Class Doesn't Need A Pedigree by Doug Wrenn

Class Doesn't Need A Pedigree

By Doug Wrenn

February 15, 2008

"Why don't you call me some time when you got no class?"

(Rodney Dangerfield in "Back To School")

If a stopped clock can be right twice a day, then certainly at least once in a lifetime, Frank Harris III and I can agree on a subject.

Kudos to Mr. Harris for his February 8th column, "At Yale, An Ignorant Show Of Disrespect," on Courant.com.

With my piece, you'll have to delve into the gutter of your imagination to fill in the blanks, but the specific references can be found in Mr. Harris's column.

His contention, as is mine, was over an Internet-posted picture of a dozen Yalies holding signs bearing slogans referring to genitalia as well as other vile verbiage that gratuitously and directly defiled women. To add insult to injury, this deplorable display of extended adolescence took place in front of the Yale Women's Center. Specifically, Mr. Harris names the alleged culprits as members of the Zeta Psi fraternity.

Well, zippety-Zeta-doo-dah-day! "Animal House: The Sequel." Seven years of charm school down the drain!

I share Mr. Harris's disgust and raise it another level. The incident he cited is not isolated. It is an established pattern at Yale that continuously goes on with the institution's apparent approval, if even passively so.

I have been to several Yale football games in which the Yale cheerleading squadron of the band collectively screamed various orchestrated obscenities, including those that are demeaning of women. But this repulsive tradition is not restricted to the gridiron.

At one particular memorable Yale hockey game, I finally reached my fill of listening to this incessant vulgar behavior, both in terms of the choreographed cheers, and the overly loud bar-room-like banter among these foul-mouthed preppies, who even between cheers sounded more like truck drivers with real nice sweaters in their supposedly "private" conversations. I left my seat, went down to the cheerleading squadron, grabbed the head preppy by his arm, spun him around and pointed to a group of (unattended, for whatever reason) children sitting in the front row, all about 5 or so years old, who were intently staring at and listening to this verbal free for all. I also very undiplomatically told this schmuck to tune it down and not to make me return because my wife and I were sick of listening to this verbal sewage also. He apologized, I let go of his sweater and he and his cronies actually feigned civilized behavior for the remainder of the game. Of course, when I returned to my seat, I then had to contend with an angry wife, who was less than pleased with my rather bombastic exhibition, but that's OK. Some principles are worth standing up for, and besides, I think God specifically had husbands in mind when He made couches.

America's premier and now conspicuously secular Ivy League school of so-called higher learning has drifted far from its Christian founding in 1701.

You would think that among all that haughty, do-gooder, feel-good liberal activism that so enraptures the Yale brand, such as chasing ROTC recruiters off campus, and providing free legal counsel for Black Panthers and illegal immigrants, that Yale would at least attempt to practice what it preaches, not by ostentatious presentation, but by silent and subtle every days acts of mundane, respectful dignity. Like simply respecting women, for example. This is not your Daddy's Yale any more. If Hillary or one of her feminist clones were to burn her bra there now, the male members of the campus fire brigade would most likely apply gasoline instead of water to the flames, and then that insidious 5th column farce that calls itself a law school would bail the little darlings out, pro bono, of course.

Harris expounds that while the US is a country that is more progressive regarding rights and respect for women than many other cultures, the ugliness he observed reminded him of the many degenerate lyrics often found in the popular noise known as hip and rap "music."

He then tries to shame (if that is even possible) the alleged offending frat members by correctly pointing out that in the present day US, such people of presumably higher intelligence, privilege and education should know better. I noticed he didn't mention "breeding."

Yale is the pinnacle of two ways of life that merge together: radical liberalism and posh elitism. Ironically, that can be a hostile environment where such expected subtleties as respect for women are concerned.

Some of those very same labels that so sully women are words that not all that long ago, no self-respecting lady would ever tolerate being called. Now, such names are often actually considered badges of honor among the progressive and promiscuous of the once kinder and gentler sex.

Then you have Mummsy and Father, who have spent much of their inheritance in kissing the backside of young "Master So & So the VI," and negotiating and/or buying the little cherub's way out of trouble during his rebellious and turbulent teens every time the family name was possibly in danger of being impugned. (Harrumph!)

Now these two by-products of no-holds-barred moral relativism and posh elitism are learning, living and lusting together, often within the same facilities, without supervision and without mores or motivation. Hook-up: meet Bail-out. Voila! The fairy tale of "The Progressive Pig & The Preppy Punk" is now born and has landed on the formerly hallowed campus of Yale. And no, the main characters don't necessarily go live happily ever after.

Respect, be it for one's self, or another, cannot be expected until it is first taught, later ingrained and eventually learned.

Privilege and class are not necessarily synonymous. Our current worldly collection of thugs and idiots is sadly quite diverse in many ways, including by socio-economic status.

And at Yale in particular, class is clearly dismissed.

Doug Wrenn