The Cane

It’s May of 1985.  After four years of hard work, self-sacrifice, struggle and battle, including dealing with several overwhelming family issues that threatened to derail my education, I can finally walk across the podium at my college commencement, accept my diploma from Hamilton College president Martin J. Caravano, and receive a special gift that every Hamilton College student gets upon their graduation.

That’s in addition to the diploma and the Bachelor of Arts designation.

As you can see from this yearbook photograph, the “gift” is a hand-carved wooden walking cane, which I hold aloft in my left hand.  (By the way, please don’t make any cracks about the aviator photo-chromic eyeglasses I wore that day.)

There were always rumors every year that the cane tradition was too expensive, and that the next graduating class would receive a plastic cane – or no cane at all.  But every year, at our college commencements, a large box of wooden canes were at the ready, and were handed to each graduating senior.  The cane, with a tricorner hat carved into the knob, contains the words “Hamilton College,” along with the year of graduation, along the upper shaft.

Sadly, my cane disappeared maybe six months after I got it.  It may have  been lost in one of my many apartment moves, or it could have vanished of its own volition.  It could still be in a packing box somewhere and I don’t even know it.

But for all intents and purposes, the cane was gone.

Every five years, around the time of my college reunion, I would make it a point to ask the college if I could order a replacement cane, but I either got caught up in the reunion itself – seeing classmates that I had forgotten about for five years – and, sadly, I forgot to ask for the cane – and sometimes only remembered that I was going to ask, just as I’m on the Thruway heading home to Albany.

Last week, during my 25th college reunion, I walked around the campus grounds, took some photographs and created a polar panorama of the iconic Hamilton College Chapel, a photo that will be on display Friday at the Schenectady Art Night gallery show.  I also looked around the campus for Hamilton’s first NCAA national championship trophy, an achievement earned by the women’s lacrosse team (the trophy’s in the Fieldhouse, proudly on display).

I also stopped in the President’s office, and finally – after 25 years – asked the secretary on duty if there was any provision for acquiring a replacement wooden graduation cane.  I expected it would cost some serious green, but I did want to find out if at least a replacement could be ordered.

“The person in charge of those canes isn’t here this weekend, but I’d be glad to take your number and contact information and have her get back to you.”

Better than nothing, I guess.  I gave the secretary my contact information, thanked her for her time, and went back outside to photograph some more memories.  Oh, there’s the tree in the quadrangle that nearly took my life during my first – and last – game of Ultimate Frisbee.  My my, there’s the Burke Library, the place where I discovered the college computer center facilities, essentially freeing me from having to rely on a Smith-Corona typewriter to create my term papers.

Ah yes, and the concrete dormitories of the Kirkland side of campus – for those who don’t know the history of Hamilton College, a quick synopsis.  After being created in 1793 by Samuel Kirkland as an academy for the Oneida Indians, Hamilton became an official college a few years later.  It was an all-male school, and in the 1960’s the college built a second institute of higher learning on the other side of College Hill Road, a women’s school called Kirkland College.  In 1978, the two schools merged (retaining the name Hamilton College), and Hamilton became a coeducational school.  In fact, my class (Class of 1985) was the first class in school history that did not attend classes with any of the all-male Hamilton College or the all-female Kirkland College.  Okay, lesson over.  Now back to our story.

A few days later, I received this e-mail from the college.

Dear Chuck,
I understand that you have lost your Hamilton Cane (Class of ’85) and would like a replacement. Luckily I was able to locate one!

If you would send me the address of where to send it I will be happy to put it in the mail to you.

There is no charge for this replacement cane, but if you would like to make an additional contribution to Hamilton in 2010, it would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you,
Susan G. Campanie, P’04,’06
Events Administrator
Office of the President
Hamilton College
Clinton, NY  13323

Now THAT’S service.  Talk about good fortune.  And yes, a donation is forthcoming.

See, just like my high school ring has meaning to me because of what I went through to earn a high school diploma, that cane has meaning to me in that I struggled through four of my toughest academic years.  I was an outsider in an upper-class world.  I fought every day to learn and to thrive and to apply myself in whatever disciplines I could handle.  And that included a creative writing major that would, in time, eventually lead to a successful writing career.

On Saturday, before my wife Vicki went to work, she asked me if we received any mail.  I said we hadn’t, other than some junk mail and a couple of bills.

“Did you get your poster?” she asked me.  Not realizing what she meant, I thought she was talking about getting one of my photographs printed for the Altamont Fair.

Later that day, I saw what she meant.  A long mailing tube had arrived.  It was addressed to me.  It was from Hamilton College.

My heart skipped about seven beats.

I opened the mailing tube.  Inside, wrapped in a sheet of bubble wrap, was a replacement wooden cane.

Photographs are below.

Okay… now I feel better.  My thanks to the Hamilton College front office staff for getting me a replacement cane.

And I promise not to lose this one.