Porcellian Rejection

In his upperclass years, Roosevelt ate at his various sophomore, junior, and "final" clubs--the Institute of 1770, the DKE, and the Fly. But he failed to gain election to the most elite club--the Porcellian--despite the fact that his cousin Theodore had been a member. A scandal involving one of his cousins may have hurt his chances. But whatever the reason for his rejection, it was a serious blow to him. Eleanor Roosevelt thought it gave him an inferiority complex and led him to become more democratic.

That he had non-"clubbie" tendencies is clear. "Franklin was not a typical club man of his generation at college," a classmate recalls. "He had more on his mind than sitting in the Club's front window, doing nothing and criticizing the passers-by. Thus his not 'making' the Porcellian meant only that he was free of any possible restraining influence of a lot of delightful people who thought that the world belonged to them, and who did not want to change anything in it."

'The Featherduster'

What these people chiefly disliked about Roosevelt is that he did want to change things, and many of them found reason to scorn him. "His smart friends tended to regard him as overmuch of an intellectual," according to Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., "and the girls of his own set called him 'the featherduster' because of supposedly shallow and priggish qualities."

Much that F.D.R. said and did was of the sort to alienate the Gold Coast crowd. He made occasional slighting references to Society in his letters: "Last week I dined at the Quincys', the Amorys' & the Thayers', three as high-life places as are to be found in blue-blooded, blue stockinged, bean eating Boston." And in retrospect he wrote: "Once upon a time when I was in Cambridge I had serious thoughts of marrying a Boston girl and settling down in the Back Bay to spend the rest of my days. Such was the influence of four years of that... kind of association I am complaining about. By the grace of God I took a trip at that time, meeting numbers of real Americans, i.e. those from the west and south. I was saved, but it was an awfully narrow escape."

The best known story of F.D.R.'s "democracy" in college concerns his supposed reform of the class elections in his senior year. For years the class day officers had been drawn from the select clubs, which were better organized for political maneuvering than the mass of the student body. A year or two earlier changes in the election procedure had been proposed, and F.D.R. continued, rather than originated, the campaign. "There is a higher duty than to vote for one's personal friends," he admonished his classmates, "and that is to secure for the whole class leaders who really deserve the positions."

F.D.R.'s alienation from the aristocracy at Harvard should not be exaggerated, however. Most members of his social class still accepted him. Herbert Burgess, a Fly Club brother, remarked that "his charm and ease of manner were apparent in those early days." And while he may have been disappointed in not making the "Porc," the Fly, then as now, was considered one of the better clubs.

Still a 'Gentleman'

Though a rebel in some respects, Roosevelt did not turn his back on things social. He was impressed enough to write home once: "THE CROWN PRINCE OF SIAM was at the game, and came to the FLY after it for some 'afternoon tea,' i.e. a little champagne!" And while heading the CRIMSON, he refused to stop running the list of men who made the various clubs. (The next year's editors stopped "that concession to snobbery.") Democratic though he was, he remained a gentleman in the Roosevelt tradition.

Despite his social activities, F.D.R. was no ladies' man. But his love for Eleanor Roosevelt would appeal to any romance magazine. Eleanor had an unhappy childhood. She loved her warm-hearted, weak, and per-