The History of Underrepresented Students at Caltech: A Journey of Struggle and Progress

We don’t talk about it. We don’t want to admit it. But racism is still here, still present, and each one of us feels its weight in some way. How can we still believe that a person’s worth can be defined by the color of their skin or where they were born? How many times have I heard, “Oh, you’re Italian? So, the mafia? Pizza? You don’t do much, do you?” Stereotypes. Labels. Concepts created decades ago that somehow still manage to stick. It’s in my bones, this feeling of being judged, of being categorized. I don’t have darker skin, but I was born Italian. I don’t deny it. I embrace it. And yet, I feel the sting of assumptions, of remarks that make me feel misplaced in a world that should have moved past this nonsense already.

When I visited Ellis Island in New York, I saw so many names etched into history. Names of Italians who left everything behind, who spent weeks on massive ships with no idea what their futures held, their fate determined by a single officer at the gates of America. What is race, really? Scientifically, it doesn’t even exist. (And yes, I’ve written about this—my book The Genetics of Races: Genetics Applied to Races, Diseases, and Social Sciences might interest you. Go ahead, look it up!)

I didn’t even know it was Black History Month until someone pointed it out to me. Shameful, isn’t it? I felt compelled to write something, not just because I’ve studied the topic, but because I feel connected to this struggle—this constant comparison, this fight to be seen as equal. Every time someone comments on my “Italian accent,” it stings. I’ve spent years trying to erase it, not because I’m ashamed of my roots, but because the jokes and comparisons—always with Al Pacino or stuff like this—get exhausting.

The portrait of Grant D. Venerable. Credit: caltech.edu.

Years ago, I watched the film Green Book. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and watch it. It tells the story of an African-American pianist who is both celebrated and ostracized, living in two worlds that refuse to accept him fully. His bodyguard, an Italian man named Tony, is also caught in a web of prejudice. There’s a line in the movie I’ll never forget: Tony says, “I’m blacker than you. We’re on the same step.” Shirley, the pianist, responds, “If for you I’m not black enough, and for them I’m not white enough, then tell me—who the hell am I?” That line. That line stays with me. It’s the reality of so many people who live on the fringes of identity, who don’t fit neatly into society’s boxes.

This brings me to Caltech. Yes, the legendary Caltech archives are real, and yes, the archivists are absolutely incredible—helpful, kind, and ready to dig deep. I reached out to them, curious about the history of minorities at our institute. What I found moved me to write this article!

A Quiet Revolution at Caltech

Caltech is a place of brilliance, of scientific breakthroughs and innovation. But let’s not pretend it’s always been a welcoming space for everyone. In 1932, Grant D. Venerable became the first African-American graduate of Caltech. Can you imagine what that must have been like? He was brilliant, yes, but brilliance doesn’t shield you from racism. When he applied to live on campus, the issue of whether a “colored” student should be allowed in the residence halls went all the way to the Board of Trustees. The president of Caltech at the time, Robert Millikan, informed Venerable that he could live on campus—but by then, Venerable had already decided he couldn’t afford it. So he lived off-campus, working odd jobs to make ends meet. He graduated in the middle of the Great Depression, alongside classmates like William Shockley—who would later win a Nobel Prize but also spew pseudoscientific nonsense about racial inferiority. The irony is bitter. Racism, discrimination, and systemic exclusion don’t just vanish. They linger, forcing individuals to fight battles others will never see. This brings me to one of the earliest pioneers among African-American students at Caltech: Grant Delbert Venerable, Jr. His story is one of grit, determination, and quiet strength.

Venerable, born in Kansas City, Missouri, in 1904, carried the weight of a complex heritage—African, Cherokee, and Scottish descent. His journey to Caltech wasn’t straightforward. Before arriving at one of the most prestigious scientific institutions in the world, he had been expelled from UCLA in a frustrating misunderstanding over course requirements. It wasn’t about his ability but his independence. He dropped a course he found too easy, and, for that, he paid the price. Undeterred, he set his sights on Caltech, where he would graduate in 1932 with a degree in civil engineering.

Venerable’s children, Grant, Linda Ellington and Lloyd, unveil the naming of Venerable House on October 21, 2022. Credit: caltech.edu.

Years later, Caltech honored his legacy with a memorial book fund in his name. The fund supports literature exploring African-American and Native American cultures, as well as the impact of technology on humanity—a fitting tribute to a man who broke barriers not just for himself, but for those who would follow (Goins, 1993, p. 6).

