The royal visit could not have gone more smoothly—everyone was in the right place at the right time, Commencement wrapped up ahead of schedule and we’re pretty sure no one was tackled by the Secret Service.
But, as you might expect, an esteemed head of state does not just drop in to say howdy. Truly, it takes a village to host a king—and months and months (and months) of extensive pomp-and-circumstance preparation.
“I refer to previous correspondence regarding Pacific Lutheran University’s 125th anniversary. H.M. the King has asked me to inform you that he is very pleased to accept your kind invitation to attend the celebration of 23 May 2015.”
And with fewer than 40 words, PLU’s royal welcome wagon kicks into high gear.
A preliminary planning committee convenes for “The King’s Visit: Meeting #1.” For now, there are only five attendees: two from the president’s office, two from the Office of Advancement and one from Marketing & Communications. Before long, the weekly meetings (every Monday at noon) will expand to a dozen or more Lutes—with only a couple concerned on any given Monday that the meetings are at lunchtime.
At this initial gathering, we glean a tentative concept of the king’s time on campus, and we learn that PLU is establishing a special endowed scholarship in honor of His Majesty’s visit (benefiting PLU students who study in Norway and those who participate in the Peace Studies program at PLU).
The announcement was officially vetted by Norwegian Consul Kim Nesselquist, who works in PLU’s Office of Advancement, and by employees of the Royal Norwegian Palace. It’s very exciting to get a “looks good” from the palace.
Almost immediately after the press release is sent, a reporter from KOMO Radio requests an interview with President Krise and reports the entire newsroom is abuzz with “finally some good news.”
We draw up our first seating diagram for the private luncheon with the king. By mid-May, this will change more times than the price of gasoline.
Among the dozens of updates at today’s weekly king meeting, we learn that a 10-person team from Oslo will visit PLU on April 9 to tour campus and the Tacoma Dome. Our “plans”—now, seriously, scheduled down to the minute—are taking shape quite nicely, thank you very much, and everyone in the room realizes this visit could change everything.
On the sidewalk between Mortvedt Library and Harstad Hall, where the king will arrive, we learn the following:
In the Scandinavian Cultural Center, where the king will meet PLU students in a private reception, Consul Nesselquist explains our vision—and the Oslo team fires back questions and directions. This, obviously, is not their first royal rodeo:
The Oslo group speaks Norwegian quite often. Those of us who do not smile and nod a lot.
The Norwegians request a “holding room” for the king so he can rest and relax briefly between the reception and the luncheon. His needs are more modest than you might expect: hot towels and mineral water.
Outside, where the palace press secretary declares we will host the only press conference of the king’s Washington visit, we notice a pin on the Norwegian policeman. It looks like an X, but he explains it’s the symbol for cross-country skiing: Two skiers saved the king of Norway’s son in the mountains in the year 1206, he tells us.
After a lovely lunch together, everyone tours the Tacoma Dome. We pace out the walk to the king’s “green room,” where he’ll change into his academic regalia for Commencement. We request a large press platform—more than a dozen members of the Norwegian press will follow the king on May 23, and already five or six local organizations have applied for credentials.
Sven Gjeruldsen, the palace press secretary, asks us to move the press platform so photographers will have a better view of the king at the podium. It is done.
Gjeruldsen, who really knows what he’s doing and might be a little magical, asks often, very sweetly: “Are you satisfied?”
What a refreshing question. Our PLU plans are approved with very few changes. We all are satisfied. And relieved.
Consul Nesselquist is in almost constant contact with the palace. Today palace staffers have requested brief biographies and photos of everyone the king will meet.
We also learn the Secret Service is coming to PLU on May 12 and realize, once again, everything could change in an instant.
Dr. Elisabeth Ward, director of the Scandinavian Cultural Center, presents the lineup for the public welcoming festivities in Centennial Plaza. It’s truly a community event, and it could not be more festive.
