50-Year Reunion: First Coed Class at UVA

**Formerly Alderman Library, the building where I did most of my study, now vastly remodeled and renamed Shannon Library. You’ll see in the blog why the new name means a great deal to me.**

Being one of the first 350 coeds admitted to UVA was one of the most surprising, exciting, and challenging events of my life. At poetry readings, I like to say that I graduated with a BA in English, Phi Beta Kappa Key, and Black Belt in Feminism.

To commemorate our class anniversary, Gail Gerry, one of those first women attending the school, decided we needed a book to pass down our history. A few years ago, she sent out emails to most of the women in the class of 1974 with a questionnaire. She stressed that it wouldn’t take but a few minutes of our time. But, of course, Alarie the writer had lots and lots to say. I was touched and honored when Gail selected me as one of the featured women in the book.

Unfortunately, the University Press did not publish it in time for our reunion. Ms. Gerry (we were addressed by last name in classes, part of the school’s tradition) was able to pull together a lovely presentation about the book, complete with slide show. She also asked me to read this poem as an intro to the event with another poem, “Home Coming,” to close the program.

Summer 1970, The University of Virginia

Opens to Women in the Fall

Mama calls me a pioneer. I call

me a student - tagging along

after my older brother like always,

ignoring his taunts. You can’t

come here. Somehow I knew I would.

At thirteen, I fell in love

with Thomas Jefferson’s Rotunda

and vistas of the Blue Ridge.

I’m not trying to make history,

just taking my place in it.

Brave? No, timid and half blind.

Every stranger and new school

scares me. That’s life.

I don’t know I’ll need extra

courage. That will come later.

First published in Southern Women’s Review

I’ll alert subscribers at alariepoet.com when the book is released. Be on the lookout for

Here To Stay: The Story of the First Class of Women That Coeducated the University of Virginia

I read my poems on Friday morning. From then until our final evening meal on Saturday, women I didn’t know at all came up to me to say how much they’d loved my poems, even got weepy over them. I’ve never felt so much like a celebrity. Dickie McMullan (an eye surgeon), who interviewed Gail Gerry the day before, saw me again on Saturday and gave me the unofficial title of “Poet Laureate of the Class of ’74.” That was all the more touching to hear since Dr. McMullan was one of six highly successful alumnae to speak at a panel discussion that afternoon. The panel also included my first roommate, Claudia Russell, a successful architect, despite the architecture school trying to keep her out of their degree program:

Rotunda, Dome Room

A panel of 1974 alumnae will reflect on their unique journeys, the ways they forged community and created space for women on Grounds, and the lessons they’ve carried with them as alumnae. Panelists include:

· Susan Pfiester Anders (Col ’74)

· Diane Kirchner Knetzger (Col ’74)

· Barbara Golden Lynn (Col ’74)

· Dickie McMullan (Col ’74)

· Claudia Russell (Arch ’74)

· Barbara Savage (Col ’74)

Luncheon right after reading my poems at the Gail Gerry’s Coed Book Discussion. The many meals and cocktail parties were the best part of our reunion because we got to talk to some people we hadn’t seen in fifty years or rarely see now. Nancy on the left is a pediatrician. Carolyn was Nancy’s roommate that first year until I stole my fellow English major to live with me for the next three years. She worked for the government in D.C.
My husband Chris wasn’t the only male addition to our table. There was a second Dr. Curtis near and dear to my dorm mates that first year. Nancy’s husband, Jeff, is a retired pathologist. Here he is chatting to Jill.

**You can probably read Claudia’s badge. She was my first-year roommate, the architect I just mentioned. Beside her is Jill, also in my first-year suite of 10 girls.**

Jill is back with us in this photo. Beside her is Fred, whom I met in eighth grade Latin class, he joined Carolyn and me and later Chris, too, for supper our last two years of college. My husband Chris is in the blue cap. Why was I the only one to miss the blue memo? At least I was wearing a touch of Wahoo orange.

My roommate for three years, Carolyn, has moved back to Charlottesville, so we’ve seen her a few times since we’ve retired. We were also able to share a meal with other friends, many years ahead of us, who still live there. I’ve been happy to see Fred a few more times since retiring, too. He introduced me at my first (so far only) hometown poetry reading and escorted me to our fiftieth high school reunion a year late due to Covid. Actually, Charlottesville was my second hometown. I love it so much that I tried to stay there after college. Unfortunately, between a recession and Charlottesville’s challenging job market, I had no choice but to move for a better job.

