The President of Harvard made a mistake by prejudging
people and it cost him dearly.
A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband,
dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the
train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment
into the president's outer office.
The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods,
country hicks had no business at Harvard and probably
didn't even deserve to be in Cambridge. She frowned.
"We want to see the president," the man said softly. "He'll
be busy all day," the secretary snapped. "We'll wait," the
lady replied.
For hours, the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple
would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn't.
And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to
disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always
regretted to do. "Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes,
they'll leave," she told him. And he signed in exasperation
and nodded.
Someone of his importance obviously didn't have the time
to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and
homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president,
stern-faced with dignity, strutted toward the couple.
The lady told him, "We had a son that attended Harvard for
one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a
year ago, he was accidentally killed. And my husband and I
would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus."
The president wasn't touched; he was shocked.
"Madam," he said gruffly, "We can't put up a statue for every
person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place
would look like a cemetery."
"Oh, no," the lady explained quickly, "We don't want to erect
a statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard.
The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham
dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, "A building! Do
you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have
over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at
Harvard." For a moment the lady was silent. The president was
pleased. He could get rid of them now.
And the lady turned to her husband and said quietly, "Is that all
it costs to start a University? Why don't we just start our own?"
Her husband nodded.
The president's face wilted in confusion and bewilderment.
And Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away, traveling to
Palo Alto, California, where they established the University that
bears their name, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer
cared about.