belong to some 70 c ommit­
tees, attend board meetings, and help
make decisions on everything from
lighting design to major policy.
The original community, Kendal at
Longwood, could pass for Old Home
Week at Swarthmore. Many residents
are College alumni, including Kendal
board chairman Alan Hunt '51 and
John Nason, former president of
Swarthmore and Carleton, who lives

Dave '47 and Rosemary Accola Hewitt '46 moved to Kendal in 199 5.
"Sometimes things are a little too perfect here," he observes.
at Crosslands. "A lot of people here
think there's too much talk about
Swarthmore College," laughed Kendal
resident E. Wayne Frazer '38.
People who move to Kendal/Cross­
lands start in garden apartments. Sub­
sequent living quarters accommodate
the accelerating physical limitations
of old age. Anyone who becomes

unable to maintain full independence
moves to adjacent quarters in which
augmented services are provided. A
third setting offers full-time nursing
care to those who require it. The envi­
ronment, however, is strictly noninstitutional: Nurses and other staff do not
wear uniforms, and residents live in
private rooms containing their per-

24
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

sonal furniture and favorite belong­
ings. "The day we opened Kendal,"
said Lewis, "we told our staff that our
first task—our constant task—is to de­
institutionalize it."
An advantage for elderly couples is
that a spo use who needs more inten­
sive care remains nearby in an assisted-living facility while the healthier
partner maintains his or her previous
living arrangements. Widows, widow­
ers, and the unmarried know they
won't have to make a drastic lifestyle
decision if the y become too frail to
live alone. And in either case, their
children are spared potentially catas­
trophic expense for long-term care, an
important iss ue for many CCRC r esi­
dents.

CCRC attractive. She particularly Beyond Shuffleboard
enjoys "the stimulus of being with A postprandial walk around the treeother people."
lined Kendal campus revealed exten­
According to Lloyd Lewis, retired sive facilities for recreation and men­
teachers constitute the largest single tal enrichment. The library contains
group in CCRCs. "It is like" a college about 12,000 books. Trips and pro­
campus," said David L. Hewitt '47, a grams are trumpeted on bulletin
retired actuary whose specialties boards and in a monthly newsletter—
included retirement plans. Yeah, but all organized by the residents them­
when we went to college, ti ition was selves. Unlike many retirement com­
300 bucks a year," joked Wood. It's munities, Kendal does not have a paid
true that moving to Kendal/Cross- social or activities staff. Upcoming
lands is not for the impoverished.
events included discussions on such
Residents tend to refer to their pre- nongeezerish topics as capital punish­
Kendal existence as "in our other ment, the Cezanne exhibit at the
lives," largely meaning their work Philadelphia Museum of Art (with
lives, said Frazer, who worked in inter­ slide show), and the problems of Chi­
national sales for Scott Paper before nese living abroad. Kay Yellig
becoming an importer and collector of remarked, "A friend of m ine said, This
Japanese art. "I always feel we're kind isn't a retirement community—it's a
Lunch at Kendal
of s poiled here. We have good friends think tank!"'
One sunny day last June, five enthusi­ and are taken care of. I th ink very few
Residents have a chorus, a literary
astic Swarthmoreans gathered around people want to leave."
magazine, and yes, a needlework club.
a table in Kendal's airy dining room to
Permanently, that is. Many resi­ A new computer room brings in the
talk about their home—which in its dents travel on vacations and to visit next century. Well-appointed workconcentration of in tellectuals and pro­ relatives. "Sometimes things are a lit­
fessors serves almost as a post-retire­ tle too perfect here. I l ike to get out
ment Swarthmore.
where things are dirty again," said
"Coming to Kendal was an epiph­ Hewitt, whose wife, Rosemary (Accoany—like getting married or having a la) '46, was "off campus" and could
baby," said Bob Wood, Oberlin '37, not attend our lunch.
who has designed the Bulletin since
"I feel strongly that [the elderly] are
1971 ( see "Parlor Talk," page 2). treated too well," Angell said. Subsi­
Wood's graphic arts contributions dized public transportation, for exam­
could be seen everywhere. Outside ple, should be available to the needy
the dining room , an easel supported elderly only, not everyone past a cer­
Wood's delightfu l three-dimensional tain age, Hewitt agreed. Such selfannouncement of an upcoming denial inspired one member of the
screening of "Harvey." His pho­ group to point out that Kendal/Crosstographs grace the lobby, and he lands contains "more Democrats than
recently designed a new history of the average in Chester County."
Kendal authored by Ruth Malone, for­
The major advantage of living in a
mer Swarthmore PR director.
CCRC, all concurred, is peace of mind
"I'm enjoying life m ore at 77 than I about the future. "We know it's down­
did at 50 ," asserted Richard B. ( Brad) hill from here—that we are going to
Angell '40, who taught philosophy at die here," Angell said. (That's a philos­
Wayne State University and is the ophy professor speaking.) "Every year
author of Reasoning a nd Logic. "When we lose 25 or 30 people. It's very sad,
I ret ired, I said I was taking a 20-year but we have a great sense of commu­
sabbatical. I'm seven years into it nity coming together. We have a sense
now. Sometimes my t hinking is a little of coping with all of this, so it's really
sharper than it us ed to be—except for quite natural." The infirmities of old
remembering names."
age are taken in stride as well. "We
Katherine (Kay) S medley Yellig '30 understand when people begin to for­
Lloyd Lewis '49 was the fir st executive
loved retirem ent after teaching histo­ get things," Angell continued. "It's
director at Kendal. "We told our staff that our
ry at Mis s Porter's School. "Life was a taken with a sense of h umor.'
first task—our constant task—is to
With their Kendal fees, "Those who
a", she said. But her difficulties in
deinstitutionalize it." Now president of U.S.
vital matters such as getting to the are healthy are paying for those who
Retirement Communities Inc. in Newtown,
ibrary brought concern. ...
In addition, are sick, Hewitt said. "I hope to be
Pa., Lewis is developing new continuing
she said, "Not knowing what's ahead" paying for the care of o thers for a very
care communities across the country.
regarding ill ness made moving to a long time
NOVEMBER 1996

