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The Hopkins Hegemon
She was in the semifinal round of the national championships, Johns Hopkins vs. Harvard. Harvard's case was against raising the minimum wage. Now it was Repko's turn to pick their arguments apart. She was so focused on her speech that she still doesn't understand how it happened, but the heckler--a debater from Princeton whom she hasn't forgotten--distracted her momentarily and she froze. In that moment, she lost her train of thought and forgot to make a crucial point: Contrary to what Harvard said, increasing the minimum wage would not hurt people on Social Security. Repko and her partner lost the round to Harvard, and in the process lost their best shot at the national title. That was eight years ago. "We still talk about it," says Repko '89, who works in Washington as a legislative assistant for Senator Russ Feingold, a Democrat from Wyoming. "Absolutely, we do." For Hopkins debaters, the debate never ends. Last fall, Repko got a call from Rebecca Justice '97 and David Weiner '97, members of this year's debate team, after they had finished second and third in consecutive tournaments. They wanted to know what they were doing wrong.
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But eventually the debaters loosen up. They refer to Seinfeld and
college life and each other, with juicy asides, inside jokes, and
insults. Some, like Hopkins's Greenberg, speak as if every
thought, every fact, and every argument were rehearsed. His
performance is part monologue, part stump speech, and part
sermon. Still others race through their speeches as if they're being judged on the number of words they can spit out, or deliver an outrageous, manic stream of consciousness, hoping to win points for humor. Some sound like actors unprepared for an audition. They get absolutely no sympathy. This is debate. They get crushed or maimed. Being on the parliamentary circuit is no small commitment. Practically every weekend there's another tournament, another road trip to Harvard or Princeton or NYU. The football and lacrosse teams have it easy; debate lasts the entire academic year. "Part of doing well in this event is being on tour like a rock group, developing this cult of personality," says Repko, 30, who debated with Patrick Woodall '90. "You have to be there every weekend. People have to say, 'We know Mary Frances and Patrick are going to be in the elimination rounds this weekend, because they were in the elimination rounds last weekend.' It's about maintaining this sort of aura and perception. It's the rep, if you will." Just as Michael Jordan gets the benefit of the doubt from referees, debate teams with a good "rep" have an easier time persuading judges. "Being from Hopkins definitely gives you something in the rounds," says Alex Cohen '93. "It's like having a Harvard law degree." The Hopkins team prides itself on preparation as much as reputation. Monday through Thursday, from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m., members cram into the cozy debate room in McCoy Hall for practice rounds, as many as 20 a week. Because the group is student-run, there are no faculty coaches or advisors. The students debate each other, then critique the round. Sometimes alumni, affectionately known as "dinos" (short for dinosaurs), help out. Not many schools on the circuit practice, but at Hopkins it's expected. Keeps the upperclassmen sharp and the novices on course. As a freshman, Cohen practiced against Hopkins upperclassmen Aaron Seeskin '93, Desmond Arias '93, Ted Niblock '92, and Simon Whang '92, who were among the top debaters in the country. "They beat the crap out of me, embarrassed me, and made me feel like an idiot," Cohen says. They taught him how to debate. That same year he went on to reach the semis at Yale and the finals at Providence College. Debaters have a certain persona, says Repko, and she can spot them 100 yards away. They are confident, eloquent, opinionated, intense, quick-witted, and theatrical. For starters. They are not mildly interested in politics and economics and history and philosophy. They are consumed. They know their Supreme Court rulings and their Middle East accords. Many wind up attending the best law schools in the country. Most are men. On the current Hopkins team, Greenberg is strong on medical and domestic policy cases; Feldon on domestic and the Middle East; Justice on foreign policy; and Weiner on constitutional law. "He remembers every case, every opinion, who wrote the opinion, and who said what," Greenberg says. "If I had to pick who would wind up on the Supreme Court some day, I'd say David [Weiner]." David Riordan's gift is not so much what he says, but how he says it. His teammates kid him that he's all style and no substance, criticism that slides right off. "The key is sounding like you know what you're talking about," says Riordan, one of several talented freshmen on the team. He can be pretty convincing. "You have to like yourself a lot to be able to stand up in front of a group of people and talk," says Thomasino. "To be good, you have to have an indefatigable ego, because debate teaches you humility."
