Commune for Conservatives

Remember the well-ordered college dorms of yesterday? No coed living, no pot parties, gentlemanly students who wore coats and ties to dinner? Square as the idea may sound in these permissive times, such a haven of parietal virtues is thriving today just half a block away from the hip urban campus of Columbia University. Opened in 1967, for the past two years the dorm has had two applicants for every available room.

Known as Schuyler Hall, this singular bastion of domestic tranquillity for males is operated by Opus Dei (the Work of God), an international organization of zealous Roman Catholic laymen and priests. Best known for its influence in modernizing the economy of Franco Spain, Opus Dei has about 2,000 members in the U.S. Schuyler Hall is the largest of five student residences operated by the organization near American colleges. Although two resident priests celebrate Mass every day, only 60% of Schuyler's 75 residents are Catholic; three are Jewish, and there is one black. More than half the students attend Columbia, but the group is leavened by students from other New York campuses. They pay $155 to $190 a month--somewhat more than the $145 average for room and board in one of Columbia's own dorms--and agree to abide by Schuyler's strict, old-fashioned rules.

The entrance to the hall, which was built in 1914 by an order of nuns as a residence for working girls, is surmounted by two earnest Latin mottoes: Dulce Domum (Sweet Home) and Labor Omnia Vincit (Labor Conquers All). The messages accurately reflect Schuyler's atmosphere, which is rather like a tasteful commune for conservatives. Ornate paintings and antique furniture decorate the common rooms; cocktails are served in front of a roaring fireplace before Sunday dinner. The residents periodically hold sedate musicales (no rock or four-letter words), and many of the students belong to Schuyler's wine-tasting society. Everyone is assigned a job, from sorting the mail to fixing broken furniture. Grace is said before meals, and to encourage study, all the rooms, which have no locks, are singles.

Schuyler's goal is "spiritual formation," explains Director John Solarski, a former physicist. "We put an emphasis on good study, developing a real practical spirit of service, and preparing the boys to be fathers of families." Most of the residents participate in weekly seminars led by Catholic laymen. "We discuss religion and what really matters," says Freshman Jerry Addonizio. "Before Thanksgiving vacation, we talked about how to make your parents happy--when you come in, maybe pick your mother up and swing her around a little."

Good Send-Offs. Schuyler denizens are regarded with bemused contempt by more swinging Columbia students. "It's a place for anal Catholics. They want to preserve you from sin," scoffs one junior, a Catholic himself. As a group, the students are well above average in ability and politically quite conservative; they tend to shun radical activism. But each weekend some 20 residents take turns doing volunteer tutoring at an Opus Dei study center for younger students. Mostly, the residents' zest for service is inner-directed, toward caring for sick Schuylerites or helping dorm mates who have dropped behind in class.

The homey atmosphere of the hall is what appeals most to residents. "People here care about you," says Frank Torrisi, a third-year medical student. "They do nice things like giving you a good send-off in the morning." To a man, the residents feel Schuyler's benefits outweigh any drawbacks of its chaste and cloistered regulations--women are allowed only in the first-floor common rooms--which are set autocratically by Director Solarski and a three-man council. "If you choose to embrace this way of life," Torrisi says, "the small suffering is not that cumbersome." Anyway, points out Freshman Fred Dolan, "if you're that desperate to be with a girl in a room, you can always go to her dorm."

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