BAILING OUT
MA HARVARD

Naming rights

What's that you say: Harvard's been selling the rights to name its buildings for, oh, about 250 years?  Well, sure, but they've limited themselves to rich alter kockers seeking immortality, like that nice Mr. Hunt. [A little obscure, don't you think? – Ed.] But that's chump change compared to the millions corporations eager to reach the discerning Harvard community would throw at Harvard for the rights to put their name on a pile of bricks. Goldman Sachs Stadium has a nice ring to it. And those dining halls? Wasn't Annenberg a bookie? How about the Doritos Dining Center at Memorial Hall? Plan B Health Services at Cymbalta Center (a twofer, in case you weren't listening carefully)?

Maybe McKinsey & Co. might not want to buy naming rights to University Hall, although we can't think of an enterprise more in need of restructuring. But no one could say big business lacked a sense of humor if AIG bought the rights to Harvard's Western Avenue bottomless pit.

On second thought, maybe the tried and true approach of appealing to alumni vanity might be the most lucrative. Hell, for $1 billion, freshmen could swarm into the Yard to matriculate at Harvard University's venerable Gates College.

Selling slots

OK, we admit it: this one's been used by Harvard for years too in kind of a sub rosa half assed way. Far be it for Harvard to sell admission to its various schools. That would be scandalous. Let's call them "development cases" instead. But if the Times can run ads on its front page, why can't Harvard auction off say 100 places a year to the highest bidder? The spawn of investment bankers, Saudi princes, and Russian mobsters couldn't be worse than what they've got, and might not in fact even look very different. You don't have to be taking Math 55 to figure out that 100 admission tickets a year at $10 million each represents a cool billion a year. Since the faculty doesn't talk to the undergraduates anyway, why should they care who shows up to take notes from the 43rd row of Sanders Theater?

Speaking of slots . . . 

Everyone knows it's coming: the fool's gold of casino gambling looks like a sure thing in a state desperate for any sort of economic activity, however counterproductive. And who should get the sure to be coveted casino licenses? Why should those fake Indian tribes and busto dog-track operators rake in all the swag? Harvard's been running a casino for years they call an "endowment."  Surely they could run the real thing. Where would it go, you ask? If only there was a huge empty site conveniently located not only to the campus but to major highways with plenty of room for hotels, bars, restaurants, and strip clubs. Maybe Larry's insane Allston gamble will pay off: You could slip the entire Venetian into the vacant lot the University has bulldozed across the river. And its proprietor, amiable local bocher Sheldon Adelson, would, we're sure, for a modest piece of the action, build a spectacular casino and hotel complex on that site that would include mega-sized versions of Square standbys like Mr. Bartley's, Elsie's, and the Casablanca. Maybe they could call the development "Summersville."  

And if they give work study credit to the undergraduates, it'll coin money

The full Vellucci

He's mostly remembered today for the generations of his relatives he insinuated into no-shows jobs in Cambridge city government, but back in the day, Cambridge Mayor Al Vellucci (campaign motto: "The Goodfather") enjoyed political success for years on a platform of dumping on Harvard. Not that he could do much about it – the University's alums had already rigged Massachusetts law so that great institutions like Harvard could do pretty much whatever they wanted without having to pay a dime in taxes for the privilege. That left Al with little more in his arsenal besides threats, such as his repeated promise to put a car wash in Harvard Yard. Asked if that proposal bespoke a certain hostility to Harvard, the Mayor invariably replied: "Of course not. I'm even willing to call it the John Harvard Car Wash." Given the condition of the dusty, salt-encrusted heaps we see on Mass. Ave., not to mention the cars they drive [You're fired – Ed.], maybe there's some money to be made here.  It couldn't be any uglier than Lamont.