Just off Route 16 in the remote, rustic greenery of western Massachusetts lives a tall, slender, sophisticated man who spends his quiet days at a drawing board designing yachts. William G. Anderson 19 sketches in his South Natick hilltop home, which is decorated by wooden half-ship models an embroidered oriental rug, and a thick red leatherbound photo album, which records the almost two decades he spent entertaining foreign heads of state, prominent intellectuals and businessmen who wanted to see Harvard.

Anderson collected these memories as University Marshal--concierge to Harvard Yard--from 1964 until Commencement last year, when he was replaced by Richard Hunt. Now, in his retirement, Anderson sits in his lovely cream-colored home filled with second-career souvenirs, such as a crocheted chair cushion and hand-painted mirror depicting the small mustard Yard House, and waxes poetical about his tenure as a Harvard administrator. "It was a joyous experience. I had a great deal of fun." Anderson can travel the world over, encounter familiar and friendly faces in almost any part, and get a martini. "This job was gloriously rewarding in contacts," he confides.

Set up in the mid-1950s, the office of the marshal has three functions: to greet first-time visitors in the name of Harvard's president, to send Harvard delegates to presidential inauguration ceremonies at universities around the world, and to prepare for the historic pomp that surrounds Commencement Day every year.

Anderson wore the first of these hats more than the others--he sometimes greeted up to five foreign visitors a day. Some dignitaries came on their own, most were directed by the State Department, which works with the marshal's office to see that guests visiting Boston get a chance to see Harvard. From the moment of the guest's arrival until his departure, Anderson was responsible for his satisfaction with his Harvard junket. The former marshal established the initial harmonious relationship between Harvard and its guest, and would then arrange for the visitor to see his American counterparts, whether he was within the University, the city or state government, or in a private industry.

"If they are in the government, for example, they want to be visiting a professor or over at the Center for International Affairs shooting the breeze and chewing the fat with people from all over the world who are bringing together political and governmental ideas," explains the local diplomat.

Before sending them off to their appointed University stations. Anderson would give the newcomer a nutshell history and mental tourguide about the ins and outs of Harvard. "They are always interested in how the University works. They ask, 'Where does Harvard get its money,' or 'How is Harvard run,' or if they are from a totalitarian country. 'How does the national government inform you what research to do?," 'Anderson explains, mixing bemusement with feigned disbelief.

Reviewing the highlights of his marshal career, Anderson often smiles with nostalgia, but he seriously emphasizes the fundamental importance of the job: "When one thinks of this program, it is with the hope that when the visitor returns to his own country, it is with a better understanding of ours." He notes that many of the visiting leaders and businessman are politically unpopular, and students sometimes protest their arrival. Anderson strongly advocates the visitor's rights: "The University is a place where freedom of expression should be one of our greatest priorities. We should allow anyone to visit Harvard whenever Harvard wishes to see that person--and this does not exclude right-wing people or left-wing people."

The second job of the University Marshal is to send Harvard delegates to domestic and foreign universities which are installing new presidents. Often President Bok was invited to the inauguration ceremonies, but was unable to attend. Anderson would then secure a Harvard representative to go in place of Bok: often it was a former academic colleague of the new president, or an alumnus from the area. The delegate usually returned, delighted because he led the procession--which, according to Anderson, always goes in the order of the founding year of the institutions represented.

When the University Marshal is not chatting with Harvard's international colleagues, he is organizing and preparing for the academic exercise for Commencement Day--the culmination of the intellectual part of Harvard's year. "I [was] ordered to 'run' the Commencement." Anderson says, explaining the extent of the organizing feat: "There are 19,000 seats in Tercentenary Theatre and 27,000 people who wish to come, so there is a space problem." In addition to taking constant notes for next year's event, the marshal marches in the scholarly procession that morning, dressed in academic gown, and awards the dozen or so honorary degrees to be given that year. He also takes copious mental notes about what went well, what went poorly and what could be changed for the next year.

And every several years, the University Marshal gets to oversee another grand Harvard ceremony the installation of the new Harvard President. Anderson, who began it's term under Nathan Pussy '28 organized Derek Bok's small inauguration ceremony in 1971.

Anderson was born shortly before the end of World War I in Cincinnati, Ohio, but he considers himself a Yankee. He says he's not from a "very old Harvard family," but he is the grand-nephew of Nicholas Longworth Anderson of local bridge fame. After graduating from St. Paul's in New Hampshire he came to Harvard and got married after sophomore year--"which was considered shocking," Anderson adds. Anderson devoted his undergraduate career to rowing: "I did no work whatsoever, I rowed... I had fun rowing," admits the naturalized Easterner. Anderson's interest in nautical behavior took him to MIT after graduation where he studied naval architecture, and he continues with his naval planning today. When World War II began. Anderson was still at MIT and because of his sailing experience and naval skill he was "swept" into the Navy, where he was commissioned to command a couple of little mine sweepers and act as the executive officer of the Destroyer Escort. When the war ended. Anderson considered staying on in the Navy, but his father's failing health and other family concerns brought him back to the mainland. For the next 20 years, Anderson was self-employed in the investment business until his early retirement in 1963. The next year Anderson came back to Harvard to organize his 25th reunion. "I never had so much fun," the sailor man says, and apparently he was telling the truth because it was that event which inspired William G. Anderson to become Harvard's University Marshal.