25

shops cultivate painting, woodwork­
ing, ceramics, and weaving at any
level of ex pertise. The handy fix lamps
and chairs for a fee that's donated to
the multi-million-dollar Reserve Fund
for anonymous residents—about 18 to
30 at any given time—who need finan­
cial assistance to remain at Kendal.
The Reserve Fund can also cover
such amenities as a subscription to
the Philadelphia Orchestra that some
can't afford. "We're talking not about
just getting by but quality of life,"
Lloyd Lewis said. "In close to 20 years,
we have never turned down a request
for financial aid. Most often, I've had
to talk people into accepting it." The
Reserve Fund has been boosted over
the years with bequests of e very size.
One resident left $250,000 to the fund
in his will.

The Kendal Philosophy

When Kendal was getting started, the
nearest medical school that taught
geriatrics was at the University of
Edinburgh, Lewis recalled: "Lack of
training was the reason for such poor
care in nursing homes in America."
Lewis realized he would have to get
involved in medical and nursing train­
ing to obtain a qualified staff. He initi­
ated a consortium including the Bryn
Mawr School of Socia l Work, Widener
University, and Thomas Jefferson Uni­
versity Medical School.
It worked. "We got it started and
heightened consciousness about the
needs of the aging," Lewis said. Geri­
atrics has become an accepted sub­
specialty. But still, he asserts that "the
United States is an ageist society.
Even in medical schools that have fel­
lowships for gerontology, many young
doctors choose other fields."
The difference at Kendal/Crosslands is a matter of philosophy, and
the byword is respect. For example,
physical disability doth not a pariah
make. Allowing wheelchairs in the din­
ing room "was innovative—can you
believe it?" Lewis said. Excluding the
wheelchair-bound because they might
"depress" others (a practice that's
common in many retirement commu­
nities) is "a total violation of civil
rights," Lewis asserted. "It ought to be
aggressively banned by the federal
government."
Children, noise, mess, and all are
welcome as well. The idea is to

