Prior Restraint

OF ALL the high school seniors who held their breath and tore open their envelopes this week, none received so much publicity as a certain former Ivory Soap baby. Brooke Shields has had one of the best-documented adolescences of the century, and her odyssey through the treacherous land of college admissions has been no exception. Last spring, People Magazine schemed to scoop her SAT scores. And this fall, as the coyly sized up the Ivy League, no passing reaction from Brooke or her indefatigable mother Teri escaped the headlines. Her decision that Princeton was the university probably boosted that select institution's popularity rating enough to counteract the loss of an entire academic major and long-standing image difficulties on campus housing policy, keeping the application numbers sky-high.

On the fateful day, though, the saga crossed the line into soap opera. As the letters were sent, rumors leaked out through the Daily Princeloman that the admissions committee was so deadlocked over the starlet's application that it had finally abdicated responsibility for the choice. Instead, James Wickenden, dean of admissions gave himself a few more hours. He flew to Florida, where Brooke was staying, bearing two possible fates--one letter of acceptance and one of rejection.

BY MIDWEEK it was known that Wickenden's midair decision was a happy one Maybe, away from the hustle and bustle of transcripts his mind cleared: maybe he couldn't bear the thought of returning to face a campus of sullen undergraduates, maybe he happened to pick up an airline magazine from the seat pocket, and Brooke's smile warmed his heart. Or he may have thought seriously, and sensibly, about the trap the committee had fallen into.

Knowingly or not, Wickenden spared Princeton and the rest of the hemisphere the backlash that would undoubtedly have resulted. Complaints about the decision would have been more than justified after such an unorthodox procedure and would have kept People happy for a decade.

No one will protest ardently the decision that was eventually made. But the matter illustrates Princeton's awkward handling of what never should have become a "matter" at all. Earlier rumors had emanated from New Jersey that Princeton was "tactfully" discouraging Shields from completing the application process; low-level noise that, even unsubstantiated, reflected more poorly on Princeton than on Shields. And when anticipation on campus spilled over into sexist crudity in the Princeton humor magazine Tiger--which featured a list of "Ways to Pick Up Brooke Shields If and When She Arrives on Campus"--Princeton fired the editor in charge: an action that all but wooed back the pestilence of press coverage.

IT WOULD be misguided to muster up much sympathy for Shields, who, when she does unpack her bags in Princeton, will undoubtedly manage both the People press corps and a flock of undergraduate humor editors with her customary photogenic aplomb. More pity is due Princeton and its otherwise august members of the admissions committee, who, in brushing up against the models and show biz and high-speed, high-paying gossip, have come away with the definite smudge of cheap newsprint on their lapels.