The Writing on the Wall

There is a mistake in the inscription on the first building to greet visitors to the campus of Barnard College. Chiseled into the limestone cornice that sits atop four massive Corinthian columns, Latin block letters read "BARNARD." They ought to read "SCHIFF."

The building was donated to the college as a students' center by Jacob Schiff in 1916. It was originally named Students Hall, and was embraced by them from the start. When Schiff passed away some years later, instead of naming the building after him, the trustees chose to give it the name of the college. Jacob Schiff, it seems, possessed an unforgivable flaw--he was a Jew.

Schiff was born in Frankfurt in 1847. When he was just 18, he left to pursue his dreams in America. A friend had written ahead to a young man from Frankfurt, who met him on the pier in New York City and took him to a hotel to rest. But Schiff was so exhilarated to be in America that he kept his new friend up until dawn, talking of the new world and the old.

It took him several months to find a job, but once employed, his natural talents emerged. Starting as a clerk at a brokerage firm, within two years, he had become a partner of a new firm. By 1885, he had moved on to assume control of one of New York's most important financial houses. Along the way, he became one of the city's most active philanthropists.

When Barnard College was founded in 1889, it had little in the way of funding, and less in the way of prospects. Schiff had agreed to be the first treasurer of the board of trustees, lending his stature to the fledgling institution. For the next four years, Schiff labored hard on behalf of Barnard, and upon his resignation was hailed by Seth Low as one of its key founders.

Over the next few decades, both Barnard College and Schiff's firm grew by leaps and bounds. Schiff became involved with the financing of railroads, and soon emerged one of the most prominent bankers in the world. Barnard, meanwhile, had moved up to Morningside Heights, and was slowly building a campus. Barnard desperately needed a student center, but although the trustees authorized its construction in 1915, they had no funds to pay for such a building. Jacob Schiff stepped forward, and offered the stunning sum of $500,000. It had been 50 years since he had first set foot on the shores of the United States, and he wished to mark the occasion by giving something back to the city and the nation that had been so good to him. In acknowledgement of his generosity, a marble tablet was set in the floor of the entrance hall.

It was not at all incongruous for the de facto leader of the American Jewish community to be among Barnard's chief supporters. The driving force behind the founding of the college had been Annie Nathan Meyer, another German Jew. Unlike most other women's colleges, Barnard welcomed its Jewish students, which added to its urban air. But shortly after Schiff gave the building, Barnard's attitude began to change.

The problem was the influx of Eastern European Jews. Unlike their German co-religionists, many of these girls were from poor households, were comparatively unrefined, and, worst of all, were unwilling to assimilate. Inconveniently, they also were among the most academically qualified applicants.

In her effort to preserve the prestige of her institution, Barnard's Dean Gildersleeve actively recruited Protestant women from outside New York. The college went to great lengths to lure these students, constructing Hewitt Hall to house them. While it never went so far as to impose quotas on Jewish students, unlike most of its sister institutions, it was sensitive to their numbers. When Schiff passed away in 1920, the last thing the trustees wanted to do was remind the public that America's preeminent Jew had been among Barnard's founders.

Annie Nathan Meyer was incensed. She launched a campaign to rename Students Hall, its cornice still blank, after Schiff. In 1926, to put an end to the idea, the trustees renamed the building Barnard Hall, ostensibly to aid visitors in locating the campus, as absurd a notion then as now. Meyer accused Barnard of being "unwilling to place upon one of its buildings the name of a Jew."

In the intervening years, a great deal has changed. Today, Barnard is a vibrant, multicultural community. Hewitt Hall, erected as a bastion of the Protestant establishment, now houses a kosher cafeteria. Students of all races and creeds walk through the lobby of Barnard Hall, across the worn brass dedication to Jacob Schiff. But above the door, the name BARNARD still stands as an ugly reminder of a moment in Barnard's past when it turned its back on one of its truest friends.

Jacob Schiff said that he gave the building to the students that they might learn to know and understand one another, and work together for the good of the common community. He even stipulated that it be a place of religious equality. His is a legacy that Barnard ought to honor, and his is a name that it ought to display proudly. It is never too late to right an historic wrong. It is time to correct the inscription on Schiff Hall.