embrace daily life in all its unkempt- Top: Wayne Frazer '38 still
ness rather than to exchange it for a enjoys the Asian art he once
sedate, boring old age. Employees' made his career. Residents refer
children at the on-site day care center to their pre-Kendal days as "our
are often invited to participate in cele­ other lives," says Frazer.
brations with residents.
More revolutionary is Kendal/ Right: "When I retired I said I
Crosslands' complete absence of was taking a 20-year sabbatical,
physical restraints. Restraints are said former Wayne State
"most often used for the convenience University philosophy pro fessor
of th e staff," Lewis said. When you use Brad Angell '40. Angell holds a
restraints, "You stop trying to find out glass sphere that illustrates a
what is wrong.
non-Euclidian mathematical
"If you restrain someone who is (and philosophical) idea—that
confused," Lewis continued, "he will right angles do not necessarily
try to escape. I'd try to get away too. I meet at 90 degrees.
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

might also try to slug you."
So when Jill Blakeslee indicated her
refusal to work in a place that used
restraints at a job interview, Lewis
said, "I h ired her as our first head
nurse and canceled all the other inter­
views." In 1973 K endal operated the
only nu rsing home in America that
banned restraints.
Thanks in part to an alarm on the
door, "We ne ver lost anybody and
nobody ever got killed," Lewis said,
despite the community's location on
busy U .S. Route 1. If a forgetful resi­
dent tends to wander, watchful
observers make sure the roamer is
steered home. "Even though we're
elderly, we're not denied the chance
to look out for other people," Kay Yellig said. "T hat's encouraged all the
time."
"One day we may b e in that stage,"

NOVEMBER 1996

Hewitt added. "Meanwhile, we're glad
to share our lives with them."
Is Kendal the Fountain of Youth? It
might seem so. Actuaries and other
administrators told Lewis to expect a
six percent annual turnover and
accompanying new entry fees. During
the first year, however, only two peo­
ple died and one apartment opened
up. In the most popular apartment
setup, with one bedroom and a den,
nobody died for five years. "1 sa id I
wanted to live in one myself," Lewis
said.
It's not unusual for children of resi­
dents or former residents to sign up
by age 50, Lewis said: "Age 55 is cer­
tainly past the time when someone
should be on the list." At Kendal, the
waiting list is "well over 10 years."
Then the phone call comes and the
fun begins. •

Quaker leadership

K

endal and Crosslands are fea­
tured—not for the first time—
among "The 20 Best Continuing Care
Retirement Communities," an annual
survey in the November issue of New
Choices: Living Even Better After 50.
"Kendal is a leader," applauded
author Elinor Craig, who has
researched and reported all the sur­
veys.
"They're a stellar corporation," she
told the Bulletin. "Quakers have led
the entire movement on respect for
the elderly." In her article Craig states:
"The same standards of exc ellence
that have given Kendal at Longwood
and Crosslands their national reputa­
tion can be found at the newer Kendal
communities in Hanover, New Hamp­
shire; Ithaca, New York; and Oberlin,
Ohio."
Jon Robert Steinberg '65, finance
editor of N ew Choices, agrees. "In
many ways, these communities are
the standard that everyone else fol­
lows," he said. No other top-notch
continuing-care retirement communi­
ty belongs to a "family" of similar com­
munities, he said; "It takes a lot of
energy and resources and excellent
management. Somehow, others
haven't even wanted to try."
Steinberg attributes part of th e
group's success to residents' "com­
mon intellectual background." In fact,
"the proportion of professionals at
CCRCs in general is very high," he
noted. "You have to be more sophisti­
cated than the average person to rec­
ognize what kind of community you're
getting into."
Kendal communities "have shown
leadership in helping other communi­
ties change and moye in a more pro­
gressive way to enhance residents'
lifestyle," Craig said. Kendal communi­
ties attend to residents' physical,
social, and spiritual needs in a highly
personal way rather than foisting
"paternalistic attitudes" on them, she
continued. "They have the utmost
regard for each and every resident."
On a visit to Kendal/Crosslands in
September 1995, Steinberg found resi­
dents "alert, intelligent, and physically
fit. If I can be like that in 30 years," he
said, "I will be doing well."