The Struggle to Belong

Fast forward to the 1950s. James Ellis Lu Valle, an African-American student, earned his doctorate in chemistry and mathematics while also being an Olympic medalist. But even he wasn’t immune to the pressure of living in a world divided by race. Then came James King, Jr., in the 1950s, who had to sleep in a YMCA gym for two months because there wasn’t space for him on campus. Somehow, he survived, went on to earn his doctorate, and eventually worked at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

Then there’s Linus Pauling, the legendary chemist and two-time Nobel laureate. Pauling wasn’t just a giant in his field—he was a mentor who recognized talent regardless of race. For Caltech’s African-American students in the 1950s, Pauling’s mentorship was a lifeline. James King, Jr., who earned his doctorate in chemical physics in 1958, worked under Pauling’s guidance. King faced significant challenges, including being denied on-campus housing upon his arrival. But with Pauling in his corner, he persevered and eventually made groundbreaking advancements at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

William D. Hutchinson also worked under Pauling, tackling the complex science of sickle cell anemia. Hutchinson’s research laid the foundation for future work in the field, but his time at Caltech wasn’t without obstacles. He fought against racial discrimination in Pasadena, even helping to overturn restrictive housing covenants. Pauling’s mentorship gave Hutchinson the confidence to push forward, proving that allyship can make all the difference.

A collage featuring Caltech’s first three Black female students: Karen Maples, MD (BS ‘76), Deanna Hunt (BS ‘76), and Lauretta Carroll (BS ‘77). Credit: Caltech Magazine.

The Fight for Change

The 1960s brought a turning point, both for Caltech and the nation. In 1958, Martin Luther King Jr. visited Caltech, delivering a speech in Dabney Hall that urged students to take an active role in the fight for racial justice. But while King’s words inspired, Caltech’s undergraduate population remained overwhelmingly white. It wasn’t until 1961 that Charles McGruder became one of the first African-American undergraduates at the institute .

By the late 1960s, things began to shift. Joseph Rhodes, Jr., who entered Caltech in 1965 as the only African-American undergraduate, became the president of the student body and used his position to create outreach programs for local Black youth. As he once said, “For my first year at the Institute, I was the only Black person at Caltech, period. My problems were not so much on campus as off. After all, I arrived only a few weeks after Watts exploded.”

Then came Lee F. Browne, a local educator who joined Caltech and developed the Student Support Program (SSP), which helped underrepresented students navigate the Institute’s intense academic environment. The program worked: graduation rates for minority students who participated in SSP skyrocketed from 17% to 58%. Browne didn’t stop there. He supported the creation of the Black Student Union (BSU), which organized events, welcomed new students, and fought to make Caltech a more inclusive place.

I learned that in the 1970s, Caltech’s Black students wanted to add a red, black, and green flag to the yearbook. Some editors supported it, others didn’t. Even small acts of representation were fraught with resistance. By the 1990s, Caltech’s efforts to diversify its student body began to bear fruit. Eduardo Grado, who succeeded Lee F. Browne as director of admissions, expanded recruitment efforts and helped establish chapters of the National Society of Black Engineers (NSBE) and the Society of Hispanic Professional Engineers (SHPE). These organizations provided underrepresented students with opportunities for professional development and networking, fostering a more inclusive environment on campus.

Reflections

Students from Caltech’s Black Student Union and their float in last year’s 42nd annual Pasadena Black History Month parade. Credit: caltech.edu.

Reading about these stories, I couldn’t help but think about the resilience of these students. How many times did they hear they didn’t belong? How many times did they feel the weight of being the “only one”? And yet, they stayed. They fought. They paved the way for future generations.

And Linus Pauling—imagine what a difference it makes when someone with power and influence chooses to lift others up, to mentor them, to show them that their brilliance matters. Pauling’s efforts remind us that allyship isn’t just about words; it’s about action.

Caltech has come a long way, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking the work is done. Racism doesn’t disappear—it evolves, it hides in systems and structures. It’s in the small things, the subtle biases, the stereotypes that persist.

So let’s remember Grant Venerable, James Lu Valle, Linus Pauling, Joseph Rhodes, and so many others who dared to challenge the status quo. Let’s honor their legacy not through empty words, but through action—by making sure Caltech, and every institution, becomes a space where everyone belongs.

Who are we if we don’t?

References

Venerable, G. D., II. (1986). In Memoriam: Grant D. Venerable (1904–1986). Guidance Church of Religious Science, Los Angeles, CA.

Venerable, G. D., II. (1989). Letter to Dr. Thomas Everhard, President of Caltech, January 24, 1989.

Goins, E. H. (1993). History of Caltech’s Underrepresented Students. California Institute of Technology.