As far as I could tell, I still had 30 seconds to meet the deadline, and I was starting to feel desperate. In the distance, wearing a long fluttering trench coat, the dignified figure of Dean Archie C. Epps III, rounded the far corner of University Hall. I abandoned the security guards and rushed over to his side.

"Well hello there young man!" he greeted me. I explained the details of my predicament as calmly and as quickly as I could, while he cocked his head to one side.

"Submitting a prize essay, are you? Why don't you just go up there and try the door?" he said pointing to the other backdoor of University Hall.

"But those guards already told me I couldn't go in. Besides the door is probably locked."

"Just go on. Just try the door. I'll watch from here."

What a weird predicament. I crept up the stairs. Just as I reached the door and tried the latch, the security guards noticed and once again came running…

By now it must have been 10 minutes past five. I went back to Dean Epps--who didn't seem like he wanted to get involved--and coaxed him over to talk to the security guards. I soon saw that their conversation was going nowhere. I had to take matters into my own hands.

We were standing near the back entrance of University Hall. Peering through the basement window into the Harvard Prize Office, I saw a man bent over a typewriter. I went over to the window and tapped on the glass. Eventually he saw me, fiddled with some levers and pulleys and cracked open the window.