As a new academic year dawns for Yale undergraduates, we two Old Blues cannot help but recall our own Septembers at Yale College way back when — Proust would not be surprised. Is it just us, or have some things changed for the worse?

For decades, undergraduates would greet the new semester with an orgy of intellectual immersion. Our course schedules were blank slates and a festival of 2,000 courses beckoned, in what was known then as “Shopping Period.” Virtually all courses were available to sample. Check out Scully’s Art History! How about Kagan and The Peloponnesian War? Not only those best-known and classic courses, but also the new discovery a friend had made, or a spreading rumor about a new brilliant professor, or some enticing topic — all tempted us. This was a two week time of experimentation, of discovery, of a quest to not miss out. The News ran articles showing trends of most shopped courses. “Bluebook parties” abounded, where at least the ostensible mission was to confer and share delight — and some prudent warnings. 

For their part, professors were at least partially performers, auditioning for our attention — making a case for their field, their course and, yes, themselves. And we spent time in the presence of many of Yale’s greats, either to begin their course, perhaps file it away for a later year, or to mercifully avoid a semester in what might have been an unfortunate choice. It was exhilarating.

This was the Yale campus transformed into a glorious celebration of the life of the mind, with a clear message: this is what you are here for. This is the place where, among what seemed like Yale’s unfathomable material abundance, the greatest plenty of all was the infinity of intellectual resources available to us. We need only search them, choose them and then do justice to them. 

There was a certain disorder about it, it’s true, but that mostly added to the energy. No one knew how big a classroom needed to be and sometimes classes would move from day to day. Our schedules were impossibly stuffed and no one held back on readings or papers in deference to the load. We might take a class after missing the first session. How many teaching assistants for a particular class? A scramble might be needed to match unforeseen demand.

And yet, the madness had a purpose. It was in the service of this greater good; this statement — this is what we care about. For this, faculty and students were willing to do the extra work, deal with the inconvenience, crowd into a too-small classroom. This distinguished Yale from its so-called “peer institutions.” And everyone understood.  

Andy is a long-time director of alumni interviewing in the Princeton, New Jersey, area and in his interviewer training sessions, there is always an emphasis on how this was a great illustration of how Yale College is different; how this lies at the center of what Yale means. And when the interviewers tell the applicants of this, it resonates. They tell of how Yale faculty understand when they come to Yale, presumably with other top choices in their pocket, that this tumult will be part of the experience and by choosing to teach here, they choose to embrace it.  

But now, the Yale administration has done away with shopping period. Any alum that heard of this was rendered incredulous. A look at the relevant website now tells of “Early Course Registration and the Add/Drop Period.” That’s a name only a bureaucrat could love. And in fact, it’s obvious that if you presented the idea of shopping period to a newly arrived staffer who never experienced Yale as an undergraduate, they would point out all the obvious inefficiencies of the system and would suggest a brilliant innovation — let’s get rid of it. Have everyone register ahead of time, so we know how big the classrooms will be, how many TAs we need and so on. We might save some money and our computers will take care of the rest. You can still drop a course and replace it later if you need to.

And they would be absolutely right. It would be more efficient. And it is. But it isn’t Yale.

Now course selection takes place in the middle of a semester, when there are a thousand other things on your mind — and you are actually pulled away from thinking about what you are now learning. There’s no experimentation and very little conversation with your friends and classmates. This isn’t the business of the campus; it’s a pain in the neck when we don’t need one. There’s no energy, there’s no sharing of experiences, there’s no joy. The only statement that is made is the happy beep your computer sounds when it confirms your choices. 

As important as those who keep the place humming are, Yale cannot place its essence — the mission, legacy and identity of the place — in the hands of administrators alone. Keepers of the flame are needed and they must come from those who have been warmed by that flame most intimately; those who have come to know it and treasure it over generations. This means, in this case, faculty and alumni, who immediately and viscerally understand the issues implicated by shopping period. This unforced error would never have occurred, we submit, had alumni been consulted. On other matters the key constituencies will certainly include current students and administrators have their key roles in certain contexts. This will be an ongoing emphasis of this column.

But for today: we know shopping period. We see what is lost. And we want it back.

AKHIL REED AMAR is a Sterling Professor of Law and Political Science. Professor Amar graduated from Yale College in 1980, and from Yale Law School in 1984. Contact him at akhil.amar@yale.edu.

ANDREW LIPKA is the President of EverScholar, a nonprofit that conducts immersive learning programs, originally for Yale alumni, and now for all. Dr. Lipka graduated from Yale College in 1978, and from the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in 1982. He is a fellow of Jonathan Edwards College. Contact him at andrew.lipka@gmail.com.

Akhil and Andy co-host the weekly podcast, Amarica’s Constitution. Their column,“Yale Friends for Life,” runs frequently and discusses all things Yale — its successes, shortcomings, and mission — from the perspective of two alumni who love our small college.