Molly Campbell, Wellesley’s legendary dean of students from 1984 to 1998, died on Jan. 28, her 75th birthday.

Molly first came to Wellesley as a student. A member of the class of 1960, she was a gifted math major, president of House Presidents’ Council, Durant scholar, and member of Phi Beta Kappa. She was already a force, with the intelligence and esprit, organizational flair and wry wit that she would later bring to her exemplary campus leadership. Lecturer in mathematics, dean of the classes of 1980 and 1984, assistant to the president, and affirmative-action officer, she was appointed dean of students in 1984, a post she held—and fundamentally redefined—for 14 years.

Molly was an indomitable, indefatigable presence on campus. She cared deeply about helping students to get a meaningful education and also, as she would say, “to have a life” in Wellesley’s intense residential learning environment. It mattered to her to be in residence herself. For her entire tenure as dean, she and her family lived at Oakwoods, where she regularly gathered colleagues and students for meetings, celebrations, retreats, and occasional high jinks.

From the hub that was her office in Green Hall, Molly managed a complex administrative domain of 12 departments, each with distinct agendas and urgencies. Forging links among her staff, building bridges to the faculty, she connected us. An activist administrator, innovative program developer, and fearless problem-solver, Molly was a realist with high ideals. She was there to be of use, to get the job done. The job, in her view, was “to be sure that student concerns were heard in the rest of the College,” to create a community of caring adults “engaged in one conversation” about student life.

These were years of sea change in Wellesley’s student body, and Molly’s vision of what student life at Wellesley could and should be was wide and deep. A staunch champion of diversity, she famously said, “There should be no Wendy Wellesley. We are all Wellesley women, and the variety of Wellesley women is infinite. We want to be aware and supportive of everyone in the community.” And so she was.

She was there for first-year students who had traveled many miles or great cultural distances to be here. She believed Wellesley owed every incoming student an equal chance to realize her potential, and she launched many multicultural initiatives to do just that. She was there as an ally, resource, and advocate for Wellesley’s most vulnerable students. She chaired the Academic Review Board with authority and empathy and was a clear, firm, and compassionate presence in General Judiciary hearings.

She was there as a mentor and role model for student leaders. Not “Dean Campbell,” always “Molly,” she regularly attended Cabinet and Senate meetings. “She was so uncondescending and real,” one College Government president recalled, “dispensing with drama and clarifying the issues, all with a light touch and such good will and support that we always knew she was for us.”

Students remember her voice, her energy, her walk “at a brisk pace, head forward, like her thinking—almost daring you to keep up with her.” Like all of us in Molly’s orbit, they especially remember her sense of humor—a playful undercurrent of gentle irreverence and irony. “Take your work seriously,” she seemed to be saying, “but not so much yourselves.”

Our no-nonsense dean was full of fun, and students loved her for it. So much so that in the spring of 1996, Molly’s Pub was launched—a gathering spot where students, faculty, and staff came together to hang out, a home and showcase for Wellesley’s comics and poets and free spirits. “We felt like we were part of a community there,” one student remembers. “We all took a break. I think Molly’s goal was to create a chance and a space for another kind of flourishing, for a healthier balance. She cared about our academic endeavors, and about so much more. She cared about our lives.”

This is Molly’s legacy. Without fanfare or self-promotion, she went about the work of realizing her ideals for student life. Thanks to her commitment and imagination, Wellesley is a more welcoming, generous, and inclusive place.

Molly flourished in retirement. A voracious reader and ardent tennis fan, she had time to indulge those pleasures. She had time for her large extended family and for her many friends. With her daughter, Alison, she tended her beautiful gardens, and she experienced the sheer joy of timeless hours with her adored grandson, Ben. These were years also of adventure and service—far away, in Botswana, Russia, and South Africa, and in Second Mesa, Ariz., where she volunteered for many years in Hopi elementary classrooms. Her life was brimful.

As colleagues and students who were influenced, encouraged, and inspired by her have abundantly affirmed since her death, Molly epitomized Wellesley’s motto Non Ministrari sed Ministrare. She was an extraordinary dean of students. She was an extraordinary colleague and an extraordinary friend. She was an altogether extraordinary woman.