"And set my teeth in the silver of the moon"

Back in the day, before Commencement tickets were rationed, I used to love regalia-spotting.  Chicago.  Oxford.  Ooh, Sorbonne!  Hey, who does the squashy pink biretta?  Love the frock, darling, but your handbag's on fire.  There was once an African in a doctoral dashiki, with a wizard's staff; but my all-time prize was the guy in the swimming-pool-aqua lampshade, complete with deep fringes.  He looked like a cross between a David Hockney and Some Like It Hot.  Fabulous.

Not in years now, sadly.

But they're less strict about the afternoon exercises, so I got to hear Angela Merkel, who was terrific.  I picked a program off the grass, so at least I could read the Latin salutory, "Bibliotheca et Hortus" (they print up a cheat-sheet for "those whose Latin may be rusty").  I missed some good music, evidently:  a gospel choir, and a new setting of an e.e. cummings poem.  Pretty hot stuff for a graduation.  Ah well, I got to cheer a Cliffie from the class of '41, and hear some immortal Tom Lehrer by the band.  I wonder what Merkel made of that?

She was splendid.  It was like wading out into cold clean water to hear a politician with ethics.  She talked about growing up imprisoned by the Wall, and its coming down, just 30 years ago.  It was (for a moment) "Unlocking the Air" in plain text:  not in her language but her truth.  Change can happen.  She talked about the Shoah, and the forced migrations of our own time; she talked about education (above all of women), about science, about climate change.  She counselled the graduates never to “describe lies as truth and truth as lies,” never to act on impulse.  The crowd kept rising to its feet and cheering.

(Lord, I remember standing on those same steps listening to J. K. Rowling.  An adoring women next to me said, "Oh, I love fantasy.  You don't have to think!"  If I weren't such a perfect lady, I'd've pushed her down the steps.)

Then everyone sang rival lyrics.  The college anthem has changed its measure of eternity.  It used to be "Till the stock of the Puritans die" (still is for the old-timers) and is now "Till the stars in the firmament die."  Cotton Mather is past his sell-by date.

And hey, I did get my regalia-spotting.  On the way in, a nice dithery woman, kitted out in tufted bunny, scurried past me, turned, and said confidingly, "I'm looking for the faculty."  Pure Gaudy Night.  And on the way out, I saw a dazzling tartan hood.  I had to ask.  It was Carnegie Mellon.  Of course.  Of course.

Nine