When I was a visitor at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton for the fall of 1995, I wasn't sure if I were Cinderella or Rapunzel. My office was a horrid, dark, swelteringly hot room in the attic of Fuld Hall, under the rafters, with no air-conditioning, and a radiator I couldn't turn off. There was no overhead light, the standing lamp didn't give enough light to read by, its cord was frayed, and I was worried it would electrocute me. The desk chair fell over backwards if you leaned back even a little, there was no computer, and there was no surface large enough to place a computer. Almost all of the other mathematicians were in the beautiful modern new math building, and had computers in their offices.
My quest to obtain a computer, a table to put it on, and enough light to read by, led to a power struggle with the Administrative Officer (AO), who didn't seem to want to fulfill my requests.
I hated to bother the senior faculty, but eventually one of them kindly intervened on my behalf. While that helped me get the needed computer, table, and lighting, the AO resented me for going over her head.
It was not an easy time for me, since my mother was in the end stages of several long years of dying of cancer.
Knowing that the time was drawing near, I gave my father an algorithm:
If you need to contact me, first phone my home number.
If I don't answer, phone my office number.
And failing that, here's the Math Department's number, in case of emergency.
One morning in late December, shortly before the end of my stay, I got a phone call in my office from the AO. She told me that my mother had died, and she put my Dad through.
After we cried, and discussed the usual logistics about the funeral, who should notify which relatives and friends, etc., I asked my father why he had phoned the Math Department, rather than my office number. He said, "This was an emergency, so I phoned the number you told me to phone in case of emergency." My Dad wasn't very good with algorithms; that was more my Mom's expertise.
Suddenly, lights flashed on my phone, and strange beeps rang out from it. Frazzled and confused, I hung up on my father to take the incoming call, in case it was important.
Who was it? The AO who had transferred my father, and knew full well that he called because my mother had just died. She was calling to see if there was anything the Math Department could do.
I had mixed feelings. Anger that she interrupted a call she knew I was having with my father about my mother's death. But gratitude that she was at last showing me some compassion.