The Class of 2000

Thirteen students from Penn's most selective class ever talk about living and learning on the brink of living and learning on the brink of the next millennium. Freshmen stand out for their dazed expressions in early September, for their swollen packs on Locust Walk and for bending their arms too early when singing "The Red and Blue." But this year's freshman class stands out for another reason -- or two. century. Okay, so the number itself doesn't make this class much different from the one before it, or from next year's soon-to-be starry-eyed freshmen. But we couldn't ignore the symbolism of the curving zeros of the next millennium. The 13 freshmen in this report by no means capture the diversity and experience that the Class of 2000 brings to Penn. But they begin to paint a picture of what the future may look like. We had no preconceptions about what we would find during our hours of wandering through the various freshman dorms looking for interesting conversations. We met Jenys Allende in her bathrobe on the way to the shower, and found the stories of her medical internship captivating. Caroline Rigsby's wide-open door revealed a pair of pink bunny slippers dangling over the edge of her bed -- the same slippers she wore when she was eight. Jazz music blaring from Dave Freedlander's room convinced us to stop and knock. "Tanesha will talk your head off," we were advised in DuBois. "You can't miss Dave!" everyone on the fourth floor of Speakman said of straight-edge devotee Dave Goldman. What we found can only be described adequately by their own words -- sentiments we've recorded in the profiles of this report. But the experience of trying to capture the spirit of a large group through such a small sampling was frustrating. We decided the best method was to just plunge in and peer into as many dorm rooms as we could. We saw rows of beer bottles lining the walls, an evil-looking Chinese dragon mask, a string of sunflower-shaped Christmas lights, hundreds of dripping candles, maps and paintings of exotic locales, and dozens of posters of John Belushi wearing the "College" sweatshirt. We visited the quietest corners of the Quad's fondly named "Nipple" and the loudest corridors of Butcher. We met students from Asia and Africa, and those that call West Philly home. And we learned of the quirky fears and pet peeves of the class of 2000. Roselynn Alibutod is terrified of birds. Rigsby can't stand watching people brush their teeth. Allende abhors feet. But to call the class 'diverse' would be to further a clichZ that understates our point. "Diversity," as Admissions Dean Lee Stetson points out, is a "most overworked word." But the word -- or, at least, the concept -- inevitably creeps into any conversation about the Class of 2000. "The class is so big, so diverse," says Allende, who is, herself, a native Puerto Rican. "I had never met an Indian or an Asian before I got here," says Ali Ispahani, who is from Turkey. "I've learned a lot about a lot of things." Rigsby, who hails from Atlanta, Ga., says her hall is "just crazy." A few students, though, said they are unimpressed by their peers. "I don't want to know someone in terms of a certain classification," says Goldman. "I just want to know about you." He says there are no "cool people" in the Class of 2000, and has even considered transferring. Freedlander, from Baltimore, Md., also has had trouble fitting in. "There are probably some really cool people here," Freedlander says. "I just haven't met them yet." But Stetson disagreed. "In the Eighties, we were seeing students more specified and directed. We sense that students are coming to college more open. "Change is happening rapidly. They have to learn to deal with the change? They must put out a broad enough net for those changes." Tafari Smith certainly has. He wants to work in the comic book industry -- and he's approaching it with a Wharton education. Barbara Zaucer hopes to be an international diplomat and then maybe president of her native country, Slovenia. "I'd love to do it if I could do it really, really well," says Zaucer, who speaks five languages and is working on a sixth. But James Middleton III is in no hurry to figure out where he's headed after college. "I don't know what I want," Middleton says confidently. "I'll freak out later, but not now." Most of the students we met assured us that they planned to use their four years at Penn to explore -- even though freshman year is inevitably a time to find a niche at the University. "I was working to complete myself here," Rigsby says. "And I think I have accomplished that." The Class of 2000 has experienced a startling awareness of the 'real world' since its first few sweaty weeks in West Philadelphia. They were met with a September crime wave near campus, an October self-immolation of a local activist and a visit by the president of the United States, a November murder of a University researcher and a December deadlock between the Greek system and the administration over party funds -- and that was just the first semester. Life will probably look very different three years from now, when the year 2000 no longer seems like a date plucked from a science fiction novel. In the not-too-distant future, the Class of 2000 will take its own place in the Parade of Classes on Ivy Day -- with more secure expectations for the future. And they'll finally have "The Red and Blue" down pat. n

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