At age 47, Anderson was an established, but retired businessman, a talented and successful yacht designer, and a well-rounded person with a strong and able mind, but without a major time commitment to keep him active. He felt a renewed dedication to his alma mater, so he called one of his friends--a Harvard fellow--to see if he could do anything with the University. At that point, the current University Marshal was stepping down. The fellow asked Anderson if he had travelled much. Anderson had gone around the world twice, visiting a number of smaller countries, and with that requirement filled, the former businessman became Harvard's diplomat-at-large, gracing the University Marshal's office in Wadsworth House the next year.

Anderson and his regular staff of three assured that things run smoothly in their clearinghouse, but they also now confers they were not immune to Murphy's Law in coordinating their 1000 guests each year. Judith Neal, who was Anderson's assistant for 10 years, recalls the regular mistakes and embarassments which inevitably came with the job: flags flown upside-down, wallets stolen in Widener, $45 taxi rides, missed appointments, and three or four sicknesses each year--including one ambassador who had a heart attack. But Neal is quick to point out Bill Anderson's "unflappable" manner which kept the receiving line moving.

One visit particularly stricken by bad luck was that of Malcolm Fraser, the Prime Minister of Australia, who came in 1976. Fraser's arrival was marked by thick, black and violent rain clouds which sheeted the rain so heavily that one could not see 10 feet ahead. Anderson still laughs when he recalls picking up the Prime Minister, whose plane was nearly two hours late. Returning in the limousine. Anderson attempted to point out some of Cambridge's highlights. "Mr. Prime Minister, that's MIT," the Marshal would say, as Fraser stared into the pitch-black clouds, trying to recognize the landmarks without much success.

After the Prime Minister had arrived. Cambridge City Councilor Alfred E. Vellucci decided to send Fraser a present, and he sent a messenger over with the package. Quite unintentionally, the Wadsworth office forgot the gift was coming, so that when the gift-bearer arrived holdings a non-descript package and asked to see Fraser, the secret service men hired for the Prime Minister jumped at the innocent deliveryman and tore open the package before it reached the head of state.

Later, near the end of the same trip. Fraser and his encourage attended a press conference and left shortly after. When the Wadsworth crew finally waved goodbye to the Australian contingent, they shuffled back to their Yard headquarters and sighed with relief. About 30 minutes later, Anderson and Neal received a call from the airport saying they were missing the Australian Secretary of Defense. After a short frantic search, they located the gentleman who bored with the press conference, had "snack off for a nap."

Security measures, which are only used for hands of state, can make the University Marshal's job quite exciting, but somewhat nerve-wracking. "Some visitors, like the Shuh of Iran, bring their own security police. You don't want blood spilled anyway, but you'd hate to have it spilled particularly at Harvard," says Anderson some of the early Soviet and Chinese visitors were closely--guarded in the preliminary stages of international exchange, but now feel comfortable walking through Harvard Yard, when Helmut Schmidt, the former Chancellor of West Germany spoke at Commencement in 1979 more than 200 secret service agents had lunch at the Faculty Club.

Another inherent difficulty in the job was dealing with culture clashes. Anderson recalls a dinner party he gave for Prince Tu'l pelehake of Tonga. The Prince, who weighed about 350 pounds, arrived at the dinner bringing his own case of Coca Cola because he did not drink alcohol. The guests were seated and dinner was served on various pieces of Daniel Webster's silver. As the different dishes of vegetables were passed around, the Prince found one he especially liked and scooped the entire serving onto his plate as the guests sat politely and held their peace.

Anderson explains that at these dinner parties, there is a silently understood political system which determines how to seat the guests. "Back in 1965 Henry Kissinger used to sit near the end of the table and over the years, as his prominence became greater, he gradually moved up the table I noticed about 10 years later, right before he left Harvard, he was sitting up next to the guest of honor," Anderson said.

Anderson's colleagues attribute his success as the University Marshal to his informal manner and sense of humor complemented by an air of sophistication. The combination commanded respect, yet made visitors feel welcome and relaxed. Anderson modestly claims. "I'm not a scholarly man," but those people who have witnessed the former marshal at work--coolly throwing his leg over a chair arm and conversing with the guest de jour--believe that Anderson himself possesses "ambassadorial qualities" of the dignitaries he entertained.