The myth of 'Luxury Learning" at Yale

What would you think if CCL had a smoothie bar? How about if we had maid services in all dorms? Or maybe if our bookstore had a bar or fireplace? According to a recent article in the Wall Street Journal entitled "Luxury Learning," students across the country are reaping the benefits of such perks. The article criticized the nationwide trend at schools "from Yale to UCLA" of making campus life cushier. The examples offered were indeed absurd, from Princeton's new 241-seat movie theater to Boston University's penthouse suites to perhaps the most ridiculous: a new miniature golf course at Rutgers.

ERIN I. LEWIS / YH

What is this madness all about? The article cites "cutthroat competition for top applicants" as the driving force behind the $14 billion building boom. Colleges are becoming more "consumer oriented" as they try to lure in the best and the brightest. The article criticized this appropriation of funds, arguing that the money should go towards academics instead of luxury and suggested that colleges may be "spoiling tomorrow's leaders."

Yale was not exempt from this criticism. The only Ivy League school ranked among the 15 most perk-laden colleges in the Journal's "Report Card on Campus Amenities," Yale was picked on mainly for the "$18.5 million state-of-the-art gym expansion" and the residential college renovation project. The comment box next to Yale's slot read, "Bunk beds are finally fading out, with the school embarking on a mega-million dollar housing-renovation program."

But unless that girl that sleeps above me every night is a part of some wacky recurring dream, the Wall Street Journal is mistaken.

First of all, Payne Whitney Gym was built in 1932, far before Northwestern decided to construct an indoor driving range. Yes, it houses an insane number of squash courts and is ridiculously ornate. But the driving force behind this extravagance is not a desire to pamper students, but rather alumni benefaction. Believe it or not, Mrs. Payne Whitney really did insist that a "Cathedral of Sweat" be erected in her dead husband's name. The woman may have had a few screws loose, but who could turn down her largess?

Secondly, Yale's residential college renovation project is not aimed at making dorms lavish, but livable. In Yale newspapers of the mid-'90s, the condition of the residential colleges was described as "decrepit," "sagging," and "crumbling." For decades, Yale neglected building maintenance while focusing on other projects. But something—possibly the cascade of ceiling plaster that almost took out a few Saybrook kids in their dining hall in 1996—forced the Administration to realize that the structural integrity of the residential colleges could no longer be ignored. Interestingly, that same year the Yale Corporation agreed to "end its policy of sporadic troubleshooting and begin developing a broad campus renovations plan." Although it would be kind of fun to dodge chunks of ceiling with trays over our heads at dinner, I'm glad that Yale finally committed itself to renovations. And I don't find them exorbitant whatsoever. Considering that our oldest college, Branford, was built in 1920, a "complete facilities overhaul" was long overdue. Besides, much of the renovation is geared towards rudimentary improvements, such as revamping the heating systems, reinforcing infrastructures, and increasing fire safety.

And as was the case with Payne Whitney, many of the perks of the residential colleges are made possible by donations. For example, a graduate gave Calhoun $5 million in 1991 for renovations. The result: a hot tub and a refurbished buttery. Berkeley, which is probably the most lavish of all of the colleges, received a $20 million donation in 1996. Aside from revealing that our alumni are uncommonly wealthy and uncommonly generous, these facts show that many of Yale's niceties are not a result of concerted efforts by the Administration.

Yale's story cannot be realistically likened to that of New York University (NYU), which the Wall Street Journal uses as its main example of "luxury learning." Following a two-billion dollar building campaign to create its campus in Greenwich Village, NYU became one of the most selective schools in the nation. Last year it received 30,000 applications, compared to a mere 10,000 in 1991.

Luxury learning may in fact be working, but I don't see it here. Tour guide Missy Blakeley, MC '03, agreed. "When visitors ask me questions, they are almost always about the history or the academics of Yale. People don't care about our dorms or our food. That's not what Yale is about." I am not saying that a dip in Calhoun's hot tub wouldn't impress the hell out of a pre-frosh on Bulldog Days, but I don't think it would make or break his or her decision.

I wouldn't mind a cold strawberry smoothie while slaving away in the basement of CCL—it certainly would sweeten the weenie-bin experience. But who are we kidding? Yale is nowhere near that point, and do we really want or need it to be?

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