And there are many things he’s not. He’s not obvious. There are others who would have made bigger headlines, and still others who would have been safer choices. There was the woman. There was the beloved insider. There was the charmer from the Midwest. Summers is neither a safe nor sexy choice.

Four hundred to 40 to 4, 3, 2, 1. How did Summers make it through each grueling round? What did the search committee see?

They saw an above-average height, above-average weight, middle-aged man who projects a slightly intimidating aura. They saw a face well suited to caricature, a man who nods as he talks, whose words sputter out in short truncated clauses. They saw a former debater and hotshot professor who has learned to choose his words carefully, to force a warp-speed mind to slow down and consider. They saw a man who is not soft-spoken in the mold of his predecessor, Neil L. Rudenstine, but who seems to strain to appear so. The only hint that he is anything but sedate and passive are his sharp blue eyes, which start mostly focused on his listener, but soon begin to flit around the room, as if looking for a new target.

They saw a battle-hardened Larry who always finds his target, a man who spent the last decade away from the ivory tower, dealing with policymaking, pollution memos and politics—and helping to guide the nation’s longest period of prosperity. They saw a Larry who had made adjustments, who had gained new skills, who had smoothed rough edges. He had survived Washington, and having gone to the top of his field, was ready to come home to something new.

Summers’ acceptance speech later that day and subsequent interviews were peppered with references to undergraduates, and their role as Harvard’s “principal constituency.” At the first deans’ meeting, Summers spoke at length on the need for improvements in the undergraduate advising system. And every visit to Cambridge included a whistle-stop appearance at some College event—lunch at Lowell House, on the stage at Springfest or a closed meeting of the Undergraduate Council. The search committee’s public statements had emphasized that they wanted the World’s Greatest University to have the World’s Greatest College. Their words had clearly stuck.

In recent years, the Yard has been abuzz with the feeling that Harvard College’s undergraduate education was failing to keep pace with its gargantuan reputation. Before you even enter Johnston Gate, you hear the murmur of discontent: too much teaching by graduate students, some teaching fellows who don’t speak English and others who don’t care. Professors teach the occasional graduate seminar or rattle off a lecture in Sanders Theatre, where you are one of 900. Efforts have been made—seminar programs, expansion of top-notch professors’ participation in the Core—but the perception remains.