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Opinion: Mortar board or dunce cap. One hat is flat, one hat is pointed. One hat says “smart”, the other hat says “stupid”.
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The month of June provides many opportunities for reflection. You may find yourself sitting in a humid auditorium waiting for graduates to get their tassels moved from right to left. Perhaps, you’ll be waiting for the arrival of a bridal party who have detoured into a local park for interminable wedding photos. Maybe you’ll be stuck at a departure gate waiting on a delayed inbound plane. Vast swaths of June move slowly. Make it a point to have something to read. If nothing else, use the time to ponder the mysteries of the universe.
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I recently attended a graduation ceremony and got to wondering about those odd, square-shaped hats grads wear. They are commonly called mortar boards, which is puzzling, as bricklayers use mortar boards for holding the stuff that sticks one brick to another. Is there some symbolism there, I wondered? A mortar board on your head has long been an indicator of intelligence. The opposite of a mortar board is a dunce’s cap — a big, white cone. One hat is flat, one hat is pointed. One hat says “smart”, the other hat says “stupid”. These two toppers are at opposite ends of the hat taxonomy. Where did this all come from?
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As with most things, it turns out that the history of both hats is complex and surprising.
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It turns out the graduation cap has an ancient history dating back to the 1500s when Catholic clerics and scholars in Italy wore something referred to as a biretta, which itself is thought to have evolved from the pileus quadratus. As you’re not a cone-hat wearing person but a person who reads newspapers, it won’t be lost on you that quadratus means square.
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The pileus quadratus was a type of skullcap with a small mound at the top. Learned people wore these hats. Once identified with academia, the association stuck and gradually spread to Britain and on to North America. The standard became that students wore these square, flat hats along with a robe related to the student’s field of study. There was a time when both were worn daily.
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Depending on the institution, there are intricate rules about all of this academic regalia. Lore has it that students at Oxford University bring their caps with them to all exams, but can’t wear the caps until graduation. At Oxford, students are required to dress sub fusc — which is to say, in a dark suit or skirt with a plain, white shirt or blouse under their robes when attending ceremonies or when writing exams. Clearly, I didn’t attend Oxford as I wore a hot pink jersey dress under my gown when I graduated from UBC. At any institution, robes and coloured tassels indicate the field of study. A gold tassel is reserved for achieving doctoral status or academic honours.
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The history of the dunce cap is not what I would have expected. The head gear that became a symbol of public humiliation started out as anything but. Whereas teachers used to use this hat as a form of discipline, the hat started out as an identifier of followers of a highly respected Scottish theologian and philosopher named John Duns Scotus. Yes, that’s where the name dunce comes from — Duns. His followers were known as Dunsmen, or Dunces. Duncemen wore a tall, conical hat that was theorized to function as a metaphysical funnel for wisdom and knowledge. In time, Duns’ teaching fell out of favour and the term — and the hat — became associated with backwardness. Nonetheless, John Duns Scotus was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1993.
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So, there you have it: a quick look at the surprising history behind scholastic headgear. Something to share while you’re stuck in FIFA traffic this June.
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Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. She writes The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun. For more of what Jane’s up to, check out her website, janemacdougall.com
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This week’s question for readers:
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Question: Any stories from your graduations?
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Send your answers by email text, not an attachment, in 100 words or less, along with your full name to Jane at thebooklessclub@gmail.com. We will print some next week in this space.
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Previous question for readers:
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Question: What do you collect, and why?
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• I, too, have a collection of about 100 shot glasses. They’re nicer reminders of places we have visited than T-shirts and easy to squeeze into the luggage. I occasionally use the shot glasses to make a drink and toast to the memory of that vacation. Cycling through the glasses takes a couple years. In the distant future, the plan is for everyone at my memorial to choose a shot glass, have a toast, then take it home with them. Decluttering in action.
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John Ydenberg
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• Honestly, who doesn’t love mermaids? Over 40 years, I have amassed some 500 from all over the world, in all materials and sizes. Naturally, the more friends you have, the more mermaids. Also, we have a large Christmas tree that holds an additional 400 mermaid ornaments. Unfortunately, I only get to display them every second year since my figure-skating wife has a collection of some 500 skating ornaments which fill our tree on alternate years. She is very good at displaying both collections. It’s a lot of work and I can’t complain at her sort-of willingness. How great is that?
