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Cheering Through the Clouds
High spirits transformed a
relentlessly wet and gray Commencement morning into a
celebration of stormy weather.
Summer 1998
By Mark Alden Branch
It rained almost constantly during the University’s 297th Commencement on May 25, but the 2,989 graduates shared President Richard C. Levin’s determination “to let nothing dampen our spirits,” answering each clap of thunder with a louder, more ebullient roar of their own. Graduates and their families witnessed a hurried-up ceremony from beneath mortar boards, umbrellas, plastic bags, and Commencement issues of the Yale Daily News as the rain refused to let up.
The festivities had started the day before under clear skies. Yale College seniors and their families packed Woolsey Hall in two sittings for the annual Baccalaureate service, where President Levin praised the Yale tradition of civic involvement and encouraged the Class of 1998 to continue the tradition. (The complete Baccalaureate Address is printed on page 52.) “Your generosity of spirit has made a difference on campus and in New Haven,” Levin told the graduates. “May your generosity now expand to encompass America and the world.”
When the seniors gathered again that afternoon on the Old Campus for Class Day, they performed a mix of ancient and recent rites. The relatively new trend toward outlandish hats was much in evidence among both students and faculty: Among the specimens identified were a few football helmets, a Santa Claus cap, a bicycle wheel, part of a tuba, and a peacock (which did not go unnoticed by Class Day speaker Tom Brokaw, whose employer, NBC, has long used a peacock for its logo).
In honor of the recent strides toward peace in Northern Ireland, the traditional Ivy Ode—written this year by Alexandra Robbins ’98—was read in English and Gaelic. (Coincidentally, the peace accord had won popular approval in elections across Ireland the day before.)
In their class history, Kavita Mariwalla and Jonathan Weinbach managed to put a distinctly 90s spin on the age-old wistfulness associated with leaving college. Near the end of their speech, they lamented the fact that “in just a few hours, our key cards stop working, our log-in names are no longer valid, and our telephone access numbers get deactivated.”
But Brokaw, in an address that also called upon the graduates to fight “the pernicious cancer of racism,” spent much of his time talking about a generation that knew as much at their graduation about key cards as today’s does about church keys. He put forth “the generation that came of age during the Great Depression” as a model for the seniors. “They did no less than save the world for you,” he said, recalling the sacrifices of World War II veterans. “Most of all, they didn’t whine, they didn’t whimper, and they didn’t ask for anything.” Brokaw, whose speech was greeted with a standing ovation, said he hoped a Class Day speaker in 50 years could have such positive things to say about these graduates “born to great privilege.”
The next day, graduates and faculty assembling on Cross Campus for the Commencement procession began to feel a few sprinkles. But the rain did not start in earnest until the parade had made its way onto the Green and back through Phelps Gate. By the time everyone was seated, it became clear that this time, the headgear—which included hard hats for the construction-afflicted Divinity School graduates, conical party hats for the School of Nursing’s 75th anniversary, syringes and “Support Needle Exchange” signs on some MDs, and the traditional flora for the Foresters—was not just for fun but also for cover.
President Levin pared away at the ceremony, eliminating hymns and asking the candidates for graduate and professional degrees (among them the first three doctoral candidates in the School of Nursing’s history) to stand en masse instead of one school at a time. University Chaplain Frederick J. Streets got into the spirit of concision, too: When he stepped forward to offer a prayer, a long, low rumble of thunder emanated from the sky. “Amen,” he responded.
The only other business to be performed before sending the graduates off to their residential college and graduate school convocations was the awarding of honorary degrees. (The complete list of recipients is on page 48.) Perhaps the most prominent among them was His All Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew I, the leader of the Eastern Orthodox Church. But the greatest applause was reserved for pop singer Lena Horne, who was cited for her music, films, and social activism. In an unusual departure from the gravity of the occasion, the small Commencement band greeted the announcement of her degree by playing a chorus of Horne’s signature song, whose title summed up the morning perfectly: “Stormy Weather.”  |
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