God and Man in Carolina: two views of Bob Jones U

There are two people I end up interviewing about Bob Jones University.

One of them is Tim Ubben, 21, who's a junior at the school and whose family lives in Everett. He is telling me about the dating rules. He's been seeing this young student, and, sometime, he'll probably take her out on a date in town. Maybe catch a restaurant or something in Greenville, S.C.

Of course, they'll be accompanied by a chaperone, maybe a faculty member, just to make sure the Bible, as interpreted by Bob Jones, is adhered to. There is no holding hands.

"One of the biblical principles is no fornication, and that's a way to limit that," Ubben says. Over the phone from his dorm room - men and women in separate buildings, of course - he sounds a little apprehensive.

The 5,000 students have read the headlines and heard the commentaries about their fundamentalist school. A college little-known to the public suddenly became a major issue in the nasty Republican presidential campaign.

George W. Bush spoke there; John McCain denounced it.

There was the racism issue: The school prohibits interracial dating; an interracial marriage gets you expelled.

There was the religious bigotry: Bob Jones' founder once called the Catholic Church a "satanic cult."

And there was just plain old intolerance: A 61-year-old retired minister and former graduate, after revealing he was gay, was told he'd be arrested for trespassing if he set foot on campus. Bush eventually apologized for not "disassociating myself from anti-Catholic sentiments and racial prejudice," but only after he'd lost the Michigan primary.

I find Tim Ubben's name when poking around www.bju.edu, the Web site for Bob Jones University. There, listed as being from the Seattle area, is Ubben, a staff writer for the school paper. Many of its stories are the usual, about a school sports team or debate-team awards.

But then you find commentary such as the one about noise caused by students zipping and stuffing their backpacks right before the end of the daily chapel service. "Chapel, of all times, is a time to be especially guarded against Satan's attempts to distract us . . .," warns the writer.

Ubben tells me he's one of six children, the son of a Baptist pastor. He was home-schooled. He's been earning money since age 11, whether by landscaping, painting or working at a restaurant. He's paying the annual $10,000 college costs. He chose the school because he likes its academic program, and because it is Christian. This country's morals, he believes, "have a lot of room for improvement." He wants to go into public relations after graduation.

I ask Ubben about Catholics being called part of a cult. "I wasn't aware of that," he says. The school's spokesmen could better talk about that, he says. (A spokesman did not return a message left with a secretary, but the school's Web site explains, "All religion, including Catholicism, which teaches that salvation is by religious works or church dogma, is false.")

I ask Ubben about interracial dating. "I don't have anything against interracial dating," he says. "Anyway, it was the state law here until 1998." That is true. The 103-year-old, little-known, unenforced constitutional ban was finally overturned that year.

So what about now that the state law has been repealed? I ask Ubben. "If they'd like to have that rule, it's their school, basically," he says.

The school explains in its Web site, "Each race and each sex should be proud to be what God made it . . ."

Ubben keeps answering my questions, but I know he's counting the seconds until the ordeal is over. Earlier, his mom, Margaret, tells me that for a Pacific Northwest kid, well, it takes a little adjustment being in South Carolina.

The second person I interview is that 61-year-old gay retired minister. The school relented and said it'd allow him to visit its world-famous museum, which houses an astounding collection of religious art. Presumably that's so the museum wouldn't lose its tax-exempt status - a status the university did lose because of its racial policies.

Wayne Mouritzen tells me from his Greenville home that he's yet to visit the museum, as it'd still mean crossing the campus.

"God forbid I have to go to the bathroom. Can you imagine them arresting a gay guy in the bathroom?" he says. Mouritzen says the disclosure that he was gay came about in a private e-mail he sent to another minister and Bob Jones graduate, a friend of 40 years. The friend promptly notified the school.

Mouritzen faxes me letters the school sent him. One of them is from Bob Jones III, president of the college.

"Your problem is not with the University. It is with Heaven . . . If you wish to be arrested for trespassing, your wish will be granted if you come to the campus," the letter says, in part. "Wayne, sin has hardened you; it has turned you into another person. You are shaking your fist in the face of God . . ."

I ask Mouritzen if he could explain, to an outside observer, why school officials are so dogmatic.

"I wish I could," he says.

So, should George W. Bush have stayed away from Bob Jones University?

It would have meant one fewer outside speaker for a Tim Ubben to hear - conservative as Bush's message was - at a literally fenced-in college.

It wasn't that many years ago the fence was topped by barbed wire. But times changed and the barbed wire came down. Can you imagine what the kids would have been talking about on their dates if John McCain had been on the speaker's podium?

Erik Lacitis' column runs Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. His phone number is 206-464-2237. His e-mail address is: elacitis@seattletimes.com.