That happy atmosphere runs into some rough going at times, though. Last October saw a number of residents voice concern about a "lack of security" in what the University has long considered a high crime area. The University's long-standing contention that the area near Harvard and Ware Streets is unsafe for women students--which until this year served as an excuse for keeping the Union Dorms single-sex--prompted over 60 students to sign a petition requesting the installation of iron bars on the buildings first floor windows.
The students obviously were not that upset, however, because their concern faded soon after the University's refusal on the grounds that window bars would block emergency fire exists. Life returned to normal "after we realized there aren't a bunch of murderers and rapists hanging around under the windows," says Raymond, a first-floor resident who signed the petition. In fact, University police statistics indicate the area does not have an unusually high crime rate, and there have been no incidents similar to last year's mugging of two Pennypacker residents weaving their way home after a night at Father's Six. Ward, a woman who felt secure enough to live in Pennypacker in the all-male days, dismisses the students' petition as "an overreaction to the exaggerated stories they heard from last year's people."
Other students have expressed frustration about what they see as Pennypacker residents' observance of the "incest taboo"--the tendency to view the man or woman next door as a friend or neighbor, but never as a potential sexual partner. There are exceptions, but in general the men and women "act a lot like brother and sister," a female resident notes. "But that's okay," she quickly adds, "because things are a lot more relaxed that way." The women join readily in games of vertical football and other traditionally all-male Pennypacker pursuits--a fact that surprises Reardon, who had expected the atmosphere to be "much more formal." But the formality and nervousness generated by conventional sex barriers are gone from Pennypacker; its residents seem to accept the incest taboo as part of living in a co-ed dorm.
If Pennypacker's students seem more satisfied with their surroundings this year, no one could be happier than their proctors. They now face, as one relieved proctor note, "fewer demands to serve as entertainers than last year"--which gives them more time to themselves. The decline in the number of tire-throwing binges, attempted swan dives off the third floor bannister, and other favorite pastimes of restless former residents is also a lot less trying for the proctors. Muller, whose country boy impulsiveness occasionally led him to join in the good times last year, still notes without regret that "the level of hell-raising is a lot lower during the peak-load times."
Ward also finds reason to smile. Though the greater number of first-floor parties has inevitably raised the noise level in her basement apartment, she is just as glad that she hears markedly fewer complaints than last year. Requests for transfers are also rarer, and all stem from uncontrollable factors such as roommate incompatibility. "It's a much happier place to be," she grins.
Former residents generally shake their heads philosophically when asked about the "new Pennypacker." Samuel A. Bern '79, who last year fled the dorm to the co-ed environment of South House, says his decision would probably have been different this year. "The facilities weren't so bad," he says, and if there had been women around to "make the place seem less like a locker room," he would have stayed at Pennypacker instead of transferring out.
Other former residents, intrigued by rumors that don't quite jibe with their own memories of the place, occasionally wander back for a first-hand look. And their conclusions are rarely negative. Matthew W. Copel '79 sums up their feelings best as he sighs ruefully, "I keep telling myself I should have taken a year off."