Penny Prejudice

Late last month, just as the first traces of spring were warming up the frigid Philadelphia atmosphere, a group of about 20 students dropped in on the Dean of Admissions at the University of Pennsylvania with a startling request. It wasn't, they assured the dean, that they had any personal prejudices against any social or religious minority--some of their best friends were Jews and they had consulted with several Jewish campus leaders before visiting the dean. Nevertheless, the problem existed and something had to be done about it.

The problem was simply that "some of the Christian (fraternity) houses had been left in a precarious position after the last rushing season." In short, there hadn't been enough Christians to go around. The solution, according to the group of students, was simple. Certainly the fraternity system itself couldn't be abolished (even if anyone wanted to do so) and it would be most unnatural for Christian fraternities to accept Jewish brothers or vice-vera. The house that had been left in a precarious position couldn't be allowed to die--"It's a plain matter of dollars and cents" we can hear one of the group telling the dean. The solution, therefore, was simple: the university would have to limit the number of Jewish students admitted each year.

The dean, although touched mightily by the plight of the several Christian fraternities, was a bit shocked by the proposal. "The University," he said, "does not hate now and has never had a quota system." The matter was laid to rest and the group came up with its other proposals to obtain a "better" Jewish-Christian ratio--measures involving big publicity campaigns and more extensive interviews of candidates for admission.

The group of students, who were unofficial representatives of most of Penn's fraternities, was scheduled to have another meeting to work out further plans of action; but it never was held. The Daily Pennsylvanian ran an account of the group and its proposals in its most prominent position and suddenly, unaccountably, the members of the group slunk back into the obscurity from which they had erupted. "They got scared by the publicity and feeling of disapproval and shut up," the president of the Pennsylvanian told the CRIMSON yesterday.

It's April now and the atmosphere around Philadelphia is noticeably fresher.