Desmond Tutu was to have been the Commencement speaker in 1980, but he was unavoidably detained, apparently assisting the police with their inquiries back in South Africa. I forget who spoke in his place.

As the Commencement processional, if you could call it a processional, shuffled its ragged way from the staging area behind Low Library, it became apparent that we doctoral candidates from the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences would be the last in line. And as we finally made our way out onto Low Plaza, it was painfully clear to me that all the seats were taken.

Processing slowly up past Alma Mater, I glimpsed a wooden folding chair lying discarded beside the orchestra seats. Thinking on my feet, I grabbed it up and carried it across the stage. Sure enough, by the time the rest of the Ph.D.'s squashed into their allotted zone under the pine tree over by Kent Hall, it was standing room only. I proudly unfolded my chair in the shade, opened the picnic hamper and a bottle of Bollinger and proceeded to enjoy the festivities.

Afterwards, my boss, the wry and avuncular Director of Columbia Residence Halls, commented to me that I had at least learned one thing during my tenure at Columbia: "If you want something, you have to think quick and get it while you can."