Holy Calamity
The Scandal and the Souffle at St. A's
The walls are painted an apt wine; the carpet, a tattered oriental. Abused status symbols—grandfather clock, grand piano, appointments of worn mahogany—complete the impression. This is the smoking room at Saint A’s, a rare vestige of Ivy League glamour where Columbia’s top-shelf set may be glimpsed through latticed balcony windows, indulging in postprandial cigarettes. Upstairs, the ballroom lies fallow until the next party or movie night. Further up is Tony’s room, the attic, and former squash courts. The house was grand once, but over a century of collegiate caresses have left the place looking decidedly shabby, more Miss Havisham than Her Highness.
Saint Anthony’s Hall is the founding chapter of the National Delta Psi fraternity, and according to Columbia University historian Andrew Dolkart, the building was the first to be erected in Morningside Heights for the exclusive purpose of student housing. Saint A’s began at Columbia in 1847 as a literary society dedicated to “the love of learning and the appreciation of a well-rounded education.”
The society now counts eight other chapters amongst its brethren, and though it is named after Saint Anthony, the patron saint of writers and cofounder of
Christian monasticism, there is no trace of that sensibility in the Early French Renaissance architecture of the building. Dripping with sculptural Beaux-Arts motifs, the house reflects the aesthetics popular under the reigns of Henry VI and Louis XIII and, according to Dolkart, was clearly modeled after the elegant Place des Vosges in Paris. The mini-mansion tucked into Riverside Drive is the refuge of 20 hand-picked Columbians, and its ornately keyed limestone and brick-paneled walls have been shrouded in mystery—until now.
If Carman is a playground for pubescent alcoholics and ADP is a gay harem, then Saint A’s is where Columbia’s wealthiest let down their long, rich hair. Famous for tall, pristinely coiffed girls with Blackberries tucked into designer clothing and elite-looking guys with influential moms and dads, Saint Anthony’s Hall is known—to those who have heard of it—for three things: parties, secrecy, and money. It may be a literary society, but the place is better known for its bar than its bards.
My fireside interview with Dan Normal and Bunny Money (CC students who prefer to remain anonymous—Dan Normal’s pseudonym was given to him while Bunny Money’s was self-appointed) is conducted while sitting on cracked leather furniture. I ask them what was served for dinner that evening. Bunny Money thinks for a moment before pronouncing, “Tonight we had Cornish game hen.”
Dan corrects her, “No, no—it was just regular chicken breast. Nobody likes Cornish hen, he [the chef] keeps making that.”
“But tonight it was [Cornish game hen],” Bunny contends.
Conscious of the faux pas, Dan says, “It was just chicken breast.”
The gracelessness of mentioning Cornish game hen to the likes of myself is like a feudal lord discussing pheasant with a serf. While conscious of Dan’s reticence to admit the meal, she does not appear to understand why. In their contradictory relationships to wealth, Dan Normal and Bunny Money together embody the spirit of Saint A’s: on one hand, they seem embarrassed about it, but on the other, they want you to know they’ve got it.
Squabbling over the breed of fowl served for dinner is probably something that few other Columbians have the interest or opportunity to do. But at Saint A’s, quarreling reaches new heights of sophistication as I learn that an interpersonal conflict led to the acquisition of an exotic animal.
There is a girl in the hall who is terrified of snakes. Bunny, none too fond of the ophidiophobe, played a singularly Saint A’s joke on her. Dan explains, “She bought a snake and named it after the girl who doesn’t like snakes and told the girl who didn’t like snakes that she named the snake after her, at which point the snake was donated to charity.” Relaxing into a self-reproachful laugh, bright-eyed Bunny weighs in: “My snake was cute. It was pink on pink.”
Cornish game hen and pink snakes aside, my sit-down with Dan and Bunny is far from a simple recitation of stereotypes. The pair is friendly and down-to-earth, explaining that Saint A’s is really just nice off-campus housing with its own meal plan and tight social network. They gush about the sense of community and laud the Hall—as they call the house—as a well-appointed refuge from the chaos of Columbia. “It’s just nice to come in here, have a cup of tea, start a fire,” Dan says. Bunny adds, “There’s also no clocks in any of these rooms so there’s really no sense of time.” I gesture toward a staid grandfather clock hedged in between a vintage leather couch and balcony window. “That one doesn’t work.”
