THK MAKING OF HARVARD'S FORTUNE amlimud variety of ways, makes learning how Harvard works a challenge. Harvard invites attention; most Harvard administrators spurn it. T h e University's public self is extraordinarily rich and arresting; its private core is hidden and elusive. T h e reticence of Harvard administrators is more than a well-bred reluctance to talk about money. T h e University may not have anything to hide, but it has much to lose. T h e stakes for which it plays are enormous. As a private, nonprofit institution, Harvard is the leader in an unregulated industry, and it is
Harvard is the leader in an unregulated industry, and it is accountable to no stockholders. To boast about how it conducts its affairs would be inimical to the competitive advantage it enjoys. accountable to no stockholders. To boast about how it conducts its affairs would be inimical to the competitive advantageit enjoys. L i k e the intricate arrangements for a leveraged buyout or the complicated maneuvering for a large commercial bank loan. Harvard's financial management is a game whose rules, i f you don't already know them, you don't hear about. Though the subject preoccupies almost anyone in a position of administrative authority, money is treated at Harvard the way a life insurance company treats death. The company's policies sell "security"; University fundraisers trade in similar abstractions. "Harvard." proclaims one brochure, "offers an opportunity, unique even among major universities, to achieve the greatest impact with every philanthropic dollar."
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uch inspirational marketing language was not yet in vogue fifteen years ago, when Nathan M . I'usey retired as president of Harvard. Late in his tenure, in 1969, Pusey was responsible for bringing in police to remove students occupying University Hall. That single, divisive event overshadowed the many achievements of his eighteen-year presidency, and when he stepped down in 1971 there were many who were glad to see him go. When 1 told some of his old colleagues I planned to interview I'usey, they said he was a bitter man. I shouldn't call him, they advised. I got in touch with him anyway, and heresponded that he would be happy to see me. I'usey represents a part of I larvard's past that doesn't square with the present. Indeed, the contrast is jarring. T h e I'usey administration had only one vice president (the link administration has five); fewer deans worked in University Hall. Under I'usey, endowment management was so old-fashioned that the treasurer merely made an oral report to the other members of the Harvard Corporation on what Harvard had bought and sold since they'd last met. I'usey's presidency was distinguished by staunch support of free speech during the McCarthy era—with four other Harvard officials, he earned a
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commendation from the American Civil Liberties Union. T h e president also had a personal talent for raising money, as evidenced by the $82.5-million Program for Harvard College. Completed in I960, that capital campaign was at the time the largest ever undertaken in American higher education. It made possible a dramatic expansion of Harvard's physical plant, and helped to enlarge the scope of its academic enterprises. I'usey met me at the Harvard C l u b of N e w York. I was struck by how well he looked at 77. with that same, extraordinarily clear complexion and white hair. As we walked through the dining room into Harvard Hall, he touched the collar pin on his shirt and parted the front of his suitcoat to be certain the middle button was fastened. We took seats at a small reading table; Pusey took out his glasses, adjusted them, and began speaking in a calm, slightly musical voice. "When I left Harvard, it had nothing to do w i t h the student disturbances," he said. " I t was clear that Harvard was going into a new period, and I felt I had done all I could d o . " After retiring he had moved to N e w York to become president of the Mellon Foundation. At first, said Pusey, alumni would tell him how sorry they were for the bad time he had gone through. "It hadn't occurred to me it was b a d , " he mused. "Being president of Harvard was a great joy." I'usey said he had distanced himself from Harvard affairs after Derek Bok succeeded him as president, but he had served on the executive committee of the Harvard Campaign. " I was worried that Harvard would rely on its past, great donors, and I argued with Derek and others about this," he said. " I felt the Campaign had to find Harvard donors who were younger. I guess it d i d . " Certain that what he called "the troubles" had started elsewhere, Pusey said he originally believed Harvard students "were smart enough not to get involved." Citing Columbia University's handling of the occupation of its library as an example of how not to respond, I'usey continued: "By the time of the University Hall incident. 1 had persuaded myself and the Corporation that we were not going to accept this. There was going to be a bang, but it was going to be over in two weeks. I f not, people would have come in from elsewhere. I can't prove calling in the police was the wisest course, but I'd do it again. "Some people afterwards thought of me as a horrible character. M y own personal disappointment was not with the students. There were never more than a few who wanted to herevolutionaries. There were a lot of nice, innocent kids who were manipulated by some crafty characters. M y disappointment was with certain members of the faculty who failed to give the guidance they could have. Some o f them lost their nerve. "I've never said this to anyone but my w i f e — b u t deep in my heart there was a disenchantment with the Harvard faculty. I had to make speeches about what wonderful scholars they were, and I couldn't go out and say that anymore. "Bitterness? N o . I was sad. What happened was beneath Harvard's dignity. I loved Harvard, There are still one or two faculty- members, if I see them, there is no joy. 1 suppose they feel the same way about m e . " I'usey never hurried as he spoke. At times he seemed lost in thought. "Derek was a youngster when he was selected," he said of the man he had chosen as dean of the Law School in I%N. " I