Can you hear me in the back?
I only have a few very brief, unremarkable remarks to make.
Ladies and gentlemen of the second summer session, distinguished colleagues, students, teachers, friends, and family, I am touched by your warm outpourings. In fact, for almost five weeks your warm outpourings have been mixing with the very air I breathe in the mountains and on the beaches and busses of Greece; so I feel very close to you all–very close–so close that I feel that I can recognize each of you–and not by
sight alone. (My own outpourings will receive no comment here.)
My friends, today is a turning point in my life as I pass over the threshold block of my next year and under the lintel block of the past. As I make my way down the dromos of dreams, climb the crepidoma to the crossroads of the column capitals of life and make my way into the megaron of middle age, I feel it incumbent upon myself–oh, quite incumbent–to ,look back at my experiences ••• as a guide towards the days to come.
Please bear with me, friends; this is serious, and I say this with all my hearth and all my tholos.
If you will permit me, I will make a few brief remarks–quite brief, I assure you–on the nature of time, and more particularly, our time together here in Hellas, the land of light.
In order to do this, I must rely on my increasingly faulty memory.
Please, my friends, bear with me as I try to ,recall this trip from deep within the recesses of my mind. I only hope that I can remember everything we have experienced together as well as Steven Powelson remembers book 22 of the Iliad.
I see a bus–no, two busses; no, one bus. Yes, it is on its way to Demeter ‘s holy shrine, where Mrs. Binder awaits. I see pedestrians–no, bus passengers; no, pedestrians. I see Mrs. Binder lecturing, and I see new ideas come thick and fast, and Mr. Mylonas’ theories fall one by one. It is a shame, because he knows the site so well and has written about it so many times Eleusis track. Thank-you for your support; I will wear it
proudly.
In conclusion, I look back into the far reaches of the past and see the misty isle of Crete. I see an airplane in the air–no, on the ground; no,in the air. Crete is a beautiful island, a fine island, a grand island. Chania think of one finer? I know that you all, like me, would like to go back as Phaistos you can. Everywhere we went on that marvelous isle, I kept you all close to my heart. Some of you tearfully noticed how I was always counting–like a shepherd–to see if you were all still with me, especially when we visited the LM III cemetery and drank raki with Demetrios. Even then you knew that I loved my flock, and only counted to see Armenoi of you were there.
Everywhere we went in Crete, from Gournia to Mallia, from Kavousi to Itanos, from Upper to Kato Zakros, through the shining sands of Kommos and Palaikastro, and the marvelous museum of Irakleion, we found that Crete is the land of the bull. Horns everywhere reminded us of that fact, as did those right-on rhytons shaped in the boucephalous way. The Cretans are such bull lovers that lovers of the equine quadrupeds ask the inevitable question: How Knossos compete?
In closing, I would just like to say that I am sure that in the last act of the theater of life, when I reach that Homeric threshold of old age, having played my part to the best of my ability, in that last scene I will still think of Crete–and will do so until the applause dies out and the last Gortyn falls.
But before I leave this precious gathering, I seem to be having a vision–I see the Marathon Museum once- -no, twice; no, three times. That was its charm.
And finally, in closing, I would just like to remind you–one and all–of the square in Andritsaina, just before we left that halcyon ·Arcadian village, where some of us shared a sweet treat. As the sesame and honey melted in our mouths we all whispered faintly that the director was a halvah nice guy. For that precious memory I thank you most
sincerely.
And last. of all, let us try our best to preserve our precious memories of this trip. These are the good old days. Write them on the tablets of your heart with the pen of Pendeli. Remember them all, from the time we said “hi” to Hymettos, had our fill of the Philopappos, tasted the air of the Areopagos, felt ill at the Ilissos and limped through the Olympieion.Remember too Mycenae’s slippery secret cistern steps descending
precipitously to the obscure spring.
And so, in closing, we remember the rays of the Peiraeus, the mice of Mycenae, the college try of the triglyph, the very core of Acrocorinth, our pal on the Palamidi, the beautiful miss of Mystra with the beautiful ass of Asine. When it comes time for us to part, we shed the tears of Sphacteria and say to each bosom companion, each new-found friend, each fellow traveller,”Farewell, Godspeed, so long, and see you again Sounion.”
My friends, I see that my time is almost up, and so I would just like to say in conclusion that tomorrow we will go to Thebes, where we must turn our minds to Pindar, and the respect shown for his memory by Alexander the Great . We think of Pentheus, of Dionysus, of Oedipus, of Antigone, of Eteocles and Polyneices and all that they experienced here. But most of all we call to mind that great router of the Spartans, the terror of Laconia, the victor at Leuctra, founder of Megalopolis, father of Messene,
the Theban general Epaminondas, who revolutionized warfare with his Theban regiment, the so-called Sacred Band, which you might still be able to hear if you get to the disco early enough tonight.
If there is a lesson in this brief speech of an old man, it would be the following–and with this admonition I conclude and hold my speechless tongue. Friends, remember this: Pericles did not die in vain, and neither did Socrates. They died–both of them–in Athens. Please do not follow their example.
Live long and prosper, be kind to your fellow creatures, always strive for excellence in your personal and professional lives, stay forever young at heart, and–most importantly–be back on the bus tomorrow morning with both sturdy shoes and swimming gear.
Good night, and thank you for giving me your patience and your affection; I will continue to reciprocate both with great pleasure.
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