Following in their parents’ pawprints: The legacy path

Ivy holds a special meaning for the Cole family. When Cole’s father brought his date to Ivy Houseparties in the spring of 1976, the two “fell in love dancing on the same dance floor that I dance on,” Cole said. And Cole’s father had asked the woman, whom he would later marry, to be his Houseparties date in front of McCosh 10 — the same hall where Cole has had many of his lectures.

Such reminders of family ties appear regularly in Cole’s daily life. Cole sings a cappella with Shere Khan in 1879 Arch, which bears a plaque honoring his late great-grandfather, Donald Griffin ’23.

“That’s really cool to be able to sing in the same space that commemorates him,” Cole said, describing the experience as “coming full circle” — his great-grandfather died when he was 5 years old.

But Cole knew Princeton would be special for him long before he arrived at the University as a student. Growing up a mere 15-minute drive from campus, he attended more than 50 Princeton events — from Reunions to hockey and football games — before matriculating. Throughout high school, Cole was certain that he wanted to attend Princeton. His parents and grandparents were filled with pride for the University, and so was he.

“I thought it was the greatest place on earth,” he said.

Roughly one-eighth of students are children of alumni, commonly known as legacies, according to University statistics — a higher proportion than either African-American or international students.

A legacy’s path to Princeton is eased by favorable admission policies and a better sense of what it means to be a Princetonian. But once on campus, where legacy status is rarely discussed, the path becomes a little more complicated. Some legacies said that the awareness of legacy preference in admissions engenders self-doubt, particularly in the early days of their Princeton careers. And while legacy status can offer instant social connections, stereotypes surrounding legacies can pose challenges in their academic and social lives.

When Jun Koh ’11 saw the orange tiger and “Congratulations!” splashed across her computer screen in 2007, her excitement was tempered.

“I felt like there was a huge chance already because of my dad and brother,” she explained. “I felt like my merits weren’t counted." Koh is also a senior writer for The Daily Princetonian.

Owen Coyle ’12, whose mother attended Princeton, remembers this insecurity well. Coyle knew as early as the fifth grade that he wanted to attend the University. His best friend in middle school was also a legacy, and his friend’s mother lived in the same entryway as Coyle’s mother during her freshman year. Coyle and his best friend attended several Reunions together, and they began to think seriously about college after returning from their mothers’ 25th Reunion — when they were only 10 years old.

“We were like, ‘Yeah. Princeton. We should go there,’ ” Coyle said. “We thought it would be cool if we stayed friends and ended up going [to Princeton].”

But when he arrived at Princeton eight years later as a student, Coyle wondered whether he truly belonged.

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“It’s like, if during the first week of freshman fall, if everyone has the same scripts and thoughts, then legacies have an extra one,” he explained.

For Kyle, an upperclassman whose name has been changed to protect his privacy, the insecurities associated with being a Princeton legacy lingered throughout his freshman year. As his frustration became increasingly hard to handle, Kyle said he became “a little angry and drunk and insecure.”

“I was a bit of a cocky asshole,” he said. “But I was surprised by how intently people actually focus on legacies. Why is everyone focusing on my parent being here? I worked hard just like everyone else. I’m just trying to be a student.”

Kyle said he experienced direct social prejudices stemming from his family’s connection to campus, which left some students less willing to befriend him — including one of his current best friends. “I met [this best friend] at the end of freshman year and he was very cold to me,” Kyle said. “At the end of sophomore year, he said, ‘You know, you’re one of my best mates, but when I met you, what I heard about you made me not want to take an interest in you at all.’ ”

Though many alumni children said they experienced no legacy-related discrimination from their peers, Kyle said he feels that there is actually a lot of “whispering and gossip” about legacies on campus — though no one approaches the legacies about it.

“These things you hear about legacies being dumb, athletes being dumb ... people don’t bring those up to your face,” he said. “It’s much more the background noise. But that background noise can sometimes say more.”

Koh was one of the few legacies interviewed for this article who admitted to questioning whether she was academically qualified to earn a spot in her class.

“I don’t know ... In terms of my grades back in high school, I wasn’t that great — I did well, but I wasn’t that great,” Koh said. “And that’s why I always have this overhanging cloud over me sometimes about my qualifications to be here.”

Several years at the University, however, have eased Koh’s doubts. She said she has certain qualities that justify her acceptance that may not have shown through in her application, adding that being a legacy has helped motivate her to prove herself academically.

