The Century-Old Merger Issue

From the time of its founding in 1879, Radcliffe contained what many thought would be the seeds of its own destruction. The schools's original charter provided in no uncertain terms that Radcliffe's funds and property could be turned over to Harvard College whenever such an arrangement would improve education at the two schools.

Harvard made it plain from the beginning that it was in no way responsible for the "Annex." But in 1893 President Charles W. Eliot and the Fellows of Harvard College realized that they would have to contend with "X College."

After painstaking negotiations, Elizabeth C. Agassiz, Radcliffe's founder and first president, finally persuaded Harvard to take some responsibility for the girls at the Annex. President Eliot agreed to countersign the women's diplomas, Harvard assumed responsibility for approving Faculty appointments, and the president and Fellows were to be the "visitors of X College."

But the college still suffered from the worst kind of identity crisis--it had no name. Since its inception it had officially been referred to as "The Society for the Intercollegiate Instruction of Women." Agassiz proposed to name the school for Ann Radcliffe, who in 1643 had donated 100 pounds sterling for a Harvard scholarship. So in 1894 the Annex was incorporated as Radcliffe College.

In 1903 Agassiz retired and LeBaron Russell Briggs, dean of Harvard College, became president of Radcliffe. During his term, the endowment expanded, the curriculum was diversified, and the Faculty grew--Radcliffe was assured permanence. And the objections of Corporation members and alumni stalwarts--who had vociferously opposed the education of women or, at best, Harvard's participation in such a dubious endeavor--gradually died down.

In 1923, as Ada Comstock took over the presidency, the college embarked on an aggressive building campaign: Briggs Hall was dedicated in 1924; Longfellow Lecture Hall followed in 1930; Byerly Hall in 1932; and finally Cabot Hall in 1937.

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The trend toward coeducation really began during World War II out of nothing less than sheer necessity on Harvard's part. The war had so depleted Harvard enrollment that the merging of most educational facilities became the only pragmatic financial arrangement for Harvard.

Until 1943 Radcliffe had hired its own professors; all were Harvard instructors, but Radcliffe paid them separately, and they taught their women students in the Radcliffe Yard.

But in 1943, Wilbur K. Jordan, Radcliffe's new president, made the first overtures--on Radcliffe's part, at least--toward coeducation. Harvard agreed to educate women in Harvard buildings and with Harvard money. Radcliffe would no longer pay the professors; rather, it passed its tuition revenue on to Harvard.

"Now Harvard and Radcliffe educations are the same except for the name on the diploma," one Harvard dean said smugly after coeducational classes had been initiated. But in 1962 Radcliffe women began to receive Harvard degrees, though Harvard clung to separate commencements for another eight years.

When Radcliffe suggested in 1969 that she merge with Harvard, it seemed certain that the inevitable consequence of 90 years of growing non-separatism between the wealthy university and its indebted sister college would soon become reality.

Just two months later, 1200 men and 300 women would receive letters of admission to what appeared would be a single, sexually heterogeneous Class of 1974. These acceptances, most assumed, would be the last to bear distinguishable letterheads. And the days of the seemingly arbitrary distinction between Harvard men and Radcliffe women--students receiving identical educations but "attending" different schools--appeared numbered at best.

This schizophrenia, however, had been present since Radcliffe's birth. As far back as 1879, there had been such a thing as a "Harvard girl." And although the term, coined by President Agassiz, was used by almost no one else, it foreshadowed the course of the alliance between the two bastions of higher education--the one for men and the one for women--and the dubious position held by Radcliffe women throughout the history of the school.

As the trend toward coeducation had developed--and peaked in 1968 with the admission of women to arch-rivals Yale and Princeton--the sudden and official transformation of Radcliffe women into Harvard women, as if by the stroke of a wand (and not by the vote of the Corporation), seemed imminent.

President Mary I. Bunting's announcement in February 1969 that Radcliffe would seek a merger agreement with Harvard prompted speculation that the school had committed institutional suicide. The Crimson extra announcing the merger plans included a picture of Bunting with the caption, "Cliffe's Last President."

But the presumed fait accompli faltered as Radcliffe alumnae came to the defense of their alma mater. And Harvard die-hards came forward to reiterate the rudiments of their long-standing skepticism regarding merger. Franklin L. Ford, then dean of the Faculty, subtly summed it all up: "The most brutal formulation of the problem of merger might mean achieving sexual diversity at the expense of other kinds of diversity."

