Walking down tiny Linden Street, you see a constant stream of students heading to and from six residence halls. You see the Public Safety Office, the Multifaith Center and the Center for Experiential Learning (CELAR).

You tend to pass right by a gray stone split-level with pistachio-green trim tucked between CELAR and the Gable Health and Counseling Center. There is no Albright sign on the lawn, and you might notice the old basketball backstop on the side of the house. You might also get a glimpse of Harriet Leisawitz.

In the fall of 1952, Dr. Paul Leisawitz, a Reading family practitioner, his wife Harriet, and their two young sons were thrilled to move from an apartment over the doctor’s downtown office to a new home they had designed and built themselves.

They liked the quiet family neighborhood, the open space and Mount Penn behind them, and they liked being near Albright’s campus.

Fifty-six years later, Harriet Leisawitz still likes living on Linden Street.

But she is no longer on the edge of Albright’s campus. She now lives, quite literally, smack dab in the middle of it.

In 1952, North 13th Street ended at Bern Street. There were cornfields and woods beyond. The few homes on Linden faced an open field, “a perfect playground” for Alan and Elliot Leisawitz and the other neighborhood kids, Harriet Leisawitz remembers.

The family attended cultural events on campus, visited the fish in Sylvan Pond. The boys sneaked into the basketball courts, attended the always-packed football games in the stadium, and watched the stars from Kelchner Field on summer evenings. “Growing up there was wonderful,” says Alan Leisawitz.

By the late 1960s, the College came literally to the Leisawitz’ doorstep when the Quad replaced the field. Later, the other private homes on the block became College offices, and there are now six residence halls.

And Harriet Leisawitz, now 87, still likes it just fine.

“In my ‘pioneer’ years and present time, the students have been respectful and kind and I have watched teenagers grow to young men and women.”

“My alarm system is across the street,” she jokes.

A slender gray-haired woman with brilliant blue eyes, she is soft spoken and unassuming, far more interested in finding out how you are doing than in talking about herself. But Alan Leisawitz recalls how students “would come by and have milk and cookies and pour their hearts out to my mother. I remember one touching visit from someone who was having a particularly bad day. The students would also come and shovel snow.”

Harriet Leisawitz laughs with delight, though, as she recounts recently looking for help from a student. Preparing for Passover, she was defeated by the cap on a bottle of wine.“I went outside and saw a student passing by and asked him if he could open the bottle for me. He kindly did, but I can only imagine what he thought!”

Over the years Harriet Leisawitz’ affection for the students has remained constant. “The boys and girls have always been so thoughtful. When they are planning an event, they always have kept me informed of their plans and to contact them if I am uncomfortable.”

“I am troubled by the remarks made concerning Albright students,” she says, referring to some complaints by other residents of College Heights that made the local news.“Unfortunately there are several disrespectful students. Because of that, judgment is made of all. In my ‘pioneer’ years and present time, the students have been respectful and kind and I have watched teenagers grow to young men and women.”

Alan Leisawitz recounts that his mother was so upset by the adverse publicity about the students that she handcarried a letter to the paper defending the students. “It was very unlike her to put forward an opinion in public, but she was so upset that she wanted to put the viewpoint of someone who lived there.”

The Leisawitz’ affection for Albright was shared by “Dr. Paul” as well. After retiring from active medical practice, he volunteered in the Gingrich Library for 14 years. He also worked to record and transcribe the accounts of survivors for the College’s Holocaust Resource Center. His picture hangs in the center. More than a dozen years after his death, he is still remembered as “one of the most wonderful human beings I ever met in my life,” by Library director Rosemary Deegan and her staff.

“My parents felt a real fondness for the College,” says Alan Leisawitz.

The feeling is mutual.