Some schools are named for presidents. Others take the name of their founders.

Harvard, though, is named for some rich guy. For œ779 in books and property, John Harvard unwittingly bought himself immortality. The College was for sale in those days--at least its name was.

In the three-and-a-half centuries since then, various benefactors have bought chunks of the now-famous University. Harvard survives by inducing alumni to give, and it gets alumni to give by enticing them with tangible rewards: The Wideners bought a library, for example. The Sacklers bankrolled a museum. Raising funds that amount to one third of the University's annual budget, Harvard officials will go to any length to please a potential sponsor.

But, the ambitious benefactor may want to know, is the name for sale anymore? In other words, how much would it cost to buy Harvard University?

"Well," ponders Dean of Students Archie C. Epps III, "the endowment is five billion...and then there's the brand name." Pausing a moment to calculate, Epps figures, "That's about a trillion dollars."

Dean of the College L. Fred Jewett '57: "I'd say that it's priceless, but then somebody might come up with an offer that would make me think."

"I think I'd go a long way for the right price," Jewett adds.

Of course, the dramatic decision to change Harvard's doesn't exactly fit the job description of Harvard College officials.

We put the question to the author of The University: An Owner's Manual, Corporation member, Geyser University Professor and former Dean of the Faculty Henry Rosovsky.

And we made it perfectly clear. We weren't talking about a dormitory, or even a library. How much for the whole crate of ripe bananas?

"I would consider it for one year's income of the United States [about $1.1 trillion]," Rosovsky says.

(Note to readers: Rosovsky was joking. He will never sell the name "no matter what, no matter what is offered." Note to Bill Gates, the Harvard-educated six billion dollar man: Don't get your hopes up.)

Let's be real, though. With, say, $500 billion added to its coffers, Harvard would not have much trouble beefing up that History Department. And for those who complain about socio-economic diversity: tuition and fees would be a thing of the past.

All right, Dean Jewett, how much would it take?

"It's a big number," Jewett says. "I think you'll know it when you hear it."

Jewett suggested that our hypothetical big spender--a man named "Linsky"--might settle for a joint name.

"Harvard and Linsky University" could be workable, Jewett says.

Rosovsky, though, was reluctant to conjecture about the mythical Linsky. "It would be more likely 'Harvard-Sultan of Brunei,'" he says.

But these folks--professors, deans--aren't out in the trenches of fundraising. They're not the ones scouring over alumni lists with columns reading name, class year and net assets.

To the fundraisers, the thought of rechristening Mother Harvard approaches blasphemy.

"I don't think it's a funny game at all we play here," says Richard B. Boardman, director of the Harvard College Fund. "It's very serious stuff...and people want to poke fun at it, like Time magazine and the Harvard Lampoon."

Officials in Harvard's development office--the nerve center of University fundraising--also get a bit touchy when asked to share stories.

When told of The Crimson's innocent intentions, Boardman sighed. "It's been a long week."

Apparently so. Geoffrey H. Movius, associate director of major gifts, protects Harvard's fundraising secrets as though a leak could undermine national security.

Harvard is at a key point in "a very, very important campaign," he says.

"There's so much at stake here, and a great many people read The Crimson," Movius says. "Nothing at this stage is innocuous."

Provost Jerry R. Green and President Neil L. Rudenstine were almost as serious on the subject, although they did let out some chuckles.

"We already have a name on the University," Green deadpans.

"I don't think you would sell the name of the University," Rudenstine says. "That is, I would not."

Perhaps Rudenstine draws his strength of resolve from the experience of his alma mater, Princeton University. The president says that Princeton alumnus James B. Duke once offered the school a large sum if it would take his name.

The trustees considered the offer and turned him down. So Duke turned to Trinity College in Durham, North Carolina. (They sealed the deal in 1924.) Duke, who lived near Princeton, never forgot the rejection, Rudenstine says. A statue of him at the Princeton, New Jersey cemetery faces away from the school.

If administrators are unwilling to sell the name of the University, then how about just the College, or a small graduate school? After all, who would notice?

Harvard College, Rudenstine says, is out of the question, as is the Kennedy School of Government. But other grad schools?

"It would be very complicated," he says. "A lot would depend on what the money was going to be used for and whether there would be a need for it."

Owner Rosovsky says past donors have shown "some interest" and raised "vague questions" about naming a graduate school. "It never got to dollars and cents," he says.

In any case, Rosovsky said it would take a "mega-gift" to create the "Linsky School of Education." Rudenstine says the donation would have to be large enough to alter the school virtually beyond recognition.

"It would have to be a very substantial investment," the president says. He declined to give figures, but well-placed University sources guess it would take perhaps $100 million or more.

As Rudenstine knows all too well, there aren't many Harvard alumni with $100 million to kick around. That puts grad schools, not to mention the University as a whole, well out of reach.

Buildings and professorships, on the other hand...

A. Alfred Taubman got his own building for $15 million (donors usually give about one-third to one-half of the expected cost of the project, plus an endowment to pay for maintenance).

John S.R. Shad, of the Business School's plush Shad Hall, didn't have to pay anything, sort of. The fitness facility was a gesture of thanks for Shad's $20 million pledge to endow an ethics program.

It costs just $2 million for a tenured chair (as in, "Linsky Professor of Politics Michael S. Dukakis"), or $3 million for the deluxe-model University professorship, according to Vice President for Alumni Affairs and Development Fred L. Glimp '50. Bargain hunters might want to endow a junior professorship for the low, low price of $1 million.

But real penny pinchers who want their name permanently fixed upon Harvard property should think on a smaller scale. Like a few books, maybe.

For just $1,000 (or as low as $250 for recent graduates), donors to the Faculty can be "Fund Associates" and get their names on bookplates in new library books.

For $2,500, donors can be "Harvard College Associates," each getting a book (such as Harvard spokesperson Peter Costa's Q and A) in addition to a bookplate. "John Harvard Associates" (donors of $5,000) get the same perks.

For $10,000, "President's Associates" receive all those prizes plus dinner with Rudenstine, often on the eve of the Yale game. Members of the "President's Council" ($25,000) also get a dinner.

Three million for a professorship? Twenty-five thousand for dinner?

John Harvard, wherever he is, must be enjoying a good laugh.

His 779 pounds, in 1992 U.S. currency, equates to about $75,000.