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Transcript vs. Potential
The most recent AYA assembly focused on how the admissions process identifies the sort of applicant who will not only do well at Yale, but go on to be “part of the solution” in later life.

Summer 1996
by Annie Murphy Paul

While high school seniors around the country were still celebrating—or mourning—the results of their college search, more than 300 veterans of the process gathered at Yale to examine admissions from the inside. Assembly XLVIII of the Association of Yale Alumni, held from April 26 to 28, sought to demystify, in the words of Yale College Dean Richard Brodhead, “the work of divination or prophecy” that determines the composition of the student body.

Titled “Admissions: Selection for Leadership,” the Assembly began with remarks by its chair, Roger H. Thompson '64, and by Brodhead. Describing his own view of the admissions process, Brodhead asked his audience to imagine a narrow door or portal. On one side are applicants (“I like to think of them as supplicants,” he said), and on the other, a smaller and slightly older population: current Yale students. This latter group, said Brodhead, is the standard against which prospective students must be judged. “Every college has its vision of the ideal student,” he said. “We have that example right before our eyes.” Brodhead said that the admissions office seeks out those “with real raw intelligence, and the willingness to do the kind of work that makes that intelligence bear fruit.”

But the task of admissions, said Brodhead, “is not only about choosing people who will be great students while they’re here. Our work is done for the sake of the life they lead after they leave Yale.” The University, he said, should produce people who will “carry with them a font of knowledge,” who will be “a part of the solution, no matter what the problem may be.”

His words were echoed by James Thomas, associate dean of the Law School, who shared in the subsequent panel discussion with Art School Dean David Pease and Dean of Undergraduate Admissions and Financial Aid Richard Shaw. “We are readying students not just for a profession, but for citizenship in the world,” said Thomas.

Affirming Brodhead’s observation that “perfect transcripts are perfectly compatible with utterly uninteresting minds,” Thomas said that the Law School tried to identify students who were willing to think unconventionally and challenge authority. (He conceded that the school’s “bright and cantankerous” students “sometimes bring us grief.”) In the words of another panel participant, Nursing School dean Judith Krauss, Yale attracts “students who are part of the solution, but who don’t mind causing a few problems along the way.”

After a break for lunch, alumni delegates were offered the rare opportunity to apply what Brodhead called “these appallingly high standards” at case study workshops led by Yale admissions officers. In the workshops, meant to simulate an admissions committee meeting, participants were given the applications of three recent Yale hopefuls (whose names and identifying characteristics had been changed to protect their privacy). Each group was invited to read the applications, discuss them, and then vote to admit, reject, or place the candidates on the waiting list.

At one of these meetings, hosted by Associate Director of Undergraduate Admissions Harry Levit, a hush settled over the room as soon as he handed out the first folder. “Leah Calhoun,” as she had been rechristened by the admissions office, was a three-sport varsity athlete, a budding artist, and the daughter of a Yale alumnus. Her scores on standardized tests, while high, were lower than average for Yale applicants; her grades were a mix of A’s and B's. She was active in community service, however, and had served in student government while making the honor roll for all four years of high school.

Leah’s essays, about dealing with a losing athletic season and about finding satisfaction in her extracurricular activities, were judged by the alumni panel to be tightly organized and clearly written, although most felt they lacked “flair.” Teacher recommendations described her as creative, hard-working, and well-liked. But a sour note was sounded by her alumni interviewer, who reported that Leah had not done more than meet the expectations of her privileged private-school environment.

Once they finished reading the application, the delegates were eager to voice their opinions. “Her essays have a wooden quality,” said one. “They lack personality and specificity, and they don’t display the skills and sophistication I would expect from a Yale student.” Commented another alumnus: “I thought she was telling me what she thought I wanted to hear.” Another participant complained that Leah’s extracurricular activities “didn’t demonstrate leadership,” and yet another said, almost regretfully,

“She’s strong academically, but so are a lot of the people in Yale’s applicant pool.”

Others leapt to Leah’s defense. “Her grades in senior year were the highest of her four years in high school,” one pointed out. “I think that’s admirable.” Another woman found the alumni interviewer’s report unnecessarily harsh, and said that she tended to put more trust in the positive recommendations of Leah’s teachers, some of whom had known her since she was in fifth grade. One man recommended that Leah be admitted because, despite some weaknesses, her father had attended Yale.

