The Cavalier Daily
Serving the University Community Since 1890

All the President's Minutes

It's not every day that one meets a man like John T. Casteen III, the seventh president of the University.

Even before he exposes his weary eyes to the new day's light, Casteen's 12- to 14-hour workday already has begun. By 6 a.m. some mornings, thoughts of yesterday's unfinished responsibilities and today's scheduled tasks rush through his multi-track mind and send him racing for the starting gates, day after day.

"I have been doing roughly the same type of work for many years now," says Casteen, who has served as University president since 1990. "I have learned that you can't improve and do very much if you don't stick with it for a long time."

As he straps on his yellow suspenders and tightens his tie, Casteen foresees hoards of unanswered e-mails filling his Dell desktop computer at the first touch of his mouse.

The president walks alone from his house atop Carr's Hill to his office in Madison Hall, soaking in the chirping conversations of the birds that adorn his pathway. He makes his way up the "Z"-marked steps and into the same building he has entered for the last 11 years.

Awaiting his arrival stands his trusted chief of staff, Amy Cronin, with black leather notebook in hand, ready to send her boss off to his non-stop activities. Casteen receives the notebook, clad with two black felt-tip pens, background information on the day's events, guest lists, a long-range calendar, a notepad and business cards. He continues into his spacious, open-lit office.

"He's fair, he has a good sense of humor and he is pretty clear in defining his expectations for his staff without micromanaging," Cronin says. "I learn something from him every day, and he is one of the brightest people I have ever known."

First things first: Casteen takes off his sports jacket and finds his desk chair. He then picks up the receiver to his ROLM phone and begins what will be the first of the day's countless number of calls. As the phone rings, Casteen takes a deep breath and glances around at his walls, simple yet elegant with various pictures of the Rotunda by Lincoln Perry hanging contently.

Today, Thursday, April 12, is the observed Founder's Day, in honor of Thomas Jefferson's 258th birthday. This means numerous appearances for Casteen, including brief speeches and introductions, lots of hand shakes and smiles - a somewhat normal day for this rather normal guy. He only has a few hours to himself in his office before he is due in the Dome Room of the Rotunda for a luncheon.

"Mr. Casteen usually makes up about 50 percent of his schedule," Cronin says. "When he is in town, a typical day sees him responding to e-mail messages in the early morning, all before 10 a.m. when his day takes off running."

Clutching his black notebook, Casteen strolls alone, without a pretentious entourage of subordinates, across University Avenue amid the sparse noontime Corner traffic. He stops briefly to take note of the Seven Society sundial to the left of the Jefferson statue, then makes his way into the Rotunda for the luncheon.

Casteen enters and immediately is greeted by members of the Board of Visitors, University leaders and special guests. As he shakes each person's hand, he gently bows his head in respect and boasts a large grinning smile, no teeth showing.

One recipient of a Casteen greeting is Sasha Wilson, a fifth-year Education student and the newly appointed student member of the Board of Visitors.

"President Casteen has been really helpful in just the short week that I have known him personally," Wilson says. "The biggest thing is that I can look to him to be informative on structure and policy. He can point me in the right direction."

Casteen realizes that student opinion helps drive the University in the right direction, and he values Wilson's presence as a liaison to the Board.

"Very important attention is paid to students, especially when the Board of Visitors looks at Honor, the Judiciary Committee and the Greek system," Casteen says. "We work really hard as a group to pay attention to voices that may not be heard so they don't get run over."

As the gathering moves upstairs into the Dome Room, Casteen consults his black book and momentarily prepares himself for the presentation.

Founder's Day is a joint celebration of the University and the Thomas Jefferson Foundation. The foundation established the prizes that have become the high point of the day: the Thomas Jefferson Foundation Medal in Architecture and the Thomas Jefferson Foundation Medal in Law. This year's recipients are Glenn Murcutt of Australia for architecture and Mortimer M. Caplin for law. Caplin was a University professor and the commissioner of the IRS during John F. Kennedy's presidency.