Bunny elaborates on the peaceful rhythm of life at Saint A’s, describing the ritual of the midday meal. “I generally spend at least an hour at lunch every day. You have four courses, you have your soup, and then whatever, and then a salad, and then you sit down, dessert, and then tea. It takes a long time.” The chef, employed by Saint A’s for the past 15 years, “loves working here,” according to Dan, and serves breakfast, lunch, dinner, and an afternoon tea daily. Bunny recalls that they had tea sandwiches that afternoon. “You can have some if you like. They’re in the fridge,” Dan offers.
The sense of intimacy born of living in close, fin de siècle quarters is another perk of belonging to Saint A’s. “I know that I feel like it’s my family,” Dan says. “I guess I sort of started here just through a couple friends bringing me by, and ... I never would’ve met them without this place. And I’d say, of everyone here—and I’m not going to give you a number of people who are here—but I’d say there’s a good portion who will be my friends for life.” Of course, Dan concedes, “There are some people who don’t feel that way. Some people get very involved, some people come to meals occasionally, it’s whatever you make of it.” Bunny concurs, elaborating on the understated spirit of the society: “We’re very bonded to each other, but I don’t think we see each other on the street and are like ‘Rah, Saint A’s!’” Dan shakes his head, laughing, “We definitely don’t.” While Saint A’s members might eschew public expressions of fraternity, they certainly do not in their e-mail messages, which are signed YITB, “Yours in the Bond.”
Extolling the choice membership of Saint A’s, Bunny admits, “I really did not like the people I met at Columbia.” But she explains,“Saint A’s does a very good job of finding very eclectic people who are very talented in their own ways. They bring something to the table that’s very different.” Dan interrupts, ever ready to debunk the society’s reputation for elitism: “Some don’t.” Ignoring him, Bunny continues, “I think it’s a lot of fun being here. It’s much more than the housing or the food. The quality of the people who live here, they’re very good quality people.” Reflective for a moment, she says, “There’s different religions, different political views, everything. I would say eclectic is a good way to define it.”
The folks at Saint A’s are not as opinionated as their critics, however, who range from gentle detractors to full-blown archenemies. “I think people pigeonhole,” Bunny says. “They think, stereotypical Saint A’s kid. But I don’t think that really exists.” Dan acknowledges flak as par for the course. “We’re pretty happy, happy in our little private lives over here. So people can think what they think. Most people have negative thoughts about us.”
In a moment of literary allusion, Bunny offers, “It’s like Herodotus, the Histories, with the headless men with eyes in the breasts. It’s like when you don’t know about something and it’s really far away you start these rumors about it, because no one will validate it one way or the other.”
For many Saint A’s critics, 116th and Riverside isn’t so far away, and their observations are validation enough to support the conclusion that members are, as Jessica Glavin, CC ’07 and outgoing president of Delta Gamma, told a Yale reporter last year, “ostentatious, ridiculous and pretentious.” She cited an autumnal ritual as proof: “Every year, at Homecoming, they square off a portion of the tailgating area and—outfitted in blazers and monogrammed oxfords—sip champagne and nibble on aged cheeses served to them by uniformed caterers.” Noting a distinct sociological divide, Jessica concluded, “While most Columbia students spend their time shotgunning beers and fielding hot dog mustard bombs from detonating all over their Columbia T-shirts, Mr. and Mrs. St. A. spend their time trying to navigate the muddy field in their Tod’s loafers.”
A recent GS grad and former paramour of a Saint A’s member, Guy Lebowitz, whose name has also been changed by request, marvels, “It was absolutely ridiculous how seriously they took themselves. I was dating a girl there and she actually kicked me out once because they were having a secret meeting in one of the rooms and they didn’t want me in the building.” Speaking of the organization as a whole, Guy shrugs. “It’s not really worth thinking about, to be honest with you.”
Then, of course, there’s the incident of the tea party. Dan confirms the story that Jacob McKean, CC ’06, was walking by the Hall one evening last year when, from the smoking room balcony, a member threw a teacup at him and yelled, “Fucking faggot!” Bunny says that the member had thought they heard someone throw something at the house. Dan emphasizes that it was not an accurate reflection of Saint A’s.
Jacob’s account of the story is somewhat more vivid. “As I walked past Saint A’s two guys standing on the patio in front started cursing at me. One of them then hurled a glass—not a teacup, a rock glass like the kind your grandfather uses for a gin and tonic—at me, missing my head by an inch. If it had hit me, I’d have been bleeding and unconscious on the sidewalk.” Stopping and looking back at them, Jacob says that a former president of Saint A’s screamed “Faggot!” at him. Jacob then went to Woodbridge security and reported the incident, but Saint A’s refused security entry to the building. According to Jacob, both members were eventually issued summons by the police. Teacup or tumbler, the unsavory incident rather clashes with the refined reputation of the historic literary society.
