Perhaps there are moments of awakening,
Extreme, fortuitous, personal, in which
We more than awaken, sit on the edge of sleep,
As on an elevation, and behold
The academies like structures in a mist.
Today is Commencement Day. Last night, going home through these streets, I felt as if I were walking through an early Andy Hardy movie: neighbors talking over a white fence, the Roths’ kid playing the piano, and in the house opposite, someone struggling with an old Harry James number on the trumpet. The Commander of the US Second Fleet has handed out commissions to the ROTC cadets, and, for balance, Richard Falk has spoken to the alumni on “Government Secrets and the Public’s Right to Know.” Fine weather has made unnecessary the long green caterpillar erected annually beneath my tower window by the Eureka Tent and Awning Company. It runs from the library to the chapel. I run from it all. If this be sanity, I find it not to my taste. I shall go mad, as follows.
When the Academic Procession has formed (“Candidates for Higher Degrees, on the walk between East Pyne Building and Cannon Green, facing north, at 10:20 AM”—Weekly Bulletin), I shall walk naked across the roof of East Pyne Building to the tower opposite, just above the Higher Degrees, facing east. And when I have the attention of that solemn assembly—hurrying a bit before the proctors, those wardens of sanity, reach me—I shall deliver them such an oration as to write a new page in the history of American, or at least Princetonian, eloquence. That ought to do it. I am feeling a trifle mad already.
[Notes for the oration. Be brief, like Woodrow Wilson, and’ if possible, just as stuffy.]
Trustees forming in the Memorial Room promptly at 10:30 AM! Outgoing President Goheen! Incoming President Bowen! Students! Mothers and fathers! Nextdoor neighbors of students, or of their mothers and fathers! [Getting a bit long?] Alumni. Benefactors of the University. Collectors of rare jade. Collectors of human ears. Fellow destroyers of hamlets and ricepaddies. [Thought I would never get to it.] Doctors of napalm, and of deforestation. My fellow countrymen! [End of exordium. Clear throat. Act natural.]
In the brief time now left me [where are those proctors?] I should like to draw your attention to events that are far away from this happy scene and this proud, proud, proud, not to say suffocating, occasion. About the events themselves I am none too clear. Which is odd. Considering what it is costing me, you would think I could get the exact number of laserbeam-guided bombs that our proud, etc., airmen dropped today on Vietnamese factories, harbors, hospitals, munitions dumps, barbershops, airfields and soccerfields, railway trestles and cricket cages, split-levels and gamerooms, wash-o-mats, bus stops and boutiques…Forgive me. I digress.
But, dear Recipients of Honorary Degrees, facing each other, do I alone digress? Is there not, Faculty, facing the music, a sense in…
This article is available to online subscribers only.
Please choose from one of the options below to access this article:
Purchase a print premium subscription (20 issues per year) and also receive online access to all content on nybooks.com.
Purchase an Online Edition subscription and receive full access to all articles published by the Review since 1963.
Purchase a trial Online Edition subscription and receive unlimited access for one week to all the content on nybooks.com.