We all agreed we hadn’t known very many fellows students in Charlottesville. I guess we were mostly a serious, studious group. But we soon discovered it was easy to talk to other classmates we didn’t know and compare notes about what we studied and what we’d done out in the world. The time went by way too fast.

When we weren’t at programs, meals, or parties, we spent most of our time tiring out our old legs on the steep hills and drinking in the beauty of UVA and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Even if I could visit Charlottesville every year, we’d want to walk around the University’s grounds. It was astounding how many more grand buildings have fit into place. I barely knew my way around.

Remembering President Shannon and All We Owe Him

My most impressive class in college was also my smallest class with seven students. (Fred was one of them.) I guess most students were intimidated by sitting at a table with Mr. Shannon (another UVA tradition: professors are not addressed as Doctor) to study the poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson and Robert Browning. We not only got close attention from both President Shannon and a grad instructor, but Shannon also invited us to dinner at the President’s home, Carr’s Hill. (We sat in chair, balancing dinner plates on our laps. President Shannon sat on the floor beside my chair. He knew he needed to pull me out of my shell.)

When my parents came up for graduation, they insisted on going to Carr’s Hill to shake President Shannon’s hand. We stood in a long line. A Provost or some such would lean in to catch the graduate’s name. I’m sure I cringed about that, because few people can hear “Alarie Tennille” and repeat it correctly. Fortunately, President Shannon, spoke up, saying, “I KNOW Ms. Tennille. She was my star pupil.” I’ve never seen my mother glow so much as she did at that moment.

What Happened Between UVA and the Real World

At this 50th Coed Reunion, we women were truly celebrated, almost to the point I felt sorry for the men attending, but my husband assured me we deserved it. We were NOT celebrated then. In fact, many of the discussions at the reunion brought up schools that tried to persuade coeds to take a different major, that their field would not suit women. One of my best friends rushed to finish an architectural history degree in three years so she could move to London and get her architecture degree there.

It wasn’t just the student population that was overwhelmingly white male either. There were few nonwhite men or any women teaching classes. There were a few token female instructors, mostly in introductory classes for writing, literature, and some psychology. I think I had one French class, one introductory writing class, and one women’s lit class taught by women.

On that score, I had it luckier than some because majoring in English was considered suitable for women, too. But then came efforts to attend job placement interviews. The vast majority of well-paid jobs were in engineering. I don’t believe I saw a single visit listed for publishing or advertising, jobs I’d have relished. My only job interview through the placement office was horribly sexist: a banker looking for Management Training positions.

“Wouldn’t you rather stay home, take care of your house, and have babies?” he asked. I assured him I would not. He seemed to appreciate my spunk and invited me to come to Richmond for a job interview: bus trip paid for by me. When I got there, they pulled a bait and switch. Not Management Training, I’d be in Personnel. Only I wasn’t that either. The young woman who interviewed me had every intention of taking that job herself. I rode a second bus back for the verdict, “No.” I told her to please never, ever do that again to a job applicant. It was bad enough to not get the position, but unprofessional to make an applicant spend money and time for the disappointment.

I guess I expected a degree with Phi Beta Kappa key would open doors, but real life didn’t work that way. After two years in a hated job, I got my first break by being the only technical editor for the Old Dominion University Research Foundation. The reading was mostly dull for an English major: pages upon pages of equations for NASA reports. But the pay was an improvement, I got a small private office with a water view, and I was treated fairly well, aside from the “Hello, Alarie, I’m Dr. So-and-So.”

Eventually I got the sort of creative job I relished that didn’t keep me counting every penny that came in. This leads me back to the marvelous celebration at this reunion. After 50 years, we got celebrated for the trailblazers we were. We were not given counseling, advice, or any real encouragement except to go fit in with the crowd of men. We did have the usual week of orientation always offered to students. This included a welcoming reception. Immediately, tiny Alarie had two young men towering over me, but there was no welcome. One was an upperclassman, the other a graduate instructor (even worse news), both saying, “We don’t want you here. We voted against women coming to our school.”

In terms of class interaction and manners of our male classmates, things got better year by year. I think they just wanted to see how we’d fit in.

Alarie’s Summer Marathon

Write & Wrong