Michael Magdaleno, CC ’08 and president of Alpha Delta Phi, a commensurate coed literary society, but located on campus and affiliated with the Greek Council, says, “I guess their reputation would probably be as a very wealthy organization with very wealthy members that is very selective about who they choose—but a lot of it has to do with one’s background, more so than one’s character.” He mentions that he heard rumors of discrimination at Saint A’s, and that he was glad that those kinds of practices were absent from the recruitment process at ADP.
The Columbia chapter of Saint Anthony’s is known for its secrecy. “We’re the first, and we’re more reclusive,” Dan explains. The Brown chapter has a Web site and photo gallery. Trinity, MIT, Ole Miss and UNC have Web sites including names of active members, a schedule of events, rush dates, and photos. The Penn chapter has its complete archives online, Virginia has a page on the Greek Life Council Web site for UVA organizations, and Princeton has a cryptic, albeit alluring, Web site. The founding chapter is the only one without one. Also, unlike most of the other branches, it does not have nor advertise a typical rush period. When asked if members thought rush tacky, Dan answered, “We do, but that makes us elitist.”
Dan and Bunny were tight-lipped when it came to the topic of member selection. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about the process that much,” Dan says. When I inquire about a prominent rumor, wherein a new member of Saint A’s proves her mettle by buying and burning a ticket to China, Dan and Bunny are tickled. “I think the typical one we hear is Paris,” Dan says. Laughing, Bunny blurts, “Paris isn’t that expens—just kidding.”
“We actually just have them buy off-season tickets to exotic destinations, and we do have them burn them, actually. Davidson here, we made him purchase a ticket to Tunisia, and he had to burn it,” Dan said. Davidson, a first-year, piped up, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to go to Tunisia, so I was crushed.” Dan jokes, “And I hear Tunis is lovely this time of year.”
“Typically, we try and send them places that have something to do with Saint A. For instance, we like having people buy tickets to Portugal so that they can see Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Temptation of Saint A,’” Dan says.
Confused, I ask if the member actually goes to the destination. “No, they burn the ticket,” Dan affirms.
Do they think they’re going to go?
“Oh, yeah. It’s all a mind fuck.” Dan says. Bunny adds,“I got Paris ... but you also kind of hope that it’s a joke, that you don’t really have to burn it—till you see the lighter and you’re like, ‘Ahh!’”
Addressing the reputedly prohibitive member dues, Dan says, “Well, you have to be able to afford it, and we have had some problems, some people that we joined with found out later on that they wouldn’t be able to afford it. So it’s unfortunate in that event. We’ve lost a couple people, really quality people, but for the most part we’re pretty egalitarian. If we meet someone that we like, it’s not a big issue and things can be worked out.”
The dues for members who do not live in the house—of which there are an estimated 10-15 at any given time—are $2,600 per semester, which pays for 10 meals a week and alcohol for parties.
“You’re expected to pull your own weight,” Dan says of new members, who are responsible for grunt work at parties. “People typically enjoy bartending.” The live-in members—currently 20—pay much more. According to Dan, “our dues are more than other fraternities at Columbia, but if you go down south to a place that has a huge house, or a nice house like ours, they’re pretty similar.” Dan and Bunny declined to say what “similar” was.
Continuing on the sordid topic of money, Dan explains their unique situation. “We have nothing to do with the school. We have our own trustees who own and operate the building. The building is pretty much operational off of our dues and our rents.” Saint A’s is neither funded by nor affiliated with the University.
Dan and Bunny would not name any trustees. Indeed, most questions posed to them were met with a smiling “no comment,” including—Do you have a charter? Who decides who gets admitted? When do you admit new members? What is the admissions process? Even the most benign of queries—As a literary society, what do you guys do that’s literary?—was answered by Dan, “No comment. It’s there, but I’m not commenting on it.”
Walter Dansby, CC ’06, would comment on it. Putting to rest fantasies of coed naked William Blake readings and whatever else Saint A’s self-styled secrecy might lead one to surmise, he calls their bluff. “This idea that Saint A’s is a literary society, this is devoid of reality, actually. The idea that the place is this sort of creative haven with eccentrics, that’s not the reality of Saint A’s.” Walter is not a member—nor is his name actually Walter—but he has an inside perspective on the organization that he prefers not be described in this article. While Walter admits that their history is alluring and that they throw the best parties, he is unimpressed with the self-aggrandizing secrecy of the organization. Walter estimates that “if you go looking for the interesting thing about Saint A’s, what you find is that the guy from MTV News, Gideon Yago, is a member.”
