There was a time when a telephone with a bulbous red flashing
light on it meant something. The Soviet premier was ringing the
White House to inquire about a bomber squadron screaming over
Siberia in the direction of Moscow. Or Commissioner Gordon needed
Batman's assistance with an arch villain wielding an amnesia ray.
It's a little disorienting, therefore, to poke one's head into
the room of Zahm Hall freshman Charles Kennedy on a chilly spring
evening.
He sits at a desk, working at a laptop computer. Music plays
from the computer's compact speakers while he puts the final touches
on a PowerPoint presentation for an Air Force ROTC class, which
he's taking as a non-ROTC student.
Across the room a prominent red light blinks insistently on
the face of his room telephone, not unlike an engine trouble indicator
on a cockpit control panel. He ignores it.
"I'm not a big fan of the phone," he says by way of non-explanation.
The lack of concern results from experience. All Notre Dame
residence hall rooms come equipped with such a phone. The red
light signals that a voice-mail message is waiting for one or
more of the room's residents, who share a single line. Like Kennedy,
few students race to investigate it. They know the message is
likely to be a mass voice-mail from the hall staff -- a reminder
about tonight's hall council meeting, an invitation to Multicultural
Week activities.
If someone important were trying to reach them - say a friend
or a member of a group project for class - the fellow student
would be unlikely to resort to means as indirect as a land line
telephone call. They'd use their cell phone - the overwhelming
majority of students carry them -- and set off a buzz or bleep
in the other person's pocket or purse or backpack, reaching out
to touch them where they are right now.
More likely still, if seated at a computer, students
would simply double-click the screen name of the person they want
to reach on their Instant Messenger buddy list and launch into
a typed conversation right away.
"It's, like, so much less effort," says another freshman, Shannon
Trevino of Howard Hall, of instant messaging versus old-fashion,
look-up-the-number telephony.
So it goes among the impatient, 15 million-bits-per-second
Connected Generation, now multitasking at a college or university
near you.
Alumni often ask those of us who work at Notre Dame what undergraduates
are like today. The answer is that in many respects they're not
much different from previous generations.
A case could be made that they're better.
To overgeneralize -- something this article is going to do throughout
-- the typical Notre Dame student of today is bright, industrious,
articulate, respectful, generous, neat, fit, even buff, not to
mention tech-savvy. "A terrific group" is the way English professor
Thomas Werge describes them. He has plenty to compare them to,
having taught at Notre Dame so long that some of his former students'
children are now enrolling in his classes.
Today's Notre Dame students are the most able young men and
women that communities all over the country, and some foreign
countries, have to offer. By and large, they come from good, close
families. They love their parents and are doing them proud in
South Bend, thank you, filling their report cards with As and
raising money and volunteering to help the less fortunate. The
principal blot on the collective student body's record is what's
become an annual mass bust of underage drinkers carrying fake
IDs in a local bar. This year there were two busts.
Today's students are more ethnically and racially diverse than
those of the past - and they figure to become more so in the future,
thanks to a 41 percent jump in applications from minorities this
year. But the complexion change isn't all that noticeable among
undergraduates as more than four-fifths remain Caucasian (and
Catholic).
Each year students found new groups and programs - a fly fishing
club last year, the Queen of Notre Dame Contest this past April.
But these future alumni -- 1 in 4 of whom is the child of an alumnus
-- also eagerly uphold the traditions they inherit. And sulk when
any are discontinued, as was the case a few years ago when sleeping
out to be first in line to buy football tickets was done away
with because of safety concerns.
Tailgating before home football games and standing shoulder
to shoulder from kickoff to helmet-salute continue to be thought
of as compulsory, if exhausting, delights. To administrators'
dismay, a substantial majority continues to deem alcohol and weekend
fun as inseparable.
The most obvious distinguishing characteristic of this generation?
Alumni who predate coeducation would say it's the presence of
women, projected to constitute 48 percent of the incoming Class
of 2007. For any other observer, it would be the extent to which
technology has become embedded in these students' lives, especially
communications technology.You can't turn your head on campus now,
for instance, without seeing a student walking while talking on
a cell phone.
Today's students stand out from their predecessors in many other
ways, but most of them aren't so apparent.
* * *
By any measure, these are the most qualified students ever to
attend Notre Dame. The 3,360 applicants accepted for next fall's
freshman class, out of a record pool of 12,094 applicants, carry
an average SAT of 1382, a score that ranks in the 97th percentile
nationally for college-bound students. Half of ND-admitted-students'
scores ranged from 1320 to 1460. Among those not admitted by Admissions:
373 high school valedictorians.
