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Scholarly
Athletics
The
launch of a $100 million renovation of the Payne Whitney Gymnasium
has refocused attention on the role of athletics at an institution
whose emphasis is on mind over muscle.
February
1996
by Bruce Fellman
One of
the most riveting sporting events of this summer's Olympic Games
in Atlanta will be
—as it is in every Olympics—the sight of gymnasts performing
their gravity-defying routines. A classic (and one at which such
former gold medalists as Nadia Comaneci and Mary Lou Retton excelled)
is the vault. Charging down a runway at breakneck speed, the athlete
leaps onto a springboard, and then, twisting and turning, hurtles
over a "horse" before, if everything goes right, "sticking"
a triumphant landing.
Although the performance
is over in a heartbeat, years of training are required to do it
right. For Yale gymnasts, a successful vault requires something
more.
Anna Mitescu '96, last
year's Ivy League champion gymnast, explains that to do a vault
properly requires 75 feet of runway and 25 feet of landing area.
But the eighth-floor gymnastics room at the venerable Payne Whitney
Gymnasium, where Mitescu (who is majoring in both geology and internationalstudies)
and her teammates practice, is more than several feet short. To
compensate, the vaulters have to start their runs across the hall—in
the coach's office.
When Payne Whitney—Yale's
"cathedral of sweat"—opened its doors 65 years ago, it
was considered one of the wonders of the physical fitness universe.
However, time and deferred maintenance have not been kind to the
massive structure, and although architect James Russell Pope attempted
to build for the ages, the changing requirements of athletes, to
say nothing of the fact that in the 1970s women began to share the
facility with men, have over the years made Payne Whitney something
of an athletic anachronism. The gym's inadequacies were considered
by some to be so serious that in recent years at least a few people
at Yale were suggesting that the building be demolished and replaced
with an entirely new one.
But after weighing the
findings of a study conducted by the Minneapolis-based architectural
firm of Ellerbe Becket, administrators last year decided against
the wrecking ball. And this spring, not long after the frost is
out of the ground, a small army of builders will take up positions
at the gym and begin the first phase of what will eventually be
a top-to-bottom renovation.
To remain true to Pope's
neo-Gothic aesthetic while crafting a state-of-the-art facility,
University planners, working with Ellerbe Becket and with Cesar
Pelli and Associates (Pelli is the former dean of the School of
Architecture), have developed a multiphase project that will take
at least ten years and cost an estimated $100 million. The first
phase will include renovation of several of the existing squash
courts to meet the new dimensions required for international play,
as well as completion of work begun last year on the amphitheater,
and major improvements to the women's locker rooms and upgrades
of the fire- and life-safety systems. Also on tap is the construction
of a 35,000-square-foot addition that will house new basketball
and volleyball courts.
The budget
for the first phase is $35 million, at least $25 million of which
will come from the nearly completed Campaign for Yale.
Phase Two, for which neither a cost estimate nor a timetable has
been set, will concentrate on improvements to the swimming pools
(including enlarging the main pool to meet the standards for national
and international competition). Phase Three will address the nine-story
tower section of the building.
This massive commitment
to the restoration of Yale's primary athletic facility is especially
good news to those alumni who see Yale sports as an integral part
of the educational experience at the College, and have been increasingly
dismayed by the performance of recent years. Their feelings were
made known at the Association of Yale Alumni's Assembly XLVII—"Mens
Sana in Corpore Sano: Athletics at Yale"—held on campus from
October 26 to 28. Chaired by Maureen O. Doran '71MSN, the event
surprised many observers by revealing a deep level of concern. "I
know that as a certified egghead I'm not supposed to care about
sports," said one attendee. "But I have to admit that
I feel better about my Sunday when I know that Yale won the day
before."
It is a feeling President
Levin, himself an enthusiastic sports fan, can relate to. Although
statistics undercut the conventional wisdom that winning teams stimulate
alumni giving, nobody likes losing. "We ought to have winning
teams, and everyone's committed to achieving them," said Levin
at the Assembly. "But we have to do it within the rules of
the Ivy League philosophy."
And therein, grumbled
a number of AYA delegates, lies the problem: a fundamental disagreement
over Yale's interpretation of that philosophy.
