First-Generation College Students: Then and Now

INTRODUCTION Thirty to forty years ago, first-generation college students were predominantly white, working class, baby-boomers whose parents were often first and second generation European immigrants. Over the past three decades demographic changes in race, ethnicity, language and socioeconomic levels have changed the face and cultural experiences of today's first-generation students. This article seeks to examine past and present first-generation college students, how they have changed--or not changed--and what colleges can do to assist them in meeting with success in higher education. Before discussing recent studies on this topic, this article begins with a description of one first-generation student attending college in the 1960s and 70s. MY STORY "Stay in school!" These were words of advice often spoken by my father. He wanted me to have a better life, as most parents do. But he did not have to push me in that direction. Since I first entered school in 1956, I always enjoyed school life, for the most part. Raised in a predominantly Italian, Irish, and Catholic neighborhood, I never realized how poor I was because we were all poor. In this tight-knit, working class neighborhood in East Boston, most families had two parents and while the mother cared for the family and home, the father was the sole source of financial support. I played and went to school with the same children, so there was a deep sense of belonging. For the most part, we all got along, playing simple street games "until dark" on summer nights and "until dinner" on school nights. I attended the Catholic grammar school across the street from my house. It was a small, poor parish school serviced by the Sisters of Notre Dame, a congregation of religious women who originated in France and Belgium and who came to the United States for the purpose of teaching in such schools. The sisters taught us using traditional methods of rote memory and testing, a system commonly employed in the 1950s and 60s. I blossomed in this environment because I clearly understood what was expected of me and I enjoyed the loving atmosphere created by the sisters. In essence, I thrived in this poor but amicable setting. As I entered preadolescence, I began to explore my world with my friends, many of whom were boys my age. Taking many risks, I learned to swim by jumping off abandoned piers, former ports for the ferry connecting East Boston to "the mainland" downtown Boston. I slid under turnstile bars to catch a free ride on the public subway system and traveled to Revere Beach, quite a distance for an eleven-year-old. One summer day, with little to do, we made a game of "ringing and running," a mischievous task of randomly ringing doorbells and running away. Someone called the police, and I was eventually brought home to my parents where they administered a grave punishment of no dinner and an evening alone in my bedroom to think about what I had done. That evening I heard my mother discussing my behavior with my father. "We have to move, Jay." My dad's name was John, but she called him Jay. "She is getting too wild. The police brought her home ... what next!" Later that summer, my mother found a large apartment for rent in a two family house in a much nicer area of Boston. And so, I found myself alone, separated from my friends by what seemed like a continent, in the Dorchester Lower Mills area. I was no longer surrounded by familiar friends and families. The homes were much bigger with bigger yards, and no one played in the streets. In fact, I never realized any children lived in the area until I enrolled in a new school that September. The only consolation to this traumatic change was that the new school, again a Catholic school, was taught by the same sisters. So I began grade 7, knowing only one person, a sister who was transferred from the school in East Boston to the new school in Dorchester. I slowly changed from an adventurous, curious young girl into a very unhappy, lonely adolescent. …