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FIVE BACK TO THE BLUE AND GOLD RETRACING FOOTSTEPS At the dinner table shortly after my appointment as president of the University of California in early March 1983, the family was talking about what this would all mean especially for our daughters: Karen, a senior at Stanford; Shari, a sophomore at the U; Lisa, a junior in high school; and Marci, who would be entering high school in the fall. The conversation was a mix of excitement, sadness, crosscutting feelings, and some apprehension with everyone seemingly speaking at once when, during a brief interlude between eating and talking, Lisa looked at me and said, “Well, Dad, you will soon be a ‘lame duck’ in Utah and a ‘sitting duck’ in California.” While everyone laughed and appreciated Lisa’s way of always saying just what she thought and usually as it occurred to her, time proved her to be prescient. This next adventure in our lives had been occasioned by UC President David Saxon’s announcement in fall 1982 that he would step down as president on June 30, 1983, after eight years of service. At the time I felt apprehension , ambivalence, and uncertainty, all traceable to what Saxon’s retirement might mean for our family and my career. In one sense, it was presumptuous to suppose that it carried any meaning whatsoever for me, but in another I knew—even if I were only a candidate for his post—that it involved an inner struggle between the pull of Utah and the tug of California. 142 The Search The familiar and well-tried processes for finding a new president mandate a faculty committee to help identify and vet candidates; a regents’ committee to oversee the search and to recommend one candidate to the Board of Regents for election; and an array of alumni, students, and staff to be involved and/or consulted as appropriate. And then there are interested others whose views and preferences would be gladly proffered if invited, or more insistently offered if overlooked: the presidents of leading American universities , the chancellors and other key officers within UC’s nine campuses and the Office of the President, donors, the governor and key legislators, and those within the minority, educational, business, agricultural, and labor communities whose opinions mattered. Saxon’s decision to retire made me think of my decision seven years earlier to turn away the offer to serve as UC’s president. I wondered who would take Saxon’s place, since I had burned my bridges in 1975; or had I? The question lingered, unshared and unspoken, but omnipresent in my own mind, nevertheless. I was soon receiving calls from friends at UC, members of the faculty and staff, alumni and donors encouraging me to express my interest, offering to write or gather support for my appointment. My response was consistent and unequivocal: “Please do not do anything.” First of all, I knew that I might have to rethink the matter again and did not, at that point, have a confident view. Second, the family would need to be supportive. Third, I would have to be certain that what I had to offer was what the search committee wanted. And fourth, and perhaps most important , on grounds of both principle and practice I would not seek such a position and appear to equate the settled, studied, and careful process of selection for a nonpartisan, nonpoliticized position with that of a political campaign or put myself in the debt of those who helped, not to mention the awkward and unsettling implications of an incumbent president appearing to seek another post and falling short. Hence if the UC search committee wanted to contact me, it would do so. And its approach would be both timely and appropriate, unencumbered by any third-party representations about my perceived interest in the position or lack thereof. As far as I know, that is what happened. In early 1983 the search committee approached me through the regents’ secretary, Bonnie Smotony, who asked if I would be willing to meet with the committee in Los Angeles. I asked: “How many candidates are on the short list, but no names, please?” “Three or four,” she answered. This then was a serious call, which made it all the more unsettling. “Could this really be happening?” I asked myself and next, thinking of the impact on my family and me, “Do I really want this to be happening?” I said I would call her within...

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