If anytime during a specific 53 years at Paul Smith’s College you’d mentioned the name Eileen to anyone there, they would have immediately known who you meant.

And when I say anyone, I mean anyone — teacher, student, administrator or staff — the whole shmeer.

Eileen was Eileen Crary, who left this Vale of Tears last week at the blessed age of 90.

So who was she?

On paper, she was the administrative assistant to a slew of the college’s presidents. In reality, she was that … and a whole lot more.

I had the pleasure of working with her for 30 years, and I don’t use the word “pleasure” lightly. She was always on her game — organized, informed, unfailingly pleasant and helpful, and sharp as a whip.

Beyond that, her knowledge of the place was encyclopedic. She knew where all the bodies were buried and which skeletons were in which closets. But, consummate professional that she was, she never gossiped. The phrase, “She kept her cards close to her vest” fit her perfectly.

Eileen was short, thin, understated, gracious and soignee, and always a lady. She had short dark hair and dark brown eyes that never missed a thing. While she was all business, she was eminently approachable and helpful — to everyone. And though her usual mien was serious, she had a great dry sense of humor and a smile that lit up her whole face.

She was most visible during the 30 years she worked for Dr. Buxton, and for good reason. Dr. B.’s management style could best be described as autocratic. He ran the joint with an iron fist and flew solo. He had almost no other administrators, and he made all the decisions — big, small and in between. Ultimately, he was a combination lord of the manor, Santa Claus, and hanging judge. Eileen was thus his “point man.” She was also his first line of defense, as all business dealings with Dr. B. had first to pass through her office.

Dr. B. had his fair share of quirks, something Eileen had to deal with constantly. In fact, her dealing with them started as soon as her job did. Dr. B. tended to put things off till the last minute, so when his secretary told him she was pregnant, was leaving the job, and he needed to find her replacement, he followed his usual course and pretended it was a problem that’d solve itself. Of course, it didn’t, so one Friday when she handed in her steno pad and split, he suddenly found himself secretary-less.

And now the good part. Somehow, he found out Eileen (who lived with her family a few miles from the college) had just graduated from high school, with a degree in secretarial science. In short order, she got a call over the weekend and that Monday started on the job, which she did brilliantly for the next half century.

Tom Agan told me a story that perfectly illustrated the vital role Eileen’s played in the running of the school. In the early ’60s a flu epidemic hit the school, and Dr. Buxton, who worked seven days a week fine. Then the next week Eileen (who also never missed work) got sick and missed three days. And not so ironically according to Tom, by the time she came back, the place was on the verge of rack and ruin.

Eileen and Dr. B. were a perfect combination. To say Dr. B. was a man of few words is a vast understatement. He rarely spoke at all, and even then, haltingly. So, often it was up to Eileen to fill in the blanks. I called her Dr. B’s Rosetta Stone. Danny Spada told me a perfect example of this. In June, Danny moved here from downstate, enrolled as a forestry student. But since his grants wouldn’t come through till the fall, he needed a job, and he went to PSC looking for one. Of course, he had to see Dr. B. personally, which he did.

He made his case to Dr. B., who nodded a few times, but said nothing. Then he scribbled something on a piece of paper, handed it to Danny, and told him to see Eilen. When Danny looked at the paper, he couldn’t understand one word of it. So he thanked Dr. B., left, and gave the paper to Eileen. She took one look and told him to report the next morning at 0800 to Bill Gokey, to start working in maintenance, and that was that.

There was something else that made Eileen’s actual job duties go way beyond the official ones. Almost none of Dr. B’s policies were written down (including our contracts). Instead, according to The Buxtonian Code, “Need a rule, make a rule.” Like most teachers, I was an adviser to a bunch of clubs. But each time I needed either money or a building reservation for an event, or anything, I had to get his permission. Luckily, Eileen was his first line of defense, so I’d go to her office and tell her what I wanted. My needs weren’t outrageous, plus Dr. B. was always supportive of student activities, so my interactions with Eileen were always the same.

After our initial greetings I’d tell her what I wanted and then would add, “Do you think Dr. Buxton will approve it?” And she’d say, “Oh, I think so … though of course you’ll have to ask him.” Once she said she thought so, I knew it was a sure thing.

Almost all of us referred to Dr. Buxton as The Old Man. It’s a term that comes from the military, referring to the commanding officer. And while some people might think it’s a term of disrespect, the exact opposite is true: It acknowledges the CO’s superior experience and expertise. It’s also a term of affection, and such was the case with us and Dr. B. So anytime any of us mentioned The Old Man, we knew who it referred to. And I had my own addendum: I’d mention The Brains of the Outfit, without naming who it was, and I never had anyone not know it was Eileen.

For all her time at PSC and her being privy to all the inner workings of the place, Eileen was uniquely positioned to know more about its history than anyone else. But due to who she was, we never found out: Once, Kirk Peterson asked her if he could interview her, but she turned him down. And she did it for the perfect Eileen reason: She didn’t want to violate her oath of confidentiality.

For all the years I knew Eileen and the hundreds of times we talked, as much as I liked and respected her, I know nothing about her private life, nothing at all. Which, I’m sure, was exactly how she’d planned it.