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The Big Test: The Secret History of the American Meritocracy

The Big Test: The Secret History of the American Meritocracy

3.8 8
by Nicholas Lemann

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What do we know about the history, origin, design, and purpose of the SAT? Who invented it, and why? How did it acquire such a prominent and lasting position in American education? The Big Test reveals the ideas, people, and politics behind a fifty-year-old utopian social experiment that changed this country. Combining vibrant storytelling, vivid portraiture


What do we know about the history, origin, design, and purpose of the SAT? Who invented it, and why? How did it acquire such a prominent and lasting position in American education? The Big Test reveals the ideas, people, and politics behind a fifty-year-old utopian social experiment that changed this country. Combining vibrant storytelling, vivid portraiture, and thematic analysis, Lemann shows why this experiment did not turn out as planned. It did create a new elite, but it also generated conflict and tension—and America's best educated, most privileged people are now leaders without followers.

Drawing on unprecedented access to the Educational Testing Service's archives, Lemann maintains that America's meritocracy is neither natural nor inevitable, and that it does not apportion opportunity equally or fairly. His important study not only asks profound moral and political questions about the past and future of our society but also carries implications for current social and educational policy. As Brent Staples noted in his New York Times editorial column: "Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts announced that prospective students would no longer be required to submit SAT scores with their applications. . . . Holyoke's president, Joanne Creighton, was personally convinced by reading Nicholas Lemann's book, The Big Test, which documents how the SAT became a tool for class segregation."

All students of education, sociology, and recent U.S. history—especially those focused on testing, theories of learning, social stratification, or policymaking—will find this book fascinating and alarming.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“I use The Big Test in my Perspectives on Secondary Education class. It makes students come face-to-face with issues of race, class, and inequality in secondary education, and since everyone has taken ‘the big test,' it really hits home.” —Susan Semel, Associate Professor, Hofstra University

“An engaging, enlightening historical analysis of the idea of the SAT, dramatized by the stories of the people who designed it, the students who benefited from it, and recent battles over standardized testing and affirmative action.” —Wendy Kaminer, The Boston Globe

“Engrossing . . . . The narrative of The Big Test is carried along by a string of life stories [that] once more display Nicholas Lemann's talent for distilling social analysis out of personal history.” —Alan Ryan, The New York Review of Books

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
In a country obsessed with educational opportunity, the principal institution for overseeing the distribution of access to higher education, the Educational Testing Service, was founded in "an atmosphere of intrigue, corruption, competition, and disorder." So contends Lemann (The Promised Land) in this enthralling, detailed story of how the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) became enshrined in U.S. culture. Although the idealistic, patrician pioneers of testing may have wished to displace the entitlements of birth and wealth for what they saw as the more democratic entitlements of scholastic aptitude, at the end of the 20th century "their creation looks very much like what it was intended to replace." This story is compelling in itself, but Lemann's exploration of how the politics of American meritocracy turn on the issue of race makes his history absolutely indispensable to current affirmative action and education debates. Lemann's treatment of the 1996 battle over California's anti-affirmative action Proposition 209 convincingly shows how what is nominally a democratic process actually works. The current crises in American education have deep roots: "America had channeled all the opportunity through the educational system and then had failed to create schools and colleges that would work for everybody, because that was very expensive and voters didn't want to pay for it." The real costs of this situation are now clear; anyone concerned about it should heed this book. Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
This book treats two distinctive but distinctly interrelated themes in which Lemann (The Great Migration) has evinced sustained interest: educational opportunity in America as it determines socioeconomic success and (in)equity as it reflects educational opportunity. Lemann does not altogether succeed in integrating these two stories. For lengthy stretches, this book is about the ostensible development of an objective elite through standardized testing and the establishment of Educational Testing Service (ETS) and its major product, the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT), as an American state religion. Lemann shows how a handful of eccentric, Depression-reared members of the WASP elite went about reforming access to Ivy League education by pushing their confidence in the quantitative social sciences to the point where SAT scores, not family origin, became what mattered most to young adults' chances. As Lemann relates that history, he interjects the personal stories of a later generation of eccentrics at Yale and Harvard Law in the 1960s who fought to make access to higher education yet more inclusive. Finally, Lemann makes clear that the SAT and civil rights come out of egalitarian impulses that might each resist the other. Lemann's work in the archives of ETS is commendable, and overall this is an important contribution to American sociology by a lay journalist. Recommended for academic, public, and high school libraries. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 6/15/99.]--Scott H. Silverman, Bryn Mawr Coll. Lib., PA Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Enlightenment is available here for anyone who has struggled to understand why their future depended upon filling in little ovals with a #2 pencil in response to odd questions about vocabulary. Lemann (The Promised Land: The Great Black Migration and How It Changed America, 1991) describes a project whose purpose was nothing less than the replacement of family background with intellectual capacity as the basis for social and economic hierarchy in America. The SAT's originators saw it as the scientific path to the optimal utilization of society's human resources, matching abilities with educational options and guiding individuals into suitable employment and social positions. Such social utopian convictions today seem naive and possibly dangerous, but in the post-WWII environment the leadership of the Educational Testing Service and its meritocratic allies were able to put the machinery of this system in place, and testing became "the all-powerful bringer of individual destiny." However, while testing advocates championed equal opportunity for all against the patrician social status quo, the tests they administered reapportioned opportunity rather than expanding it; the criterion for social discrimination changed, not the fact of its existence. Most of the antagonisms engendered by this new system of sorting winners and losers could be deflected by claims of scientific objectivity, but testing advocates didn't foresee the race factor. Blacks were particularly ill-positioned to do well on tests measuring capacities, such as vocabulary skills, dependent upon education and environment; consequently, testing reinforced racial inequity. Lemann follows the story through the ups anddowns of affirmative action and concludes with an unusually cogent analysis of what an educational system should be in a democracy and what a genuine American meritocracy would look like. Lemann has produced a suitably big book, sprawling across most of a century and multiple major issues, told through the lives of numerous fascinating figures, and ultimately providing an original, perceptive, and powerful analysis of institutions that are too often taken for granted.

