Standing by the TKE booth Monday, I half-expected Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze" to blast through the campus loudspeakers at Cal State San Marcos.

Outside Craven Hall, a line of hungry students shuffled toward free hamburgers, grilled magnets guaranteed to draw a crowd.

At noon, Karen Haynes, dressed in purple suit and purple shoes, was introduced. (Later, she would slip on purple sunglasses with sparkly rims.)

"Today is the beginning of the conversation," Haynes told the assembly of students, staff and faculty, a handful of whom were dressed in purple – a sartorial bow to the new boss on her first day on the job.

On stage, the former president of the University of Houston's satellite campus in Victoria seemed confident, genial, even humble in her manifest ignorance about her California post.

Not a stem-winding orator, she's an earnest communicator in a committee-speak vein. Above all else, she values "process," she said, and, secondly, "inclusiveness." (No literary allusions or high-flying quotations.)

She was the first in her family to graduate from college, the former social worker said – and she just loves the color purple. (When I drove up, I'd wondered why her parking space was decorated with purple balloons.)

Looking toward the ocean, I could make out the new shopping center, anchored by Ralphs. Closer in, the new running track. Closer still, the Kellogg Library, the new heart of the campus.

What a long, strange trip it's been from Jerome's to this purple haze of a new day.

You should have heard the hue and cry.

It was 1989 and Bill Stacy had just been hired as president of the proposed university, acing out several candidates. Everyone was ticked. The academics thought the former public-speaking professor was a lightweight as a scholar. (He was.) Plus, he was an older white male, which was considered uncool.

North County political and business leaders, many of whom had been instrumental in bringing the state university to San Marcos, gagged. Stacy was thought a glad-hander without gravitas.

The late state Sen. Bill Craven shared the general dismay over the CSU's final choice, but philosophized, "Personalities come and go, but schools last forever."

Camped out in 19,000 square feet of rented space next to a Jerome's furniture store, Stacy hired founding faculty and sold the San Marcos dream. He cut a silver-haired, leonine figure, the sort that looks good in a portrait in the hall. In retrospect, he was a genius.

Eight years later, Stacy the Salesman left North County, peacock proud of his accomplishments. However, recession had slowed the building program. And Cal State San Marcos had tarred itself with the brush of racism, largely a result of the university's weird ambition to be a model of racial and ethnic diversity. (Even Craven became a target in a sort of PC pogrom.)

In 1997, the stage was set for The Closer.

Alex Gonzalez, a Latino with strong academic credentials, took over as interim president, buckling down to the unfinished task of building out the campus and bringing the university's mission closer to earth. His tough statement: The mission is practical education, not social utopia. Gonzalez was elevated to president with almost universal acclaim.

In a symbolic gesture, he scrapped the arcane school nickname – Tukwuts, an Indian world for mountain lions – in favor of the generic Cougars.

I would have preferred the Jeromes, but that's just me.

Gonzalez told me two years ago that he was looking forward to the day when the university was up and running and he could turn more of his energy toward North County as a whole.

He acknowledged what SDSU, led by President Stephen Weber, means to San Diego. He appreciated what UC San Diego contributes to the economic, artistic and intellectual vigor of San Diego. He wanted Cal State San Marcos to be the same tower of strength in North County.

Last year, he left for Sacramento, leaving his final ambition largely unfulfilled. Time, lots of it, will tell if President Haynes can step up to that challenge.

However, it's encouraging that Haynes, as she was answering student questions about tuition costs, parking and class size, did not once say she was thrilled to be leading a university still in its formation stage.

That work is done, thanks in large part to Stacy and Gonzalez.

Out of the gate, Haynes' job during a toxic budget era is to cut losses while powering the wheel that's been invented.

I called Carol Bonomo. The university's tough-talking director of legislative affairs started working with Stacy practically from Day One. She knows as well as anyone the history of the institution. I asked her what she made of the future.

"So long as we're not building from scratch, I'm happy," she said.