When I began my career in higher education, I knew I needed to buy academic regalia – renting that stuff very quickly becomes a terrible economic decision. Regalia is a whole thing in education – your rig announces to those who can read such things your degree, your institution, and your area of expertise. Master’s degrees have the coolest sleeves, but doctors have the best hats. I had to make choices about material and design, even though most elements are pretty standardized these days. (Harvard insists on not using basic black for their Ph.Ds, opting for carp bait red.) For instance, while regalia was originally designed to keep academics warm in drafty European universities, my career was spent in the Carolinas, so I didn’t need Highland wool. The colors are pretty nifty and there’s a whole code that goes with those. (Cheat sheet for mine – the black is the traditional color of a doctoral robe, the purple indicates the study of law, and the “old gold” lining the hood represents my law school alma mater, Wake Forest. The gold braid edging the purple was just extra – at that point, I was spending enough that one extra fillip didn’t seem to matter much.) Honestly, a dissertation of academics (I think that’s the proper collective noun) all decked out in their regalia is a little like sporting gang colors, only with footnotes.
I wore that regalia for 22 years of “Pomp and Circumstance” played on repeat and I loved nearly every minute of it. Seeing students graduate and knowing the struggles some had to overcome and the bright lights they were providing for their families to follow gets me every single time. I’ve gotten strong hugs, shy smiles, handshakes, bows, seen powerful dancing, been sprayed by cheap champagne and witnessed more than a few students being totally overcome. It’s a humbling, joyous experience.
Last year, after attending the final graduation ceremonies at Limestone, I took my regalia to the cleaners and had everything made shipshape. It’s been hanging in the front closet ever since and I think I’m ready to let it go. Next spring, I’ll look for a WFU law grad who’s about my height and make them a deal.
I was good at that part of my life. I like to think that I had a pretty good compass of when to cajole and nudge, and when to draw a line and dare them to cross it. That I made students dig deep and do hard things and that I also championed them in some tough times. That I helped them see how much more they were capable of and served as their spotter as they learned new maneuvers. That I moved a few from “why do I have to do this?” to “Tell me more – what else haven’t I learned?”
I hate that it ended the way it did and I have a list of names of people who I would never recommend to serve on any board, committee, or panel. I would further recommend that none of these people teach Sunday school, as their concepts of morality are more flexible than an Olympic gymnast.
But it’s okay that it’s over. In fact, it’s a Good Thing. Working somewhere that is toxic, surrounded by people you don’t trust and (in a few cases) don’t respect will do a number on you.
The house that had been my office at Limestone has been rezoned and sold. The interior has been gutted and made beautiful. I saw the pictures today.
I like to think it’s a phoenix rising from the ashes. Sometimes, things have to burn to change.
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