The idea that "winning
is everything" is alive and well at both the professional level
and at universities whose sports programs serve primarily as a kind
of minor league for the pros. But the creation of a "gladiator
class" was precisely the sort of thing that the 1954 agreement
that led to the formation of the Ivy League sought to avoid. In
striving to make sports conform to the liberal educational model
set forth nearly 150 years ago in Cardinal Newman's influential
book, The Idea of a University, the League banned athletic scholarships
and declared that the members of varsity teams were expected to
be as competent in the classroom as they were on the field, in the
water, or on the court.
The ideal, said former
President A. Bartlett Giamatti at an AYA Assembly 15 years ago,
meant that "we no more encourage a professionalism of spirit
in athletics in our undergraduates than we encourage a professional
view of the purpose of an undergraduate education." Winning
was important, but striving was equally so, insisted Giamatti, adding
that in its proper place within Newman's liberal universe, "athletics
is essential, but not primary. It contributes to the point, but
it is not the point itself."
Not surprisingly, the
late President, who eventually became commissioner of baseball,
was a fan of the Boston Red Sox, a team that, despite mighty efforts,
has not quite pulled off the ultimate victory since the early part
of this century (a time when Yale and national prominence in sports
were synonymous). Also not surprising is that despite Giamatti's
declaration that "we must be first-rate in all things,"
the speech is often cited by some alumni as the beginning of what
they see as Yale's acceptance of varsity athletics as a distinctly
back-seat partner to academics.
But is
that assessment fair?
Calvin Hill '69, who was a stellar halfback for the University and
the Dallas Cowboys, thinks so, and he's clearly not alone. At the
AYA Assembly, the man who jokingly refers to himself as "Grant
Hill's father" (Grant Hill was a basketball star at Duke and
now plays professionally) joined with another Yale football great,
Tone N. Grant '66, in suggesting that if the University is going
to return to what they and others at the meeting saw as the glory
days, much more than a Payne Whitney upgrade will be necessary.
Both men are recent
recipients of the National Collegiate Athletic Association's Silver
Anniversary Award—Grant in 1991, Hill in 1994—an honor given to
only six former varsity athletes each year for what the NCAA terms
"significant contributions to society in the 25 years since
their graduations," and both were on campus to participate
in an Assembly panel discussion called "Athletics as Preparation
for a Life of Distinction." Before either spoke, they and their
audience in a packed Levinson Auditorium at the Law School watched
films that showcased the athleticism of quarterback Grant, runner
and pass-catcher (and occasional thrower) Hill, and another Yale
great, Brian Dowling '69. "I'm always intrigued to see the
highlights of my playing days," Hill told the crowd. "That
was when football was where it should be."
Hill, who has worked
as an executive with the Baltimore Orioles and now travels the country
as a motivational speaker, went on to tell a story whose point was
that there was more to sport than win-loss records. It was 1965,
he said, and this self-described "center of everything"
quarterback who had never lost a football game in high school, suddenly
found himself relegated to an unaccustomed role: running and catching
passes. During the first couple of weeks of practice as a freshman,
Hill candidly admitted that he was doing neither job well. On the
day of his first game, he missed the bus to the Bowl, and, he recalled,
he wasn't all that sorry. "I was thinking, 'Maybe I wouldn't
even play,'" he said.
But, as Hill recalled
the episode, Yale's legendary swimming coach Bob Kiphuth spotted
him "moseying between Morse and Stiles" and offered him
a ride. Kiphuth also offered him some advice. "We talked about
never giving up hope, and that's ultimately what I learned from
sports," said Hill, who explained that the pep talk "translated
into better performances both on the field—I scored my first touchdown—and
in the classroom."
There was another powerful
lesson as well, he continued. "At the time, Yale was undergoing
a tremendous social upheaval. There was the war in Vietnam, and
there was civil rights, urban unrest, and the question of whether
to admit women. And yet, no matter where you were on these issues,
everyone could set them aside for a while and rally around the football
team."
There
are those who are genuinely uninterested in athletics,
and there are others who feel that hanging one's identity on the
achievements of a team is, at best, silly. But a number of students,
even those who described themselves as jaded, reported experiencing
a soul-stirring feeling as the Yale football team pulled off its
delicious upset last fall of previously unbeaten Princeton. And
while the atmosphere before The Game was not akin to, say, the hoopla
preceding a Big Ten contest or the "Huskymania" that swept
this state last year when the University of Connecticut women's
basketball team powered its way to an undefeated season, the fact
that people had something in common to discuss was significant.
