A Shapely Punctuation Mark

JUNE 9, Commencement Day, represented a fairly important punctua- tion mark in the story of about 1,000 lives - a semi-colon rather than a period, a breathing mark rather than a full stop. A shapely punctuation mark it was, too, as if formed by an italic nib, warm, graceful and just the merest touch heavy.

The square U of the Baker lawn was sunny and warm, with temperatures in the 80-degree range. People with short memories of minus-20-degree winter days would complain, off and on, about the heat but not seriously, merely conversational grace notes to beguile the minutes away until the academic procession began.

The crowd came early and steadily and by 9:30, a good hour-and-a-half before the academic kickoff, the Baker lawn between the arms of the 1902 Room and the periodicals wing was fairly full except for the spaces roped off for the degree-earners. (Coupled with "degree," "earners" is a word we favor over "recipients," which smacks of the dole, and over "winners," which is Irish Sweepstakes-y.)

If there was anything that seemed to set this Commencement apart from others of recent vintage, it was an air of relaxed, quiet gaiety. It was, it seemed, as if some hard hurdles of varying heights from baccalaureate through magisterial to doctoral were behind us all, realistically and vicariously; and, though some harder hurdles might be placed ahead, this was a patch of flat ground to stroll upon at ease. The crowd, while not dressy in the sense of Commencements of long bygone years, was a bit more nicely turned out than the aggressively not-turned-out crowds of much more recent days. Not picture hats and elbow-length gloves, perhaps, but a crisp print dress here and there, certainly

Thus, the scene. The Connecticut Brass Quintet tootled brassily from the tall stretch of Baker Tower, and disappeared from view at a neat third-base-coach's sign flashed from Paul Zeller. Professor of Music, from the east steps of Sanborn. Not long thereafter they reappeared on those same east steps and picked up their pitch from a note sounded by organist Dale Carr.

Then came bagpipers Scott Hastings and Fordyce Ritchie, skirling bravely to the blue skies. They did look warm in their tarns and tartans, except for about the kilt-free, air-conditioned knees.

Finally, after just long enough a wait to whet the anticipation, here came the academic procession, redolent, as ever, of pomp, panoply and panache. Is there ever anything quite like an academic procession? Quite so splashy, medieval and throat-catching? Higgledy-piggledy, in a marching order that would make a drill instructor blanch, but with just the right air of independence and brown study for their profession, the scholars moved colorfully ahead.

Leading the long procession were ten doughty members of the Class of 1909. an honored, venerable emblem of the hundreds of alumni in Hanover on this weekend.

After all were seated (and after two rows of folding chairs were hastily emplaced for some somehow forgotten for the alphabetic tag end of W's, Y's and Z's of the graduates), the ceremonies proper began. The awarding of the graduate degrees from master of business administration up through doctor of medicine and doctor of philosophy went forward with the wonderful, comfortable, time-worn words: "At the request of the faculty and on their behalf I now present each of them to you for the awarding of that degree" . . . "all the rights, honors, and special obligations here and elsewhere belonging to this degree."

There was Denise Nagel of Ventnor. N.J., advancing up the platform steps to duck daintily as a doctor of medicine hood was eased over her 21-year-old head. And then there were the Nielsons, Dianne and Dennis, getting doctorates of philosophy in physics in tandem, just as this husband-and-wife team had gotten A.M. degrees at Dartmouth in 1970 and baccalaureates at Beloit College in 1966.

At honorary degree time, Eubie Blake was cited first and stood center stage, small, neat and spry for his 91 years. After a doctor of humane letters hood had settled on his slender shoulders, a sinuous wave ran through the graduating class and they were all on their feet beating their palms in a heartfelt tribute to a very elderly black man, a tribute that was joined enthusiastically by the entire crowd of 5,000 people.

The standing ovation was repeated for the conferral of a doctor of laws upon the senior justice of the United States Supreme Court, William O. Douglas, an accolade, one liked to feel, for both his dissent and his duty. (Eubie Blake was later to observe, at luncheon with the Kemenys, with a thoughtful 91-year-old air: "That Justice Douglas! Isn't he a fine figure of a man for 75?") In between, five others, Agnes deMille, Peter Goldmark, Anais Nin, Donald Hornig and George Snell '26, received honorary degrees and honorific applause.

The point had now been reached, where, in the argot of the young, what Commencement "is all about." New bachelors of arts were about to be minted (and become "instant alumni," as President Kemeny would observe). There they came, 691 of them, from classes stretching from the late 1960s up through a scattering of precocious 1975s.

There were bursts of applause from performing, non-graduating Glee Clubbers for non-performing graduating fellow songsters. There was Buff Davis '74, the seventh in his line (starting with Samuel Merrill, 1815) to receive a degree, getting his diploma exactly 100 years after his great-grandfather. Trustee William Henry Davis, 1874.

And there were the Smith twins, Ronald and Donald, one of four sets of brothers standing by brothers to get degrees, looking every bit as dashing and handsome in cap-and-gown grasping degrees as they did in football togs plucking enemy aerials out of the sky. On the way up to the platform Don (or was it Ron?) was bussed by as fetching a young lady as one could conjure.

President Kemeny's valedictory to the first class he had welcomed at a fall convocation four years before was on a far greater national concern than any of the more day-to-day problems of energy and inflation that of a return to honesty. It was delivered earnestly and lucidly and with all the more force because of those two virtues.

After the strains of "Men of Dartmouth" echoed down, the formal lines of the picture broke up into swirls of hugs, handshakes and . back-claps, with an occasional stop-action for lens-work. Later in the day it would cloud over, but then it was bright and sunny. And right.

At the Old Pine Sallie Oldenburg gave oneof the Class Day orations. On Commencement day pipers led the senior processionfrom the gymnasium to Baker Library.

Dean Carroll Brewster, now deprived of akiss from the Carnival Queen, presents adiploma and gets a coed's grateful buss.

Dean Carroll Brewster, now deprived of akiss from the Carnival Queen, presents adiploma and gets a coed's grateful buss.

Dean Carroll Brewster, now deprived of akiss from the Carnival Queen, presents adiploma and gets a coed's grateful buss.

Dean Carroll Brewster, now deprived of akiss from the Carnival Queen, presents adiploma and gets a coed's grateful buss.

From top, carving senior canes; graduatesand families on Baker lawn; degree earnerGeorge Snell '26 and retiring TrusteeRalph Hunter '31; doctoral candidates.

From top, carving senior canes; graduatesand families on Baker lawn; degree earnerGeorge Snell '26 and retiring TrusteeRalph Hunter '31; doctoral candidates.

From top, carving senior canes; graduatesand families on Baker lawn; degree earnerGeorge Snell '26 and retiring TrusteeRalph Hunter '31; doctoral candidates.

From top, carving senior canes; graduatesand families on Baker lawn; degree earnerGeorge Snell '26 and retiring TrusteeRalph Hunter '31; doctoral candidates.