When I was an undergrad, a counselor assigned to Latino students (he was from Chicago) was fired after he had an affair with a tiny undergrad I knew— romanced her with fancy restaurant dinners. I guess that was common in the early era of coeducation— hey, they’re adults!— but by the '80s was starting to be frowned on.
Today the kids are very judgmental. A man trying to get in on undergrads or anyone much younger than himself is aggressively denounced as a creep. More significantly, this seems to prevail at high schools of all kinds, too.
And you know what? I think this is why the average age reported for first sexual intercourse has surprised us all, by rising to 18 from 16 (40 years ago): With fewer men successfully pushing girls, the young people among themselves are not so eager, or more likely socially able, to get it going.
I had no idea, and I wasn’t shrewd enough to see the significance of Lee’s retirement when it happened. Before we both retired I worked with him closely for two decades and maybe more— the University Scholars program that I ran depended mightily on our cooperation with Admissions— and he was unfailingly professional. We were looking for students who were not necessarily SAT-“gifted” but were quirkily, creatively, and self-directingly gifted, students of exceptional talent who were capable of intellectual independence. Lee understood that and made sure that his admissions officers understood it, too. As Penn’s standards rose, and the staff began looking only at applicants with predictive indexes of 8 and 9, he allowed University Scholars prospects to remain in the running even with PI’s of 6 and 7, just like recruited athletes. We only admitted a couple dozen students a year to our outlandishly elite program, but Lee spent countless hours supporting us. We were, in his mind, one of the salts that gave Penn its savor. You caught that quality in him exquisitely, just as you catch exquisitely the deepest significance of all this, the almost-impossible courage a young woman has to have to oppose a powerful superior.
Excellent piece, Dan. It will surely lead to needed soul-searching on the part of some readers, and—just maybe— action that will prevent future incidents. It is incredible that men in power still take such risks. Your article should give those aware needed spine. Thank you!
I understand waiting until the person is gone to tell the tale. In 2006, I performed the Gershwin Concerto in F with the Tallahassee Symphony, conducted by Gunther Schuller. I was married, and he knew it, however, he lunged at me, attempting to kiss me on the lips, after the last performance. I recoiled in disgust. Nothing flirtatious had happened. He'd complimented my playing, but that was it. I told the story publicly after #MeToo became a thing, after Schuller died.
That said, I knew the story of Schuller's impropriety was true, and you couldn't verify that Stetson had done something wrong.
We had always wondered about the Lee Stetson story. Thank you for writing about it.
So different from the Ted Nash story, also at Penn.
Nash, was a several times Olympic rower and internationally known as a leading coach of men, women, disabled and anyone wanting to learn rowing. Never, ever, no way was there a hit of misbehavior toward young women. Never.
After he died, a woman named Jennifer Fox came forward and accused him of serious misbehavior when she was 13 and yet describes herself then as a bean pole, undeveloped as a young female and looked like a 13 year old boy.
After a long consultation with a noted law firm in NYC, Penn took Nash's name down from the Ted Nash training center in Hutch, which had been privately funded by donations from many who Nash had coached, refused to allow a well sculpted bas relief of Ted Nash to be hung in the renovated Penn Boathouse, named several spaces in the boathouse for others not nearly as influential to Penn rowing as Nash, and otherwise cancelled his name and reputation on campus. Why?
Fox is the only one live who knows the truth; none of the hundreds of rowers, men and women, too, believe her accusation.
Why do some people in administrations feel they must bend over backwards to believe the unproven and unprovable accusation from one person as opposed to believe the extremely compelling interview statements from hundreds who knew the accused, who do not believe that her accusation was even in the realm of possibility of Ted Nash's character?
Dan, although I cannonball any analogous situations on my life. I’m almost sure that something analogous has happened to me, where I have remained silent when arguably I should have come forward. I suspect that many of us have decided that we just didn’t want to become embroiled in these types of morally questionable behavior by sticking our necks out.
From reader Joseph N. DiStefano:
When I was an undergrad, a counselor assigned to Latino students (he was from Chicago) was fired after he had an affair with a tiny undergrad I knew— romanced her with fancy restaurant dinners. I guess that was common in the early era of coeducation— hey, they’re adults!— but by the '80s was starting to be frowned on.
