Makin' out at Bob Jones U.

I lied so I could sin. But I need to thaw in hell after Bob Jones' deepfreeze.

By Daniel Kraus

Mar 22, 2000 | Bob Jones University is a beautiful place. I know. I've been there.

I've walked beneath the arcing fountains embellished with multicolored lights. I've weaved my way down the yellow brick walkways that slice through almost-too-green grass. I've trod among the well-groomed Christian scholars as they herd to morning chapel, clutching dogeared Bibles, all of them sharing at least one thing -- their love of and trust in God.

Well, two things, really. The students at Bob Jones University are almost all, like me, white. The girl on my arm, however, is not.

In case you've just returned from a lengthy prison sentence, let me fill you in: Bob Jones University has in one short month gone from being a small, rather nontoxic Christian college in Greenville, S.C., to a symbol of monomaniacal right-wing intolerance.

A number of politicians, including Ronald Reagan, Alan Keyes, Bob Dole and Dan Quayle, have visited the school in the past. Their appearances didn't have the same fallout as when presidential hopeful George W. Bush made it a stop on his campaign trail. Sen. John McCain was quick to condemn the appearance because of the school's intolerance toward Catholics and its policy that forbade interracial relationships. The theory is that mixed breeding could lead to the destruction of earth and disintegration of humankind as we know it, according to Genesis 10 and 11, in which God destroys the Tower of Babel, scattering humans across the globe to prevent them from creating a one-world government. Sound like a stretch? "The university wishes to give God the benefit of the doubt," explains the BJU Web site.

Bob Jones III, president of BJU (or "Dr. Bob," as he is affectionately known to students and faculty), made a March 3 appearance on CNN's "Larry King Live." During the show, Jones offhandedly remarked, "As of today, we have dropped the [interracial ban]." Three days later, Dr. Bob clarified his statement, saying that students would need to submit a signed parental consent form to the dean before the school would allow them to commingle. The policy was further modified two days after that; now students are asked to inform their parents about any interracial relationship, and if the parents disapprove, the messed-up delinquents will be referred to a campus counselor.

In a March 3 "Letter to the Nation" printed in full-page ads in USA Today and South Carolina's three biggest newspapers, Dr. Bob implored the nation, "Racially bigoted? You decide."

And, well, I had a couple of days off.

I am white and 24. Denise is black and 22. Although neither of us was sure what BJU defines as a "serious dating relationship," we figured it was somewhere between first and third base. We also knew of several campus taboos: no alcohol, tobacco or rock music, no holding hands and no sitting closer than 6 inches for members of the opposite sex.

We considered driving around campus in a four-wheeler airbrushed with the slogan "Pope-Mobile 2000," blasting "Welcome to the Jungle" from a boombox and throwing our cigarette butts into empty Schlitz cans, but that seemed too sacrilegious. So Denise and I hit the campus grounds on foot, tucked and buttoned into our Sunday best and full of ersatz evangelical zeal. To get the full campus tour, I thought I'd pose as a gung-ho prospective student who, along with my chocolate honey bear, had managed to avoid every single newspaper and television and radio broadcast in the past six weeks. I was either a hermit or an imbecile.

Craig, a senior in the humanities department, meets us at the admissions desk. He is gregarious, charming -- why, downright neighborly. His blond hair is perfectly combed. He makes pleasing small talk. He slings a blue blazer over his starched-cotton shoulder as we walk.

I take Denise's hand.

Next Page: No fewer than 6 inches of dating room

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