As their grades plummeted to unexplored depths, Crimson reporters applied "maximum force" to coverage of the presidential search committee for ten months. During those long months, several grusome details were withheld from the pages of the daily newspaper to protect the lives and reputations of innocent people. In the interest of full disclosure, The Crimson presents this special presidential search edition of The Reporters' Notebook.

*****

"I look every day [in The Crimson] to find out who the next president of Harvard is going to be ..."

--Outgoing President Derek C. Bok, joking with reporters before a February interview.

Blood Oath

Following an early February meeting of the governing boards, an overseer told a Crimson reporter that University officials had extracted secrecy oaths from board members by rather arcane methods. Asked about the status of the presidential search, the overseer shook his head sadly. "They took my blood and everything," he said with a resigned air.

Keystone Cops

The scene at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Boston on the night of February 10 ended up more like something out of the Keystone Cops than the tea party the search committee had probably hoped for. Crimson reporters caught wind of the committee's plans to interview former Princeton provost--and now Harvard president-designate--Neil L. Rudenstine at the swanky establishment and had the place staked out well in advance.

In the hotel's lobby, one reporter started chatting with Leverett House Master John E. Dowling '57, who said he was at the hotel to eat lunch with his wife. Acting Dean of the Faculty Henry Rosovsky, a member of the search committee, came up to talk to Dowling, but when he caught sight of the reporter and recognized her, a panicked look crossed his face and he quickly escaped the lobby.

Crimson reporters traversed the building in search of the committee's meeting and located it in the Back Bay room. To avoid suspicion, they quickly left the floor. But by the time one intrepid journalist used a stairwell to return to the hallway adjacent to the conference room, a stern man with folded arms and wearing a black suit had been posted outside the meeting. The reporter evaded the guard's queries, but to no avail. In the hotel lobby, an employee dressed in a pristine uniform approached the journalist and asked him if he was a guest of the hotel. The Ritz had apparently put the reporter under surveillance, as the employee knew exactly which floors the reporter had been on.

By the end of the night, hotel employees who said they were acting on orders from the search committee had ejected a total of three Crimson reporters from the building and warned them never to return.

As the committee exited the hotel through the main entrance, reporters who had been laying in wait for the group scrambled into action. As they peppered the officials with questions, one corporation member walked into a tree while complimenting the Crimson as a "fine paper." One eager reporter became so excited that he bungled the interviewee's name, calling him "Mr. Rubenstein."

Later, the future president of the world's most prestigious institution of higher learning dove into the back of a limousine like a common criminal.

Photogenic?

Although some candidates--like Rudenstine and Andrus Professor of Genetics Philip Leder '56--were notably camera-shy, others were less coy about having their picture in The Crimson. In fact, after The Crimson ran a photo of Baker Professor of Economics Martin S. Feldstein '61, someone from his office called to complain that the photo was unflattering. She promised to send over a better one.