First of all, two out of four Beatles married Sarah Lawrence chicks (Yoko and Linda), a claim no other school in the world can match. But boy will you be disappointed if you think this is an appropriate campus at which to meet prospective husbands.

The gender ratio may have improved since I was a student there (it was one guy to every four women, in the early eighties, and at least a third of those guys could have cared less about the women on campus, except as people from whom to borrow mascara or stockings). This lead to many an amusing table grouping in "Bates," the school dining hall, since of course we all had a tendency to "share" the available straight guys.

I will summarize my experience there in a single episode. The day after my mom dropped me off to commence my higher education, I found myself (dressed in a kilt, loafers, Brooks Bros. shirt and pearls), invited to have a picnic lunch on the lawn in front of the Pub with two of my new dormmates, Roger and Steven. Roger, of course, wasn't actually a student (he runs a fine comic book store in Manhattan), but he and Steven were either seeing each other or were cruising partners--never quite knew which, and he was pretty much ubiquitous in our tiny dorm.

One of these guys made a joke about a bandana, which went completely over my head. I bravely admitted this, and was given a crash course in current gay male street code, all centered on different colors of bandanas and which back pocket they were placed in. Color indicated erotic preferences, from bondage to "golden showers," and pocket placement indicated whether one wanted to be the doer or the doee. Thus was initiated my heady education in the hills of Bronxville, New York.

The academic structure of Sarah Lawrence is what one first hears about--no grades, no tests/exams, no majors--but don't be lulled into thinking this is not a rigorous and deeply challenging institution. You can't sleep through a class with only fifteen students in it, held at a big round table, and God knows you better have read the assigned chapters of Proust (although I do remember one gem of an incident when a fellow student was hedging by claiming that "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" described a bordello. 20th Century Lit. maestro Danny Kaiser looked him squarely in the face and said, "Mr. Guth, all appears yellow to the jaundiced eye.")

And if you think it's rough cramming for mid-terms, try writing three 35-plus page papers before you can go home for winter break. I, of course, left this until the last week of the semester, without fail.

The advisor, or "donning" system is outstanding. I'm still tight with Frank Roosevelt, my first don. The faculty also rocks--Grace Paley, Alan Gurganus, and up-and-coming Darcy Steinke (Suicide Blonde) have all graced the writing staff, and I adored Joe Papaleo--in addition to such magnificent poets as Tom Lux.

I would have to say that this is one of the finest undergraduate writing programs in the country, if not the world. Among my classmates were Lucy Grealey, author of the haunting Autobiography of a Face, and Anne Patchett, who penned Patron Saint of Liars.

The theatre department also doesn't suck. Recent graduates include Juliana Margolies (ER), Cary Elwes (Princess Bride), and Lauren Holly (ex-wife of Jim Carrey--nice enough but kind of a ditz). Of course, also in my class was Robin Givens, who's probably best known as a former wife of Mike Tyson. She was not much liked on campus, and was indeed the first student in the history of the school to be booed while accepting her diploma at graduation.

For studio art, I'd recommend RISD or someplace more fully visually oriented. Likewise, film was not too great, despite Brian de Palma's returning to teach, one year--try for NYU, you'll get more work.

Overall, though, the most valuable lessons Sarah Lawrence taught me were not academic, but social. If you are one of a handful of "arty" students at the average liberal arts college, even one of high caliber such as Amherst or Williams, you can get away with being considered avant-garde just for being obnoxious. At Sarah Lawrence, blue hair does not an artist make.

You will learn more here about what one buddy of mine referred to as "posers and lacktalents" than you would from ten years on the literary cocktail party circuit in Manhattan. If you have any hopes of becoming someone who makes a living by brush or pen, this knowledge could save your life--no kidding. I have always thought that had Sylvia Plath gone here, rather than to Smith, she might have lived. Certainly, she would have gotten the Ted Hughes's of the world out of her system by the time she was a Sophomore.

This is not the school for you if you want to join a frat, play sports (okay, other than touch football against Vassar), or become a nuclear physicist. But if you want to get real about life in the arts, you couldn't choose a finer college. I spent some of the roughest, most challenging, soul-wrenching years of my life at this place, and I am thankful for every moment of the experience.

As Alice Walker, another alum, said in her graduation address to the class of 1972:

"Fortunately, what Sarah Lawrence teaches is a lesson called 'How to be shocked and dismayed but not lie down and die,' and those of you who have learned this lesson will never regret it, because there will be ample time and opportunity to use it."



Recommended: Yes