Product Details

Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Publication date:
Edition description:
First Edition
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Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.93(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

Henry Chauncey's Idea

It is February 4, 1945. A man named Henry Chauncey is sitting in an Episcopal church in Cambridge, Massachusetts—an old, gray, simple, graceful building on the Cambridge Common, where George Washington first took command of troops in the American Revolution. It's the Sunday morning before his fortieth birthday. He is perfectly at home here. Descendant of Puritan clerics, son of an Episcopal minister, graduate of the country's leading Episcopal boarding school, Chauncey, in his tweeds and flannels, wearing his gray hair neatly plastered across his forehead, is a full-fledged, born-in member of a distinct American subculture. In the seventeenth-century graveyard next to the church lie his forefathers.

    One of the central tenets of this particular subculture is that you don't put on airs. You imagine a kind of ordinary decency to be your chief quality. Chauncey's life, like the life of everyone else who is in the church this morning, has its good points and its bad points. He is trying without complete success to switch from cigarettes to a pipe. Money is a bit of a problem, and so, in all honesty, is his marriage. On the other hand, he is optimistic and he believes in things, which is a great temperamental blessing. He never complains; one doesn't. He is a respectable man trying to do his best.

    Bursting through the tight seams, though, is something grander and more ambitious in Chauncey. First of all, he looks like more than what he is, which is merely an ill-paid assistant dean at Harvard College. He's tall, barrel-chested,big-jawed, and moon-faced, almost simian, with bushy black eyebrows and a commandingly vigorous physical presence—the kind of person who ought to be put in charge of something. Notwithstanding the appealing modesty, his group, as every one of its members knows very well, occupies a highly favored—from today's point of view, almost unimaginably favored—position in American society. High-Protestant men of the Eastern seaboard occupy the White House, all the great university presidencies, the captaincies of finance and the professions, and many other leading positions, and each has rough access to the others. What any member of the group, including even Henry Chauncey, thinks and wants matters a great deal more than what members of other groups think and want.

    The Second World War is now drawing to its conclusion, which, it is clear at last, will be a total victory by the Allies. The war has made the United States into the greatest power in the world, the central and essential civilization that, Americans hope, will serve as a model of how to organize a society properly. The United States is not only unusually influential at this moment but also unusually malleable. The war has put the country into flux, and basic arrangements can be altered now in a way that would be impossible in normal times. For a man of Henry Chauncey's social class, entering the prime of life, with direct experience of the drama and scale of wartime, the mind fills practically unbidden with utopian dreams about the shape of the postwar world and the part one might take in realizing them. Chauncey knows that big changes in American society are coming, and that they are going to be made swiftly, out of public view, by a tight group of men quite a number of whom he knows personally. The imminent prospect of joining in this is exhilarating. So, as he prays and listens and sings through the comfortable and familiar service, Henry Chauncey is thinking expansively about his future and the country's.

    After the service he goes home, takes out a diary he has recently begun keeping (and filling with portentous, idealistic musings about the new age that is dawning), and writes:

Finally, I decided to take the plunge. From a safe and respected job I am embarking on an opportunity whose development depends very much on what I do.

During Church this morning a thought occurred to me which though not new was amplified in its implications. There will undoubtedly in the near future be a greater emphasis on taking a census of our human resources in terms of capacities for different kinds of employment.... This project requires consideration from a lot of angles but men of vision in the field of testing, vocational guidance, government, economics, education could be consulted individually and eventually in groups and a program eventually developed. Men with whom this might be discussed might even be so high in authority as ... President Roosevelt himself.

    This is what Henry Chauncey wants to do in (for, really!) postwar America: he wants to mount a vast scientific project that will categorize, sort, and route the entire population. It will be accomplished by administering a series of multiple-choice mental tests to everyone, and then by suggesting, on the basis of the scores, what each person's role in society should be—suggestions everyone will surely accept gratefully. The project will be called the Census of Abilities. It will accomplish something not very different from what Chauncey's Puritan ancestors came to the New World wanting to do—engender systematic moral grace in the place of wrong and disorder—but via twentieth-century technical means. The vehicle through which he hopes to achieve all this is an aborning organization called the Educational Testing Service, purveyor of a test called the SAT. You've heard of it? The residue of the Census of Abilities is the standardized tests that you took in high school and college, that you probably prepared for and sweated over because it seemed they would determine your fate in life. Right now, Chauncey is about to become the first president of the Educational Testing Service. That's the plunge he's taking.