Other Faculty members and administrators followed in stride, implying that geographic, economic, academic and racial diversity could not possibly be achieved with respect to women.

But all the rationalizations were just a coverup for the larger issue: the equal admission of men and women, the logical next step for an institution whose tradition could no longer be described as exclusively male.

So in December 1970 a committee of Harvard and Radcliffe Governing Board members turned a proposal for institutional suicide into a mere suicide gesture. The committee recommended a new plan that, while technically a "non-merger," combined the two institutions but kept "Radcliffe" as a redefined if nominal administration.

The terms of that settlement, later approved by the Harvard Board of Overseers and the Radcliffe Trustees, were:

* That Radcliffe retain ownership of its property and endowment and continue to manage its endowment in consultation with the Harvard treasurer;

* That Radcliffe pay Harvard 100 per cent of its income from endowment, tuition fees and rents, and that Harvard assume the total expense of Radcliffe's operation, including joint fund-raising;

* That Harvard assume responsibility for operating Hilles Library as well as other Radcliffe buildings and dining facilities;

* That the Radcliffe Houses become part of a unified House system under the Faculty of Arts and Sciences; and,

* That Radcliffe retain control of the Schlesinger Library, the Radcliffe Institute, the Alumnae Office, and its admissions and financial aid office.

But the non-merger merger agreement can probably be best summed up by the redefinition of the Radcliffe administration. The pact specified that a dean of Radcliffe be appointed by the governing boards of Harvard and Radcliffe, and that the dean have administrative jurisdiction over the Schlesinger Library, the Radcliffe Institute, the Alumnae Office and the Office of Admissions and Financial Aid.

The agreement stipulated, however, that the annual budget for the retained programs be subject to the review and approval of the "Joint Budget Committee"--a group representing the governing boards of both Radcliffe and Harvard, and composed of equal numbers of members from each institution.

The contract--a revision of the April 1943 pact that instituted coeducational classes--allowed Radcliffe to designate the dean as president of Radcliffe if its trustees desired. But the responsibilities of the administrative head of what remained of "Radcliffe" had been so undercut that the retention of the title, "president of Radcliffe," represented a last meager attempt to maintain Radcliffe's identity as a women's institution distinct from the university that now controlled it.

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The non-merger merger was financially, attractive to Radcliffe largely because Harvard absorbed all of the school's debts. But for Harvard's sake, the compromise neatly side-stepped the key issue--the total absorption of Radcliffe women into the Harvard mainstream, a situation many observes felt could only be brought about by the admission of equal numbers of both sexes.

Committee members who drew up the non-merger recommendation admitted freely that their proposal intentionally avoided the ratio issue--an admission that was not consonant with their report's repeated emphasis on "full and equal participation of Radcliffe students in the intellectual and social life of the University."

Harvard fund-raisers further warned that alumni contributors would not tolerate a decrease in male enrollment to accommodate a larger number of women undergraduates. With characteristic circuity, administrators argued that increasing the female enrollment would be impossible since increased total enrollment--the logical solution to the fund-raising dilemma--would inevitably and irreparably depreciate the value of a Harvard education.

But the ratio issue did not end there. A variety of forces--most notably, pending federal legislation that would at the very least mandate sex-blind admissions at coeducational schools--stirred concern among administrators here as elsewhere. College administrators realized they would have to demonstrate that their admissions policies, like their hiring practices, were non-discriminatory or face legislative action to force compliance with standards beyond those they would impose on themselves.

In the fall of 1972 President Bok announced a plan under which men and women would be admitted to incoming classes in the ratio of 2.5-to-1. To mitigate the effects a predicted cutback in male enrollment might have on donations, Bok ordered that the size of the Harvard class be decreased by only 50 men and the Radcliffe class increased by about 150 women--a net increase in enrollment of the College.

To avoid an upset in the economic diversity of the incoming Radcliffe classes, he pledged additional funds for scholarships for Radcliffe students. And to alleviate the impending housing shortage, the University bought the Hotel Continental on Garden Street near the Quadrangle and embarked on a campaign for donations for a new dormitory (which eventually led to the building of Canaday Hall).

But student demands for one-to-one admissions have increased since. Commencement actions in particular have marked the heightened concern with artificial quotas of less than one-to-one.

An April 11, 1973 Crimson editorial stated:

...Simply to talk of "non-discriminatory" in an institution intent on enrolling more men than women is naive. Harvard's applicant pool is so over-qualified that any numerical limit on acceptances means arbitrary choice. The question centers on the principles that will guide such choices. Harvard's past practice demonstrates that, if possible, sexism will be one of those principles....

