In the Beginning

We were exuberant, we were the Class of 1967 and we arrived 822 strong, the second-largest class in the University’s history. A rollicking three years and nine months later, after trading with everything from the Class of 1964 to the Class of 1968, from Wellesley to the U.S. Army, the total of our one-time-or-another members had expanded to more than 900, while the total of our graduating members had been reduced to something near 770.

In the early weeks of freshman year our personality and achievements were all possible and future, and we were little more than a mass of cold, untapped statistical potential. We boasted 127 valedictorians, 143 class presidents and 53 football captains. We had the highest average SAT scores of any class yet: verbal, 661; math, 701. We came from 42 states and several foreign countries; 156 of us were alumni sons and 320 were preppies.

By graduation time, however, we were no longer numbers or facts, we were people, and we were friends. What we had done counted not so much as who we were. By graduation some of us had repeated our earlier performances as athletes, leaders and thinkers, though some of us undoubtedly had not. But down to the the very last one of us, we were all individuals. We were a clown, a grind, a good man, a drinker, a lover, a fink, or maybe just a plain nice guy. But we were all someone.

But establishing our identity took time. The beginning of our Princeton career was filled with uncertainty. Those of us who were athletes looked around at the competition and didn’t know whether we would be the star of the team or whether we might not make it at all. As students, we didn’t know whether we would rack in a one average or scrape by with a three-minus. When we joined Whig Clio or the Orange Key, we thought we would be peons for the rest of our lives, never realizing that in only a year or two we would be running the organizations.

But with time we quickly learned how we stacked up against the rest of our classmates. For some of us a two on a paper was a triumph, for others it was a disappointment. Some of us did star on the freshman teams, and even went on to star on the varsity squads. And some of us quickly moved up the ladder in the hierarchy of extra-curricular activity into positions of leadership. Others of us settled into a life of ease and chose to enjoy the relaxed comraderie of horsing around or flicking-out with friends. But by senior year, we all knew ourselves a lot better and we knew each other, too.

As each of us found our own particular niche in the university, and as everyone began to apply his talents to various activities, our personality as a class began to emerge. We had no legendary heroes; we had no Bill Bradley or Cosmo Iacavazzi. Our talents were many, however, and they were spread out into all sorts of endeavors. Indeed, Director of Admissions E. Alden Dunham had apparently succeeded in his first attempt to form a “well-rounded class of outstanding individuals.”

As a class we were extremely active, and our greatest desire seemed to be to break away from the mold of the notorious apathy. For better or worse, we were determined to leave our mark on Princeton. Although there was a strong and vociferous element that defended the status quo, the majority of us agitated for change: coeducation, the car rule, Bicker and the dorm rule were our favorite subjects. By graduation, we had not effected any visible results in any area, yet we could feel with confidence and pride that we had at least planted the seeds of unrest and that some time later what we had started would become a reality and would lead to a change for the better in the Princeton we loved.

© 1997 by The Class of 1967, Princeton University. Reprinted from the 1967 Nassau Herald.