27

A L U M N I
SWARTHMORE HAPPENINGS
Upcoming Events

Recent Events
Garnet Sages: Members attended Fall
Weekend events on campus in Octo­
ber. Elinor Jones Clapp '46, Supreme
Sage, introduced a luncheon program
featuring Michael Cothren, professor
of art history, and Sabrina Moyle '96,
who has begun her career as an arts
administrator.
New York: A group of Swarthmoreans, coordinated by Talya Gubbay '88,
participated in "New York Cares" day
in October, helping to paint, sweep,
and clean up the city. Everyone
relaxed later at a party for all volun­
teers. At the end of th e month,
Suzanne Kazenoff '9 0 and Julia Stock
'95 organized an informal social at an
Irish pub. Lillian Kraemer '61 hosted a
gathering in November where "The
State of th e Art World" was discussed
by prominent art professionals Jim
Long '71, Harriet Shorr '60, and Robert
Storr '72.
Philadelphia: Bill Rieser '50, a board
member of th e James A. Michener Art
Museum in Doylestown, arranged a
tour in November of th e museum and
its new Mari Sabusawa Michener
Wing. Alumni and parents also heard
John Toner '73 describe Closely
Watched Films Inc., which presents
art films in Doylestown.

SPRING 1997 EVENTS
Black Alumni Weekend/
Alumni Council Spring Meeting

March 21-23

Coolfont Weekend, W.Va.

April 4-6

Parents Weekend

April 18-20

Alumni Weekend

June 6-8

Alumni College Abroad, Ireland

June 10-18

San Francisco: Alumni had dinner in
November with writer, director, and
actor Kevin Di Pirro '88 at a restau­
rant-gallery and then watched his
acclaimed one-man show "From Shite
to Shannon." Sohail Bengali '79
planned the festive evening.

Swarthmore alumni and students living in Turkey were

invited to join traveling alumni and parents at a festive reception
in Istanbul in July. Among them were (I to r) Emel Erturer Anil '66
(mother of Ela Anil '99), ElenorG. Reid '67, Sertac Yeltekin '91
and his wife, Paola Russi, Onat Negiz '97, and Sinan Turhan '94.

28

New York: On Thursday, Dec. 5,
Swarthmoreans in New York City will
join alumni from the University of
Chicago, Stanford, MIT, and Reed Col­
lege for a buffet dinner, followed by a
Festival Chamber Music Society con­
cert. They're invited to a champagne
reception with the musicians after­
ward. Jim DiFalco '82 is in charge of
arrangements. In the planning stage
are a concert by Peter Schickele '57
and a performance by the Pig Iron
Theater Company, a troupe of Swarth­
more alumni and students.
And on Saturday, Dec. 7: New York
Swarthmoreans will encounter
"Sharps, Flats, and Accidentals" when
the Flying Karamazov Brothers dis­
play their juggling and musical mad­
ness. Alice Merwin, mother of Amanda
'92, is organizing the event.
Seattle: On Friday, Dec. 6, Seattle
alumni, parents, and friends will see
an exciting slide show by Menno Van
Wyk '67, about his adventurous climb
up Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.
Menno will be joined by Peter
Blomquist from CARE and other mem­
bers of t he expedition. Deb Read '87 is
coordinating the program, which will
take place at the new REI flagship
store.

During their Far East trip this past summer, President Alfred H.

Bloom and his wife, Peggi , made a stop in Hong Kong in July.
Joining the Blooms for dinner were (I to r) Bruce Han '86, M ar­
garet Huang 87, and Min Lee '00. See page 9 for more about the
president's trip to Asia.

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE BULLETIN

d i g e s t
Tricollege Coolfont Weekend explore
dynamics of unemployment in America