By enrolling equal numbers of men and women, by recruiting men and women with equal effort, by providing personal services in equal quantities and of equal quality, by providing as much money for needy women as Harvard does for low-income men, and by hiring qualified men and women teachers and workers in equal numbers, Harvard will demonstrate both its ability and willingness to provide a healthy educational community without sexual discrimination. Under those conditions non-discrimination would yield a one-to-one student body. Until students and alumni demand equal admissions by deliberate policy or Congress passes legislation which will force Harvard toward accepting as many women as men, the University will continue to discriminate against women. No one should be satisfied with Harvard's admissions policy until equal numbers of men and women are admitted.

But Harvard continued to cite financial difficulties as the obstacle to equal admissions. This reasoning, advocates of one-to-one admissions argue, is either circular or false. Figures from other colleges suggest that increased coeducation--even with decreased male enrollment--has not diminished alumni contributions. (And equal admissions proponents have consistently opposed an increase in the size of the college.)

Furthermore, they argue, by opening more places to women, Harvard will create the capacity in more women to make large contributions to Harvard. In 1972, for example, the average pledge of Radcliffe seniors was higher than that of their male counterparts.

A serious financial argument is possible only if one believes what F. Skiddy von Stade '37, dean of freshmen, said five years ago--that educated women are simply less useful to society than educated men. "When I see the bright, well-educated, but relatively dull housewives who attended the Seven Sisters, I honestly shudder at the thought of changing the balance of males versus females at Harvard," von Stade said. "Quite simply, I do not see highly educated women making startling strides in contributing to our society in the foreseeable future. They are not, in my opinion, going to stop getting married and/or having children. They will fail in their present role as women if they do."

(It is interesting to note, however, that in a survey answered by about half--presumably the more concerned half--of Harvard's 1974 25th Reunion Class, over 62 per cent favored "merger." Sixty-eight per cent favored the "admission of women to Harvard College." Although the distinction between the two questions is not clear, the responses indicate that a sizable portion of last year's 25th Reunion Class--the class traditionally responsible for the largest annual contribution to the University--does not share the von Stade hypothesis.)

What is more disturbing than von Stade's statement, however, is the fuel that was added to the fire by Radcliffe's current president. President Horner's well-publicized thesis that women--notably Radcliffe women--are afraid to succeed has been a source of support for the hard-line attitudes of Harvard stalwarts like von Stade.

But Horner's psychological data seem much more strongly to confirm the hypothesis not that women are afraid to succeed, but that they are afraid to fail. And this alternative theory is borne out by the melange of statistics published in recent years by the OGCP and the Office of Women's Education--an office established by Horner and under her ultimate jurisdiction--concerning the career goals of women undergraduates. These figures suggest women are no less anxious about "making it" in their chosen fields than are their male counterparts.

Furthermore, any attempt to substantiate the Horner hypothesis with allusions to the marriage-children syndrome leads not to corroboration of the theory that women fear success, but rather to validation of women's fear of failure in anything they undertake to do--becoming housewives included.

The troublesome outgrowth of the publicity given the Horner theory (including a cover story in The New York Times Magazine last year) is that it must inevitably have an adverse effect on opinion regarding the importance of educating women and on the manner in which the education of women is perceived.

It is unreasonable to believe the advocacy of such a theory by the president of Radcliffe College--a 95-year-old bastion of women's higher education--would not be exploited by long-standing foes of equal admissions, particularly a policy mandating a one-to-one ratio.

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Last fall Presidents Bok and Horner appointed a committee--of administrators, faculty, alumni and students--to be chaired by Karl Strauch, professor of Physics, to study the relationship between Harvard and Radcliffe and to make specific recommendations regarding admissions policy.

The formation of a committee charged with considering admissions suggests that this issue will be of paramount importance when the larger question of merger is reviewed by the Harvard Corporation and the Radcliffe Trustees at the conclusion of the coming academic year.

It is ironic that merger has become so controversial an issue. When Radcliffe was founded almost a century ago, its primary raison d'etre was to provide for women the education Harvard College made available only to men.

Women associated with Radcliffe remain as split on the issue as do their Harvard counterparts; in fact, their disagreement may have even more far-reaching implications. Though it may seem absurd that solidarity among women on this campus can only be achieved by ignoring the issue of merger, that certainly appears to be the case