This is the sort of Tiffany jewelry counter selection a university
enjoys when it's ranked in the top 20 and blessed with loyal,
successful alumni (mothers now, as well as fathers) who dream
of seeing their children follow in their footsteps up the Main
Building's stairs. It also helps being able to provide financial
aid so you can pick applicants without regard to their ability
to pay, as has been the case since 1998, when the University began
meeting full demonstrated need.
Considering how competitive getting into Notre Dame has become,
it shouldn't surprise anyone to learn that the ones making it
through are go-getters of the highest order. They not only made
As in high school, they were leaders outside the classroom. The
classic example of this, and of Notre Dame's continuing appeal
to people who like sports, is that about three-fourths lettered
in a varsity sport in high school and 38 percent captained a team.
These are young people who, by and large, know only one speed
-- constant. Their parents sent them to space camp, minivan-ed
them to youth soccer, steered them into advanced placement courses
(almost 25 percent of students admitted the past few years have
been children of educators). It's a group, says one Notre Dame
officer, "that has been thinking about college admission since
seventh grade."
They are goal-setters, goal-reachers. And after attaining the
grand goal -- maybe it was their parents' goal, too -- of making
it into a school like Notre Dame, some yield to fatigue and dial
it back. But they are in the minority. Most current students continue
to cram their lives with full course loads and wide range of extracurriculars,
from the purely fun (Bookstore Basketball) to the benevolent (Habitat
for Humanity) to the career positioning (Student International
Business Council). There are now more than 200 recognized student
groups. Plus about 40 percent of students hold jobs on campus.
Many are so busy they barely have time to eat. In 1994 Food
Services began offering throw-it-in-a-bag Grab 'n' Go meals. Students
pick up about 1,800 of these a day now. The South Dining Hall
stays open till 9 Monday through Thursday to accommodate late-day
meetings and sports practices.
One senses that many students today see college not as a timeout
from reality but a time to knuckle down and make sure the future
turns out as it should. An administrator who was an undergraduate
in the 1970s says past generations of students began thinking
seriously about a post-graduation plans at, say, November of senior
year. Today's are already strategizing about majors and minors,
internships, whether to study abroad in Austria or Australia junior
year, while still freshmen. Or as they're now officially termed,
"first-year students."
This is not to say all students are scheming and sweating to
ensure a lavish future lifestyle. They don't all use the same
yardstick to set life goals. Competition among seniors, for instance,
appears to be no more spirited to land a position with a power
brokerage on Wall Street than to be accepted into the Alliance
for Catholic Education, which places new graduates in teaching
positions in under-resourced Catholic schools for two years. They
get a stipend and course work during summers that leads to a master's
degree in education.
Notre Dame students know they've made it this far by working
diligently within the system. So it's perhaps only natural that
so many seem reluctant to buck it.
Faculty -- perhaps because they were the opposite way in college
-- often complain that students are ready to accept whatever rule
or requirement is handed down by authority figures. It surprises
some administrators -- and even amuses them, they might allow
privately -- how readily students comply with a rule requiring
groups to preregister and obtain permission before protesting
anything on campus.
Another common gripe among educators -- an ancient one that
isn't limited to Notre Dame -- is that students are more concerned
with making grades ("Is this going to be on the test?") than learning.
"There's a lot of focus on getting an A, acing your test, less
on learning the material," one student acknowledges.
Each year about one-third of Notre Dame seniors immediately
embark on graduate study. So keeping grades up is important for
many as they look ahead to a competitive applications process.
But it sometimes seems to extend beyond logical bounds. One professor
who has taught biology for more than three decades says he has
students in classes for non-science majors -- people who aren't
eyeing med school -- who argue over half a point as if their futures
depended on it. Others, finding themselves getting a C a few weeks
into a semester, opt to drop the class rather than risk tarnishing
their GPA.
* * *
The long-term proximity of nose and grindstone may be taking
a toll. Although many on campus see students as generally cheerful,
as do most of the students, other longtime campus observers detect
a shift in demeanor.
"Students are a lot quieter than they used to be, more serious,"
says a Holy Cross priest who has taught and lived among male students
in the residence halls for more than 40 years. "I think they're
more concerned about life, not as buoyant."
Walking from his office to the building where he teaches, the
science professor says he sees hardly any students smiling. "They
all look so grim. They don't seem to be enjoying life, and, my
God, at that age - 18 years old."
Some of the grimness probably reflects the pressure today's
students feel to be the best, and a coming to grips with reality.
"Everyone here excelled at everything in high school," says one
student, "and here you can't be the best at everything."
One former hall rector, who has lived among Notre Dame women
since the early 1970s, says she always suggested that applicants
for resident assistant positions also apply for other campus leadership
roles. In high school, most of them had won the positions they
wanted. But there were too many qualified applicants for the available
RA jobs. "It becomes the first time they've not made it," she
says. "They see it as a failure."
