Private Universities

It’s never really occurred to me to consider the “privatization” of the university because this is my first experience with a public university. My undergrad years were spent at a small, private university, and I didn’t give much thought to the implications of that—aside from realizing how much more expensive it would be, but I didn’t really care about that. I wanted to go to a picturesque, women’s college, and Smith was just too far away (and too obvious given my Sylvia Plath obsession). There was more diversity there than I had ever encountered up to that point, although in terms of class, most people were upper middle class or higher, and those who weren’t put a lot of effort into performing a higher class than the one they were part of. I’m sure that’s not unique to a private university, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens a bit more there.

Funding came from, as far as I can tell, tuition and private donors, most of whom were alumnae or relatives of alumnae. When I was there, there was lots of talk about how badly money was needed and what could be done to revitalize the university. Just from my own observations, a lot of people would leave during their first year; it wasn’t a good fit for most people. Most of the administration’s efforts seemed to go into recruiting new, first year students each year, rather than trying to retain those who were already there, a practice I still find baffling. There were so many legitimate issues that needed to be addressed, mold problems for instance, that simply weren’t. The most commonly discussed solution was to convert to a co-ed institution, and despite how many students privately complained about the lack of men on campus (which is also baffling, where exactly did they think they were going?) the majority publicly rejected that idea. It was a women-only enclave just as much as it was a university, and those of us who stayed beyond the first semester wanted it to stay that way.

The donors were names on a list; they weren’t actual people as far as many of us were concerned. They weren’t seen very often, and I didn’t think about them until the yearly ritual of writing thank-you cards to those who donated the funds for my scholarships. This happened every spring, and over half the campus was involved. I don’t know how anyone else felt about it, but I always wanted some kind of response, though the renewing of my scholarships each year may have been the best response I could have gotten. There was always a fear, however, of that money disappearing. Those particular donors might not be feeling so generous this year, or they simply might not have enough to go around. When the FAFSA emails warned me about filing early because there might not be enough financial aid for everyone that year, I didn’t worry that much; it seemed more like a way of keeping people from waiting until the last minute. However, I worried about the day when there wouldn’t be enough private donors, not just to keep me there, but also to keep the school going as it was.

 Politics didn’t enter into it really. There was a push for us to represent the ideals of the “Brenau woman”, but no-one ever explicitly defined what that was. We were encouraged to be politically active, in whatever way we chose, and there was more concern about what the national office of a sorority would think about something than about what donors or alumnae would think about it.