My recollection is that when I got into Radcliffe, students who were admitted to Harvard and Radcliffe were sent a thick booklet that listed endowed scholarships for Harvard students to use during their undergraduate years. We were instructed to read the list carefully, to see which scholarships we were eligible for. The expectation seemed to be that each of us would be eligible for some of these funding possibilities.
Dutifully, I scoured the list, hoping for something lucrative. My family could scarcely afford the Harvard-Radcliffe tuition and fees, so any sort of scholarship would be very welcome.
My parents hadn't let me apply for financial aid, because they thought that would hurt my chances of getting in. I later learned that Harvard supposedly had need-blind admissions. My parents didn't know that, but if they had, they might not have trusted that it was really the case.
My optimism that I would find a nice scholarship began to fade as I turned the pages. I haven't managed to dig up that list, so here's my best reconstruction, nearly fifty years later, of a typical entry:
The Quincy Adams Wigglesworth Smith Scholarship was founded in 1792. The recipient, who should be fluent in Greek and Latin, must have the last name Smith. He must be a Harvard man who has at least three ancestors who came to America on the Mayflower, and at least one ancestor who signed the Declaration of Independence.
I wondered if I should change my name to Smith. But there wasn't much I could do about some of the other requirements.
At first, I stopped reading an entry as soon as I realized I wasn't eligible. But eventually I read each listing in its entirety, for its comic value. The criteria seemed to get more specific and weirder as the booklet went on.
Surely there must be some scholarship for which I were eligible, however paltry? I got to the end of the list and realized there were none.
I leafed through the booklet again, to make sure I hadn't missed something. I hadn't. It seemed a little cruel for Harvard to build up my hopes, only to dash them.
Before I arrived on campus, I wondered how many of my Harvard classmates qualified for a scholarship from the booklet. Happily, there were enough New York City public school students whose parents or grandparents were immigrants that I felt at home. (However, when I opted for the "literature" section of the obligatory Expository Writing freshman year course rather than vanilla "Expos", it was pointed out by the grad student who taught the class that he and I were the only people in the room who weren't preppies.)