Cap and Gown

Ingredients

A glass of champagne
A can of Keystone Light
A solo cup of batch
$250,000 of after-tax income spent on your college education

Sprat Herringford graduated in 2016. 

This is the story of his last 24 hours at Dartmouth College:

By the time I was out the door of my dearly beloved fraternity, I had imbibed the alcoholic equivalent of a zookeeper’s tranquilizer dart. My jaw was slack and my chin was numb, so when I took a hard tumble against the coarse surface of Webster Avenue, I didn’t even notice. Despite the noticeable imprint of a road on my face, my brothers and I sallied forth for one last hurrah along the stretch of road leading to the President’s Residence and the Catholic Church. 

We had resolved to undertake a grand tour of the basements and beer halls that had once so enticed us as freshmen. That night, my last at the College, was more bittersweet than those early, heady days of our time at Dartmouth. Still, we pressed on into the raucous darkness. The night was young and so were we.

As I rounded the home base of my fourth keg-stand, the garish lights of an unnamed basement dissolved into a haze. The hours between then and when I awoke, have been to lost to history.

My rude awakening came as I found myself slumped over in a shower, naked, in the Fayerweather dormitory which had been my first at Dartmouth. The absence of external light robbed me of my time perception and I had no sense of how many hours had passed since I had last booted and rallied. Non compos mentis I stumbled out of the dorm, which had been abandoned for the summer by its former freshman occupants.

Suddenly, the unmistakable tune of Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance” echoed across the Green. I started running towards it, unaware of my nudity, and dashed down towards the stage from the lawn in front of Dartmouth Hall. I hurried into the crowd assembled, rushing to join the graduation procession. It wasn’t until I made eye contact with my grand aunt Margaret that I realized the family jewels were in full display.

I dashed into a nearby pavilion to forage for the regalia to shield my loins from the gaze of an attentive crowd. I seized the first gown I could find, which turned out to be a women’s medium. Shambling barefoot across the Green, I finally relaxed when I blended normally into the throng of soon-to-be graduates heading for the stage. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought my crisis averted as my name was called to ascend the stage and collect my degree. As I crossed the platform, a strong hillwind came and blew my gown above my waist.

— Sprat Herringford