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The Free University. Nothing symbolizes S.U.N.Y.'s willingness to experiment more than the new undergraduate college that will open with 75 students this fall on the former F. Ambrose Clark estate in Old Westbury, L.I. To head it, Gould recruited Harris Wofford, former associate director of the Peace Corps, brought in 13 S.U.N.Y. students to live with the planners and offer advice on every step. Wofford is planning a series of Oxford-like small colleges, each with its own curriculum and philosophy. The pilot college will center around a work-study program in which public service will be integrated with classes. Another college will be based on a fusion of what Wofford calls "the four most important professions of our time": teaching, law, medicine and theology. One of the aims is to "constitutionalize the free university" and give students an education based upon what they, rather than the faculty, regard as contemporary and relevant.
Running S.U.N.Y. is very nearly an impossible job; Sam Gould was hospitalized a year ago for total physical exhaustion, and his aides constantly worry about his health. He spends about 20 nights a month away from his Albany headquarters, mainly traveling the state's highways on visits to S.U.N.Y. campuses (never, by his own choice, without a formal invitation). Gould once called his school "the giant that nobody knows"—a phrase that fits him equally well. Few students have met him, and not many professors. Even those who work closely with him meet an inner reserve that limits intimacy, despite his gentle, courteous ways.
Understanding Mistakes. According to Buffalo's Meyerson, Gould does not have "the arrogance sometimes associated with the heads of large educational institutions." Gould willingly admits to a lack of executive ruthlessness. He rarely fires anyone, prefers instead to find a disappointing subordinate some other job, partly because he is "not assured of my own invincibility—I understand that people make mistakes, and I think I understand why." Yet even though he leaves day-to-day administration to S.U.N.Y.'s campus presidents, Gould has an unerring eye for small detail. He delights his far-flung administrators by sending them congratulatory notes after a job well done, written in his tiny script on the chancellor's cream-colored official stationery. Always style-conscious, he ordered the university's drab catalogues redone. He also initiated warm personal letters of congratulations to all new students. He sometimes welcomes them, for example, into that "great band of comrades who share an enthusiastic desire to acquire knowledge and wisdom."
As Gould views the job of chancellor, it is not to rule but to reign, not to control but to coordinate. He gives the presidents of his units full authority to try any programs they want—providing that the changes do not affect the institution's basic charter. Although not a model executive himself, Gould has a rare knack for finding men who are—and convincing them to come to S.U.N.Y. Since his own inauguration he has installed no fewer than 23 campus presidents. Above all, Gould's job is to dream and plan—and to communicate his vision to others. "I try to keep reminding the university of what it is," he