The First College Essay: A Dialectical Irony
A Work of Historical Fiction
The bitter autumn of 1926 descended upon Boston like an unwelcome guest. Maple trees erupted in crimson splendor while distant figures in raccoon coats darted through Harvard Yard. One could imagine their animated conversations about the latest Prohibition raid on Commonwealth Avenue or Ruth's heroics in the Yankees' recent World Series triumph over the Cardinals.
James Eliot Foster III sat at his father's mahogany desk in their Beacon Hill library, tapping his Mont Blanc fountain pen on a scrap of luxurious stationery. The wireless in the adjacent room played "Bye Bye Blackbird" at a discreet volume, its polished cabinet resting beneath the framed Harvard diplomas of three generations of Foster men arranged chronologically like a family tree rendered in Latin and crimson seals.
"When I applied in '98, one simply sat for examinations and presented the proper letters," his father remarked, nursing a Scotch that official America pretended didn't exist. “I don’t like what America is becoming. It has to stop.”
James III nodded, wondering what “it” was that had to stop. He had been reading the Boston Post’s reporting on "maintaining Harvard's traditional character" amid "changing demographics." Last year, the university had debated implementing quotas for "certain elements" whose academic performance couldn't be faulted, but whose "character" remained suspect.
Critics argued that the essay was a veiled tool to limit the admission of Jewish students, who had been excelling under the previous exam-based system. President Lowell’s documented antisemitic views fueled suspicions that the essay was part of a broader strategy to reduce Jewish enrollment at Harvard.
“It puzzles me what they mean by ‘character,’” James said, fully aware of the treacherous ground he was on. Father was becoming inebriated.
"They mean what they mean," his father replied curtly. "Are you cut out for Harvard or not? Knowledge has little to do with character."
James understood the self-benefit. His Mathematics scores wouldn't match those of the boys from Brooklyn with names ending in -berg and -stein who studied with troubling intensity.
"Dean Greenough believes that character matters," his father said, his head tilted, nodding knowingly. “And so do I, frankly.”
An automobile horn blasted outside. Who could that be tonight? The machine age intruded everywhere now, even in the polished quiet of Beacon Hill.
James reviewed his draft, still morally bewildered about the writing task. He'd detailed his summers at the Cape, including the unexpected satisfaction he'd found volunteering at the historical society—partly to please his mother, partly because the curator's stories about colonial shipwrecks had genuinely captivated him.
His interest in the classics wasn't a complete fabrication; Cicero bored him senseless, but he'd discovered an unexpected affinity for Ovid's Metamorphoses. His commitment to rowing was sincere if imperfect. He occasionally missed morning practice but valued the discipline it instilled even as he questioned whether such regimentation should define anyone’s worth.
He expressed his wish to contribute to the Humanities with a genuine, if unformed, desire to understand the social transformations of the Roaring Twenties. The rising independence of women with their bobbed hair and shortened hemlines fascinated him. The flourishing artistic renaissance in Harlem, especially the writing of Langston Hughes which a friend shared with him, moved him.
The weird contradiction of Prohibition with its temperance crusaders and glamorous speakeasies—his father’s ready supply of expensive libations—boggled his mind. Though he kept private his growing uncertainty about whether his place in society was earned and deserved, he felt drawn to understanding these cultural shifts even as his father dismissed them as passing fads of little consequence.
He registered a conscious sensation of guilt when the image of Raymond, a classmate on scholarship at his private school whom he especially liked, came into his mind. Raymond was a charity student, admitted to the preparatory high school because his mother worked in the office.
What would Raymond write to establish his personality?
The telephone rang downstairs.
"You should mention Great-Uncle Charles," his father suggested, rising to answer the phone. "His name still carries weight with the Committee."
James nodded and made the addition.
President Lowell had explained the new admissions system in the Alumni Bulletin that spring. Father had read it to James. No longer would Harvard rely on examinations alone. Now they would assess "character" and "leadership potential" through personal interviews and written statements. Harvard sought "a complete man, not merely a thinking machine."
James wrote his conclusion, promising with all his heart and mind to uphold Harvard's traditions. The essay discussed sailing rather than commerce, poetry rather than law. But as he signed his name, James felt a moment of queasiness. Was this essay about merit at all?
The thought took his breath away and then vanished from whence it had come. Such questions weren't asked in houses on Beacon Hill.
"Finished?" his father asked, returning to the library.
"Yes, sir," James replied.
His father nodded. "I'll have Simmons deliver it tomorrow."
The essay would do its work. Harvard would remain Harvard. The right people would be admitted; the others would be kept out. The meritocracy would preserve itself.
Looking back some years later, after a mildly distinguished career as professor of literature at a small private liberal arts college, Scotch in hand and life rushing by like a river, Dr. James Eliot Foster III reflected on that night and that letter. He wondered what ever happened to Raymond.
The thought quickly vanished.
THEMES: An analysis of the themes developed in this narrative by Perplexity. (NOTE: Perplexity was running GPT4o-mini prompted simply “Identify and briefly explain the themes in this original work of historical fiction” to output the following simulated language. My intention was to confirm that the echoes I wished to ring between these lines were actually ringing. I adjusted the font size of the headers to indicate which themes I consciously kept in mind while drafting the narrative. I used a web connection to gain insight into the year 1926. Following the theme analysis below, I fine-tuned the diction in a few places.)
1. Privilege and Social Inheritance
The story critiques the role of inherited privilege in perpetuating social hierarchies. James Eliot Foster, the protagonist, represents a class of individuals who benefit from systemic advantages, such as family connections and wealth, which render meritocratic processes performative. The essay itself becomes a symbol of privilege cloaked as effort, highlighting how systems of power adapt to maintain inequality.
2. Meritocracy as a Facade
A central theme is the tension between meritocracy and inherited status. The introduction of a personal statement is portrayed as an attempt to modernize admissions by emphasizing individual merit, yet it serves to reinforce existing power dynamics and to perpetuate anti-Semitism. The narrative underscores the irony that those most equipped to succeed in these new systems are already advantaged by their upbringing and resources.
3. Tradition vs. Modernity
The story examines the conflict between traditional practices and emerging societal changes. Harvard's shift from purely examination-based admissions to requiring personal statements reflects broader societal debates about preserving tradition versus embracing modernity. This theme is further explored through James's reflections on his family's legacy at Harvard and his resistance to change.
4. Identity and Self-Presentation
The narrative delves into the theme of identity, particularly how individuals construct and present themselves within societal frameworks. James struggles with how much of himself to reveal in his essay, recognizing that self-representation is both a performance and a privilege. This theme highlights the commodification of personal identity in systems that prioritize appearances over authenticity.
5. Irony and Social Critique
Irony permeates the piece, particularly in its portrayal of efforts to democratize access to education while maintaining exclusivity. The story critiques the superficiality of reforms that claim to promote fairness but ultimately reinforce existing inequalities. This theme aligns with broader discussions about systemic hypocrisy and the preservation of power.
6. Power and its Adaptability
The adaptability of power is another key theme. The narrative illustrates how institutions evolve to maintain control while appearing progressive. The personal statement requirement symbolizes this evolution, transforming overt privilege into subtler forms of exclusion under the guise of merit.
These themes collectively critique societal structures, particularly those related to education, privilege, and power, while using historical fiction as a lens to explore their enduring relevance.