Cover Story

PLU President Thomas W. Krise receives a letter from His Majesty’s private secretary. It is brief but decisive:

“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.

Just a few of the to-dos on the inaugural agenda:

• Get inscription on Rune Stones.
• Invite people to perform/meet/wave flags at Red Square.
• Make sure Norwegian flag is flying in Red Square and looks good.
• Arrange gift to give H.M.
• Plan media coverage.
• Get space in the T-Dome for his entourage.
• Schedule a spa day for May 24. (OK. That last one wasn’t on the list—but it should have been.)

Timed to the start of Spring semester, we publicize the king’s visit for the first time, on PLU’s News site and to the media: We announce that His Majesty will tour campus, deliver the 2015 Commencement address, receive an honorary degree, meet with students and attend an anniversary luncheon.

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.”

Meanwhile, we create an official Google document called “King of Norway Visit.” It is 17 pages long and stuffed to the royal rafters with:

• event coordinators’ contact information;
• a chronological list of events, with nesting-doll lists within lists;
• parking plans;
• campus signs we’ll need (media parking, luncheon registration … restrooms!);
• confirmed media; and
• a tiny whiff of sheer panic.

The Oslo team—a highly attractive group consisting of the Royal Norwegian Palace press secretary; the king’s personal secretary; a Norwegian police officer; two people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Oslo; three representatives from the Royal Norwegian Embassy in Washington, D.C.; and the Consulate General San Francisco, all escorted by PLU’s Nesselquist—arrives a little after 10 a.m. and is supremely professional and friendly. After warm introductions, everyone walks the proposed path the king will take on his quick tour of campus.

On the sidewalk between Mortvedt Library and Harstad Hall, where the king will arrive, we learn the following:

• all members of the media must be accredited by the embassy;
• no one may walk backward in front of the king to photograph him; and
• photographers must be prepositioned and stand still.

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:

• “His Majesty gets to interact with the students.”
• “Are they just standing? Once you sit down, time goes by in a different way.”
• “Prepare them to be proactive and start conversations.”
• “Cellphones will be down, or else I’m going to be in a lot of those photos, putting them down.”
• “The main thing is the conversation, not a photo. The king is not a politician who does photo ops.”

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.

When I arrive at PLU at 8:30 a.m.—after ducking awkwardly under the tape blocking the press parking lot—campus is bustling. And campus is beautiful—Facilities employees have been out in full force deadheading rhodies, sweeping sidewalks and hanging crisp new flags. Catering staff are putting the finishing touches on the gorgeous luncheon setting in Chris Knutzen Hall. Volunteers have erected crowd-control stanchions, dotted with festive “PLU 125” ribbons, at Secret Service-approved distances from the king’s path. Welcoming performers are filling Centennial Plaza outside the Karen Hille Phillips Center for the Performing Arts.

In the air there’s a feeling of high security—and a little rain.

Gjeruldsen, the magical palace press person, kisses me on both cheeks. “They call His Majesty the sun king,” he says. “When he arrives, it stops raining.”

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.