The way that Henry Chauncey's thoughts were running near the end of the Second World War is pertinent not just as an example of the tenor of that moment, and not just because Chauncey was on the point of founding an important American institution. American society was, in fact, at a crossroads—Chauncey may have been dreaming, but he wasn't fantasizing. A quiet but intense competition was taking place over the future structure of the country. Chauncey had a part in it, generally because he belonged to the group that decided things back then, and particularly because he was connected to a powerful patron, James Bryant Conant, the president of Harvard University.

    Chauncey believed in progress and wanted to be part of it. He was sure that an expansion of mental testing, which seemed to him to be a science with limitless possibilities, was the proper avenue. But he was an agnostic on the question of what form, exactly, the progress should take. Conant was not. He had a plan fully worked out, which he had recently proposed in a series of righteous, almost inflammatory magazine articles: to depose the existing, undemocratic American elite and replace it with a new one made up of brainy, elaborately trained, public-spirited people drawn from every section and every background. These people (men, actually) would lead the country. They would manage the large technical organizations that would be the backbone of the late-twentieth-century United States and create, for the first time ever, an organized system that would provide opportunity to all Americans. Conant assumed, in fact, that picking a new elite in just the right way would enhance democracy and justice almost automatically. It was an audacious plan for engineering a change in the leadership group and social structure of the country—a kind of quiet, planned coup d'état.

    Chauncey's wishes and Conant's both came true: the United States did embark on the world's largest-scale program of mental testing, and one consequence of this (though not the only one) was the establishment of a new national elite. The machinery that Conant and Chauncey and their allies created is today so familiar and all-encompassing that it seems almost like a natural phenomenon, or at least an organism that evolved spontaneously in response to conditions. It's not. It's man-made. The organized way we have of deciding who winds up where in American society exists because, in the intense maneuvering of the period before, during, and just after the war, one particular system triumphed over other, alternative systems.

Here is what American society looks like today. A thick line runs through the country, with people who have been to college on one side of it and people who haven't on the other. This line gets brighter all the time. Whether a person is on one side of the line or the other is now more indicative of income, of attitudes, and of political behavior than any other line one might draw: region, race, age, religion, sex, class. As people plan their lives and their children's lives, higher education is the main focus of their aspirations (and the possibility of getting into the elite end of higher education is the focus of their very dearest aspirations). A test of one narrow quality, the ability to perform well in school, stands firmly athwart the path to success. Those who don't have that ability will have much less chance than those who do to display their other talents later.

    The placing of such a heavy load on higher education has had many other effects. A whole industry has grown up to help people get into college and graduate school. Educational opportunity has become a national obsession. There is a politics of it, a jurisprudence of it, and a philosophy of it—none of which was the case fifty years ago. To improve it is the fundamental promise made by most candidates for public office. It is the fundamental good that parents try to get for their children. Preoccupation with it is the chief theme of the first quarter of Americans' lives. It is the object of elaborate work, hope, scheming, manipulation, and competition.

    Those who do best under this system make up a distinct class, with its own mores and beliefs and tastes and folkways. They don't serve as the unquestioned leadership of the United States, as Conant and Chauncey would have expected; they're at least as much resented as admired. They aren't perceived by others as people who have earned their position in completely open and fair competition (though that's the way they perceive themselves) or who are primarily devoted to the public interest. But still, they are Conant's and Chauncey's children, precisely the products of the ideas they had and the moves they made after the end of the Second World War.

    One way to understand the current shape of American society is as its being the result of Conant's, Chauncey's, and their allies' concerted attack on a specific problem, which was so successful that the problem no longer exists. So much force was marshaled against that one problem, though, that in addition to its being solved, practically everything else was changed, too—which created new problems. The story of what happened has to begin with the original problem, or else it doesn't make sense.

Here is what American society looked like, from the point of view of Conant and Chauncey, at the close of the Second World War.

    They took it as a given that the essence of American greatness was a quality that Alexis de Tocqueville had remarked upon early in the nineteenth century: social equality, of a kind that would be unthinkable in any other country. Because the United States didn't have a rigid class system, it could take full advantage of its people's talents and at the same time generate intense social cohesion across a range of physical space and a variety of ethnic origin that elsewhere would have been considered insuperable.

    But during the early twentieth century American society had taken an ominous turn. Conant and Chauncey accepted without question the view of Frederick Jackson Turner, the historian of the American West who was a Harvard professor in their younger days, that what had made the United States democratic and classless was the availability of open land on the Western frontier. Now the frontier was closed, the country had become industrial, and the cities were crowded with immigrant workers, many of whom were socialists—or who, at the very least, believed that group unity, rather than individual opportunity, was the highest good.

    Even worse, a distinct American upper class had emerged. It was very much on display at Harvard and other leading universities, where, up to the start of the Second World War, rich heedless young men with servants, whose lives revolved around parties and sports, not studying, set the tone of college life. The plurality of Harvard students had come from boys' boarding schools in New England, the kind where parents could register their sons at birth; pretty much anybody who went to one of these schools, and was not "a little slow," and could pay the tuition, could go to Harvard, or to Princeton, or to Yale. Even the faculty was disproportionately made up of proper Bostonians, rather than modern academics.