But Kyle said he believes legacies may approach the balance between academics and social connections with a perspective different from that of their non-legacy peers. He observed that legacies generally tend to frequent the Street more often and may view institutions like eating clubs in a different light.

“A lot of legacies look at their parents and see how social connections at Princeton do a lot for jobs,” he explained. “If you spend time interacting with the people around you, those interactions will do more for you than that A-minus over a B-plus. That probably sounds like elitist dick to most people, but it’s true.”

Their parents also exposed legacies to the University from an early age in ways beyond their social connections.

E.J. Chi ’11 grew up seeing a Princeton banner hanging above her father’s desk at home. But Youngsuk Chi ’83 — a former University trustee — said he was careful not to push the idea of Princeton too hard on his daughters, both of whom now attend the University. “If you push them too hard, they’re going to go the wrong way, but at the same time you want them to see what Princeton meant to you,” Youngsuk said.

It was E.J. who started asking questions about Princeton as a “blissfully ignorant eighth grader,” she said.

Over the next few years, Youngsuk’s insights proved valuable. “He would always tell me the great parts about [Princeton], obviously, and things like what exactly a precept is, what a seminar is,” E.J. said. “And though he graduated 26 years ago, he still has a really good sense of how the University runs, and he was able to help me a lot with understanding the school and how it is unique.”

For many legacies, the emotional connection to Princeton influenced their decision to apply. But Meghan Stevenson-Krausz was initially determined to choose a different path.

“I felt like my family was telling me to go, even though I don’t think they meant it that way,” she said. “So when it came to looking for schools, I was like ... there’s no way I’m going there. [My family] definitely hassled me.”

But when Stevenson-Krausz went to see a production at McCarter Theatre right before her junior year of high school, she found herself thinking otherwise. Her mother took her to view the plaque engraved with the name of her great-grandfather, Stuart Davis Stevenson ’43, in the University Chapel, and something changed.

“I felt really ... really at home,” Stevenson-Krausz said. “I really felt a sense of belonging, and a sense of like ... this is a wonderful place that everyone before me and my family has chosen to make their home, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

But the idea of Princeton as home would not last. On April 1, 2008, Stevenson-Krausz breathlessly logged in to the admission decision website to find out if she would follow 12 family members who had attended Princeton, continuing her family’s 134-year-old Princeton tradition.

She wouldn’t.

Stevenson-Krausz — who graduated at the top of her class at the prestigious Shipley School — was instead greeted with an apologetic, albeit generic, letter telling her that the University was unable to admit her into the Class of 2012, and that they had received a far larger number of qualified applicants than they were able to take.

“When I read that I had failed ... that I didn’t get in, I felt like I was being turned away from my home,” Stevenson-Krausz said, with considerable emotion. “It was really hard — my heart was set on going.”

What made the experience especially difficult for Stevenson-Krausz was that she felt unprepared for the idea that she might be rejected, because of interactions with her college counselor and her friends.

“No one had made it seem like it was a possibility — the combination of my academics and how people sort of thought of being a legacy and what it did,” she explained. “And though I told myself, ‘No, be prepared to not get in,’ I definitely wasn’t prepared to not get in. It wasn’t like, ‘Of course I’ll get in!,’ but more like, ‘This is where my heart is telling me to get in.’ ”

The rejection haunted Stevenson-Krausz during her first few months at the University of St Andrews in Scotland, where she is now a second-year student. Though at first convinced that St Andrews wasn’t the right place for her, Stevenson-Krausz is now extremely happy at her university.

“What we think isn’t always what’s right,” she said. “In the long run it was really good that I didn’t get in. It pushed me to definitely break down some of my comfort barriers.”

Stevenson-Krausz was also happy to embark on a journey that was very much her own. “The first person [in my family] who graduated from [Princeton] — it was 1780,” she said. “There’s always a shadow of who came before you, especially in families that have been going [to Princeton] as long as mine have.”

Despite the shadows that come with legacy status, Kyle has learned to take things in stride. He is trying hard, he said, to have a great college experience and contribute as best he can to the Princeton community regardless of any difficulties he may face as a legacy.

“I think I’ve grown a lot in two years,” he said. “Princeton put their faith in me, and I’m not going to take it to heart and have it control me and say, ‘This sucks.’ I have a fucking opportunity here, and I’m going to use it.”

This is the first article in a three-part series on legacies. Wednesday: A look at the history of legacy admissions.

Correction: An earlier version of this article stated that Meghan Stevenson-Krausz was a 13th-generation legacy applicant, when in fact she would have been the 13th person in her family to attend the University.