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R E C E N T L Y

My crabs or yours?
By Dan Stern
Protecting yourself from the creatures of the sexual swamp
(10/07/98)

Ask Camille
By Camille Paglia
Trouncing feminist film criticism and its cadre of ass-kissing puritans
(10/07/98)

Scholars of smut
By Carina Chocano
World Pornography Conference: Academics cheer as porn stars theorize
(10/05/98)

Escaping college poverty
By Hank Hyena
If this campus parasite can make money and get laid, you can too
(10/02/98)

Playboy goes limp without feminist vice grip
By Nicole Nolan
Playboy's flaccid College Girls issue
(09/30/98)

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"In an academic environment, it's easy for students to reach half-baked conclusions about what's acceptable and what is not," says Mark Coonan, a graduate student at Ball State University in Muncie, Ind. "The nature of many college students is a combination of theoretical ability and practical inexperience. I don't just mean inexperience in a given trait -- inexperience at life, inexperience at making informed judgments about life. And crime is a reality of life that, in most circumstances, college students have been protected from."

Coonan should know. At 23, in an "amphetamine-induced psychosis," he shot and killed another man his age with a handgun, mistakenly assuming the man had set him up for a drug bust. After being convicted of first-degree murder and possession with intent to deliver heroin, he spent 15 years at Indiana Reformatory at Pendleton, half an hour down the road from Muncie. It was there, behind the prison walls, that Coonan became a student at Ball State through a state-funded program in which the incarcerated can work on an associate or bachelor's degree in liberal arts. There are currently 426 full-time students enrolled in the program at four different prisons across the state, with 30 or 40 graduating with associate degrees each year and 10 to 15 completing their bachelor's. Those who do not complete their studies while incarcerated can finish it on Ball State's campus, although only a small number do so. At Ball State, no crime is too heinous for admission. Rapists, murderers and robbers walk the campus, cram for exams, eat at the dining commons and graduate with caps and gowns. There are no separate classes for them or special "ethics" requirements, and with the exception of dorms, where they are not allowed to live, ex-cons simply become a part of student life. While the administration knows the ex-cons from the others, students don't, and there is no sure way of telling. Other schools in the state with similar programs include Purdue, Indiana State and Grace College.

"Many of the inmates have committed real evil, but I still think that they should have the opportunity to have a second chance, to change themselves," says Jim MacDougall, director of Ball State's correctional education and a professor of English. "I don't like to stigmatize them publicly, to say the guy sitting next to you committed armed robbery, because as soon as you say that, people either get frightened or they say, 'Oh, neat,' and run off and say, 'I know someone who has committed armed robbery.' In either case, it makes it difficult for someone who in all probability isn't thinking about knocking them on the head."

Jim Danglade, associate dean of the School of Continuing Education, admits that Ball State's program has had a couple of "screw-ups," including a sexual assault on a woman. But based on anecdotal evidence, he's concluded that the rate of recidivism is lower among those who pursue some type of education, whether it's adult basic education, GED or post-secondary. The more education the person has, he contends, the lower the likelihood of recidivism.

Coonan says reentering society is difficult enough as it is. He thought -- somewhat naively, he now realizes -- that society would be more forgiving than it was. But many employers wouldn't hire him. "How do you explain an enormous gap on a résumé? My working life started at 40 -- it's difficult to explain without being honest. I had people look down their nose a bit, and exclude me on the face of things." At least he could put his Ball State degree on his résumé, he says. At 46, with one daughter and two stepchildren, he now works as a counselor for incarcerated juveniles.

In 1995, Harvard University officials discovered that Gina Grant, then a 19-year-old Boston resident and incoming freshman, had clubbed her alcoholic mom to death with a lead crystal candlestick and then shoved a knife in her throat to make it look like a suicide. At 14 she had been convicted of manslaughter and served six months in prison, well before her juvenile records were sealed on her 18th birthday. As with Cash at UC-Berkeley, the Grant discovery unleashed a firestorm of protest, ethics-wrangling and moral browbeating. Unlike Berkeley, which is prohibited by law from asking about applicants' criminal backgrounds, Harvard and other private universities include such a question and consider the answers in determining the applicants' suitability for admission. Since Grant reportedly didn't check the criminal box, Harvard unknowingly accepted a killer to its Cambridge campus.

Soon after the protests, Harvard rescinded Grant's admission. Officials declined to comment specifically to Salon about the case but issued a vague statement that all but admitted the reason. "Rescission of an admission offer occurs from time to time, and may be based on one or more of the following conditions," the statement reads. Among those cited include "if a student engages in behavior that brings into question honesty, maturity or moral character." Columbia also rejected Grant after her criminal history came out, but Tufts chose to give her a second chance. A Tufts spokeswoman confirmed that Grant, now a senior, is still there.

Questions about an applicant's criminal history normally only appear on applications for private schools, but that soon may change. The University of Michigan is now considering adding such a question after discovering that Daniel Granger, an incoming freshman, had been charged with statutory rape in a case involving three 14-year-old girls. When a picture of Granger exposing his genitals appeared in his high school yearbook, the girls came forward to say that he and four of his friends had had sex with them. Since the legal age of consent in Michigan is 16, he was charged with statutory rape. He has since plea-bargained the usual felony charge down to a misdemeanor, which carries a 90- to 180-day sentence in a detention center. The 18-year-old should be out in time for the start of the university's winter term and wants to go to college. The university says it will review his application again and make its decision then.

"The welfare of the students was our primary concern," says Joel Seguine, the school's information officer. "The university was concerned with allowing someone with a criminal background, but also someone who was involved in an alleged crime that had to do with sexual behavior. There's no cut-and-dry written policy on something like this."

Universities have always considered applicants' character in making their admission decisions, and officials say a criminal background is a reflection of that. Question No. 5 at the University of Chicago asks whether a person has been placed on probation or convicted in a court of law. That question helps Ted O'Neil, the dean of admissions, determine if an applicant poses a risk to the campus community. He says if a person answers yes, he would look at whether the person feels remorse about his or her actions. O'Neil says he's never had to rule on an applicant with a serious criminal record. But he muses, "Why would you even take a chance [with an ex-con]? There are so many good candidates with unblemished records. And how much are you willing to affect a communal life in a negative way in order to be generous or understanding or forgiving of a person? We are responsible for the welfare of the community."

On the night of the UC senate meeting, the students voted narrowly to condemn David Cash -- 10-9, with two abstaining. Student body President Irami Osei-Frimpong vetoed the measure and the senate voted again, not coming up with enough votes to override the veto. But bill author Arian White is pressing on. He plans to write Cash a letter himself and have others sign it. "When residents of a community know there's a rapist or a murderer in the community or someone we object to, we have the right to object to his presence," White says.

The Cash case, and the larger controversy over whether criminals and morally objectionable students deserve a college education, raises important issues about the place of higher education in our society. Should we trample on a few people's chances to get an education because of the risk they might pose? Is a university a privileged haven from society's chaos -- or the symbolic upholder of our highest societal values? And just what are our highest values -- forgiveness and equality of opportunity, or adherence to a strict moral code? For these questions, there are few answers.
SALON | Oct. 9, 1998