A TALL MAN in a trenchcoat swings a Marianne Moore poetry book at his side and disappears into the Grays Hall basement to begin his day's work. After greeting the men in his department, he proceeds to his office and turns on the radio to a jazz music station.

Robert Tonis, Chief of the University Police, then begins opening the morning mail while his secretary, Alice McInnis, fixes him his first cup of morning coffee. As he reads the police log of the previous night, one of his six freshman advisees drops by and begins to ask Tonis for counsel on the best way to combat roommate fatigue.

The Chief, who has four children of his own, listens patiently and, within an hour, the freshman emerges from the hidden doorway to face the University once again.

At 10:30 a.m., Tonis meets in his office with Archibald Cox and CFIA officials. Again the subject is security measures for the Center. And again Tonis maintains the most level head, alternately assuring and chiding the anxiety-filled men.

By the time Cox is satisfied that the CFIA will still be standing tomorrow, it is almost noon. Tonis leaves his office, not for lunch, but for the Fine Arts 13 course which he is taking. It is his policy to audit a course every semester, but this is a somewhat curious departure from the usual fare of literature, history, and religion courses.

After filing out of the Fogg Museum, he strides over to the Signet Society, a literary club of which he is an honorary member.

Between tales of chasing Nazi "spies" through the ubiquitous steam tunnels and helping George Wallace escape from Memorial Hall in 1964, he has little time to eat.

"Wallace sent a couple of state troopers up to check things out the week before he came and we tried to show them the tunnels in case there was any trouble," he recalls.

"But they weren't interested. So the night of the speech, Mem Hall was surrounded by about 1500 protesters and Wallace started speaking. The troopers were standing off in the background with their shiny pistols hitched to their hips and were getting a little worried now because the boos were growing louder. About halfway through, one starts coming over to me looking like he wants to shoot his way out. But he says, 'Mr. Tonis, ah believe we'd be interested in takin' a look at those tunnels you mentioned.'"

So go the stories of Harvard cops and robbers, punctuated with bits of dialogue, pieces of personal remembrances and a good-humored overview.

A Mather House sophomore breaks into his own tale of the drop-out pusher who has settled into his living room and now brings a steady parade of townies in.

The Chief bends over a little more concerned now, but the student quickly adds that the roommates don't mind, and Tonis breaks into a chuckle, "Well, I'll be darned!"

Following lunch, Tonis checks in at Adams House, where this year he became an Associate. Quincy and Mather Houses had vied for him unsuccessfully.

At Adams, Tonis accepts an invitation for a House dinner. As he proceeds back up Plympton Street, he stops at the venerable Grolier Book Shop.

Returning to Grays Hall, Tonis prepares for a 2:30 p.m. appointment with a job applicant. He does all his own interviewing and hiring. When he took over in March, 1962, there were no blacks on the force. Today, 11 of the 73 men are black. Of the 13 sergeants, there are black. Another black, Lieutenant Theodore Thompson, does plainclothes work and is the number three man on the force.