I was a first year undergraduate at an Ivy League school, looking forward to my required appointment with a dean to have my course schedule signed. This was supposed to be an advising session. The assistant dean was a young British man who displayed his knowledge of English literature. He offered to show me some manuscripts. He walked with back to the men's dorm where he was a resident advisor. I was naive and didn't suspect that anything was wrong. As soon as we got to his room, his personality completely changed. He grabbed my arm and started swinging me around. I started yelling at the top of my lungs. He let me go and I ran out of there. This was 1968. There were no words to describe what happened. The term "sexual harassment" hadn't yet been invented. There was nobody to talk to or report it to. He went on to become a full professor at another Ivy League school, and then, mysteriously, at one of the top scientific colleges in the US. This harasser had a lifelong tenured career in academia. I never had the chance for a full time faculty position. I never received that advising session I was supposed to have in my freshman year.