The vote was split: two to reject, four to admit, and five to wait-list. (The admissions officer revealed later that the real admissions committee had at first elected to place Leah on the waiting list, but when the rest of the applicant pool proved unexpectedly strong, she was rejected.)

The next application belonged to “Lyle Stiles,” a prospective economics major with a passion for foreign languages. First in his class of almost 700, Lyle had received one B in high school; the rest of his grades were A's. His test scores were in the top tenth of Yale applicants, and in his senior year in high school he was taking three honors and four advanced placement classes.

The first of Lyle’s essays was an appealing and articulate description of his fascination with Asian language and culture, but the second, about a family dispute, was muddled and incoherent. Lyle’s teachers called him confident, disciplined, and energetic, if sometimes overbearing, and his alumni interviewer gave him the highest possible rating, writing that Yale would be lucky to have him. One of his teachers, however, reported that Lyle was arrogant and rude, and had bullied her and his classmates.

Lyle’s application aroused strong feelings among the alumni readers. One recent graduate said that as she read, she asked herself, “Would I want to sit across from this student in the dining hall? Would I want to share a bathroom with him?” The answer, she said, was an emphatic “No.” Others agreed. “This student seems to take a combative approach to life,” said one participant. “He is not going to go out and make the world a better place.” Another alumnus was bothered by the unevenness of Lyle’s essays. “They sounded as if they were written by two different people,” he said. “I couldn’t bring this person together.”

There were some, however, who felt that Lyle’s academic credentials made him a shoo-in. “This guy is brilliant,” emphasized one member of the group. “If he isn’t the kind of person Yale lets in, then who is?” Another offered that Yale might be good for Lyle. “If he’s at a place where he is constantly challenged by people every bit as smart as he is,” she said, “then he'd have to learn some humility.”

This time, the vote was more decisive: nine to reject, one to accept, and one to wait-list. The admissions office, said Levit, was in full agreement. Although Lyle was undoubtedly academically qualified to attend Yale, “character issues” kept him from getting in.

The final applicant, dubbed “Ronald Berkeley,” had grown up in an immigrant family whose members rarely spoke English. Nonetheless, his grades were an uninterrupted succession of A’s and A+'s, several in college-level courses. His test scores were solid, if not spectacular. Intent on becoming a medical researcher, Ronald volunteered five hours a week at a local clinic.

His essays were eloquent and moving meditations on his parents' homeland and its people: the first, about a childhood visit to a small rural village; the second, about the wisdom and gentleness of his grandfather. His teachers spoke of him in glowing terms, describing his intellectual curiosity, strength of character, and caring for other people.

There didn’t seem to be much to say about Ronald—except, as one alumnus put it, “Let’s hope he comes here.” The vote to admit was unanimous, and Levit later confirmed that Ronald had indeed received a thick envelope from Yale.

Even though the delegate committee’s one-in-three rate of admission was higher than Yale’s actual ratio of one-in-five, its participants expressed surprise at how hard they had to work to choose between such talented applicants. “We felt like a bunch of preschoolers, trying to decide which is the most beautiful color,” said Bruce Heitler '67, '72JD, who related the results of his workshop at a joint session afterwards. “Or,” he continued, “like a group of Chinese sages, trying to decide what a dragon looks like.”

The delegates returned to more prosaic matters the next morning, in a question-and-answer session with Director of Undergraduate Admissions Margit Dahl (see “Two Decades at the Gates”), who fielded queries from alumni about financial aid, early-decision procedures, foreign students, and, a topic of particular interest to many in the audience, the admission of alumni children. “Those who think we’re not as responsive to this issue as we used to be haven’t looked at the declining levels of 'legacy' applicants,” said Dahl. “There just aren’t as many Yale children out there to admit.”

A day earlier, Dean Brodhead had likened Dahl and her colleagues in the admissions office to “prospectors in the hills, gathering rocks and bringing them back, scrutinizing and testing them to see if they’re gold.” The gold rush of admissions may be more frenzied these days, its glitter more false—but careful sifting, Dahl suggested, still spots the real thing.  

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