Take 90 from 100, and you've got 10-exactly the percentage of upperclassmen that don't make the grade for membership at Princeton's 17 eating clubs. Now mix this somewhat unpleasant statistic with the good intentions of Dean Francis R. B. Godolphin an intelligent and righteous man toss in the disgruntled mumbling of the student press, and spice with at least at least a few changes of discrimination and unfairness from students and alumni; you'll find yourself with the same appetizing that new faces both the administration of Princeton and the Club members and alumni.

From an experiment, Princeton's unique club system has passed through the stages of phenomena and faddish, and now must prove itself an asset to the college as well as institution.

In 1879, ten years after Princeton first engaged Rutgers in a friendly game of "football," a small group of her students decided to form a private social group. Taking over a brick and stone building on Prospect Avenue, they established Ivy Club.

Students, apparently still unsatisfied with a ruling which had abolished fraternities in 1855, watched Ivy grow and decided that its organizers "had something." Tiger, Cap and Gown, and other social groups were soon organized, and by 1900, Prospect Street had become tabbed "The Street," and almost half the college belonged to clubs.

The idea continued to pick up supporters, and now, 70 years after Ivy Club's organizational meeting, a full 90 percent of the college is represented in 17 "eating" clubs.

Almost, But Not Quite

Those who oppose the adoption of any system that would force the clubs to encompass the entire upper class student body, can counter with many proofs that the present system is fine and cannot be changed because of over-crowding and should not be changed because it violates the clubs' prerogatives to choose whom they like.

The clubs actually have much to offer materially. In a college located in a small town, they supply almost 100 percent of the student's social activities. Meals run at about $1650 to $1750 a week, are served by waitresses on linen table cloths, and are tastier than those served in many restaurants. Inter-club sports are amazingly organized, with the annual trophy one of the most highly respected honors for a club to possess. Inter-club dances also afford entertainment in a town that boasts not one nightclub. Over-night accommodations for visiting girls are also arranged in the clubhouse, at charges considerably less than asked by the few available hotels.

Few, if any students will claim that the facilities afforded by the clubs are inadequate, or easily replaceable under any other setup. There is, unfortunately, a large percentage which goes to the extreme of terming the system perfect.

These advocates of preserving the status quo generally fall under the membership of five or six of the older clubs, notably Ivy, Cap and Gown, Tiger, Colonial, Cottage, and possibly Charter. Not all the members of these clubs feel inclined to retain the present system, but most admit that that is their general stand.

The Daily Princetonian, Dean Godolphin, and an estimated 75 percent of the college finds the omission of 10 percent of the student body "unfair and impossible"-even more so in a system admittedly vital to the social life of a Princeton man.

Bickering

The present system of electing members, termed "bickering," lies near the bottom of the entire difficulty. Under its terms, the various clubs single out those students whom they most desire to have as members. There are two weeks of "Open House" in February during which time second term sophomores, and juniors left out in the previous year's bicker, can visit any and all clubs.

This is followed by card days, two days in which the clubs must contact prospective members and see whether or not they will accept bids. Although many students have already committed themselves to a club by a verbal promise by this date, there is considerable changing of cards at this time. This means that a student receiving two or more cards turns in the unused ones to the president of the club whose bid he accepts. The president than rushes them back to a central office, which is constantly checked by runners from each organization. As soon as a club's card is turned back in, another must be sent out to the next man on the "desirable" list, and so on until the club's quota is most nearly filled.

The most serious argument at present centers over determining the quota of a club. University officials and some members of the inter-club committee feel that it is the responsibility of a club to take a quota proportionate to its size, and the size of the entire eligible student body. If every club did this, according to exponents of the compromise plan, the total number of students accepted would be 100 percent, while the clubs could at the same time have the right to choose whom they wish within that quota.