16 August 2002
The
Graduates
I am on one of
the school machines in the library in the Basement of the John
F. Kennedy
School of Government. This is last official act before heading to
the airport. I
write as a recent graduate of the shortest course (three
weeks) which
officially qualify you as a Graduate of Harvard University. That
will qualify
us to a lifetime of cocktail-party stories with asterisk's, like
a
strike-shortened baseball season. Just like the one we are about to have
this year. You
know how they will go- "When I was at Harvard….well no, not
the Long Course…."
On the up
side, Roger Porter told us we would also now be subject to a
lifetime of
fundraising circulars from the Harvard Alumni Association.
It is a proud
thing to be graduating from the Senior Manager's in Government
program and
more than a little strange. This has been an experience intense
enough to
leave a physiological change. One quite aside from extra pounds we
have put on.
The food has added to our general sense of gravitas.
In that light,
Marie-Christine orchestrated a hell of a hell of a party for
us last night.
Buses were waiting to take us to the Divinity School at 5:30
sharp. We were
wearing our finest clothes. Actually, the only fine clothes we
brought. Out
of our jeans and shorts and back into neckties for the men.
Before we left
I introduced my room-mate Mr. Wu to the concept of "The
Traveler"
which in ancient history was the drink you mixed for the trip to
wherever it
was that you were going, something of a contingency in case you
didn't get
there. I explained it was not so common anymore, but it was an old
tradition.
Loren thought it was a splendid idea. When we got to the buses,
Ikhlas was
sitting down front by herself. I plopped down next to her. Life
does not get
any better than this, no more pencils, no more books, no more
teachers dirty
looks…
Cambridge
traffic was snarled as we crossed the river and wound through the
town. The
Divinity School is on the other side of Memorial Hall and the Fogg
Museum. When
we pulled up there was a table set sup on the lawn and three
nice ladies
waiting in white shirts to serve us. The backdrop of the
ivy-covered
buildings. The wine, beer and mixed drinks poured freely on the
lawn. It was
sweet and sentimental and all the professors were there. I wish
we had known
just how special this was- we would have badgered people like
Phil Heymann
with more questions in class. Some of us made up for that. I
heard later a
very distinguished Senior Executive had quite a crush on him.
The
realization that this was the penultimate meeting of this group was
starting to
grow. We took hundreds more pictures. There was a stately Hall
and no air
conditioning and speeches and great fun. It was also hotter than
blazes inside
and there was no air conditioning. When it was my turn to speak
I couldn't get
the microphone to work and decided to run it more like a camp
meeting. My
voice boomed in the best Revival-style
under the vaulted
ceiling.
"I want to
thank the outstanding Staff for an incredible educational
experience!
Say Amen!"
Roger said
later that he had been attending these things for a decade and
never saw so
many speeches and so much expression of class solidarity. I
certainly felt
it. This class bonded. I think we will be at least hearing
from one
another in the future, even if we do not have a formal reunion.
When the last
toast was done, we filed out into the sultry night. I needed
some air.
Abdulrahman was staying in town, so we walked back toward Harvard
Square
together, talking about the event we had just witnesses. We shook
hands
enthusiastically near the lozenge-shaped Harvard Lampoon building. I
walked the
silent streets down to Memorial Drive, and across the footbridge
across the
Charles. The homeless lay shapeless in their bags along the River,
quiet as the
river, dark shapes in dimness. I fumbled with my keys on the
glass door on
the patio. It was cool in the apartment. I was asleep as soon
as my head hit
the pillow.
There was
more, though. There seemed to be some excess beer from the
reception, and
the Senior Executives threw a block party in the lane that
runs through
the Business School Housing area. They were unwilling to let
this
experience go.
I got up
around five and finished writing about Thursday and threw the rest
of my crap
into bags. I'll carry what is breakable and the hell with the
rest. United
Airlines can do their worst. Time to go home.
Marie-Christine
had porters standing by to help us with our gear as we lugged
everything out
of the dorms. We put them in the Commons Room where we had
checked in
three weeks before. It was hot on the walk over to the JFK School.
The rush hour
was thick on Memorial Drive, other people not graduating, just
going about
their daily routines.
The Last
Breakfast was in progress when we walked over to the Alfred Taubman
Center. They
had three chefs cooking omelets and right at 0930 Roger started
the graduation
ceremony. He explained we would be getting a lot of
solicitations
in the Mail from our new alma Mater. He explained a little
about what
they had tried to teach us over the last three weeks and concluded
with a reading
from a piece that C.S. Lewis wrote fifty years ago for another
graduation in
another country.
Lewis wrote
"The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" and "The Screwtape
Letters,"
among other things. His words were cautionary. He warned about
selling your
soul and principles to get to the innermost in-crowd. Roger said
he had shared
it with some of his colleagues at the White House and the
University.
Count on friendship and let the clawing for position to others.
Not a bad way
to leave Harvard University, short course or no. There are some
high flyers in
this crowd, people who will deeply influence their nations.
Me, I'm going
to retire. Roger included a copy of the address in the package
they gave us
with our Certificates.
Then Marie
Christine read our names, one by one, and Roger handed us our
diplomas.
There was enthusiastic applause for everyone. When I got mine, I
found the red
folder included the Certificate of Matriculation, a class
photo, the
Lewis essay and a personally signed copy of Roger's book about
Presidential
decision-making. Quite a guy, quite a program. Class act all the
way.
He concluded
the ceremony by saying "You don't have to go home." Then he
smiled that
little impish grin of his and said: "You just can't stay here."
We all laughed
and no one seemed to be in a hurry to get going. There was an
amazing bond
forged between these very dissimilar people. There was more food
by the door,
box lunches to carry us back into the world.
I am going to
finish typing this on the JFK computer and send it to myself
someplace
else. There is a ton of laundry to do. Things have been piling up
for nearly a
month. There is an e-mail informing me of major restructuring at
my office. I
answer tersely and log off for the last time here at Harvard.
Now there is
the trip to the airport and the big bird to take me south. This
class will
scatter to the winds, certificates in hand, five point plans
already
germinating for implementation at our offices. I will head back south
and be back on
the ground before dinner. There is going to be hell to pay
when I open up
that e-mail queue in DC.
But that is
OK. We can handle it. We are Harvard Graduates, after all.
Copyright 2002
Vic Socotra