Memories of a Great, Great Moment

As a Cal State Northridge graduate, I have been breathlessly following the recent dispute regarding the selection of the Hollywood Bowl as the site for the 1989 graduation ceremonies.

As the sordid story has unfolded, I must admit that my heart goes out to those poor students who, to participate in the solemn commencement rites of my beloved CSUN, must face the trauma of abandoning their safe suburban campus and venturing to the urban jungle that is today’s Hollywood. And worst yet, these poor students must embark on this fateful trek knowing in their hearts that the Hollywood Bowl facilities lack the flexibility to provide for the traditional handshake with CSUN President James Cleary.

Oh woe, woe and double woe. The very thought of this gross injustice brings to mind happy memories from my own graduation day at Northridge. It was a beautiful, bright, sunny May day, the kind you read about in romance novels. I was excited and nervous about the ceremony, especially anxious about how I would perform when the big moment came.

Would my grip be too loose? Would it be too firm, thereby hurting the great man’s hand? Would my hands get too warm and sweaty in anticipation? Or, conversely, cold and clammy? Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of failure, yet my spine tingled in anticipation of success, for what man can deny the thrill of shaking James Cleary’s hand and shaking it well?

The time for the ceremony came. The administration thoughtfully scheduled the big event for mid-afternoon so that the full glory of the sun could be seen. After all, as one university official pointed out in a recent Times article, the school’s acronym is C-Sun (get it?).

The folding chairs placed on the lawn in front of the fortress-like Oviatt library were a fine continuation of the school’s distinctive look, exemplified by its consistent use of creative cinder-block architecture. The lack of adequate seating for my parents, their obstructed view of the entire proceedings and their fear that Grandma might collapse in the 95-degree heat symbolized the struggle they went through to get me to this point.

I barely noticed the gay surroundings, however, as my heart was pounding furiously. I could barely think, so affected was I at the thought of the moment to come. The trip to the podium itself was fraught with peril. Would I trip on one of the discarded liquor bottles? Would the students smoking marijuana in front of me collapse and prevent me from reaching the dais? Would the tennis balls thrown by the recreation majors, punch cards thrown by the computer science majors, fake money thrown by the business majors all somehow pile up and block the whole procession?

In the end, it didn’t matter. I got up there, grabbed his hand and felt the energy of education, of new horizons, of fortunes to be made, of all things relating to knowledge flowing down his powerful arm, through my veins, straight into my very soul. After making sure I still had my watch, in a daze, I somehow stumbled off the dais and back into my chair.

That’s my story. I’m sure you can understand why I so sympathize with those students dead set against having graduation at a facility like the Hollywood Bowl--which features a unique setting, an unobstructed view of the stage and comfortable seating. And who dare suggest holding the ceremony in the morning, when the temperature might even be bearable? Don’t you remember? C-Sun? (Get it?)

And don’t forget the handshake. As you can tell, I’ll never forget that special moment with Dr. Cleary.

Or was it Dean Peckham?

JEFF CURTIS

Burbank