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I am on one of the school machines in the library in the Basement of the John <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n F. Kennedy School of Government. This is last official act before heading to <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n the airport. I write as a recent graduate of the shortest course (three <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n weeks) which officially qualify you as a Graduate of Harvard University. That <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n will qualify us to a lifetime of cocktail-party stories with asterisk’s, like <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n a strike-shortened baseball season. Just like the one we are about to have <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n this year. You know how they will go- “When I was at Harvard\u00ef\u00bf\u00bd.well no, not <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n the Long Course\u00ef\u00bf\u00bd.”<\/span> <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n On the up side, Roger Porter told us we would also now be subject to a <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n lifetime of fundraising circulars from the Harvard Alumni Association. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n It is a proud thing to be graduating from the Senior Manager’s in Government <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n program and more than a little strange. This has been an experience intense <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n enough to leave a physiological change. One quite aside from extra pounds we <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n have put on. The food has added to our general sense of gravitas.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n In that light, Marie-Christine orchestrated a hell of a hell of a party for <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n us last night. Buses were waiting to take us to the Divinity School at 5:30 <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n sharp. We were wearing our finest clothes. Actually, the only fine clothes we <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n brought. Out of our jeans and shorts and back into neckties for the men. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Before we left I introduced my room-mate Mr. Wu to the concept of “The <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Traveler” which in ancient history was the drink you mixed for the trip to <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n wherever it was that you were going, something of a contingency in case you <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n didn’t get there. I explained it was not so common anymore, but it was an old <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n tradition. Loren thought it was a splendid idea. When we got to the buses, <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Ikhlas was sitting down front by herself. I plopped down next to her. Life <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n does not get any better than this, no more pencils, no more books, no more <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n teachers dirty looks\u00ef\u00bf\u00bd<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Cambridge traffic was snarled as we crossed the river and wound through the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n town. The Divinity School is on the other side of Memorial Hall and the Fogg <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Museum. When we pulled up there was a table set sup on the lawn and three <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n nice ladies waiting in white shirts to serve us. The backdrop of the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n ivy-covered buildings. The wine, beer and mixed drinks poured freely on the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n lawn. It was sweet and sentimental and all the professors were there. I wish <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n we had known just how special this was- we would have badgered people like <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Phil Heymann with more questions in class. Some of us made up for that. I <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n heard later a very distinguished Senior Executive had quite a crush on him.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n The realization that this was the penultimate meeting of this group was <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n starting to grow. We took hundreds more pictures. There was a stately Hall <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n and no air conditioning and speeches and great fun. It was also hotter than <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n blazes inside and there was no air conditioning. When it was my turn to speak <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n I couldn’t get the microphone to work and decided to run it more like a camp <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n meeting. My voice boomed in the best Revival-style\u00a0 <\/span>under the vaulted <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n ceiling.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n “I want to thank the outstanding Staff for an incredible educational <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n experience! Say Amen!”<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Roger said later that he had been attending these things for a decade and <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n never saw so many speeches and so much expression of class solidarity. I <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n certainly felt it. This class bonded. I think we will be at least hearing <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n from one another in the future, even if we do not have a formal reunion.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n When the last toast was done, we filed out into the sultry night. I needed <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n some air. Abdulrahman was staying in town, so we walked back toward Harvard <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Square together, talking about the event we had just witnesses. We shook <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n hands enthusiastically near the lozenge-shaped Harvard Lampoon building. I <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n walked the silent streets down to Memorial Drive, and across the footbridge <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n across the Charles. The homeless lay shapeless in their bags along the River, <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n quiet as the river, dark shapes in dimness. I fumbled with my keys on the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n glass door on the patio. It was cool in the apartment. I was asleep as soon <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n as my head hit the pillow.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n There was more, though. There seemed to be some excess beer from the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n reception, and the Senior Executives threw a block party in the lane that <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n runs through the Business School Housing area. They were unwilling to let <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n this experience go.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n I got up around five and finished writing about Thursday and threw the rest <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n of my crap into bags. I’ll carry what is breakable and the hell with the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n rest. United Airlines can do their worst. Time to go home. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Marie-Christine had porters standing by to help us with our gear as we lugged <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n everything out of the dorms. We put them in the Commons Room where we had <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n checked in three weeks before. It was hot on the walk over to the JFK School. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n The rush hour was thick on Memorial Drive, other people not graduating, just <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n going about their daily routines.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n The Last Breakfast was in progress when we walked over to the Alfred Taubman <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Center. They had three chefs cooking omelets and right at 0930 Roger started <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n the graduation ceremony. He explained we would be getting a lot of <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n solicitations in the Mail from our new alma Mater. He explained a little <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n about what they had tried to teach us over the last three weeks and concluded <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n with a reading from a piece that C.S. Lewis wrote fifty years ago for another <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n graduation in another country.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Lewis wrote “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe” and “The Screwtape <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Letters,” among other things. His words were cautionary. He warned about <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n selling your soul and principles to get to the innermost in-crowd. Roger said <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n he had shared it with some of his colleagues at the White House and the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n University. Count on friendship and let the clawing for position to others. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Not a bad way to leave Harvard University, short course or no. There are some <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n high flyers in this crowd, people who will deeply influence their nations. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Me, I’m going to retire. Roger included a copy of the address in the package <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n they gave us with our Certificates.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Then Marie Christine read our names, one by one, and Roger handed us our <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n diplomas. There was enthusiastic applause for everyone. When I got mine, I <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n found the red folder included the Certificate of Matriculation, a class <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n photo, the Lewis essay and a personally signed copy of Roger’s book about <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Presidential decision-making. Quite a guy, quite a program. Class act all the <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n way.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n He concluded the ceremony by saying “You don’t have to go home.” Then he <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n smiled that little impish grin of his and said: “You just can’t stay here.” <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n We all laughed and no one seemed to be in a hurry to get going. There was an <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n amazing bond forged between these very dissimilar people. There was more food <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n by the door, box lunches to carry us back into the world. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n I am going to finish typing this on the JFK computer and send it to myself <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n someplace else. There is a ton of laundry to do. Things have been piling up <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n for nearly a month. There is an e-mail informing me of major restructuring at <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n my office. I answer tersely and log off for the last time here at Harvard. <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Now there is the trip to the airport and the big bird to take me south. This <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n class will scatter to the winds, certificates in hand, five point plans <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n already germinating for implementation at our offices. I will head back south <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n and be back on the ground before dinner. There is going to be hell to pay <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n when I open up that e-mail queue in DC.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n But that is OK. We can handle it. We are Harvard Graduates, after all.<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n Copyright 2002 Vic Socotra<\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n