    Harvard and institutions like it fed into another series of institutions: law firms, Wall Street financial houses, the Foreign Service, research hospitals, and university faculties. These, too, had begun to look like the province of a hereditary upper class. All the good places were reserved for members of a certain group—the all-male, Eastern, high-Protestant, privately educated group to which Henry Chauncey belonged. No Catholics or Jews were allowed, except in rare cases that required of them a careful extirpation of any accent or other noticeable expression of their alien culture. Nonwhites weren't in close enough range of membership in the elite to be excluded. And even the fieriest social reformers of the day didn't think to suggest that women ought routinely to participate in running the country. Snobbishness, small-mindedness, and prejudice were the worst aspects of the elite institutions, but even at their best they were preoccupied with a vaguely defined personal quality called "character," and tended to ignore intelligence and scientific expertise. But these, precisely, were the traits Conant thought most vitally necessary in postwar America.

    What could you do to dethrone this upper class and restore the United States to its true democratic nature? It was a question without an obvious answer. Using the educational system to create a fair society, which seems today like the way to do the job, looked then like a distant, unrealized, possibly unrealizable dream.

    At the close of the Second World War, the United States had been the world's leader in trying to educate a large part of the citizenry for more than a hundred years. During the nineteenth century Americans created, not without a struggle, the free public elementary school as a basic social institution and, during the first half of the twentieth century, the high school. These institutions weren't well enough established to be taken for granted as they are now. In 1940 the country still hadn't passed the milestone of graduating more than half its teenagers from high school. The idea that there might be a way of evaluating all American high-school students on a single national standard and then making sure that they went on to colleges suited to their abilities and ambitions—most people would have regarded that as a wild, futuristic fantasy, although Chauncey and Conant were among a handful of people who knew that, technically, it could be done.

    Colleges were the same story as public schools. The United States provided far more people with higher education than any country ever had—about one in four young people entered college and one in twenty stayed long enough to get a degree. But these students were the ones whose parents had enough money to send them to college; American higher education's size didn't mean that it was open to everyone. Neither was it established that professors should be respected, well-compensated, formally trained experts dedicated to advancing the frontiers of knowledge by conducting rigorous, objective research. During the late nineteenth century, hundreds of American scholars had gone to Germany to receive strict academic training (because that was the only country where it was available) and came back imbued with the goal of setting up German-style research universities here. It was an appealing picture, Herr Doktor Professor as scientific figure sitting atop a formal university hierarchy and consulted by government and industry, but by the Second World War it had scarcely been achieved.

    Most leading private universities, like Harvard, drew their students and faculty from a local or regional pool and had a genteel, belletristic quality. In most cases their students were male. In private higher education, women usually went to women's colleges whose announced purpose was to prepare them for supporting roles in life. Most African-Americans who went to college went to black colleges, which were also segregated by sex. State public universities were, in contrast, open to just about anyone (except those in the South), but most were expected by their state legislatures to impart the educational basics to all comers first, and conduct advanced research second.

    Within the inner and higher chambers of American society a struggle was under way to reform—literally re-form—schooling at all levels. It had been going on all through the Depression and war years, spiritedly, sometimes bitterly, without attracting public notice. All the participants shared Chauncey's and Conant's assumption that education was going to change dramatically and was going to turn into the mainspring of American society, the repository of the country's distinctive greatness.

    This book tells, for the first time, the story of the new system that emerged after the Second World War: where the ideas animating it came from, how it was put into effect, what other choices were rejected, what compromises were made along the way, and how the new leaders' lives and their roles in the country's drama turned out.

Whatever Tocqueville thought, the United States has always been a country with an elite, or a series of elites, overlapping, competing, and succeeding one another. Henry Chauncey did not share Conant's animus against the American elite of the mid-twentieth century. That was because he was a member of it. Indeed, the story of the Chauncey family makes a good capsule history of the progression of elites in America.

    The Chauncys (as the name was originally spelled) were never just ordinary folks, and they were never holders of a simple unprepossessing idea of the world. Originally they were Norman noblemen who came to England in the conquest of 1066 and wound up as barons in Yorkshire. In the 1400s they were dispossessed and moved down a notch, into the ministerial class. The Chauncy who moved to America, Charles Chauncy, born in 1592, was educated at Cambridge and became a professor of Greek there, but he was mainly a devout and opinionated Puritan minister who spent his life getting into disputes with church authorities. In 1629 he was hauled before the high commission court for publicly criticizing the Church of England's policy of allowing sports, games, and recreation on Sundays. In 1635 he was thrown into prison for publishing a lengthy treatise protesting the placing of a railing around the communion table. He won his release by writing a weak recantation—though according to a family history written by one of his descendants, he "deeply bewailed his sinful compliance" until his dying day.

    In 1637 Chauncy left England for the Massachusetts Bay Colony, where, even in a community of fellow Puritans, he stood out as a vehement critic of what he regarded as excessive religious laxness. He created "much trouble," in the words of Governor John Winthrop, by expressing the view that "the children ought to be dipt and not sprinkled" at their baptism. In 1654, worn down by that controversy and other tribulations of American life, Chauncy resolved to return to England, where the Puritans had taken power and the bishop who had tormented him "had given his head to the block." He changed his mind, however, when he was made president of Harvard College, on condition "that he forbear to disseminate or publish any tenets concerning immersion baptism."

