Hall was famous for its Friday afternoon gatherings,
celebrating the birthdays of famous mathematicians, scientists, and inventors. Besides
commencement day, today, May fifteenth, was also Pierre Curie’s birthday. You can
imagine our double excitement, though Pierre had to take a backseat, his extraordinary
scientific work commemorated with only a poster collage prepared by the physics and
chemistry undergraduates.
Like the rest of the faculty, Fran and I had shed our hats and robes as soon as we
could and left them in our offices. Most of my colleagues were a little more dressed
up than on class days, but it was too hot for me to put anything heavy on my small
frame. Fran looked especially elegant in one of her trademark flowing, multicolor
pants outfits. She fit in well with the dressed-to-the-nines parents of the graduates,
but I was probably more comfortable than any of them, in my simple halter-top dress.
None of the honorees had taken off their heavy black mantles. It made them easier
to spot in the crowded room, which, I supposed, was the idea. I saw many proud, loving
gestures as moms and dads adjusted the stiff white collars on their newly anointed
daughters.
Our long conference table doubled as the buffet table at weekly parties, but those
offerings were like table scraps compared to today’s spread of gourmet appetizers.
Instead of giant economy-size bags of cookies and chips, and dips of unidentifiable
ingredients and questionable origin, the caterers had laid down a set of special hot
and cold dishes. The faculty had sprung for clams casino, cherry peppers stuffed with
shrimp, Swedish meatballs, and an assortment of olives, fruits, and cheeses.
For dessert, a large cake took up one corner of the lounge. Baked and decorated by
Franklin Hall’s underclassmen, the cake bore the message “LUV U GRADS” in blue and
gold, to match the streamers and pennants around the room.
“Doesn’t it bring tears to your eyes?” Fran asked me, faking a sniffle.
I uttered a phony sob for Fran’s benefit, though in truth I really was more emotionally
attached to my students than she was. Maybe because she had her own family to fawn
over. For me, single, and an only child, Henley was my family. True, my boyfriend,
Bruce Granville, and my best friend since childhood, Ariana Volens, were indispensable
in my life, but I spent more time on campus than in Ariana’s bead shop or with Bruce
and his crazy schedule as a medevac pilot.
Once the food was served, the party groupings became reminiscent of middle school
dances, where like stayed with like. Parents clustered together on one side of the
room, eating at the small tables scattered around the lounge; the graduates gathered
on the other side, balancingplates on their knees. Faculty roamed at first, greeting everyone, then we took seats
wherever we found them.
On the parents’ side there were exchanges of photos, both paper and digital, and plans
for the future—the graduates’ futures, strangely.
“Jeanne isn’t interested in settling down until she finishes graduate school at least,”
Jeanne’s mother said, while Dad nodded vigorously.
“Bethany won’t stop until she’s running the cardiology wing at some big Boston hospital,”
Bethany’s father announced, spreading his arms to indicate the size of the medical
facility his daughter would one day oversee.
A few of us knew better. We knew that Jeanne, a bio major, was expecting her boyfriend,
graduating today from a college in Boston, to give her a ring and set a date this
summer. Bethany’s dream, well-known to her friends, was to move across the country
to San Francisco as soon as she could pack up her jean shorts and flip-flops.
“I’ll figure out what to do when I get there,” she’d told us, but apparently not her
parents.
If all went as usual, the parents of the grads would be the last to know.
It didn’t do any good to
celebrating the birthdays of famous mathematicians, scientists, and inventors. Besides
commencement day, today, May fifteenth, was also Pierre Curie’s birthday. You can
imagine our double excitement, though Pierre had to take a backseat, his extraordinary
scientific work commemorated with only a poster collage prepared by the physics and
chemistry undergraduates.
Like the rest of the faculty, Fran and I had shed our hats and robes as soon as we
could and left them in our offices. Most of my colleagues were a little more dressed
up than on class days, but it was too hot for me to put anything heavy on my small
frame. Fran looked especially elegant in one of her trademark flowing, multicolor
pants outfits. She fit in well with the dressed-to-the-nines parents of the graduates,
but I was probably more comfortable than any of them, in my simple halter-top dress.
None of the honorees had taken off their heavy black mantles. It made them easier
to spot in the crowded room, which, I supposed, was the idea. I saw many proud, loving
gestures as moms and dads adjusted the stiff white collars on their newly anointed
daughters.
Our long conference table doubled as the buffet table at weekly parties, but those
offerings were like table scraps compared to today’s spread of gourmet appetizers.
Instead of giant economy-size bags of cookies and chips, and dips of unidentifiable
ingredients and questionable origin, the caterers had laid down a set of special hot
and cold dishes. The faculty had sprung for clams casino, cherry peppers stuffed with
shrimp, Swedish meatballs, and an assortment of olives, fruits, and cheeses.
For dessert, a large cake took up one corner of the lounge. Baked and decorated by
Franklin Hall’s underclassmen, the cake bore the message “LUV U GRADS” in blue and
gold, to match the streamers and pennants around the room.
“Doesn’t it bring tears to your eyes?” Fran asked me, faking a sniffle.
I uttered a phony sob for Fran’s benefit, though in truth I really was more emotionally
attached to my students than she was. Maybe because she had her own family to fawn
over. For me, single, and an only child, Henley was my family. True, my boyfriend,
Bruce Granville, and my best friend since childhood, Ariana Volens, were indispensable
in my life, but I spent more time on campus than in Ariana’s bead shop or with Bruce
and his crazy schedule as a medevac pilot.
Once the food was served, the party groupings became reminiscent of middle school
dances, where like stayed with like. Parents clustered together on one side of the
room, eating at the small tables scattered around the lounge; the graduates gathered
on the other side, balancingplates on their knees. Faculty roamed at first, greeting everyone, then we took seats
wherever we found them.
On the parents’ side there were exchanges of photos, both paper and digital, and plans
for the future—the graduates’ futures, strangely.
“Jeanne isn’t interested in settling down until she finishes graduate school at least,”
Jeanne’s mother said, while Dad nodded vigorously.
“Bethany won’t stop until she’s running the cardiology wing at some big Boston hospital,”
Bethany’s father announced, spreading his arms to indicate the size of the medical
facility his daughter would one day oversee.
A few of us knew better. We knew that Jeanne, a bio major, was expecting her boyfriend,
graduating today from a college in Boston, to give her a ring and set a date this
summer. Bethany’s dream, well-known to her friends, was to move across the country
to San Francisco as soon as she could pack up her jean shorts and flip-flops.
“I’ll figure out what to do when I get there,” she’d told us, but apparently not her
parents.
If all went as usual, the parents of the grads would be the last to know.
It didn’t do any good to
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