Rebecca Justice was born to debate. As silly as that sounds, it's true. Her grandfather, after college, got a job teaching at Logansport High School in Logansport, Indiana, and founded the school's debate team in the 1930s. Her grandmother was one of his debaters. When their children were old enough, they were expected to join the Logansport team, and they did. Rebecca grew up hearing about Uncle Sam, who finished second in the nation one year in extemporaneous speaking; Aunt Amy, who was ranked in the top 10, and the rest of the Justice forensics clan: Aunt Liz, Aunt Margaret, Uncle Jonathan, and her father, Robert. In those days, he preferred football and track to debate, but he went on to become a circuit court judge. Everyone calls him Justice Justice. It was a given that Rebecca would debate, too. She was on the Logansport varsity for four years and qualified three times for Nationals, twice in both foreign extemporaneous public speaking and policy debate. By the end of high school, she had amassed so many points that she ranked in the top 10 on the all-time National Forensic League list, going back to the 1940s--and first in the Justice family. Even now, college freshmen recognize her name from the record books. After four years practicing and researching and competing, she thought she'd skip college debate and focus on academics. But the Hopkins team kept after her. Every fall the admissions office gives seniors the names of freshmen who debated in high school. The more she heard about the team and its successful program, the more interested she became. Now Justice--"Xena, Princess Warrior" to her teammates--is one of the seniors carrying on Hopkins's proud tradition. She recruits freshmen and pushes them in practice rounds. She encourages them to take courses in international relations, which is her major. And every Thursday before a tournament, she goes to the library and reads the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Christian Science Monitor, and the Wall Street Journal for case ideas. Her opponents expect as much. "I surf the Internet on the Middle East at 3 a.m. the night before a tournament because of Rebecca," says Porcaro, her NYU rival. "She still beats me on foreign policy, but it's made it closer." AFTER JOINING THE JOHNS HOPKINS DEBATE SOCIETY in 1884, Woodrow Wilson, a graduate student at the time, helped found the Hopkins House of Commons, a group similar to the one he had started eight years earlier at the school that later became Princeton. The Hopkins House, all men in those days, debated among themselves. "The debates, at times, have grown very warm," boasted the group's entry in the 1889 yearbook, "and on several occasions the debaters, overpowered for the moment by excitement, have indulged in means, stronger than words, to enforce their arguments." An annual interclass debate, begun in 1898, pitted three juniors against three seniors and generated a lot of interest on campus. The president of the university spoke, the glee club performed, and the students partied afterward. The debates themselves centered around policy issues, such as "Should immigration to this country be furthered?" and "Resolved: The policy of territorial expansion is detrimental to the interests of the United States." Faculty, along with local lawyers and judges, decided the winner. In 1902, Hopkins and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill engaged in one of the first intercollegiate debates. Although Hopkins lost, the schools made it an annual event. The first triangular debate followed soon after with Hopkins, Washington and Lee, and Pennsylvania College. A collegiate circuit was beginning to emerge, and before long Hopkins's varsity team was boasting of its "superiority in debate" over Brown, Virginia, and North Carolina. Even then, debate alumni were active with the team; John French, an 1899 graduate and an English professor at Hopkins, was the coach. By the 1930s and '40s, the team was traveling to 20 or more tournaments a year, at Duke, Harvard, Princeton, and elsewhere. The debates were no longer the "monotonous combats" they had been early on, the team declared in the 1939 yearbook, but rather "verbal bombasts." In 1949, the debates were entertaining enough to put on local television and radio. Over the years, the program has survived periodic declines in membership, funding, and talent. The Johns Hopkins University Debate Tournament, one of the first such events, has been going strong since 1951. Although historical records are incomplete, Hopkins has clearly had its share of quality teams. In the early 1970s, the school qualified five teams for Nationals for four straight years, the sort of success the Debate Council has come to expect. IN LATE JANUARY, a week before classes resume after Intersession, the Hopkins team has come to Washington, D.C. with high hopes. The 51-team field in the George Washington University tournament isn't as big or as competitive as those they've faced elsewhere. So it's no great surprise that by Saturday afternoon two of the four remaining teams are from Hopkins. Justice and Greenberg (Weiner is busy writing his senior thesis). Feldon and Riordan. In the back of the auditorium, they high five, then get down to business. What case should they run? Should they Gov or Opp? Hopkins sophomore John Thomas gives Justice the scouting report on the University of Virginia team of Matt Adams and Dave Abbott. "Adams has a tendency to lose his train of thought, so ask him lots of questions," Thomas says. "If you can joke around, Abbott gets uptight." Hopkins wins the coin toss and chooses to oppose--it's usually easier to disprove than prove a case. During the 10 minutes the Government has to prepare, the Hopkins debaters speculate about everything from the judges' bias (apparently, the Virginia team is better friends with the judges from George Washington) to Virginia's case. "I'll put money on it being Gingrich," says Greenberg. "Congress should have censured Gingrich. That's it." "Dude," says Thomas, "watch for Clinton being sued." In the first five rounds, Greenberg and Justice have debated, among other things, whether the U.S. should deliver a batch of F-16s that it sold to Taiwan; whether the government should regulate children's beauty pageants; and whether Israel's Binyamin Netanyahu should continue negotiating with the PLO's Yassir Arafat. And now, not Gingrich or Clinton, but the right to marry. Virginia contends that states should be able to prohibit people who have not paid up on alimony or child-support from receiving a state-sanctioned marriage. Adams says the state has a right to sanction marriage and that it's in the state's interest to make dead-beat dads pay up. Think of the children, he says. Greenberg insists that the Supreme Court hasn't allowed states to regulate marriage in the past, so why start now? And what's preventing dead-beat dads from getting a common-law marriage or marrying out-of-state? For every persuasive point, there is a compelling counterpoint. Those watching the debate knock on desks or chairs, offering Parliamentary-style applause. As planned, Justice peppers Adams with questions, and Greenberg cracks some good lines. But just when Hopkins seem to have the crowd, Adams or Abbott recovers. Thomas sits in the first row, his Yankees cap on backwards, anxiously rubbing his goatee and glancing over at the judges. During Abbott's speech, he spies one of them rapping a desk. Bad news. "This has gotten very tight," he whispers. "Come on, Rebecca." Maybe it's Justice hammering that the state shouldn't "transgress on the ultimate right of self-determination and liberty." Or Greenberg strolling downstage and saying, "Let's be honest, guys. The Elvis Presley Chapel of Love is $69 round-trip on Southwest. It's cheaper than paying alimony." In the end, the judges side with Hopkins, 3-2. The finals aren't nearly as close. Justice and Greenberg trounce a hybrid team called Dartvard, made up of two prep school friends, one from Dartmouth, the other from Harvard. The final score: 12-1. That gives Hopkins first place and four out of the top 10 teams. It's another good showing, another chapter in a season true to the Hopkins tradition. The debaters have crushed and maimed, not just winning the tourney, but dominating. They head back to Baltimore with more hardware for the trophy case in Garland Hall, and a few more reasons for Repko, Thomasino, and the other dinos to be proud. Once again, Justice--along with the rest of the Hopkins Hegemon-- prevails. Charles Salter Jr. is a freelance writer living in Baltimore.
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