By Dr. Norman M. Mann

I grew up in Hartford during the Depression. My parents operated a grocery store that was open from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. each day, seven days a week. I worked there whenever I was free from school. When the time came to apply for college, I looked around locally because I knew funds were scarce and it would be more economical to live at home.

I came in for a rude shock when being interviewed by a dean at a nearby college.

He knew I was Jewish yet he told me he was concerned about “all the kikes” from New York trying to invade institutions of higher education. While I got accepted there, my mother was upset and adamant that I not attend. She couldn’t tolerate the idea I would face antisemitism in college and, having worked hard to further her own education after emigrating here from Russia as a 10-year-old, she insisted that I apply to Yale. She dismissed my concerns about money, saying, “Don’t worry, there will be enough to send you – apply!”

So apply I did and, eventually, I was accepted. It was a heady feeling, because it was common knowledge that Yale, like some other universities, had a 10 percent quota for Jewish students at that time. In addition, there was stiff competition from students at leading prep schools such as Andover, Exeter, Hotchkiss, Taft, Choate and Loomis.

(Approximately 40 percent of the students came from such schools.)

Daniel Horowitz speaks about Yale’s “quota” and its prep school culture in a book recently published, On the Cusp (University of Massachusetts Press, 2015). He writes that in 1930, almost a third of the undergraduates came from one of eight prep schools. “Only one in four of my father’s classmates came to Yale from a public high school,” he writes.

Of the years from 1920 to 1930, he adds that despite the fact that “Jewish students outperformed their peers academically, Yale took steps to reduce their numbers. It shrunk [sic] the size of the entering class [and] limited financial aid for Jewish students…”

To convey the pervasive prejudice at Yale, Horowitz recalls Professor Robert Nelson Corwin,* who was chairman of the undergraduate board of admissions in 1920. In 1922, Horowitz reports, Corwin wrote that Jews “lacked manliness, uprightness, cleanliness, and native refinement” and “did not possess the ethical standards he believed characteristic of Yale men.”

Changes came in the following years, however, with a great decrease in antisemitism from the 1930s to the 1960s. And, then, between 1960 and 1966, Horowitz writes, “the percentage of Jews at Yale just about tripled from eleven to over 30.”

In the years I spent at Yale between 1938 and 1942, I never personally experienced antisemitism. Of course, I knew Jews could not get into the exclusive Yale fraternity houses, not that I, a poor student, was the least bit interested. Rather, my first room at Yale was on the fifth floor of ‘Lawrence’ – an old brick building on the freshman campus, with no elevator and very few other amenities.

I remember well that a guide showed me the apartment and, when I asked about a fire escape, he pointed to a very large rope on the bedroom floor. I silently reassured myself by remembering that, in grade school, I had some training in gym climbing a rope. So much for thoughts of fire!

The strain of paying for college weighed heavily on me, though the total cost of Yale per year in 1938 was approximately $1,200, compared to the current cost of between $60,000 to $65,000. To help with the burden, at first I worked part time as a waiter in the freshman dining room; later, I was fortunate to get a position as a clerk at the then state-of-the-art gym.

I was also lucky in my second year to enroll in Trumbull College, one of the residential dwellings at Yale. Trumbull had its own master and its own library and dining hall, and my room was almost luxurious – even featuring a fireplace. The overall environment of Trumbull was of old-school, gentlemanly good taste and elegance.

One evening when I returned from a long day, I was seated for dinner at a long table with 12 other students. We were served by waitresses with black and white uniforms, mirroring the customs in a number of English college settings.

Suddenly, “Bill,” who was a junior, suggested we talked about what our fathers did for a living. I started to shiver because I realized that many of the fathers of the students present came from high stations in life, and my father was a grocery store proprietor. Sure enough, my fears were realized as the conversation flowed.

“Jack, your father does what?” “He is president of New York Bank and Trust, Co.” And Frank? “He is president of New York Steamship Lines.” I did not know what I should say when my turn came. Soon enough, I had an answer. “My father is in the food line.”

“Export and import?” the ringleader asked.

“Something like that,” I responded. I had figured that delivering groceries and bringing bottles and returns back to the store resembled an export and import arrangement. And, I was relieved, thinking that I had mustered admirable equanimity handling these sons of captains of industry!

Overall, the courses at Yale, particularly in the sciences, were intensive and demanding, but we premed students worked hard to complete the requirements, knowing that getting accepted to medical school required mastery and discipline. Still, applying to medical school was a stressful period. Jewish quotas were notorious, which meant I had to submit many more applications than my gentile friends; while they might have sent in only two or three, I labored over 15 applications. This was both challenging and expensive.

Over the next few months, I waited impatiently for word. Many of my peers heard quickly about their admissions, but heard nothing. My anxiety led to daily headaches that sent me to the health service, only to be told I was suffering from tension associated with the wait for admission.

Happily, after several months, I was accepted at two schools. I chose to attend Downstate Medical Center in New York and entered a field that transformed my entire life and gave me a great purpose.

As I look back these many years later, I must give credit to Yale, which really prepared me. I was a very good student at Bulkeley High School, yet the transition to the august Ivy League school was difficult and challenging. The competition was daunting, especially at the beginning, but the experience and exposure matured me, and I shall never forget or take lightly Yale’s role in helping provide me the opportunity to make a significant contribution to the field of medicine.

*Robert N Corwin: “Reports to the President of Yale University,” Bulletin of Yale University, 21st series, #24, Sept. 1, 1925 (New Haven Yale University), 1925, 15-16.

Norman Mann, MD, FACP, is a clinical assistant professor in the Department of Medicine at UConn Health Center in Farmington. He was an internist in private practice in the Hartford area for 40 years.

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CAP: Dr. Norman Mann at his graduation from Yale, with his father, Nathan Mann, who donned his grocer’s apron for the photo.