T

explore are the nation's growing wag
he seventh annual Coolfont Week­
end will expand into a Tri-College
gap, business cycles, and traditional
gathering in 1997. On April 4-6, alumni vs. untraditional unemployment.
from Haverford and Bryn
As a Sunday morning
Mawr colleges will join
bonus, Professor Pryor
Swarthmore alumni, par­
will describe challenges
ents, and friends for a week­
facing citizens and govern­
end of lively discussion and
ments in the former Soviet
fellowship at the scenic
empire in their transition
Coolfont Resort and Confer­
from communist econ­
ence Center, owned by Sam
omies to a free-market sys­
Ashelman '37, in the
tem. He'll also explain the
foothills of the Blue Ridge
work he has been doing in
Mountains of West Virginia.
the past year with Ukraine
A distinguished trio rep­
as a member of the Soros
Pryor
resenting each of the col­
International Economic
leges will be featured in the
Advisory Group.
programs. They include
Along with provocative
Fred Pryor, professor of
discussions, Coolfont
economics at Swarthmore;
Weekend participants can
David Schaffer '79, assistant
enjoy some of the best
professor of economics at
bird-watching in the East,
Haverford.; and a represen­
fine hiking, great food, golf,
tative of the Bryn Mawr Col­
indoor swimming, aero­
lege community to be
bics, and just taking it
announced.
easy. The resort also
They will discuss "Who's
includes a popular spa. To
Not Working and Why: New
receive a brochure, please
Shaffer
Perspectives on the U.S.
contact the Alumni Rela­
Labor Force." Pryor and Schaffer are
tions Office at (610) 328-8402, fax (610)
co-authors of a new book o n this sub­
328-7796, or e-mail: alumni@swarthject. Among the timely issues they'll
more.edu.

Alumni New s in Brief
Laurels available ... Alumni are invited to make nominations for the 1997
Shane Award, named for the late Joseph B. Shane '25, who served Swarth­
more as vice president for two decades. The award is presented at Alumni
Weekend to an alum who has contributed outstanding service to the Col­
lege. Please send nominations, preferably of graduates who will celebrate
reunions in June 1997, to the Alumni Relations Office by Friday, Jan. 17.
Speech! Speech! There are several events each year where the College fea­
tures thoughtful and articulate alumni as speakers. If y ou know a fellow
graduate who is doin g interesting work and could talk about it engagingly
HI Pub lic, the Alumni Relations Office would be happy to hear from you.
You may remain anonymous if you wish!
The Cram Rega tta doesn't count ... Did you belong to a crew club when
you were at Swarthmore (or try to start one)? Do you know anyone in the
hiladelphia area who has connections to such a club? Seth Garber 99 and
other students are interested in starting a Swarthmore Crew Club. If you re
able to provide assistance, please call Seth at (610) 690-5664 or e-mail him
at sgarber l@swarthmore.edu.

NOVEMBER 1996

HI COUNCIL
17'o<" the first time, Swarthmore's
Alumni Council conducted its fall
meeting in conjunction with the Col­
lege's annual Volunteer Leadership
Weekend on Sept. 20-22. More than
140 alumni came to campus, including
the Council, admissions interviewers,
reunion chairs, class agents, members
of t he new Publications Advisory
Council, and other College volunteers.
The presence of s o many individuals
willing to volun­
teer their time to
Swarthmore
underscores the
loyalty that the
College has
enjoyed for so
many years.
I'd like to in­
form you of an
Alan Symonette '76 exciting new proj­
ect that the Alum­
President,
Alumni Association ni Council is
developing. One
of t he basic Quaker traditions at
Swarthmore is community service.
Many of us as students contributed
time for service to the communities
around Swarthmore. And many of us
have continued in this tradition well
after graduation. The Alumni Council
is creating an award to recognize such
dedicated service.
Each year the award will recognize
an individual who exemplifies this tra­
dition by being engaged in committed
and dedicated service to their home
community. It is intended that this
individual be honored for "hands-on"
service, not board membership or
monetary contributions. The award
will be presented at Alumni Collection
on Alumni Weekend. Ideally the recipi­
ent will be a member of one of th at
year's reunion classes, to ensure that
they will be planning to be on campus,
and their classmates can be present
as well.
If you would like to propose alumni
for this new award, please contact the
Alumni Relations Office for a nomina­
tion form. It is our hope that you will
take the time to nominate one or more
deserving Swarthmoreans who repre­
sent our tradition of se rvice.

