"The President Will See You Now"

I didn't meet President Freedman until I was a junior. Most of my fellow '99s had shaken his hand during Orientation Week, on the front lawn of his stately home. But not me. I had spent the greater part of the evening just trying to find him.

"Oh, we just saw him by the refreshments table."

"I met him, like, five minutes ago."

"Freedman? He was just here."

I was anywhere he wasn't, and I was thoroughly disappointed. I had been so excited about meeting the esteemed president of my new school and the stalwart proponent of the "creative loner."

I didn't cross paths with him again until the following spring. I was sitting in 105 Dartmouth watching a friend compete in a debate when I turned to the right of me. Was that President Freedman? I sneaked a sideways glance. He certainly looked like the pictares I had seen. Neatly coiffed hair. Dark suit and spectacles. Pleasant, calm demeanor. Could it be? But why would he be just sitting there?

I had resigned myself to not meeting the president until Commencement, that is, until I learned that he sets aside office hours for students.

"Does President Freedman have any time this week to meet with me?" I asked his assistant, Andrea Williams. I wasn't expecting an opening any time soon. Word had it that the man was extremely busy. In fact, around campus, students sometimes talked excitedly about "J.O.F. sightings."

"How about this afternoon at 3:30?" said Andrea.

I glanced at my watch. Yikes. 3:30 was just an hour away.

"3:30?" I repeated uneasily. I had thought the president would be booked for days. "3:30," she affirmed. I looked like I had just rolled out of bed. I was completely unready.

"3:30is fine," I answered.

AN HOUR LATER, I'm sitting on the couch of the reception room outside President Freedman's office. I had changed out of my jeans and T-shirt. I smooth out the creases in my batik skirt and gaze around the room, which is splashed with green—a bright green ChemLawn of a carpet and a variety of green, leafy plants. Andrea and the president's other assistant zoom in and out of their botanical garden of a room, from filing cabinet to desk. "Just zooming around," Andrea says, reading my thoughts.

out into the reception room to confer with Andrea and smiles at me, "Be right with you."

"OK—"I start. But the president has walked briskly back into his office. I lean back into the couch and wait until he reappears and says he is ready for me.

Once we are seated at his desk, the president smiles warmly and waits for me to begin. And waits. Suddenly, I can't remember what I want to say.

"Um, did you ever go to a debate meet in 105 Dartmouth my freshman spring?" I blurt out. Yes, he did. He proudly describes how his intern had won the match.

Turns out it isn't unusual for individual students like me to come to visit President Freedman. Unlike me, they have something to say. They like to talk to him about a fave professor, a great class, and curiously, their parents. Others come in to get law school recommendations. Actually, any kind of recommendation, the president says, somewhat thoughtfully. A few students come in to get help in changing a grade. He chuckles, noting that apparently some people think he is "all powerful."

Our talk is over. The president has a 4:00 appointment. He gently nudges me toward the door. Though I may not see him again until graduation, I like knowing that a visit to his office is just a phone call away.

JOSIE HUANG '99 won't see the president this term. She isstudying in France.