This isn’t your usual Greek-letter-guys-running-naked-across-the-lawn problem, pal. : Culture in the Monsoon Countries

Trouble at Cal State Northridge. They caught a fraternity dealing in hot registration cards. The boys of Phi Delta Theta are accused of--you ready for this?--sneaking their brothers into the best classes. Oh, my God! I know what you mean.

Deans and academic vice presidents are huddling at this very moment in the Hall of Secular Standards to express their outrage. Cheeks redden with anger. Deep fires of indignation burn in tired old eyes.

This isn’t your usual Greek-letter-guys-running-naked-across-the-lawn problem, pal. The Lords Spiritual of Academia expect a little sex and violence from the (wink) high-spirited young studs, if you know what I mean.

But cheating to get into a class strikes at the very heart of American education. Cheating to pass a course and cheating to get out of a course follow the ancient standards, but, by God, no one is going to cheat to get into a class at Cal State Northridge.

The Phi Delt Connection worked this way. When you register for a class, you pick up a class card, see, and when the cards are gone, the class is considered full.

Since seniors are among those who register first, they naturally get the first shot at the best classes. You don’t need a degree from M. I. T. to figure that one out.

The Phi Delt seniors, as I understand it, would grab a handful of cards for the good classes and pass them around to their sophomore pals who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance in hell of getting them because sophomores register last.

Not one of your more challenging scams, but, what the hell, it worked.

What I find intriguing about the scandal is not the cheating and the fraud and the duplicity involved in the card caper. They pretty much follow along paths hacked through the ivy jungle generations ago at the better eastern universities.

What interests me are the kinds of classes the Northridge kids consider worthwhile and the ones they consider, to paraphrase a third-year student in theoretical semantics and interpersonal communication, stinkin’ dog garbage.

My primary source of information is a sincere young man named Cory, who is among the few male students at CSUN to wear a necktie to class. I specify gender here due to a tendency among some lesbian undergrads to emulate their psychological, if not physiological, counterparts.

I mean, there is no casual standard of determining whether or not a woman is a lesbian and therefore no sure way of knowing how many lesbians wear ties to class. But, then, I suppose it really doesn’t matter.

Anyhow, Cory informed me that almost any class in business is a popular class, especially among fraternity members, since their goals are more oriented toward a future in the retail marketplace than along the frontiers of intellectual achievement.

For that reason, Cory said, classes such as the Philosophy of Mind and Metaphysics have scant appeal to the average undergraduate because, in his words, “you don’t need to know about astral-projection to be a manager at Gemco.” Good enough.

Among those courses considered stinkin’ dog garbage, I am told, are the Cultural Geography of Monsoon Asia and the Oral Dimensions of Medieval Literature.

I hasten to mention that those are not necessarily classes I consider stinkin’ dog garbage, since, in my maturity, I understand that seemingly remote subjects often represent a lifetime of academic dedication and research for someone who might otherwise be on welfare.

I am not about to knock a teacher who has spent his adulthood pondering the cultural aspects of monsoon Asia or the oral dimensions of literature, whatever that is. There are stranger disciplines down the sacred hallways.

For instance, one of my daughters, when she was an undergraduate in San Francisco, spent a whole semester studying the lick-rate of white rats, and she ended up just fine. The lick-rate of rats is a topic that still comes up at occasional holiday gatherings and never ceases to precipitate a lively family discussion.

The kinds of classes I favored when I was in college were those taught by professors who drank and were therefore not likely to show up more than 50% of the time or who were known to favor essay examinations, which were the easiest to fake.

I suppose that today, were I attending CSUN, I would go with something like Residential Lighting, which involves two hours of lecture and two hours of lab work per week dedicated to exploring the movements required to turn on a lamp. Basic Water Skiing and the Dynamics of Early Childhood Play would also be a top choices.

I probably would avoid the Cultural Geography of Monsoon Asia, but on the other hand I wouldn’t pursue Gemco management with any degree of enthusiasm either. Above all, I would not cheat to get into a class, although I can’t get very worked up over those who do.

Cheating, in the long run, may be the most important skill students will attain in a world of achievement at all costs. They’ve just got to learn to cheat without getting caught.