    Everybody thinks of America as a country where people came to escape formal social structures—a place with a genius for disorganization. Charles Chauncy represents another strain that has been present in American society all along. No amount of anachronistic pretzel-twisting can make him into a populist or a democrat. He was self-consciously a figure at the top of society. He did come here to escape an order that he found oppressive—but only because he hoped to help create a new order that would be stricter and therefore more virtuous than the old one.

    But where Puritans like Chauncy do connect to the modern American creed is in their idea that the state of grace was individual and irrespective of social rank. This was a radical notion, and it led in the direction of a society run by people who had earned their places by good works, rather than by an upper class selected by birth. The last controversy of Charles Chauncy's theologically combative life was over the Halfway Covenant, a Puritan doctrine that granted the privilege of automatic baptism to the grandchildren of members of the elect. Chauncy was dead set against it. Initiation into the state of grace, he felt, ought not be conferred by inheritance.

    Charles Chauncy died in 1671, having well established his family in New England. The best-known Chauncy of the 1700s was one of his great-grandsons, also named Charles Chauncy, who for decades was minister of the Presbyterian First Church of Boston. This Charles Chauncy was the leading opponent of the Great Awakening, the ecstatic revival movement that was led by the young, charismatic, showy Congregational minister Jonathan Edwards out on the wild frontier surrounding Northampton, Massachusetts. In 1742 Edwards published his credo, Some Thoughts Concerning the Present Revival of Religion in New England. The next year Chauncy published a censorious rebuttal, Seasonable Thoughts on the State of Religion in New England, which lengthily disapproved of preachers like Edwards who, in dealing with their flock, "aimed at putting their Passions into a Ferment."

    The Chauncy sternness is unmistakable. The family remained in its traditional position of being as ambitiously idealistic as anybody about the national enterprise, about the quest for the good, but in believing that there had to be a disciplined, orderly, restrained means to that end. Jonathan Edwards represented a trust in the good instincts of all people, however unruly that mass might be; Charles Chauncy, belief in a trained, systematic elite. By this time, though, most of the descendants of the original Puritans, including Chauncy, were bound up in the prosperous commercial culture of New England's cities and towns. They were migrating from their original Congregationalism into more conventional Protestant denominations, and from the ministry into trade.

    In the nineteenth century the Chaunceys (as they now spelled it), without losing their moralism, became rich. They were early exemplars of what one of their twentieth-century relatives, Joseph Alsop, the Washington columnist, called "the WASP ascendancy." The first family member named Henry Chauncey, who was born in 1795, went into foreign trade. During the 1830s he moved to Chile. As if to provide evidence for Max Weber's future theories about the connection between Puritanism and capitalism, he took pains to persuade his family back home that his main concern in business was with virtue, not money. He wrote his father-in-law in 1835: "Be assured that I have not been influenced by a desire of great wealth, no part of my ambition is to be thought rich, if I have enough to give my children a good education, to carry us through and a few dollars to help those that are in need is all I require." Nonetheless, Chauncey returned to America with a substantial fortune. He lived in a mansion on Washington Square in New York City.

    Henry Chauncey left his money to his children, which ruined them. They lived splendidly in New York, whiled away days at their clubs, and pursued expensive hobbies. His son Frederick, the grandfather of our Henry Chauncey, created a series of beautifully illustrated little notebooks about his recreations—Birds Shot, Fish Caught—and worked as a merchant. In 1884 his business failed because Frederick's partner had secretly and disastrously speculated with its funds. Frederick soon caught pneumonia following a game of racquets and died at the age of forty-seven. His wife and four children fell into a pathetic existence that sounds like the subplot of an Edith Wharton novel. Socially impeccable but broke, they lived in a modest apartment on the Upper East Side, supported by subventions from relatives. Mrs. Chauncey took the position that because of their misfortunes, none of the children should ever marry or leave home.

    The only one who disobeyed her was Henry's father, Egisto Fabbri Chauncey (named, before the terrible truth came out, after Frederick Chauncey's dishonest partner). He entered the ancestral family profession, the ministry, although as an Episcopalian he was affiliated with the American branch of the Church of England, the very institution the Puritans had come here to escape. His son Henry Chauncey was born in 1905. In his baby book, carefully preserved, there was a place to write down what "people are reading"; Mrs. Chauncey listed Thomas Dixon's The Clansman (one of the books on which the movie Birth of a Nation was based), Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, and Jack London's War of the Classes, indicating a country that was still, despite the best improving efforts of two and a half centuries of Chaunceys, in a state of upheaval over matters of race, class, and social exclusion.

    The Chaunceys, however, were not in the slightest daunted in their quest for a perfected, orderly America. The year after Henry's birth Egisto Chauncey received a call to become rector of St. Mark's Church in Mount Kisco, New York, a bosky country retreat for the rich. This was where Henry Chauncey spent his early childhood, impecunious compared to everybody else, but righteous. The Reverend Chauncey built a new home for St. Mark's—a substantial (but not luxurious) bluestone structure in the Gothic style, designed by the firm of Cram, Goodhue, and Ferguson, the leading church architects of the day. Over one of the doorways he had painted a motto, taken from the Book of Proverbs: "Where there is no vision the people perish."