Students know they can't be perfect at everything, but many
still try. That includes trying to fit the idealized body type
of celebrities. For women it's the thin Jennifer Aniston; for
guys, it's to be "ripped" like Brad Pitt. It' not uncommon to
hear a female student remark after pigging out on dinner that
she has a long night ahead of her on the aerobics machines to
burn off the indulgence.
It's easy to see how such attitudes lead to eating disorders.
Most victims are women, but Notre Dame men have received treatment
in recent years as well.
That's another difference in today's students. If they think
they have a problem, they seek professional help. The University
now employs eight full-time, Ph.D.-holding counseling psychologists
and one clinical psychologist, yet sometimes there's a waiting
list.
According to one student affairs administrator, more students
than ever arrive at Notre Dame taking antidepressants and other
pharmaceuticals to treat mental and emotional problems. He isn't
sure of the reason for the change -- whether students today are
more comfortable seeking help, or if today's culture produces
more stress and a feeling of being overwhelmed.
* * *
Life for today's students isn't all grade-chasing and fitness-questing.
Walk through a dorm, especially a male one, any evening or weekend
and you'll find plenty of examples of sloth.
One of the paradoxes of the Notre Dame student body is how a
group so experienced and dedicated to fitness nonetheless spends
hours glued to computer and television screens. In women's halls,
roommates and friends get together for marathon sessions of watching
DVDs of such classic "chick flicks" as My Big Fat Greek Wedding
or Notting Hill or to take in a few episodes from a season's
worth of Friends.
Sports continue to dominate guys' viewing habits. Multiple satellite
dishes protrude from the south-facing walls of many men's halls,
with wires running to various rooms. Guys typically purchase or
through illegal means obtain access to full-season sports programming.
This year Zahm Hall won a $1,000 prize for collecting the most
used coats for the annual Project Warmth campaign. Hall government
put the money toward the purchase of a wide-screen, high-definition
TV with surround sound for the basement lounge.
Another favorite diversion among guys is competitive video sports
gaming. Participants spend hours assembling imaginary college
football teams from real players' statistics. Competition entails
a series of head-to-head match-ups. It's serious stuff.
Among both males and females, however, the primary diversion
on weekends (which begin Thursday night) remains drinking. Although
administrators have tried valiantly to change attitudes, the clear
majority of students (other than African-American students) continues
to view alcohol as a necessary ingredient in nightlife. And the
goal among many is not merely to unwind after a hard week of goal-pursuit
but to get wasted. The typical student is well-schooled in methods
for achieving this state.
Earlier this year a poll posted at the student-run website NDToday.com
asked students how often they personally had participated in drinking
games while at Notre Dame. The options were: "never," "just once,"
"several times," "every week," or "more often." By late April
225 had responded. The most popular choice was "several times"
(45 percent). A combined 38 percent said they did it every week
or more often.
Students and some faculty and administrators say that what goes
on at Notre Dame is no different from at other universities. But
it's telling that the most vocal protests in memory followed the
announcement a year ago of changes in campus alcohol policies.
The change that drew the most scorn -- and continues to be resented
-- banned in-hall dances.
It's not clear whether the rule changes have sobered the drinking
culture any. Many students say the dance ban only spoiled a cherished
campus tradition and that just as much abusive drinking goes on
as before, only at off-campus parties. Administrators says they
see signs of less alcohol consumption and hope further research
will verify this.
If it didn't curb drinking, the demise of the in-hall dance
probably has altered at least one aspect of campus culture: the
undergraduate dating scene.
Students will laugh reading that term because many insist no
such scene exists. A group of about 20 upperclassmen was asked
earlier this year how many had gone out on a traditional date
while enrolled at Notre Dame. Fewer than a third raised their
hands.
At Notre Dame at least, dating has become more of a group thing,
so much so that many female students (always referred to as "girls"
by both male students and themselves) say they would find it unnerving
for a guy to ask them to go alone with him to dinner and a movie.
The typical pattern for dances is for a half-dozen guy friends
to ask a like number of girls, often fixing up one another, and
then go as a group. As one fifth-year senior female puts it, "You
don't go to a dance unless all your friends are going."
On such excursions, even when one of the parties has a genuine
romantic interest in the other (it happens), the evening typically
ends not with an awkward good-night kiss at the door but a "see
ya" and a wave, according to one student.
Hugs and hand-holding can be spotted here and there on campus,
and you'll see the occasional peck on the cheek. But rarely, if
ever, will you find a couple kissing passionately in public. Such
behavior is derisively labeled a PDA, for Public Display of Affection.