Violinist Anne-Marie Simpson concludes her melodic serenade from the balcony queuing Casteen. Speaking eloquently and extemporaneously, the president gains control of the room and presents the two medals.

To conclude the luncheon, Casteen leads all guests in a toast given after each event in the Dome Room: "To Mr. Jefferson."

With no time to relax before the 2 p.m. event, Casteen swiftly moves outside to Pavilion II, where another Founder's Day tradition, a tree planting, calls for his leadership. This year, a tree is being planted in memory of Frederick D. Nichols, former chair of the University's architectural history department. A ray of sunlight catches the president's two-toned Swiss Army watch. Casteen plants the shovel into the earth, places the first scoop onto the tree's roots and then asks spectators to join in.

Simultaneously, a bustle develops down the east side of the Lawn near Pavilion VIII. "Today" show anchor and 1979 University graduate Katie Couric reminisces in her old Lawn room, East Lawn 26. She is visiting the University to film a segment on her alma mater, and next on her list is an interview with Casteen.

As he walks toward Couric, no notice is taken of his presence. Admiring fans, both students and visitors, bombard her with requests for photos and autographs. Finally, after several minutes, Couric catches the eye of the patiently waiting Casteen and leaves her fans to greet him.

For the next hour, the two stroll side-by-side up the west side of the Lawn, chatting on camera about the University's transformation since Couric's time as a student.

Purposely positioned at Casteen's right, his more audible side, Couric grins as the president softly presses his right ear forward to catch each question. Throughout the frequent takes and take-twos, the humble and understanding Casteen smiles patiently as he takes cover in the afternoon shade.

Following the segment's wrap-up, Casteen returns to Madison Hall for a late afternoon breather.

Back at his office, Casteen leans back in his desk chair, places his crossed feet on his desk and locks his arms behind his head. He swivels the chair around to look at the Dexter Whitehead painting that dominates the wall above his fireplace. The painting, the centerpiece of the room, depicts the inside of the Dome Room with the sun shining through the oculus from up above. Underneath the painting lies a model sailboat, one of the many boats docked at Casteen's office.

He swivels the chair further around, this time towards the computer. It's back to e-mails in this, his "free" time.

While trying to answer the more than 250 e-mails he receives daily, Casteen reflects on his role at the University he leads.

"It is partly tradition and history, not just Jeffersonian ideals, that make this school so special," Casteen says. "The fact that things have changed so quickly gives the University a feeling of newness surrounded by the history."

He kicks his feet off the desk and leans forward.

"As the president, you have to be a credible voice, a consistent voice, make good choices in personnel and give people the capacity to do things that are significant in the fields they are superior in," he continues.

Cronin knocks on the president's door to bid him goodnight and wish him well at the Architecture School dinner to be held at his home in a little more than an hour.

He gathers his belongings, turns out the light to his office and leaves for home. Again, he walks alone to Carr's Hill, which sits at eye level with the Rotunda and overlooks the entire University. This time Casteen bids good-evening wishes to his student neighbors and passersby as he crosses Rugby Road.

"Contact with students goes with the territory, which I like," Casteen says. "They are very kind and very considerate people. Noise is never a problem."

His black and white ally cat, Sebastian, awaits his arrival at the front door. Casteen lightly pets his housemate before heading upstairs to ready himself for his guests.

A lovely buffet dinner with 60 people from the School of Architecture follows. Underneath a tented patio, Casteen engages in more greeting, smiling, hand-shaking and conversing - a perfect, yet relaxing end to a demanding day at the office.

As the last guest turns in for the night, Casteen still has some unfinished business to attend to.

He whips out his Blackberry - a hand-held, wireless and portable electronic e-mailer - and finishes off the last of his unanswered messages.

His fingers, too large for the diminutive keys, the president finds abbreviating to be helpful in speeding along his correspondence. "JC" signs off.

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