Now, the Self-Centered Generation

A new spirit clearly dominates U.S. college campuses as 8.6 million young people begin the fall term this month. Not since the 1950s have students been so pragmatic in their outlook, so highly oriented toward careers and financial security. Deeply worried about an economy that is fraught with future uncertainties, overwhelmingly concerned with preparing for lucrative and satisfying jobs, today's college students can be fairly characterized as the Self-Centered Generation.

Once the draft and the threat of the Viet Nam War ended, American campuses reverted to a normality of sorts. The old political activism and revolutionary fervor have disappeared entirely. Indeed, the shifts in student attitudes and outlook since the late 1960s are so startling that they clearly mark the end of an old era and the beginning of a new one.

"Unwanted Group." The mood is strikingly similar to that of the 1950s Silent Generation, in that today's students are chiefly concerned with their own personal lives. Says Senior Steve Ainsworth, 21, former editor of the Daily Bruin, the student newspaper at the University of California at Los Angeles: "The mood is, 'I'm here for me.' The kids are preoccupied with going into the mainstream of economic life."

But the analogy to the 1950s is only partly valid. Studies by Daniel Yankelovich, the public-opinion analyst who periodically surveys American youth, document the fact that the social and moral values that flourished on campus in the 1960s "have grown stronger and more powerful." More liberal sexual mores, a lessening of automatic obedience to established authority and skepticism about the U.S. political process seem to have become fixed characteristics of most American young people.

The overriding influence on student attitudes today is the economy. TIME reporters recently visited two dozen campuses and found that the greatest worry among students is that there will be no jobs for them after graduation. Says Princeton Junior Peter Seldin: "It's depressing to be part of an unwanted group." Moreover, as part of the enduring heritage of the 1960s, students want their careers to provide them with greater self-expression and self-fulfillment as well as high salaries. That is a significant departure from what young people sought in the 1950s and substantially narrows their future job options.

Students are most interested in preparing for professions like law, medicine and architecture. Claims Senior Judy Wandzilak, 21, of Boston University: "The gut [easy] course is no longer avidly sought. Students can't afford to waste their time and money. They are seeking tangible, not spiritual returns for their investment in a university."

More often than not, freshmen (or "freshpersons" as some feminists solemnly call them) enter college with firm ideas about what courses will prepare them for their chosen careers. Nearly everywhere, chemistry, biology, engineering and business administration classes are packed, while enrollments are dwindling in history, philosophy and the other liberal arts. Quips Tony Peyser, 20, a student in film making at U.C.L.A.: "English is the best prerequisite for unemployment." Black-studies courses are being cut back at some campuses because most black students prefer majors that lead directly to a career.

Young people are approaching their studies with newfound seriousness, crowding into college libraries and competing feverishly for grades. Observes Yale Philosophy Professor Michael Williams, 27: "There's not much goofing off these days." At Brandeis University in Waltham, Mass., close to a third of the 690 freshmen told school officials that they hope to be medical doctors. Shoving matches broke out among some students in the crush to register for pre-med courses. In one dormitory at the University of Kansas, some 250 students expressed interest in a remedial clinic that aims to raise their grades by improving then--reading and study skills; last year only six students wanted to take the optional course.

No Regulations. Inflation has contributed significantly to students' newly sober attitude toward higher education. A year's average tuition and room and board at a private college costs about $3,200; at many schools the total is close to $5,000. "One of the first things the students do is look for part-tune jobs," says Eileen Roberson, director of student employment at Simmons College in Boston. Among the most common jobs: waiting on table, manning switchboards and doing research for professors.

Partly because students want to save money, there is a renewed interest in communal living in dormitories as an alternative to more expensive off-campus apartments. Quite a few colleges have abolished most dormitory rules. At Berkeley, says Ben Leifer, 21, a graduate student in public health, "there are virtually no regulations except be discreet, mind your own business and don't bother anyone." Hampshire College in Amherst, Mass., permits students in dormitory suites to choose their own roommates--of whatever sex.

The desire for communal living, as well as the return to normality, has been chiefly responsible for the resurgence of college fraternities and sororities. At the University of California at Berkeley, which gave birth to the student counterculture with the Free Speech Movement ten years ago, the number of fraternities has risen from 24 in 1971 to 28 now; ten others want to reopen chapters that were closed in the 1960s for lack of members.

"Prudes' Palace." At most colleges, the sexual revolution is over; premarital sex and cohabitation among unmarried students are accepted as a matter of course. More recently, students at many campuses have become highly tolerant of homosexual and bisexual behavior. Among the most extreme avant-garde students at Berkeley and Columbia, it has become fashionable to have a homosexual or bisexual experience. On the other hand, at some campuses there has been a noticeable reaction against the new permissiveness. For example, one women's dormitory at the University of Michigan used to be sniggeringly called "Prudes' Palace" or the "Virgin Vault" because men were banned above the first floor during weekdays. This year, however, it has a waiting list of more than 50 coeds.

The student orientation toward jobs has even contributed to the comeback on campus of beer and liquor, since many students fear that a drug arrest might ruin their chances for a successful career. Moreover, they often find alcohol to be cheaper than drugs, which have been hard hit by inflation. At Boston University, Quaaludes have gone from 300 a tablet to as high as $3; at the University of Michigan, an ounce of marijuana costs as much as $15, up from $12 last year.

For all their new seriousness, students still blow off steam. They have rediscovered some old fads--panty raids at the University of Michigan and the twist at Houston's Rice University--and some other fancies as well. Among undergraduates at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, N.C., rides in large coin-operated clothes dryers are the latest thrill--with the door open or, more dangerously because of the heat, with it closed. Admits Junior Steve Wildey, 20: "It sounds kind of dumb. But after a few beers, it seems like an entirely reasonable thing to do."

Most disturbing for the nation's future, students demonstrate almost no interest in political activities, on or off campus. There are rare exceptions. In 21 states, small numbers of student activists operate public-interest research groups, which lobby for education bills in state legislatures and try to influence state politics. For example, New York's group recently published pamphlet-size political profiles of each of the 60 senators and 150 assemblymen who are running for re-election to the state legislature.

Moreover, many young people still follow and react to big political developments, though not to the rancorous extremes of a few years ago. Not surprisingly, President Ford's promise of limited amnesty for Viet Nam War-era deserters and draft dodgers won him a measure of popularity in campus communities, while his full pardon of former President Nixon produced cries of outrage. On a Sunday evening a student called a talk show in Lawrence, Kans., and suggested that instead of pardoning Nixon, Ford should have urged him to go to Canada.

Afraid to Believe. For the most part, however, students seem unwilling to involve themselves directly in the U.S. political process. A recent survey showed that half of the students polled at the University of Missouri are not even registered to vote. At the University of Kansas, campus Democrats concluded after a poll that large numbers of students did not know that State Attorney General Vern Miller was a candidate for Governor, even though he had gained much notoriety for his flamboyant drug arrests of Kansas students. At the University of Wisconsin, says Tim Tully, 28, a graduate student and veteran radical of the 1960s, "all the activity of late in Madison, political or otherwise, would fit in a shot glass."

Indeed, not even Watergate reignited students' interest in politics. According to Yankelovich, more than six out of ten young people believe that "special interests" run the nation's political machinery. Similarly, George Mihaly, president of Gilbert Youth Research of New York City, recently found that only about 1% of students are thinking of politics as a career. "We know that people and movements are fallible," observes Margie Corbett, 21, a junior at American University in Washington. "We're afraid to believe too much in anything or anyone." Thus the overwhelming majority of students today are far more intent on using their college education as a means of entering the American system than as preparation for reforming it.

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