Yale Needs Women

This year, Yale honored Constance L. Royster ’72, the second Black woman to receive the Yale Medal (as far as I can tell), the university’s highest alumni honor. Ms. Royster was celebrated for her extraordinary contributions to Yale—her dedication, her advocacy, and her unwavering commitment to building a stronger, more inclusive community.

During a video featuring Ms. Royster at home, I noticed a book on her bookshelf: Yale Needs Women: How the First Group of Girls Rewrote the Rules of an Ivy League Giant. I thought, “Wow, there’s someone who really knows Yale’s history with women.” Then I realized something even more significant—Ms. Royster wasn’t just reading the book; she was in it.

That realization reminded me how little I really knew about Yale’s early years of coeducation. I knew the first women arrived in 1969. In my mind, I’d pictured that era as an exciting, triumphant time for progress. Like an idyllic romp in the park, where women were welcomed as trailblazers, and everyone celebrated the beginning of something new.

But when I started hearing the real stories, it was very different.

The Struggles of the First Women at Yale

Take the field hockey team, Yale’s first women’s varsity sport. They couldn’t even get uniforms in those early days. The women practiced with donated or borrowed equipment and played on fields scheduled for men’s teams—when they were available. It was a glaring reminder that women were not seen as a priority.

Other extracurriculars weren’t much better. Women were barred from many of Yale’s most prestigious activities. The Whiffenpoofs, Yale’s iconic singing group, flatly refused to allow women to audition. To sidestep criticism, they helped form an all-female group, the New Blue, to placate women without actually integrating them into the Whiffs. The marching band? Men only. Even in clubs that allowed women, they were often relegated to peripheral roles. The message was clear: women could be at Yale, but they weren’t really part of Yale.

Sexual harassment was another harsh reality. Male professors often exploited their power in unsettling ways. A teaching assistant in a Chemistry class handed out a mock “periodic table” that listed the supposed “properties” of women instead of chemical elements. “Accepted Weight,” it read, was “120 +/- 10 pounds.” Women were described as “frequently appearing when you wish they wouldn’t” and having a “half-life of about 35 years.” I met one woman during the Yale Medal award ceremony from the Class of ’71 who told me, “Guys would bring their girlfriends from Vassar, and they’d treat us like meat—ranking all the girls on their attractiveness in a very public way. It was like Mark Zuckerberg’s FaceMash, but before computers.”

What Does Yale Stand For?

Yale’s philosophy on admissions was clear: the university existed to produce leaders. In a famous 1967 letter to the admissions office, President Kingman Brewster explained that Yale’s role was to “make the hunchy judgment as to whether or not the candidate is likely to be a leader in whatever he ends up doing.” Leadership, as Brewster saw it, was tied to traditional male-dominated fields like politics, business, and academia. This narrow definition left little room for women, who were rarely considered leaders under these terms.

The commitment to producing “1,000 male leaders” each year was so central to Yale’s identity that it shaped every decision about admissions. When Yale finally admitted women in 1969, they were not included to challenge or expand that vision but to preserve it. Brewster ensured that Yale admitted 1,025 men for the class of 1974, leaving room for attrition so that the university could still graduate 1,000 male leaders. Women were squeezed into the remaining slots—just 230 in total—creating a stark 4:1 male-to-female ratio. Women’s admission was a begrudging compromise, not a revolutionary act of progress.

Princeton pushed Yale to make even this concession. In 1968, Princeton released a report declaring that admitting women was essential for its future. Although Princeton’s trustees had not yet acted, the report was enough to threaten Yale’s standing. More than 40% of students admitted to Yale were choosing other schools, citing its single-sex status as the reason. Yale couldn’t afford to lose students to Harvard, let alone Princeton. Coeducation wasn’t about fairness—it was about survival.

Celebrating Yale’s First Women

Despite all the barriers, Yale’s first women proved their worth in every possible way. They excelled academically, often outperforming their male peers. They organized, advocated, and built communities in an environment that often seemed determined to exclude them. Constance L. Royster, who grew up in New Haven with deep family ties to Yale, exemplifies that resilience. Her family worked for the university for generations, and Royster herself became a tireless volunteer, the first woman to serve on the Board of Governors for the Yale Alumni Association, and a champion of creating a more inclusive Yale. Her story is a testament to the courage and determination of those who paved the way for a better future at Yale, leaving a legacy that continues to inspire today.