For Veterans, the LPS Program Camouflages the Real Penn Experience
It all started with men’s lightweight rowing.
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It all started with men’s lightweight rowing.
Need help catching up after a few missed classes? Want to talk about that bad paper grade? Having trouble with class concepts? Often, it’s not your professor who will help with these problems, it’s your TA.
“The deck is really stacked against you when you’re not running as an incumbent,” Lauren Lareau said. Her opponent has a tenure as entrenched in suburban Pennsylvania as a Girl Scout’s cookie–selling route.
In an article entitled “Here’s How Higher Education Dies,” education reporter for The Atlantic Adam Harris describes the decline of higher education. As Harris notes, the schools that will be safe from the eventual bursting of the academic bubble will be “the major players and media darlings such as Ivy League institutions and major public institutions like the University of Texas at Austin”—schools like Penn. With vicious marketing strategies and airtight branding techniques, these institutions transform themselves into “media darlings," corporate megaliths insured against the whims of the higher education landscape. With a $12.2 billion endowment as of 2017, the University of Pennsylvania functions more and more like a business with a mission to stay on top.
Beneath a dropped ceiling crumbling tile by tile, on a floor sticky with week–old alcohol, between walls tattooed with anthems and illustrations of classes past, 3914 Spruce Street tells a story decades deep. Since the early 1970s, the four–story dwelling nestled between Pi Kappa Alpha and Sigma Alpha Epsilon has served as home to Penn’s chapter of Pi Lambda Phi, better known as Pilam. But under the weight of debt, this has all come to an end.
Years ago all of the shelves in Penn’s Barnes and Noble store were consistently filled to the brim with books—spines out. Now, employees stack the shelves with the covers out to make the shelves look less empty. If one book is bought, employees will come back later and shuffle the books into a more appealing configuration. Only a handful of books span each shelf in the Art History & Criticism section. In Photography, one shelf has only four books on it. Two shelves in U.S. Travel don't have any books at all.
The windows of Iztaccihuatl were blacked out. Customers who wanted to pick up food were instructed to call when they got there: don’t come in, we’ll bring it out to you. The Penn fraternity renting out the Mexican BYO restaurant for the night told manager John Lewis that apart from him, no one was allowed inside.
A towering figure in a full–length, tan fur coat and white go–go boots saunters on stage. Peering at the crowd through strands of his blonde wig, John Holmes (C ‘18) lip syncs to a number from the musical Chicago. He slowly spins around on stage and mimes the lyrics of the song to periodic shrieks of encouragement, exaggerating his every movement with drama and panache. As he luxuriates on a chair on stage with the tatters and rips in his fur coat fully visible, the recorded voice of Catherine Zeta–Jones wails, “Whatever happened to class?”
“I bought a hamburger, a lousy round hamburger about this size. For nine dollars.” Linda Harris makes a tiny circle with her hands. She emphasizes, “It looked like a McDonald’s hamburger.”
“Here we are on College Green,” our guide exclaimed in a sing–songy voice. “There’s always tons of events and activities happening here—everyone always comes together and hangs out on College Green.”
Content warning:
When Alec Druggan (C ’21), a staff photographer for the DP, moved to Philadelphia for his senior year of high school, he perceived that “in America, teenagers are much, much more sexually active than in other parts of the world.”
After flying fifteen hours from Beijing to Philadelphia, Wendy Han (W' 19) was greeted in her freshman dorm in King’s Court with a uniquely American form of culture shock: football players. They made up at least half of her floor.
The police officer told him he should have been dead.
I traced my finger over his name a few times. Sampson.
The room—loud with music and reeking of beer—was bright enough for Holly Li (W ‘18) to realize that almost all of the mostly–white fraternity brothers had brought dates who were Asian. It was a little after midnight, and she had just arrived at the on–campus fraternity’s house after a date night. She noticed there was a similar concentration of Asian women at past fraternity functions—by her count at least a third of the dates were always Asian women. As her date left to join the crowd circling the beer pong tables, Holly sank into the upholstery of a dingy couch. One fraternity brother sat down next to her.
Drew Stone (E ‘17) entered the world of Bitcoin in 2013, before most self–identifying financial experts. Purchasing his first bitcoins wasn’t a shrewd market calculation. He was a senior in high school, and he bought $200 worth of Bitcoin because a website offered 20% off an XBOX video gaming system with the purchase.
It's April 14th, 1989. Heidi Tandy (C’ 92) keeps rum and champagne in her room. She doesn’t throw parties there; she lives on the first floor of Warwick in the Quad, too close in proximity to the Task Force patrol (Ed. note: no, not that task force). This year, the name of the game is discretion. Her fellow freshmen sip liquor from soda cans down near the Baby Quad.
“This store is weird,” says a longtime FroGro worker, rearranging a shelf full of Pampers. It gets weirder at four in the morning.
English PhD student Aaron Bartels–Swindells played a lot of rugby and basketball growing up. When he was a child he had three teeth knocked out during a game. He got them replaced, and he was fine.
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