If not in public, then where do today's students deem it acceptable
to "make out." Under the former dance system, a couple might sneak
off to the host's room, where, under the influence of the alcohol.
. . .
It's not easy to get students to describe the campus sex scene
with someone nearly as old as some of their parents. If surveys
are to be believed, intercourse occurs less frequently and more
carefully on all campuses these days in the age of AIDS. Exactly
how much happens at Notre Dame is anyone's guess. It's safe to
say that contrary to expectations laid out in du Lac
and the sentiment expressed on a favorite T-shirt -- "Sex kills.
So Come to Notre Dame and Live Forever" -- universal premarital
celibacy does not prevail.
The word students most often use in connection with male-female
relations at Notre Dame -- and it's clearly the favorite of the
females -- is "warped." Many think that keeping the genders in
separate buildings and having deadlines by which half the student
population must be out of the other half's living spaces spawns
abnormal relations.
Security assistants in women's halls -- usually older women
-- also come in for scorn. Women students say the monitors make
male visitors feel unwelcome, "like they're there to molest us,"
in the words of one resident.
* * *
When getting to know one another, students in recent years may
have found themselves in the company of the son or daughter of
the producer of the Harry Potter movies, the coach of
the Boston Celtics, the president of a Latin American nation.
As Notre Dame's prestige has grown, so has its share of celebrity
parents and very wealthy students.
One senior recalls a friend who planned to ask her father for
a spring-break trip to Las Vegas as a graduation present. The
senior reminded her friend that Daddy had already given her her
graduation presents -- a new laptop computer and luxury SUV.
Students' spring break travel plans frequently include cruises
and trips to foreign countries, particularly those that don't
have drinking ages.
Contrary to fears and popular belief, however, Notre Dame has
not turned into an exclusive club for rich kids. Thanks to the
boost in financial aid, one no longer has to be a super genius
or an athlete to get scholarship assistance that meets demonstrated
need. About 9 percent of today's students are first-generation
college goers, a category threatened with extinction before the
boost in financial aid.
No doubt today's students are more worldly, many of them having
already traveled abroad before coming to college. And about 40
percent of Notre Dame students study abroad at some point, the
highest percentage among doctoral universities, according to one
recent survey. But it's not clear whether these survivors of an
ever-more-competitive admissions process are any smarter than
their predecessors.
The longtime science professor scoffs at the record SAT heights.
"What that means is that they have learned how to take tests."
But he says students are convinced they're smarter.
He recalled recently receiving a critical e-mail from a student
who was upset about her scores on the first two tests of the semester.
"I'm obviously smart," she wrote, "because I'm here at Notre Dame."
Other faculty and administrators also detect a certain presumptuousness.
The science professor once received an e-mail from another student
who had missed a class. The student explained that a heavy snowfall
had made getting out of bed appear uninviting. He wanted to know
how much of the current chapter they were working on would be
covered in the next test and if the professor had any advice on
how to study for it.
The professor says, "I couldn't imagine in previous years a
student coming up to me and saying 'I couldn't get out of bed'
and then asking me a bunch of questions on things he should know
but didn't because he couldn't get out of bed." He theorizes that
the detached nature of e-mailing versus talking face to face may
promote such, perhaps unconscious, effrontery.
This begs a final point.
Such missteps stand out in faculty and administrators' memories
because they're the exceptions. Most observers say students today
share many of the same traits as their forebears at Notre Dame:
a tremendous work ethic, a dedication to helping others, a desire
to create a life with meaning. An estimated 85 percent of students
engage in some form of service work, an increase of only about
10 percent from 15 years ago, according to the Center for Social
Concerns. "I have friends who teach in the Ivies and at Duke,"
says Werge, the longtime English professor, "and there isn't that
same level of social and moral commitment to justice and a desire
to give something back."
Accounting professor Ken Milani, who has taught at Notre Dame
since 1972, heads a program in which students help people of limited
means prepare their tax returns free of charge.
"It's an awful lot of work," for two elective credits, he says.
Preparing the returns requires not only working with a different
segment of the population than Notre Dame students typically come
from but careful study of tax rules and attention to detail. If
the returns are prepared incorrectly, Milani will have to make
them right in July when notification comes from the IRS.
The program does roughly 3,000 returns each year, "and I get
back in the summer maybe 12 to 15 [with problems]," he says.
Recruiting students to participate in the program has never
been a problem. Past participants recommend it to their friends.
Describing the business students' work with the program, Milani
is reminded of what Father Hesburgh used to say of Notre Dame
students and the mission of faculty. Hesburgh said students arrived
on campus already possessing "four Cs." They were caring, concerned,
committed and compassionate.
"We add the fifth C, which is competent."
* * *
Ed Cohen is an associate editor of the magazine.
(July 2003)
