It seems quaint from our debauched, instantly gratified vantage point of fast food, MTV, and Facebook mini-feeds, but once upon a time people believed in a biochemical anomaly called love. This “love” phenomenon may have given us the Trojan War and the Taj Mahal—but, with the help of Barnard student Linda LeClair, it almost brought about the end of the world.

Of course, this did not just happen overnight. In 1961 students in the Barnard dorms were allowed gentleman callers—for a few hours on alternating Sunday afternoons, as long as they kept the door open. Columbia College adopted similar strictures in 1963, on the condition that its students cease all panty raids (they managed to hold out for seven months, although technically half of that was the summer).

But at any given time most students lived outside the scope of these laws, since campus housing was far scarcer than it is today. Columbia students could roam freely about the city, but Barnard students were subject to stricter rules, depending on their home address. Parents who lived more than 50 miles away were presumed to have no means of surveillance, which meant their daughters had to live on campus, where their virtues, hypothetical or otherwise, could be protected.

The only exception was for students who worked as live-in domestic help, so LeClair, a 20-year-old sophomore from New Hampshire, had a friend list a nonexistent maid job with the Barnard employment bureau and pretend to hire her, allowing her to live off campus with her boyfriend, CC junior Peter Behr. And she would have gotten away with it too, were it not for those meddling New York Times reporters.

In March 1968 the Times ran a story about the increasing incidence of male and female students living together without the benefit of marriage. Various sources in the article attributed this to the “breakdown of Victorian and Protestant ethics,” “the pill,” the Vietnam War, drugs, “the love philosophy of the hippies,” and “the influence of such musicians as the Beatles and Bob Dylan.” The first couple featured was a pseudonymous LeClair and Behr, who said that living together gave them “confidence—like psychotherapy.”

But the truly damaging information came from LeClair, who divulged the fake job and other details that helped the Barnard detectives track her down. There were complaints from alumnae—specifically Times owner/generous donor Iphigene Ochs Sulzberger, BC ’14—and LeClair was summoned before the faculty-student judicial council.

Most students supported her, while media reactions ranged from William F. Buckley calling her an “unemployed concubine” to the more widespread mild disapproval. But everyone had questions. Were they hippies? Behr had burned his draft card, and they did try to start a commune, but according to one Spectator reporter that’s what “most adults” would call them, so no.

More importantly, how did this happen? An interview with Mr. LeClair—“Father Despairs of Barnard Daughter”—revealed that Linda had gone to Sunday school and that “what she learned about the facts of life ... had been gathered partly through some lectures under the auspices of the National Council of Churches.”

Finally, this, from the editor of Time: “Sir: I don’t know what kind of student Linda LeClair is or what kind of mistress she makes, but judging from the picture of her apartment, she makes one lousy housekeeper. Doesn’t Barnard College have a Home Economics department?”

To prepare for the hearing—and respond to all media requests—LeClair skipped classes for a month. She acquitted herself well, and the judicial council gave her a slap on the wrist, banning her from the cafeteria and from dorm social events. The Spec editorial board weighed in: “And we sympathize with Miss LeClair, who will now have to meet men at places other than mixers in the Barnard dorms.”

Devastating sarcasm aside, this does offer evidence of the price LeClair paid, with even her supporters in the “LeClair Affair” taking shots, intentionally or not—since, as everyone knew, she had a boyfriend, it is unlikely that she was trolling for guys at Barnard mixers. Her boyfriend—prepare to have your mind blown—received better treatment.

Although the LeClair Affair did help change the Barnard housing rules, it was overshadowed a week later by the building occupations. LeClair and Behr participated, were arrested, dropped out, and then more or less disappeared.

The LeClair Affair is still held up as a cautionary tale by Web sites with names like “The Problem With Adult Premarital Sex,” and even people who are “hip” might venture to say that living with someone at 20 is not always a good idea. Nevertheless, it seems fair to say that all of us—even those who disagree with LeClair and Behr’s actions—have benefited from the limited supervision of our private lives that they helped bring about.

Finally, this Valentine’s Day, while I encourage everyone to find that special someone (or someones) and break some Protestant ethics down, we should also remember that, as the noted deviant Lou Reed says, there are many kinds of love—and, in the Final Judgment (i.e., Google results), Linda LeClair is now almost as famous for her volunteer work as her premarital exploits.

Robert Ast is a student in the school of General Studies studying English and comparative literature. Columbia Babylon runs alternate Thursdays. Opinion@columbiaspectator.com.