I

29

T

start-ups like Bob's Big Boy, Burger
hen there was the real estate—and
King, Burger Chef, and A&W—not to
that's where Swarthmore comes
mention long-established national in. You didn't think the College would
chains like White Tower and Howard invest in Big Macs® and fries, did you?
How the College played
Johnson's. Under the contract the
In 1960 Kroc's corporation had
McDonald brothers got 0.5 percent of turned a paltry profit of $77,000, less
a part in launching
sales, or $189,000 in 1960 on sales of than half of what was paid to the
the fast food industry—
$37.8 million. (The same percentage of brothers in California. But the compa­
sales in 1995 would have netted $150 ny's net worth had jumped from
and profited
million.)
$24,000 in 1958 to $16 million in 1960,
For the first seven years of the mostly as a result of K roc's "extremely
handsomely from it.
agreement, Kroc didn't draw a penny silent partner," a financial wizard
of sa lary, but determinedly put togeth­ named Harry Sonneborn. Sonneborn
By Jeffrey Lott
er a new approach to franchising. had hit on a way of building assets
McDonalds sold only single stores, that was virtually independent of t he
he year was 1961. JFK was presi­ not regional territories, ensuring that "millions sold" slogan touted by
dent. Yuri Gagarin became the the company could control the open­ Kroc's marketing people. He proposed
first man to orbit the earth. Free­ ing of e very new outlet. Kroc also set buying the ground under the stores
dom Riders risked their lives to end and enforced quality and service stan­ and leasing it to the operators. Son­
segregation in the South. West Side dards that were unknown in the indus­ neborn, no burger evangelist like
Story won the Academy Award for try, from speed of se rvice to the mois­ Kroc, "viewed the food service busi­
Best Picture.
ture content of french fries to the ness as a vehicle for making money in
And an obscure Chicago salesman famous promise of a 100-percent beef real estate."
named Ray Kroc borrowed $100,000 hamburger.
McDonalds was at the leading edge
from Swarthmore College to help him
Most importantly Kroc decided of the suburban boom of the '50s and
gain full control of the fledgling that his company would make money '60s, and Sonneborn began to acquire
McDonalds Corporation.
only on a percentage of sales, not by valuable property by using fran­
How Swarthmore got in the burger forcing outlets to buy food, equip­ chisees' security deposits as downbusiness is the subject of t his story— ment, or supplies from a central payments and charging store owners
a business legend that deserves to be source. His idea was that individual "rent" that financed the company's
retold. We are indebted to John franchisees had to prosper for the purchase of the land. The minimum
Love's fascinating book McDonalds: McDonalds Corporation to make monthly fee was a 20- to 40-percent
Behind the Arches (Bantam, 1986) for money, and he committed the corpo­ markup of McDonalds' cost, and addi­
the substance of the tale.
ration's resources to improving the tional fees were charged if sal es went
Kroc, a once-struggling salesman product, training the franchisees, and over a certain figure. Since many
of everything from Florida real estate promoting the idea that fast food McDonalds franchises were instant
to milk shake mixers, died a billion­ could actually be good food.
moneymakers, Sonneborn not only
aire in 1984. He neither con­
covered the company's "invest­
ceived the drive-in, take-out
ment," he began to generate landrestaurant nor invented the
office
profits that were basically
Coke or Pepsi?
cooking and service system that
independent of burger sales. "His
became the standard of the
Swarthmore College's endowment has grown
idea is what really made McDon­
industry, but he had the vision
from $29 million in 1961 to $640 million as of
alds rich," said Kroc some years
to market and franchise the suc­
Sept. 30,1996. In addition to large investments in
later.
cesses of Dick and Mac McDon­
mutual funds, consumer stocks like McDonalds
ald, whose San Bernadino, Calif.,
are an important part of th e College's portfolio.
ut back to 1961: While Roger
hamburger stand had pioneered
Below are the top six stock holdings as of Sept.
Maris was smacking 61 home
"fast food."
30. The list makes it clear that while McDonalds
runs and everyone was watching
Kroc was 52 when he con­
serves only Coke, Swarthmore has yet to decide.
(iunsmoke, Ray Kroc decided he
tracted in 1954 with the McDon­
had to buy out the McDonald
ald brothers to become the
Equity
Shares
Mkt.Value
brothers. Dick and Mac insisted
exclusive franchiser of their
Intel Corp.
101,900
$9,725,081
on a cash deal of $2 .7 million, and
name and system. The first fran­
McDonalds Corp.
193,900
9,186,013
Kroc was strapped. While the
chises sold for $950 (you need a
Fed. Nat'l Mtg. Assoc. 242,000
8,439,750
company's assets were growing,
minimum of $75,000 today), and
it had already incurred a debt of
Pepsico Inc.
296,700
8,381,775
by 1960 the McDonalds had
$1.5 million from two Boston
Amer.
lnt'l
Group
Inc.
82,250
8,286,688
opened 228 stores, a modest but
insurance companies that had
Coca Cola Co.
106,300
8,155,263
respectable number in a compet­
exacted 22 percent of McDonalds
itive business that included
stock.

