Take 90 from 100, and you've got 10-exactly the percentage of upperclassmen that don't make the grade for membership at Princeton's 17 eating clubs. Now mix this somewhat unpleasant statistic with the good intentions of Dean Francis R. B. Godolphin an intelligent and righteous man toss in the disgruntled mumbling of the student press, and spice with at least at least a few changes of discrimination and unfairness from students and alumni; you'll find yourself with the same appetizing that new faces both the administration of Princeton and the Club members and alumni.

From an experiment, Princeton's unique club system has passed through the stages of phenomena and faddish, and now must prove itself an asset to the college as well as institution.

In 1879, ten years after Princeton first engaged Rutgers in a friendly game of "football," a small group of her students decided to form a private social group. Taking over a brick and stone building on Prospect Avenue, they established Ivy Club.

Students, apparently still unsatisfied with a ruling which had abolished fraternities in 1855, watched Ivy grow and decided that its organizers "had something." Tiger, Cap and Gown, and other social groups were soon organized, and by 1900, Prospect Street had become tabbed "The Street," and almost half the college belonged to clubs.

The idea continued to pick up supporters, and now, 70 years after Ivy Club's organizational meeting, a full 90 percent of the college is represented in 17 "eating" clubs.

Almost, But Not Quite

Those who oppose the adoption of any system that would force the clubs to encompass the entire upper class student body, can counter with many proofs that the present system is fine and cannot be changed because of over-crowding and should not be changed because it violates the clubs' prerogatives to choose whom they like.

The clubs actually have much to offer materially. In a college located in a small town, they supply almost 100 percent of the student's social activities. Meals run at about $1650 to $1750 a week, are served by waitresses on linen table cloths, and are tastier than those served in many restaurants. Inter-club sports are amazingly organized, with the annual trophy one of the most highly respected honors for a club to possess. Inter-club dances also afford entertainment in a town that boasts not one nightclub. Over-night accommodations for visiting girls are also arranged in the clubhouse, at charges considerably less than asked by the few available hotels.

Few, if any students will claim that the facilities afforded by the clubs are inadequate, or easily replaceable under any other setup. There is, unfortunately, a large percentage which goes to the extreme of terming the system perfect.

These advocates of preserving the status quo generally fall under the membership of five or six of the older clubs, notably Ivy, Cap and Gown, Tiger, Colonial, Cottage, and possibly Charter. Not all the members of these clubs feel inclined to retain the present system, but most admit that that is their general stand.

The Daily Princetonian, Dean Godolphin, and an estimated 75 percent of the college finds the omission of 10 percent of the student body "unfair and impossible"-even more so in a system admittedly vital to the social life of a Princeton man.

Bickering

The present system of electing members, termed "bickering," lies near the bottom of the entire difficulty. Under its terms, the various clubs single out those students whom they most desire to have as members. There are two weeks of "Open House" in February during which time second term sophomores, and juniors left out in the previous year's bicker, can visit any and all clubs.

This is followed by card days, two days in which the clubs must contact prospective members and see whether or not they will accept bids. Although many students have already committed themselves to a club by a verbal promise by this date, there is considerable changing of cards at this time. This means that a student receiving two or more cards turns in the unused ones to the president of the club whose bid he accepts. The president than rushes them back to a central office, which is constantly checked by runners from each organization. As soon as a club's card is turned back in, another must be sent out to the next man on the "desirable" list, and so on until the club's quota is most nearly filled.

The most serious argument at present centers over determining the quota of a club. University officials and some members of the inter-club committee feel that it is the responsibility of a club to take a quota proportionate to its size, and the size of the entire eligible student body. If every club did this, according to exponents of the compromise plan, the total number of students accepted would be 100 percent, while the clubs could at the same time have the right to choose whom they wish within that quota.

Informed sources at Princeton claim that alumni and members of a minority of the clubs "will never agree to this system." The University has no actual right to step in and take action without unanimous approval of the new quota system and without unanimous approval of the inter-club committee, something that seems impossible at present. Hence the current stalemate.

The history of the imposse begins in 1940, when Dean Gauss created an 18th club to absorb the 10 percent that wasn't making the grade at the time. Gateway, as it turned out, wasn't such a bad club after all, and for two years, until the first war class of 1942, virtually 100 percent of the college were clubmen.

Dean Gauss left during the war. Returning students were mixed up in potpourri of various classes following the war, and few felt like spending the valuable time in working out what to do with 10 percent. Gateway's clubhouse had been taken over for some temporary housing, and before anyone realized it, there were only 17 clubs again. The result was over-crowding, and generally un-luxurious condition in the clubs through the fall of 1948.

Many claim that it was in revolt of these crowded conditions, others bluntly allege that the class of 1951 was younger and somewhat set off from the classes ahead-but whatever the case, only 86.9 percent of the sophomore class was asked to join clubs during last February's bicker. Of all eligibles, a total of only 80.3 percent made the grade.

The current interclub chairman immediately announced his disappointment when the figures were tabulated, and he was joined in his lament by the Princetonian and officials of the University. The "Prince," in its next day's editorial, labeled the returns a "Club Flub," adding that it came as a real jolt to note that "13 percent of the first class to be admitted under the broadened regional admissions system should be refused or ignored membership in the clubs." At that time, one out of every five students belonged to no club, a figure obviously too high assuming the acceptance of the club system in the first place.

A few additions, on the insistence of the Uni-

versity and through the first fall bicker ever held, this term have swollen the total number of club-members to 1504.

Dean Godolphin has stated his objective. He sees no solution to the problem other than the acceptance of the entire college into the clubs, an institutions he expects to last for quite some time. But as he points out, the jump from 90 to 100 percent should be accomplished all at once, and, of course, as soon as possible. Should the percentage increase only gradually, non-acceptance would soon prove harder for, say, four percent of the college than it now does for ten. Other theorists, far in the minority, propose that a 60-10 ration would be even better.

As Princeton continues to fight for 100 percent club membership, those clubs wishing to keep their numbers at a hand-picked minority argue that they just haven't got room for any more members. True as it is that the average club has doubled in size before the war, and now averages about 90 members, there are holes in this arguments. Most members will individually admit that every club could manager to survive by absorbing its share of the unelected students, an average of ten apiece, without seriously affecting its dining hall service or over-crowding its other facilities. And then there are the other statistics that show only 32.1 percent of the eligible belonging to the Jewish faith the have been elected.

Whatever the excuses may be, the majority of students can find no causes for leaving out the 10 percent. As the Princeton pointed out following last spring's bicker, in a body of young men capable of gaining admission to Princeton "there is no such animal as a socially undesirable student." To solve the situation, the paper called for "more initiative from the men on Prospect Street," the same sort of initiative that got the whole system rolling seventy years ago