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When many of us went to college, no matter how beautiful the campus, the dining hall was for dining only, with few choices on offer; the snack bars served bad coffee; the gym was generic with old equipment.
I grew up during the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s and, like many others of my generation, I like to think I am well-informed about the history of race in the United States.
I am writing this letter in a setting that is soon to be obsolete—a small private office assigned just to me, sitting at an L-shaped desk, with a few photographs, mementos, and the odd quotation pinned to the wall.