Meet the Author

Born in New Orleans in 1954, Nicholas Lemann has been a journalist for more than twenty years. His last book was the prizewinning The Promised Land: The Great Black Migration and How It Changed America. He lives in Pelham, New York.

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In the Big Test Book II, author Nicholas Lemann describes Clark Kerr¿s Master Plan, So, how does this tie in with Chauncey, Turnbull and ETS? First, we need to understand what the Master Plan is and did. It established the principle that every high school graduate had a legal right to higher education at public expense. This brought higher education to the masses. And, being a realist, Kerr didn¿t want to reshape everyone into anyone in particular, just afford Californians the opportunity to have some free higher education training, often times at a Junior College. Such an opportunity would create a fair way to join the elite. This underlying theme of trying to bridge the gap between providing higher education to the middle class and upper class wound up backfiring. How was this accomplished? How about the fairness of it? Well, providing scholarships was one of the best ways to make it fair. Even though not everyone took advantage of it, there were a large number who wanted to further his or her education and received that newly established financial help. And an example of this backfiring was with the G.I. Bill: there was an influx of soldiers who, surprisingly enough, wanted to receive higher education and so it robbed all monies set aside for this program to be successful and other sources had to be tapped to meet the demand. Keeping this in mind, I could better understand how Chauncey, Turnbull, and ETS related to Kerr¿s Master Plan. With the push for Affirmative Action, Kerr went from glory to fading out from the picture for several reasons, including his desire to not go along with this Affirmative Action federally, but rather create his own policy for entrance into the California universities. Affirmative Action allowed minorities to enter the universities, as in the case of higher education, but these quotas were often preventing the more qualified Caucasians to get into the really top universities. A man named Marcus DeFunnis felt he needed to sue Washington University after being denied entrance due to the fact they needed to meet the quota of Affirmative Action that year. Soon it was time for Chauncey to retire and for Turnbull to take over ETS. However, Chauncey¿s flair for being on the front lines and fixing problems was missed, and Turnbull had some big shoes to fill in this new role as the new leader. How was he able to deal with the stress? I thought he mistakenly turned to alcohol, as many do with such pressures. But Turnbull knew the business, so if he had stuck to his guns then he wouldn¿t have needed to express his depressing attitude in the poem he wrote at the beginning of Chapter 19. In conclusion, The Big Test had really solid information, and I felt it was a good one to read because of the many historically significant events that happened in our country over the last century.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Tracey EDUC 506B June 28, 2002 The Big Test: Book 1 Review The Moral Equivalent of Religion This book has everything one needs in a sizzling summer read. Don't be looking for light-hearted fiction here. This is a story of heroes and villains, sex and sadness, and backstabbing and betrayal. (There's not any sex in it-I just put that in to get your attention.) The Big Test, Book I: The Moral Equivalent of Religion is the historical story of testing in America as seen through the eyes of main character Henry Chauncey. Like every good Groton/Harvard graduate of his time, Chauncey is white, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant. He does vary from the norm somewhat in that he is poor. He discovers the wonder of mental testing and gets as hooked as any chocolaholic. He just can't get enough of that testing thing. His dream is that testing will uncover the best and brightest to be college educated to enhance democracy and justice. (Well, Mr. Chauncey can you please explain to me why my 31ACT son flunked out of college his sophomore year?) Chauncey knew that testing would direct each person to his most appropriate place of service to his nation and full use of his own talents. (I am convinced the man is sincere, but one must wonder from which planet he was dropped.) Other heroes emerge in the story. Stanley H. Kaplan is a young Jew from Brooklyn, New York, who graduated from high school second in this class. He was only 17 years old at the time and had accomplished this in 3 years. Even with these stellar achievements, Kaplan's application for admission was rejected from five medical schools. He turned adversity in triumph by starting a tutoring business that became one of the largest in the country. Other characters in the book are admirable but not granted hero status here. By far, the greatest heroes in the book are the silent soldiers who were sentenced to death by testing. 2 The evils of testing are seen repeatedly. Carl Campbell Brigham administered army tests during WWII. This villainous character rated 'the 3 white races' in descending order: Alpine, Nordic, and Mediterranean. (My numerous Mediterranean relatives and I are certainly not happy with Mr. Brigham.) Another whose actions were somewhat less than honorable was Devereux Josephs. Mr. Josephs holds a lofty position in the Carnegie Foundation. (Remember money talks.) He bribes George Zook, head of the American Council of Education to relinquish his GRE test to Education Testing System, the company that Chauncey heads. For all his testing expertise, Chauncey flunks out of marriage. His wife demands a divorce. At this time, Chauncey asks that tender question, 'Can I still keep my job if I get a divorce?' (Yes, he can.) Chauncey travels to Wyoming to establish residency there, since it is easier to obtain a divorce in that state. Always in the right place at the right time, Chauncey meets and falls in love with a young woman in Wyoming. Of course, they consult a psychologist to make sure that it is love, and probably takea few valid, reliable tests to be sure. A third woman in Chauncey's life is Isabel Briggs Myers, who produced the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator personality test. She and Chauncey had a working relationship that spanned two decades. Henry Chauncey then told Myers that he would not publish her test anymore. (It might be interesting to note that more people take the MBTI than take the SAT. Wrong financial move, Mr. Smart Guy.) The people at the helms of both the Educational Testing System and American College Test want the rich untapped market of California. The population is exploding as the number of universities keeps growing. Which company will win the Sunshine State? I'll give you a hint: 3 ETS has a branch in Berkeley and the President of the University of California is on the ETS Board of Trustees. (Are we surprised?) Maybe you are wondering wh
