My favorite part of writing this book was having the opportunity to meet and interview some of the first women undergraduates at Yale. They are in their late sixties and early seventies now, and they are, to a one, remarkable. It wasn’t easy being in that first group of women. They were outnumbered seven to one by Yale men that first year because of a gender quota Yale put in place that gave preference to men. They were isolated—Yale divided them up across its twelve residential colleges so that the men would each have their own small cluster of girls. And while the phrase “sexual harassment” had not been invented in 1969, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going on. As I researched, I was struck by the courage and determination of these young women—most just teenagers—and by how much they were able to change Yale in their short time there.
The most challenging part of writing this book was doing justice to the stories of the forty African American women who were part of that first class. Feminist history has often been criticized for equating the history of white women with the history of women as a whole, and I didn’t want to repeat that mistake. But I’m a white woman who grew up in a white neighborhood and attended predominantly white schools (my graduating class at Bryn Mawr had just one African American student), and that was a handicap in telling this part of the history. I owe a lot to the African American women I interviewed, who taught me what it would be like to attend Yale if both your gender and race were in the minority.
Perhaps the most surprising thing that I learned was that Yale only admitted women students reluctantly, and did so for reasons that had more to do with marketing than equity. Through the mid-1960s, Yale watched in alarm as a growing number of students choose top-rival Harvard over Yale. Their reason? Yale men had to drive two hours to Smith or Mt. Holyoke to find a suitable girlfriend while Harvard men had merely to walk a few blocks to Radcliffe. By 1969, women were an amenity that top colleges could no longer do without. It wasn’t until Yale and Princeton went coed in 1969 that the coeducation taboo among America’s most elite schools was lifted, and a wave of coeducation changed U.S. higher education forever.
One piece of advice I have for girls headed to college is this: You are more powerful than you think you are. The world has been changed by girls just like you. Find a spot where what the world needs and what you love to do intersect, and throw yourself in. Senior year can be such a self-focused time: Are my SAT scores high enough? Who will write my recommendations? Did that interviewer like me? Leave that self-focus behind and look outward. The world needs you.
My Yale Needs Women book tour brings me to Baltimore on October 30, where I’ll be speaking at the Church of the Redeemer as part of the Enoch Pratt’s Writers Live series. I’d love to have some Bryn Mawr faces in the audience! In the meantime, follow me on Twitter at @AnneGPerkins, sign up for my quarterly newsletter here, or check out my website. My husband and kids also helped me put together a Yale Need Women playlist of 22 songs released between 1969 and 1972, plus a two-song prelude from 1967 (can’t forget Aretha Franklin’s Respect). You can learn more about each song here and listen to the playlist on Spotify.