Matriculation and all that jazz

I matriculated from Yale in style. Thursday began with breakfast in the Hogwartian Hall of Graduate Studies, incidentally my home sweet home. We'd been released from math camp for the day, and so, in the highest of spirits, my political scientist buddies and I - momentarily spared from death by calculus - chomped muffins and guzzled coffee with abandon. Next, a march to Sprague Hall for the set piece ceremony. With blazing fanfare, the Yale nomenklatura processed on stage, modeling technicolor (and slightly kitch) academic dreamcoats. Richard Levin, the President, delivered opening remarks. He left us without a trace of doubt that Yale represents the lofty pinnacle of the great edifice of western scholarship - from Athens to the present day.

Levin introduced the incoming Dean of Grad Studies, Tom Pollard. This is a man of phenomenal accomplishment. The highest honor within the gift of the university is the Sterling Professorship, which Pollard holds. I reckon the title sounds a tad glib - like "Dude, that's some really sterling work there. Honestly, top notch. You did great. You know what, we should call you something. How about, a STERLING professor!" (For the record, John William Sterling's largess helped establish the chairs, but the pun's sweet.)

In a quiet, prepossessing voice, Pollard gave a warm, focused talk on "finding the right question". As a founder of modern cancer research, he'd clearly picked his pretty well. Now, he said, it was our turn to make an impact - and to beware of blind, fruitless alleys. His message: the solemn responsibility of advancing human knowledge devolves upon you!

All in all, some great pep talk, with jolly musical numbers in the middle.

A reception at the president's house supplied a civilized coda to the day's formal matriculation events. I shook hands with the man himself, and his wife. Nice crib, I thought as I milled through their art-encrusted mansion. Free to borrow from the encyclopedic Yale collection (on which more another time), they'd selected Renoir, Gainsborough, Roy Lichtenstein, Matisse, Sisley... you get the picture. Coffee and cake in the lush landscaped garden to finish; string quartet nestling somewhere in the bushes; weather: perfect. I was a happy boy.


[In the photo, by the way, from left to right: Nikhar, Steve, me, Lionel, Beth and Dan. Fellow poliscis and wonderful people.]