(Even though Yale lost, the contest was one of the most exciting
in years.)
"Sports can help
build a sense of community," says Kelly Brownell, professor
of psychology, master of Silliman College, and a former Purdue pitcher.
This bonding, of course, may be temporary—the time it takes to participate
in, or merely witness, a game—but because athletes and sports fans
generally cherish talking about events long before and after the
games are over, and because being part of a team can create lifelong
ties, the community that results can be surprisingly strong and
lasting.
Nor are the benefits
reserved for those on the varsity, says Brownell. While some 20
percent of Yale undergraduates participate in varsity sports (an
unusually high percentage compared to universities that offer athletic
scholarships), an estimated 53 percent are active in Yale's intramural
program, which offers competition between each of the residential
colleges in sports as disparate as touch football, bowling, water
polo, and ultimate frisbee. "Intramurals are one of Yale's
great selling points," says economics major Sam Wilderman '96,
who plays soccer and basketball for Silliman. "It's nice to
have an opportunity to compete, and the rivalry that develops does
wonders for forming a bond with your residential college."
These contests—more
than 3,000 of them each year—are, says Edward Mockus, who directs
intramural sports and recreation at Payne Whitney, not for the faint-hearted.
"The students come out with incredible intensity," he
says.
The same can be said
of the 18 percent of undergraduates who take part in club sports,
explains Tom Migdalski, the assistant athletics director who oversees
these student-directed activities which include everything from
capoeira (a South American martial art) and ballroom dancing to
polo and rugby. "We don't duplicate anything offered by varsity
sports," says Migdalski, whose father helped to pioneer the
club sports concept at Yale more than 40 years ago. "Instead,
we provide additional opportunities for students to compete at a
less structured level."
Because both club and
intramural athletes share most of the same facilities as those of
the varsity, all groups will benefit from the eventual restoration
of Payne Whitney, a building through whose oaken doors passed, during
a study conducted last spring, some 2,900 people per day.
"We
figure that more than 90 percent of Yale College students are involved
in some level of athletics,"
says Tom Beckett, who became
Yale's director of athletics in 1994. He adds that a high number
of graduate students, faculty, and staff members use the gym and
other sports facilities in pursuit of the corpore sano. "There
are very few couch potatoes here."
The degree of participation
is, to be sure, laudable, but to many, there's a hunger for something
that goes beyond the "college try." They desperately and
passionately want Yale teams—football, in particular—to win.
A poor season often
obscures better ones—of which there have been many in recent years—but
it also concentrates the attention on how to improve. Some critics
of Yale's recent performance attribute a measure of blame to Title
IX, the 1973 federal mandate that brought gender equity to intercollegiate
sports. Having to put money into women's teams (there are 17 varsity
women's squads; the men have 16) has, argue some, diluted the program
for everyone.
Barbara Chesler, associate
director of athletics, bristles at the charge. "There's absolutely
no truth to it," says Chesler, explaining that her department's
budget, now $12.5 million, has grown to meet the needs of new women's
teams. "None of this [growth] has come at the expense of men—if
we didn't have women's programs, those funds simply wouldn't be
there."
Another alleged roadblock,
others say, is Yale's alleged failure to pursue student-athletes
with the same kind of fervor that is said to exist at Yale's Ivy
rivals. Then, there is the complex issue of the Academic Index,
or AI, a formula adopted by the League in 1985 that sets minimum
admissions standards for players in football, men's basketball,
and men's hockey. By design, Yale's index is higher than that of,
for example, Columbia and the University of Pennsylvania, and this,
say critics, means that those schools may be picking up talent whose
credentials are more athletic than scholarly. And, of course, there's
the lack of athletics scholarships, an issue that always puts Ivy
League schools at a disadvantage in comparison to Duke, Stanford,
Northwestern, and other institutions with both strong academics
and a commitment to big-time athletics.
Advocates of a change
in the present Ivy League ban on athletic scholarships say the way
to get around it is to consider them "merit" scholarships
and use them to attract any kind of desired talent, be it a trombonist
or a tackle. At the recent Assembly, President Levin rejected this
idea, which he said would, by abandoning Yale's current system of
need-based aid, put the University on a "slippery slope"
toward having a dramatically different kind of student body than
is presently here: a "modest fraction" who were getting
a free ride, with the rest paying full fare.
