Column: Graduation ceremonies don’t go as quickly in the humid, hot South

I attended my grandson’s high school graduation last week in North Carolina.

Ethan’s ceremony proved an educational and cultural eye-opener for me, and now stands as an important life marker for our family. How proud we all were — and are.

But I also found it to be a jaw dropping, “Oh-my-gosh” experience.

Lest you perceive me an academic neophyte, this wasn’t my first rodeo. I happen to be a grizzled veteran of dozens of commencements.

In 37 years as Orange Coast College’s director of community relations I attended 38 commencement ceremonies. I was a member of the graduation committee; wrote the script for the annual ceremony; produced the printed program; and served as a guide for the procession itself.

I’ve long considered myself a commencement nerd.

My grandson’s graduation took place on Saturday morning in the air-conditioned confines of his school’s gymnasium. Even with a 10 a.m. “kickoff,” the weather that day was too hot and humid to risk a ceremony on the football field. Under the oppressive gaze of “Old Sol,” heat stroke would have been the theme of the day.

North Carolina’s weather can be stifling. Such was the case that day, and heat makes cowards of us all.

We stood from 8 to 9 a.m. outside the gym in a serpentine line that surrounded the facility. Even at 8 a.m., the air was leaden with humidity. The Carolina heat can reduce a frozen Klondike Bar to molten lava in mere seconds.

Though not yet officially “summer” in America’s Bible belt, it felt like it to this Californian.

We, the “frozen chosen” (six grad tickets allotted per family), sat for an hour in the gym’s delicious air conditioning before being roused by the opening strains of Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance.”

Before commencement commenced, however, while reading through the program, I came across a message from the school’s principal, Mr. Downer (not his real name).

“It has always been a tradition at (this) high school to have a dignified graduation ceremony where guests remain silent during the awarding of diplomas,” Downer wrote.

Excuse me? Silent commencements are a logical impossibility. What’s a graduation ceremony without noise?

He continued.

“The faculty and administration request your help in keeping this ceremony free of interruptions so that each graduate’s name can be heard by their family.”

Good luck with that, ya’ll. The man seemed delusional.

“Remain silent during the presentation of diplomas,” he said further. “Do not shout or cheer for individual seniors.”

Isn’t that un-American?

Alas, he was not finished.

“The parents of a graduate may stand silently as their child receives his or her diploma and then take their seat.”

That one will never fly. Californians don’t stand in abject silence unless they’re Trojan football fans following a Stanford loss. Had I suggested such antediluvian regulations for OCC’s commencement I’d have been laughed out of the room.

But, amazingly, the intrepid North Carolinian — gotta give him credit — continued.

“Please do not leave the graduation exercises until the program is completed. Remain in your seats until the entire program is finished and the seniors have exited the gym.”

I have two words: adult Pampers.

So, 2,000 people are expected to sit on their hands, ignore natural impulses and deny the call of Mother Nature? Not many of us have the constitution of a camel. And, oh yeah, we Californians are notorious for arriving late and leaving early, so take that into consideration.

There’s not one chance in 10,000, I mused, that North Carolinians will abide these stipulations. Can you say pipe dream?

So, what transpired, you ask?

Nary a peep was uttered in the hall during the entire two-hour ceremony. From “Pomp and Circumstance” through the conclusion of the recessional by Ralph Vaughan Williams you heard nothing but the solemn intonation of names, names and more names.

Respect for authority is alive and well in North Carolina. It also didn’t hurt to have a dozen uniformed deputies in the gym.

At the conclusion of the recessional ... silence. Then an explosion of sound — fueled by every beating heart in the house — broke forth.

The place went nuts.

And Ethan savored his special moment.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.