Fry Finance

T

B

60

swarthmore college bulletin

G

®

sm
McDonalds stock is the sec ond largest equity in the College's $640 million endowment.

So R ay Kroc a nd Harry Sonneborn
went looking for money—big money.
Through his Boston investors (who
couldn't cough up another dime), Son­
neborn met the late John Bristol, a
legendary investment counselor
whose accounts included Princeton
University's then-$ 100 million endow­
ment, plus the funds of such other pri­
vate scho ols as Howard University,
Colby College, and Swarthmore.
John Love's book tells it best:
Bristol was fascinated by Sonneborn's concept of m ixing real estate
with h amburgers. 'Harry was very
impressive to an investment man,'
wstol observes. 'He got across the
idea th at McDonalds was building
th stant'a' value in real estate and
nat the franchisee was on the hook to
ease property ... for a much longer
Period than it would take McDonalds
o pay off its real e state purchases.' ...
• onneborn had been searching for
?l
Eastern money for more than
frama y,ears' and in John Bristol he
c
ln sPades. Here was the type
est (<>ney i*13* had been earning intertol J ! 'eaSt a half-century, and Brisas about to introduce it to the

world of f ast food."
All th at remained was for Bristol to
convince his conservative clients. It
wasn't easy, but he sweetened the
deal by insisting on a bonus plan as
part of the loan. In addition to six per­
cent interest, the investors would get
0.5 percent of McDonalds' sales (the
same amount Kroc was paying to the
brothers) for an additional period
equal to the time it took McDonalds to
pay off the $2.7 million loan. Thus if
the loan were paid off in eight years
(which was Bristol's estimate),
McDonalds would pay the sales bonus
for another eight years.
Kroc and Sonneborn thought they
had the perfect deal. They didn't have
to give up any more stock, the bonus
payments were no worse than they
were paying to the brothers, and they
would own the whole Happy Meal,®
toy and all. But there was one more
hurdle.
A committee of Bristol's clients
balked at lending money to an upstart
food service company. Sonneborn
flew overnight to New York to try to
salvage the loan. Bristol, it is said,
bought him a shave and a new suit

before introducing him to the skepti­
cal endowment managers. "We are
not basically in t he food business. We
are in the real estate business,"
argued Sonneborn.
Somehow it worked. Princeton put
up $1 million and 11 other clients split
the rest. Bristol predicted that
McDonalds might eventually have
1,500 units nationwide, but his esti­
mate was far below the actual perfor­
mance of the company. McDonalds
paid off the loan in five and a half
years, and Bristol's clients eventually
realized $14 million from the loan.
Four years later, Swarthmore
invested in McDonalds common stock
when it first went public in 1965. A
$2,250 (100 share) investment in the
company in that year is worth nearly
$1.7 million today.
It's been said that the Quakers
came to Pennsylvania to do good, and
they did very well indeed. Like many
old jokes, this one is based on truth.
Swarthmore College's investment
strategy has also done very well.
According to Charles Mott of B ristol &
Co., one of Swarthmore's current
endowment fund advisers, the
McDonalds investment is an example
of t he long view taken by the College's
money managers. "It's a great symbol
of the culture of stewardship of the
endowment," he says, "a culture
that's been constant through time—a
recognition of the need to grow the
assets to enhance the educational
program. It was a risk, but though
things change suddenly, sometimes
wildly, Swarthmore's approach has
been consistent."
Thirty-five years after Harry Son­
neborn convinced John Bristol to buy
into the burger business, McDonalds
stock is the second largest equity,
after Intel Corporation, in the Col­
lege's $640 million endowment. And
financially as well as academically,
Swarthmore remains in the top rank
of colleges and universities, not only
in terms of endowment per student
(sixth in the country in 1995), but in
terms of total return on investment,
which has averaged more than 13 per­
cent over the past 10 years—third
among 95 schools. And if a new Ray
Kroc comes to call, you can bet the
College just might listen. •