On page seven of the University of Pennsylvania's freshman handbook, a high-minded quote from Ben Franklin, the founder of the University, appears: "The instruction of youth is one of those employments which to the public are most useful; it ought therefore to be esteemed among the most honorable. Its successful exercise does not, however, always meet with the reward it merits, except in the satisfaction of having contributed to the forming of virtuous and able men for the service of their country."

Noble sentiments, these. Thus it seems incongruous, to say the least, when one finds three pages later the following "Freshman Regulations:"

"1. 'Dinks' and buttons will be worn daily until 7 p.m...

"2. There will be no regulations on weekends, except for the Saturday football games when 'dink' and button regulations will be strictly enforced."

"Dinks" are ludicrous beanies that rarely fit and are greatly unbecoming to the freshman. Regulation number four tries to justify the wearing of the caps: "The purpose...is to instill the true spirit of Pennsylvania into the Class of '63.'

These two facets of life at Penn--the Franklin ideal and the largely self-styled "spirit of Pennsylvania"--show at once both the best and worst of the Philadelphia university. On the one hand there is the recognition of the value of learning as shown in the laudable efforts of president Gaylord P. Harnwell to raise the school's standards. On the other, many students refuse to grow up; this immaturity, born in the undergraduate body and often unwittingly cultivated by the faculty and administration, makes the University of Pennsylvania seem at times like high school revisited.

In direct contrast to the University's theoretical stand in favor of individuality, initiative, student responsibility, and the right to individual expression, the Administration assumes an often stifling concern for the welfare and conduct of Penn students. It is highly unlikely that students at any other Ivy League institution received a letter this summer from the president stating, "...it has been my custom to write a letter calling attention to certain qualities which we feel the University may properly expect of its students. Foremost among these are honesty, self-reliance, a high standard of personal conduct, and a concern for the name of the University in its relationship with the community in which it is situated ... we expect our students to exhibit becoming conduct at all times, to be courteous in all their relations with other people, and to show a careful regard for property belonging to others."

Yet, President Harnwell sent a copy containing these admonitions to every Penn student last September. As one student put it, "This letter is known in Penn circles as the 'On Being Good' letter. It is evidence of the administration's opinion of the level of maturity of the students. It even looks like evidence of a policy to keep that level low."

Nearly everywhere, differences between the University's stated policy and actual practice--a perpetual falling-short, a hypocrisy of ideals--become evident. The Deans paint a picture of a system of campus life that seems both infallible and utopian, but harsh reality reveals an embarrassing similarity between Penn's methods of guaranteeing the right kind of environment and the technique used in the more successful Eastern finishing schools.

One outstanding exception to the weaknesses of many aspects of the University is President Harnwell's Survey. This revolutionary report, designed to investigate and revamp every facility of the University, has already produced heartening results. Nearly every official office at Penn displays prominently the fat, red-bound notebooks that contain the Survey's findings to date. Although Harnwell still has a long way to go if he wants to make Penn's College of Arts and Sciences equal to those of the top-ranked institutions, he has at least raised the level of instruction in many of the other undergraduate colleges.

The twelve colleges give Harnwell much room to apply his theories. In addition to the Arts and Sciences school and its women's counterpart, Harnwell presides over the School of Chemical Engineering, the School of Civil Engineering, the Moore School of Electrical Engineering, the School of Mechanical Engineering, the School of Metallurgical Engineering, the Wharton School of Finance and Commerce, the School of Education, the School of Fine Arts, the School of Nursing, and the School of Allied Medical Professions.

Wharton has, for a long time, served as Penn's focal point, both in sheer number and in outlook; and it is in the business school that the next major changes initiated by the Survey will probably take place. In the past five years, however, more emphasis has been placed on the College of Arts and Sciences. This fall, for the first time, freshmen in the College outnumber Wharton matriculatants, and Admissions Director Robert H. Pitt II predicts that the balance of the entire University will eventually shift toward Arts and Sciences.

Perhaps the most striking evidence of the desire to improve is shown by the growth of independent study programs in the junior and senior years. Under the careful direction of Dr. E. Sculley Bradley, vice-Provost for undergraduate studies, the College's English department has established a plan for individual research with only two formal course requirements--a regular class in Junior year and a senior seminar in the major field. Bradley foresees a continuation of the trend toward independent work, and other departments are working to formalize programs similar to that for English concentrators.

Bradley admits readily that he is far from happy with the present tutorial and advisory system at Penn. "We don't have a tutorial system--it is not consisten with our tradition," he says. But, he adds, "I wish our counselling methods had worked out better. Each incoming freshman gets an academic adviser, who usually becomes his sophomore supervisor as well. The function of the adviser during the first two years is at best loosely defined, and many underclassmen rarely see the men assigned to them. When students begin to concentrate in the junior year, they receive a "major adviser," who works closely with them, planning courses and helping with other academic decisions. The job of major adviser is a difficult one, and there are not enough men to go around. "We are not spending enough money on what is a good system in theory," Bradley laments.

Ultimately, those concerned with the Survey are aiming at increased fluidity in the years of undergraduate and graduate education. "We want to break down the division between the College and grad school," Bradley says. To achieve this end, every student prepares a senior essay, and Honors candidates must complete an ambitious paper, equivalent in depth and difficulty to a Master's thesis.