ABSTRACT
It was late; the cocktail hour was over and people had begun to settle in at the dinner tables, while the speakers gathered at the podium. I had been delayed by some small departmental crisis, typical of academic life. Standing in the wide doorway, I checked out the large round tables one after another, hoping to find former room-mates. Ignoring the mural, its struggle to be quaint a lost cause, showing life at P……n thirty years ago—as glowingly remembered by loyal alumni. Should I sit down? Would the dinner be worth it? Would the wine be drinkable? (… European conferences; the older Universities have excellent wine cellars.) Activity at the speakers table had increased; mikes were tested, and then the group was called to order. We were to hear how the Crash had happened, what to expect next from the economy, why we were declining, straight from the horses’ mouths, the men who knew how the system worked… I decided to stay.