Answering charges that
the University had created recruiting roadblocks, Levin explained
that the decision last year to increase the number of letters informing
prospective athletes about their likelihood of admittance had already
made a difference in the number deciding to attend Yale. Indeed,
Beckett called the Class of 1999 the best he has seen in terms of
athletic prowess.
Nor does
Levin regard the AI as an "insurmountable handicap to success."
The fact that
the University's two primary competitors, each of which has an AI
in Yale's neighborhood, have enjoyed recent winning campaigns in
such sports as men's hockey (Harvard) and football (Princeton) supports
the President's contention. But Tone Grant is unconvinced. "There
are structural impediments to success in sports here that are not
present in academics," Grant asserts. "The door should
be wide open to pursue your passions in all fields, including athletics.
In life—and sport—you're supposed to compete," he said. "You
don't survive otherwise. Maybe we should just get out of the Ivy
League."
Of course, the big time
sports schools all rely on athletic scholarships, and even if Yale
were to entertain withdrawing from its league—something that administrators
from President Levin and Athletics Director Beckett on down insist
is not under consideration—the cost of going the sports scholarship
route (a figure that, assuming the varsity program remains the same
size, could, said one official, reach $100 million per year) would
certainly rule it out in these cash-strapped times. And economics
aside, the "pay for play" approach still seems to be fundamentally
at odds with the liberal spirit that has long been at the heart
of the Yale experience. "I looked at Stanford when I was considering
colleges, but there was no way I could have run there competitively,"
says Lucy Chester '96, noting that the varsity slots were reserved
for those standout athletes on full scholarship. "I chose Yale
because this place is about participation."
To be sure, results
are important as well, but the valuable lessons in sports come to
both the victors and the also-rans. That point was made strongly
at the Assembly by Kwaku Ohene-Frempong '70, '75MD, a champion hurdler
and soccer player who received the NCAA's Silver Anniversary Award
in 1995 (joining Hill, Grant, and Olympic gold-medal-winning swimmer
Don Schollander '68; Kurt Schmoke '71 won an unprecedented fifth award for Yale this past November).
Ohene-Frempong, an associate professor of pediatrics at the University
of Pennsylvania who directs sickle-cell disease research at the
Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, brought a distinctly Giamatti-esque
viewpoint to the debate. "You can't judge an athlete by a win-loss
record," he said. "I remember less the winning than what
I went through mentally trying to understand why I didn't do so
well."
For Ohene-Frempong,
like Hill, the true rewards of athletics are to be found in the
trust and fellowship that develop among teammates—and in learning
not to quit. "I've watched people who are done in by small
setbacks," he says, noting that the kind of perseverance required
of all athletes, especially those on the losing side, may be the
most important benefit of participating in a sport. "I just
hope that those of us on the outside don't make our athletes who
aren't winning feel like failures."
Ironically,
much of the handwringing expressed at the Assembly came from "outsiders."
After a stirring speech at the traditional Friday night dinner by
Francis
T. "Faye" Vincent '63LLB in which the former commissioner
of baseball pronounced Yale athletics "in pretty good shape"
and urged the University to "stay the course" with respect
to the goals of the Ivy agreement, master of ceremonies John C.
Kane Jr. '67 asked those in the 500-member audience in Commons who
were former varsity athletes to stand and take a bow. Perhaps a
dozen rose. In other words, the greatest share of the Assembly criticism
was coming not from one-time members of any team, but from fans.
In a perfect world,
athletes will have the best imaginable facilities, recruiters will
bring in the most talented athletes, and Yale teams will never lose.
In the real world, of course, things aren't quite so simple. "We've
had our share of disappointments—we've had a couple of years of
drought," admits Barbara Chesler. "We can do things better
around here, but there's no lack of commitment on the part of coaches
and administrators, and there's no lack of work ethic among our
student-athletes."
The renovation of the
gym will certainly give those vigorous scholar-athletes like Anna
Mitescu a more supportive setting in which to compete. Can a return
to winning ways be far behind? "We're working on it,"
says Tom Beckett. "Hard."  |
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