Walter expounds on the reasons why an exclusive, moneyed organization like Saint A’s thrives at an egalitarian university like Columbia. “What’s important to mention is a place like Saint A’s could exist at Columbia but it couldn’t exist at most other Ivies because everyone would be a part of it. If you think about the general culture at Columbia, it’s very much not an elitist culture, especially not with money. Georgetown, for instance, it very much is a money culture at Georgetown. People care about what other people are wearing. At Columbia you don’t see that. Everyone is far too in the light, so to speak, to be snobs. But then you run into the problem that there are kids who are used to a certain kind of lifestyle, and for a lot of people ... Saint A’s is a place they won’t be judged.”
When Dan and Bunny denied a rush period at Saint A’s, they did so sincerely. The Saint A’s recruitment period is not called rush but the “friends process,” and for some, like Walter, it’s not as appealing as it may sound.
“The first night of the friends process is usually like a scavenger hunt. It’s supposed to be fun. You get a Lincoln town car for the night, a driver, and you have to do different things… They give you money, too. They split you up into teams. They’ll say, ‘You’re not going to be a member of Saint A’s if you don’t get to 44th and Madison in 10 minutes!’ The whole thing is kind of a bad experience.” Walter recalls, “There’s a driver. There is definitely a dress code for the scavenger hunt. It’s supposed to be like, fun, this is spy world, but it comes off as kids who don’t get friends without an apparatus.”
When I ask if anyone could go to a Saint A’s party, Walter says, “Yeah, of course. Sure. They’re insecure, they love attention, they love to be respected. It’s this kind of weird mix of people ... who maybe feel ashamed [of their wealth] but at the same time want people to know. It’s a weird dichotomy.”
Commenting on the differences between some of the chapters, Walter says, “Supposedly the Brown chapter of Saint A’s is touchy-feely, with sensitive hippies—and the Columbia kids don’t like or relate to them at all. Trinity Saint A’s kids are the worst—they have a tower where they do coke all the time.” At Columbia, Walter affirms, “Saint A’s wants people to come and enjoy themselves and look up to them.”
According to Walter, hopeful prospectives are told to meet somewhere where they will be handed an invitation to join. Another ritual of the initiation process is “a night when you’re supposed to share something. I found that to be pretty lame. No one had anything interesting. Then you sleep over, everyone gets drunk, then you paint or clean the house.”
“Being selected for something exclusive and secretive and cool is exciting, but it all goes downhill from there,” Walter remembers. “There’s a few people that are not defined by it; it’s practical for them to live there.”
Even the administration of Saint A’s is bound in secrecy. I was told by members that the president of Saint A’s was Beccy Dunnan, CC ’07. When contacted, Dunnan would not comment about the society.
Little did I know that she may not even be the real president. “One thing about Saint A’s is that the person who functions as the outward president doesn’t function as the inward president. It changes from year to year. They elect their own inner—and outer—president,” Walter says. The outer president, Dunnan, is the person who Saint A’s recognizes publicly. The inner president, who walks among us yet in anonymity, is known only to Saint A’s members. Since Dunnan declined to comment on anything having to do with the group, one wonders as to the purpose of her position, and also why everyone in this article, with scant exception, asked to be quoted anonymously.
When asked how the boarding school contingent achieved such a sizeable representation in Saint A’s membership, and more to the point, how current Saint A’s members recognize the new boarding school crop for member selection, Walter says, “They just know each other. Boarding school kids know each other. Some of their families know each other.”
Doubting the values of the organization, Walter remarks, “You just take a look around and you realize, why have these people been brought together? It’s not like they discriminate for the right reasons—like merit or anything. It does come down to perceived wealth.” Noting the practical side of membership, he concludes, “I’ve heard of one kid who was there and said it was an investment in his career. He couldn’t really afford it but he thought that he could make connections.”
Reflecting on the squandered potential of the organization, Walter says, “What’s sad about Saint A’s is that it could be really cool when you think of the idea of what it could be. Yeah, it’s appealing, having dinner on Thursday nights, discussing things, mocking themselves a little bit maybe. But then what you realize is the bond that is tying all these people together is really money, you know. It doesn’t have anything to do with cool.”
The myth of the blue-blooded boys and girls club is a quaint one, and ever since the Gilded Age ended, Saint A’s has inspired mystery, mockery, and admiration as a living relic. While the secrecy is alluring, one wonders why it’s even there—the secrets seem sadly tame.
Delving into the goings-on at Saint A’s is an exercise in defanging: what the mystery conceals is not much more than the controversial habit of exclusivity.