Today a subset of the committee walks the king’s campus route again, this time trying to gauge how the media will hustle from one designated press area to the next, through crowd-control ropes (and crowds), before the king arrives at each official photo opportunity. Two people walk at what we suspect is a regal pace, while I impersonate the press and literally jog from point A to point B to point C. It is doable, thank goodness. (We learn on May 23, however, that we greatly underestimated the king’s cadence—he is very spry.)
A Secret Service agent visits campus—rather secretly. We are not allowed to photograph him or tag along. He might be invisible, but he leaves a trail of change in his wake. For one thing: We now have to relocate that first designated press area.
Today we hold a special meeting on royal protocol: how to address the king (“Your Majesty,” not “Your Royal Highness”), when and how to shake his hand (in welcome or farewell, fine; in groups, not until he extends his hand) and conversational topics in which he’s especially well-versed (sailing, sports, travel).
We have produced programs—for the welcoming festivities, for the luncheon, for (lest we forget) Commencement. We have compiled and distributed seven-page press packets. We have designed dozens of crowd-guiding signs with arrows pointing in every possible direction. We have drawn—and redrawn—map after map. We have arranged menus, and gifts, and invitations, and advertising. We have made lists and checked them twice. We have planned so thoroughly that Nesselquist announces: “If he came today, we would be ready.”
It feels that way, but it doesn’t. We’re all really, really relieved he’s not coming today.
This is our last regular Monday meeting before King Day. We learn that the bomb-sniffing police dog will do his doggy duty, so to speak, beginning at 8 or 9 a.m. May 23. Most of us decide we’ll arrive on campus about the same time, if not earlier.
Lutes are starting to lose sleep. We have planned until we can’t plan any more, yet still things are changing: The Secret Service has decided the press must arrive on campus at 10 a.m. instead of 10:30, so all the recording equipment can be screened. We take one more trip to the Tacoma Dome, so the king’s PLU escort, Vice President of Advancement Dan Lee, can scope out the route to the green room; the stage; and, lastly, when the king and PLU part company, to his waiting car.
We have ordered a commemorative plaque to present to the king (a copy commemorating the commemorative plaque will hang at PLU), and today both arrive. They weigh a ton. It makes us nervous to open them, and especially to proofread them, but thankfully, Quasquicentennial is spelled correctly. As is King.
We’ve also ordered beautiful new banners for Commencement, including a striking red one bearing the lion from the Norwegian Coat of Arms. They’ve all been stored in the hallway of the Neeb Center awaiting their transfer to the Tacoma Dome stage. Amazingly, no one has spilled lunch on them.
My phone rings at 6:40 a.m.: “Is the king still coming?”
He had better be.
In the air there’s a feeling of high security—and a little rain.
At 9 a.m., as we check media camera angles in the luncheon room, Bill Hultman of the Pierce County Bomb Squad walks in with a beautiful black Labrador retriever. His name is Diego, and he is a bomb dog who works for tennis-ball rewards. He’s also a very, very friendly dog, in a big-lunkish-paws-on-the-chest kind of way.
But Diego is a pro. Hultman says Diego can detect 17 odors commonly found in hundreds of kinds of explosives.
“Fortunately, he finds very little in the real world,” Hultman says. Fortunately, Diego finds none at PLU.
By 11 a.m., music from Centennial Plaza fills the air; the crowd has filled the lawn; and the Norwegian advance team has arrived—along with a touch of brightness in the sky.
In that charming, disarming, take-charge way of his, Gjeruldsen speaks to a Secret Service agent, and suddenly the press corps is allowed outside the designated media area and within mere feet of the king’s arrival spot. I shake my head and smile at him.
“Are you satisfied?” he asks.
At 11:15 a.m., precisely—precisely—as scheduled, a line of amazingly official-looking cars pulls up and stops on Park Avenue. His Majesty King Harald V of Norway steps onto the sidewalk, where he is greeted by President Krise; Patricia Krise; and PLU student and Association of Norwegian Students Abroad member Celine Kleivdal, who presents flowers to the king.
Cameras snap. The crowd cheers. The king is here.
Long live the king.