Today the kids are very judgmental. A man trying to get in on undergrads or anyone much younger than himself is aggressively denounced as a creep. More significantly, this seems to prevail at high schools of all kinds, too.
And you know what? I think this is why the average age reported for first sexual intercourse has surprised us all, by rising to 18 from 16 (40 years ago): With fewer men successfully pushing girls, the young people among themselves are not so eager, or more likely socially able, to get it going.
From reader Alan Richman:
Wow. An extraordinary example of both restraint and power on your part.
From reader Michael Zuckerman:
I had no idea, and I wasn’t shrewd enough to see the significance of Lee’s retirement when it happened. Before we both retired I worked with him closely for two decades and maybe more— the University Scholars program that I ran depended mightily on our cooperation with Admissions— and he was unfailingly professional. We were looking for students who were not necessarily SAT-“gifted” but were quirkily, creatively, and self-directingly gifted, students of exceptional talent who were capable of intellectual independence. Lee understood that and made sure that his admissions officers understood it, too. As Penn’s standards rose, and the staff began looking only at applicants with predictive indexes of 8 and 9, he allowed University Scholars prospects to remain in the running even with PI’s of 6 and 7, just like recruited athletes. We only admitted a couple dozen students a year to our outlandishly elite program, but Lee spent countless hours supporting us. We were, in his mind, one of the salts that gave Penn its savor. You caught that quality in him exquisitely, just as you catch exquisitely the deepest significance of all this, the almost-impossible courage a young woman has to have to oppose a powerful superior.
From reader Jeanne Sigler:
Excellent piece, Dan. It will surely lead to needed soul-searching on the part of some readers, and—just maybe— action that will prevent future incidents. It is incredible that men in power still take such risks. Your article should give those aware needed spine. Thank you!
I understand waiting until the person is gone to tell the tale. In 2006, I performed the Gershwin Concerto in F with the Tallahassee Symphony, conducted by Gunther Schuller. I was married, and he knew it, however, he lunged at me, attempting to kiss me on the lips, after the last performance. I recoiled in disgust. Nothing flirtatious had happened. He'd complimented my playing, but that was it. I told the story publicly after #MeToo became a thing, after Schuller died.
That said, I knew the story of Schuller's impropriety was true, and you couldn't verify that Stetson had done something wrong.
I understand the dilemma.
Dan,
We had always wondered about the Lee Stetson story. Thank you for writing about it.
So different from the Ted Nash story, also at Penn.
Nash, was a several times Olympic rower and internationally known as a leading coach of men, women, disabled and anyone wanting to learn rowing. Never, ever, no way was there a hit of misbehavior toward young women. Never.
After he died, a woman named Jennifer Fox came forward and accused him of serious misbehavior when she was 13 and yet describes herself then as a bean pole, undeveloped as a young female and looked like a 13 year old boy.
After a long consultation with a noted law firm in NYC, Penn took Nash's name down from the Ted Nash training center in Hutch, which had been privately funded by donations from many who Nash had coached, refused to allow a well sculpted bas relief of Ted Nash to be hung in the renovated Penn Boathouse, named several spaces in the boathouse for others not nearly as influential to Penn rowing as Nash, and otherwise cancelled his name and reputation on campus. Why?
Fox is the only one live who knows the truth; none of the hundreds of rowers, men and women, too, believe her accusation.
Why do some people in administrations feel they must bend over backwards to believe the unproven and unprovable accusation from one person as opposed to believe the extremely compelling interview statements from hundreds who knew the accused, who do not believe that her accusation was even in the realm of possibility of Ted Nash's character?
Gardner A. Cadwalader
Penn Crew 1966-1970
Dan, although I cannonball any analogous situations on my life. I’m almost sure that something analogous has happened to me, where I have remained silent when arguably I should have come forward. I suspect that many of us have decided that we just didn’t want to become embroiled in these types of morally questionable behavior by sticking our necks out.
The writer is rabbi emeritus at Society Hill Synagogue in Philadelphia.