Guest More than 1 year ago
Having the background of Book One really helped to put the pieces together in Book Two. I found Book Two so interesting, I had to go ahead and read Book Three just to see what was going to happen. I am amazed at how little I knew about a lot of the events discussed in the book, and yet I lived during some of these very events while they were going on. I guess culture does matter as to what a person learns. Book Two opened with Clark Kerr rising to the top at Berkeley. While he was there, he helped to see the passage of 63 resolutions into law that would enable all to an education, but they would be ranked through a test. The top scores would go to the top universities, then the colleges, then the Junior Colleges. He made Berkeley a school that was available to the 'cream of the crop' and the faculty was hand picked and highly regarded. During this same time, Sam Chauncey was attending Yale and elevating himself there. Sam chose Yale to make a name for himself so he would not have to follow in his father's footsteps. Most men who attended Yale at this time were automatically given jobs upon graduation, whether a part of their father's business, a banker, etc. With these standards already in place, no wonder when Howe came in a fired the whole admissions staff there was an uproar. All sects of people were brought into the school and many 'sons of Yale' were not admitted. It took Brewster the remainder of his career to straighten the whole mess out. While Yale was going through its own problems, higher education was finding out a discomforting bit of news. The tests excluded Negros from schools and jobs. This is not something that was thought about. When the Coleman report was complete, he found that the test scores had nothing to do with the schools, or funding, but that student performance was heavily influenced by family rather than school. So culture and background does matter! Here is where Affirmative Action arose and began getting a foothold. Negros ended up getting more jobs and promotions, even though their test scores did not merit that. Now that the Civil Rights Act is in full swing, protests began. Clark Kerr having to leave town, left Edward Strong in charge of the university. Unfortunately, he did not mediate well and sit-ins and riots erupted. Things were out of control and the blame fell on Kerr. Ultimately he lost his job when he would not resign. While racial tensions continued to increase, those in the elite universities continued to pave the way for their futures. Three different elite groups were competing for power: the mandarins, lifters and talents. The mandarins were mainly focused on through the remainder of the book, as we followed the lives of several of these individuals. These particular individuals are considered minorities since they are women and Asian-Americans. The Supreme Court at this time is also playing a crucial role in Affirmative Action. With white males not able to get into the university of their choice, even though their test scores were higher than Negros who applied and were accepted, the Supreme had to begin making stands on certain issues. In 1970, Henry Chauncey retired and Turnball took over. This was not a good time to be in charge. There were many attacks on ETS and the views of ETS started changing. Old tests had to be shown, which meant that now students could truly study for the test. People with disabilities are able to get special concessions and there was a pressure on all students to do well. Now with testing in question, Affirmative Action in question, and the future of our nation and its stance on these critical issues, people would have to figure out where they stood on the issues. I have never had a problem with testing and still do not. I do, however, have a deeper understanding of the difficulties that are brought on due to culture and backgrounds. I do not know how one goes about changing a cycle that has been
Guest More than 1 year ago
Book One: The Moral Equivalent of Religion The Big Test by Nicholas Lemann provides a very thorough description of the history of standardized testing in America. The first section, entitled ¿The Moral Equivalent of Religion¿ explains the importance of testing, although I am not sure how ¿moral¿ the whole idea of testing was in the beginning. How can testing people in order to place them in societal roles be moral? Mr. Lemann chose Henry Chauncey as his main character. At first, I saw Chauncey as a very ambitious young man who was very excited about testing. The more I read, though, the more I dislike his ideas. While Chauncey was young and ambitious, his utopian idea of testing everyone on everything and then putting them in their right place in society is a bit frightening. On top of that vision, he also was sure that everyone would graciously accept his placement. After reading these chapters and listening to other class members¿ thoughts and ideas, I think Henry Chauncey¿s vision resembled Adolph Hitler¿s a little too closely. Chauncey¿s ideals really did not mesh with the American dream of being able to move up through the social classes, which was the main reason so many immigrants headed for America. Book One consists of the first ten chapters. These chapters give the reader almost more information than can be processed. I found myself having to go back and reread sections because I could not remember what I had read. There were so many people introduced throughout these 150 pages that I had trouble keeping them all straight. I found myself looking back to see who was at Harvard and who was at Princeton, who favored achievement testing and who favored aptitude testing, who worked for ETS and who worked for ACE. Mr. Lemann obviously did not want to exclude anyone from his narrative. No one can say that he did not do his research. This book, although difficult to follow at times, is well written. By writing the history in narrative form and making the characters come to life, it is slightly easier to read than a history text book. The amount of research that Mr. Lemann had to do with the ETS archives is immeasurable. I can not imagine the determination and patience it must have taken to read through all of that information. I must admit, I am not a big fan of this book. I find it a struggle to read because I am not overly interested in the history and it is a bit difficult to follow. I do have to give Mr. Lemann credit because he has taken a very complex piece of educational history and tried to make it a story. I hope as I continue with the second and third sections that my attitude about the book will improve. Through class discussions, my understanding does become clearer. I just hope that the next section entitled ¿The Master Plan¿ does not resemble Hitler¿s plan for ¿The Master Race¿. Book Two: The Master Plan The Big Test by Nicholas Lemann is separated into three sections. The first section, entitled ¿The Moral Equivalent of Testing¿, gives a complete history of standardized testing. The second section, entitled ¿The Master Plan¿, goes in a slightly different direction. Its main focus is affirmative action and its effect on American society. Henry Chauncey is no longer the main character as he was in Book One. In Book Two, many more new characters are thrown into the mix. Again, I found myself drowning in a sea of characters. The first person introduced was Clark Kerr, who was the head of the University of California. He was made famous by the Master Plan that was signed into law in April of 1960. After Kerr comes Sam Chauncey, who was introduced in Book One. Starting with chapter 13, the story changes to focus on affirmative action. I found it interesting how Mr. Lemann described the contradiction concerning the African Americans. On one hand, they scored low on tests because their education had been substandard. One the other hand, the Civil Right
Guest More than 1 year ago
The Big Test by N. Lemann gives the historical background of the first hundred years of the ETS. It also identifies with its founders and evolving lifestyles as it unfolds the truths of testing. The book was a good tool to teach a class on sociological perspectives of education because it created many inquiries into the resolution of testing. Though it was difficult to follow because of the many facets involved, each one spiraled into another. As the participants revealed their roles in the ETS, the reader gained yet another side of the ETS's history. My personal view is that testing itself doesn't take into account the students' personality or drive for life. Personality is a major factor of one's success.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This gleaming book shows us for the first time the ideas, the people, and the politics behind the fifty-year-old system that determines the course of Americans' lives. The first book deals with the history and presumptions behind the present educational testing process as a selection method for determining access to higher education, and is by far the more important. The second book deals with the electoral process surrounding the affirmative action initiatives in California, and while interesting, is actually something of a cul-de-sac in proving what on the surface appears to be Lemann's main thesis. It began as a utopian experiment--launched by James Bryant Conant, president of Harvard University, and Henry Chauncey, head of the brand-new Educational Testing Service (ETS)--to use the then-young science of intelligence testing to assess and sort American students fairly and dispassionately in order to create a new democratic elite that would lead postwar America to progress, strength, and prosperity. Hardly anyone else before Nicholas Lemann has gained access to the archives of the all-powerful ETS, and none has understood the significance of this extraordinary drama. But now, in a notable synthesis of vivacious storytelling, stunning portraiture, and thematic analysis, he reveals the secret history of this major effort to unseat the quasi-hereditary male white elite that had run America. Lemann's narrative goes across a huge range of subjects, places, and times--from Cambridge and wartime Washington to contemporary California, from the think tanks and policy centers where educational testing was invented to the schools and class rooms where the test forms are handed out. And he describes the consequences, for individual lives and for society as a whole, of this effort to create a new meritocracy. For the utopian experiment didn't turn out as planned. It created a new elite but also generated conflict and tension, particularly over the issue of race, and America is now a society whose best-educated, most privileged. Lemann shows that this American meritocracy is neither natural nor inevitable, and it does not apportion opportunity equally or fairly. The Big Test is superb social history and analysis that not only explains the origins of the inadequate system we are all living with but asks profound moral and political questions about what makes for a good society, and what condition the United States is in today. Lemann devotes the first third of the book to the tragicomic history of the SAT and how it shook up the old elite. The test as we know it got its start when the president of Harvard, James Bryant Conant, grew disgusted with the lazy bluebloods populating his campus in the 1930s. Weren't there smarter, more eager kids out there? Conant believed in what Thomas Jefferson described as a 'natural aristocracy' of superior people 'raked from the rubbish.' How could Conant rake up some of that talent for Harvard, people who could then go on to lead the country more competently than the traditional aristocracy of well-born men? Well, it so happens that when Conant was asking those questions, America was developing its first IQ tests, and there was great enthusiasm about their ability to order and categorize people rationally. Conant fell upon the idea with missionary zeal. The IQ test, which evolved into the SAT, would be an instrument that reordered American life. It evolved from the Army Alpha IQ test, which was developed and given to recruits during World War I. The Scholastic Aptitude Test, which supposedly measured innate mental capacity, was first administered in 1926. In the 1930s, Harvard University president James Bryant Conant promoted it as a democratic way to select students for university scholarships in the hope that they would become public servants. After the Educational Testing Service was set up in 1947, more colleges required it. I don't accept the premise of an intelligence quotient--that
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book should be read by anyone concerned with our educational system, and anyone (especially students)in that system. The subject - measurement of talents for entry into our so-called meritocracy - is important. The reader will find this book stimulating, well written, upsetting, and hard to put down. At times, however, the narrative moves somewhat inexplicably from testing and meritocracy into details of affirmative action struggles. Though interesting and well presented, it is not always clear why affirmative action gets so such detailed attention (there certainly are many other facets of meritocracy). To get past this, and generally improve comprehension of the book and its worthy purposes, I suggest reading the 'Afterward' three times: (1) after reading Chapter 1 or a few of the early chapters, (2) after finishing Book 2, before immersion in details of the affirmative action struggles, and of course (3) at the end. In any case, do read this book.