It's difficult to pinpoint when, exactly, it all begins. Sometime in the week before Sunday, The Day, the cleaning crews arrive. They blow leaves from pathways, sandblast graffiti from dorm walls, pick up all the trash. The jackhammers follow soon after, and the sounds of last-minute construction sing all week. Lawns are revived by men with the skills of the Pebble Beach greenskeepers. Last come the banners -- flapping gallantly red from perches around Campus Drive -- and the chairs, thousands of them, unfolding from great stacks to sit empty before a score of vacant podiums in and around the Quad.
By Friday, there is no trace of the workers, only of the work. The jackhammers are gone, the paths and streets cleared of even the smallest twigs. And that's how the thousands of guests -- parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, mentors, friends -- find Stanford when they arrive for Commencement to see the graduates finish off four years of toil in one final weekend: shiny and eager to impress.
Saturday, 9:35 a.m., Inner Quad. Members of the Class of '99 begin a 21-minute procession, two by two, from their assembly point inside Memorial Church to their seats in the North Portal for Baccalaureate. They exit the massive front doors jubilant and chatty and arrive at their seats, less than 100 yards away, solemn and stoic. Behind them, a throng of parents and faculty sits through the beginning of what promises to be a weekend of speechifying.
10:20 a.m. A sun-drenched father rises from his seat near the back to chase a restless toddler heading for the middle of the Quad. "I need a beer," he mutters.
11:25 a.m. Vice Provost for Student Affairs James Montoya, '75, MA '78, and the four senior class presidents dedicate the class plaque in the southwest corner of the Quad. Weighing nearly 70 pounds, the plaque is lowered by two men using wire handles. It covers a time capsule that holds a ticket stub from the opening night of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, a copy of the Starr Report and the swimsuit worn by class member Dod Wales when he set the national collegiate record in the 100-meter butterfly.
11:50 a.m., Bowman Alumni House. "Class Day is my favorite day," Dean of Students Marc Wais says at a VIP reception preceding the annual Saturday luncheon. "It blows away Sunday." Outside in Kennedy Grove, seniors and their families munch croissant sandwiches from plastic boxes, then listen to outgoing Provost Condoleezza Rice challenge them to use their knowledge to build multicultural democracies that work.
4:55 p.m., Hoover House. The 1,150th person to visit President Gerhard Casper's residence today steps through the front door and heads off on a tour. Volunteer guides estimate that more than 6,000 people will stop by this weekend, the only time of the year when Hoover House is open to public view.
5:05 p.m. The last group finishes the tour just as fatigue seems to be taking its toll. From his post on the Hoover House balcony, a weary but cheerful Malcolm Beasley, dean of Humanities and Sciences, confides that he's given three talks today. On the lawn, a woman in a red-and-white-checkered dress, camcorder in hand and husband and daughter in tow, heaves a sigh. "I think we did more activities today than I have in my whole life," she says.
Sunday, 8 a.m., 717 Dolores House. Seniors in this fraternity-house-turned-University-residence rise early for a breakfast of champagne and strawberries before the Commencement ceremony. Some are more rested than others. "I woke up once an hour all night," says James Pritchard, who is receiving an industrial engineering degree. "I'm excited."
8:45 a.m., Galvez and Serra streets. Under a rapidly clearing sky, small tributaries of black-robed students converge into a stream flowing toward Stanford Stadium.
9:25 a.m., Stanford Stadium. At the south end of the Stadium, a flag is raised and a great roar goes up. "Here they come!" someone shouts. To the sounds of a jazz ensemble, seniors storm the field for the now-traditional Wacky Walk. They quickly set up two large mats, one for swing dancing, one for a Twister tournament. In a ring to the right is a wrestling match, and nearby a large group in black and white shirts and pointy hats plays a life-sized game of Battle Chess. Someone erects a cold-drink stand painted with the sign "Stanford Start-Up" ("Lemonade: $120"). Several giant Chinese dragons circle the track, as does a large contingent from the track team. Frisbees fly overhead. A lightsaber duel breaks out. All around, seniors flash signs to the audience. Most popular slogan: "Thanks mom and dad."
10:25 a.m. An ebullient Casper is greeted with basketball-style cheers of "Ger-hard Cas-per!" as he welcomes the 4,590 graduates. Says the bemused president: "Thank you for reminding me of my name!"
10:45 a.m. U.S. Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky, MA '65, PhD '67, begins the Commencement address. Five days earlier he had confessed to not knowing what he would talk about. Now he eloquently implores graduates to carry on the wisdom of their ancestors. "I charge you," he says, "in whatever you choose, to honor the past and pass on its treasures to the young."
11:34 a.m. Casper salutes graduates after the conferral of degrees.
11:51 a.m. Following the recessional, the Hawaiian-shirt-clad Stanford Band storms the stage and, five minutes later, lets loose with an extended version of "All Right Now."
12:50 p.m. Students receive degrees in departmental ceremonies. In Kennedy Grove, political science graduates listen to Rice speak over the sounds of a mariachi band in the nearby Faculty Club. Classics students feast on burgers and hot dogs on a patio adjacent to the psychology department in the Outer Quad. In Memorial Court, Steven Chaffee, PhD '65, chair of communication, reads the roll of graduates -- only to be intermittently drowned out by the names of the sociology grads blaring from loudspeakers at the opposite end of the arcade.
3:20 p.m., Storke Publications Building. Adam Kemezis, toting his new classics diploma, brings his mother and grandmother to the Daily offices to assess their sunburns and plan the rest of the day. Kemezis, a former Daily editor in chief, collapses in a swivel chair with a cold bottle of beer. "What shall we do now?" his mother asks. "I don't know about you all," he answers, "but I could use a nap."
-- Jim Tankersley, '00
