Dumb and Dumber: Freshman Disorientation

‘ORIENTATION is designed to disorient you,” announced Stanford professor James Adams to an auditorium of 1,600 puzzled freshmen at the beginning of the new school year. Assembled for one of many orientation-week programs on “diversity,” the freshmen soon learned what he meant. A lesbian activist spoke first about “challenging your sexuality,” and encouraged the 17- and 18-year-old students to “overcome” their “fears of being queer.” Next, a black musician performed an electric-guitar solo as police sirens wailed in the background. He concluded his demonstration by dropping suddenly to the floor and convulsing his body in a re-enactment of the Rodney King beating.

Then it was Professor Adams’s turn. Dividing the students by last name, he asked each segment to assume the voice of an animal—G through L, an ape; M through S, a seal; and so on. “Then, on his cue, we made our animal’s sound at the top of our lungs,” explained a freshman participant in the fall of 1992. As the resulting cacophony of barks, hoots, and whoops filled the auditorium, Professor Adams exulted, “By the time you leave Stanford, you should be completely disoriented.”

DS

About the Author

David Sacks

PT

About the Author

Peter Thiel

Featured Tags

‘ORIENTATION is designed to disorient you,” announced Stanford professor James Adams to an auditorium of 1,600 puzzled freshmen at the beginning of the new school year. Assembled for one of many orientation-week programs on “diversity,” the freshmen soon learned what he meant. A lesbian activist spoke first about “challenging your sexuality,” and encouraged the 17- and 18-year-old students to “overcome” their “fears of being queer.” Next, a black musician performed an electric-guitar solo as police sirens wailed in the background. He concluded his demonstration by dropping suddenly to the floor and convulsing his body in a re-enactment of the Rodney King beating.

Then it was Professor Adams’s turn. Dividing the students by last name, he asked each segment to assume the voice of an animal—G through L, an ape; M through S, a seal; and so on. “Then, on his cue, we made our animal’s sound at the top of our lungs,” explained a freshman participant in the fall of 1992. As the resulting cacophony of barks, hoots, and whoops filled the auditorium, Professor Adams exulted, “By the time you leave Stanford, you should be completely disoriented.”