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Ron Johnson
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• I only collect two things: children’s teeth — the tooth fairy paid for them all, didn’t she? — and fortune cookie fortunes. They don’t take up any room, are easy to move when I downsize, and create a little fun whenever I display them.
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Sara Shadbolt
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• Years ago, when our daughter was about 16 years old, our family was exploring Prince Edward Island together. An adorable Anne of Green Gables doll caught my eye. I wanted to buy it for my daughter, but she intuited that I wanted to buy it for myself. That was when I realized that I’m a collector. I now have around 28 dolls, including a baby doll I call “Grumpy”, a beauty my parents gave me when I was nine years old and began inheriting dolls from my mother. She was a collector too.
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Claudia Smith
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• My collecting started at the age of 10, many decades ago, starting with Sportsman cigarette packages for the fly-fishing lures. Then cartoon books caught my interest — Charlie Brown, Zits, and others. Eventually, I collected around 5,000 Marvel comic books. Record albums topped 750 before I switched to CDs. Also had three or four hundred science-fiction short story anthologies. When I turned 60 I stopped collecting, but held onto my 1,000 plus CDs and around 1,000 cartoon books.
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Dennis Milton
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• In the past, I collected Glo-Hill Gourmates, which is mid-century Canadian serving ware. It was chrome with bakelite handles and sometimes legs and were sold at The Bay. I love to serve sushi on the platters and asparagus on the long trays. Fifteen years ago, thrift stores were full of them. Most of the items I have only cost a dollar. I was living in Minnesota then, and on trips home, finding these Canadian treasures was a thrill. Of course, the Minnesotans had no idea the serving dishes were common as dirt in Canada.
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Sheila Humphrey
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• I am a collector of anything Peanuts, especially Snoopy. I started collecting when I was 11. My dad always called me Snoop and my collection began with a book given to me at school for Christmas. My parents thought it would be a fad that would last about six months, but I’m now 62 with no plans to stop. There are many others out there who collect too and we get together for “Beaglefest”, usually held in Santa Rosa, CA, where Peanuts creator, Charles Schulz, lived.
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Gail Reddicopp
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• I, too, have been a collector of teddy bears. They’ve all had eyes that appealed to my heart and claimed me for their own. For the last few years in my European travels I have looked for very small pottery bowls — plain, swirled, patterned, but all stackable. I guess I just love things. Now my eyes are drawn to the small things.
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Vicki Davies
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• I collect material related to LGBT travel, tourism and hospitality, the follow-up to a 30-plus year career in retail travel. Hundreds of items have already been donated to UBC and Western University. It’s my retirement passion project to preserve this essential aspect of queer history.
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Rick Hurlbut
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• I collect fridge magnets from my travels, seeking out ones made by local artisans. Not only are they an inexpensive souvenir, they are easy to fit in luggage. I have over 140 on my fridge and still room for more.
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Liisa Atva
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• I absolutely understand the concept of “the frequency illusion”. I have a collection of at least 300 owl images. Paintings, photographs, carvings, figurines, Indigenous masks, quilts, tea towels, jewelry, mugs, even a couple of vases — you name it, I have it. One friend stitched a quite lovely needle-point creation for me. It all started in about 1957 when I finished elementary school and my uncle’s ex-wife thought I was a smart kid and gave me a small brass piece labelled “Wise Owl”. I wonder what will become of it all when I die?
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Pat Dewhirst
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• My coworker, Donna, gave me a brown clay ornament on the day I quit smoking. I kept it on my desk as a daily reminder of my commitment. On my first non-smoking anniversary she added a small white owl symbolizing cleaner lungs. Over the years, coworkers, friends and family have added to the collection, and this year I celebrated 50 years of non-smoking with my 150-plus owl family.
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Jan Lemaire
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• Somewhere along the line I began to accumulate bunnies in every conceivable material, size, and value, even though I never asked for them. As a child, my family gave me the nickname Pookie, because I reminded them of the flying rabbit in the books by Ivy Wallace. Even though it’s a rather silly nickname for a grown woman, I have embraced it. My home used to be cluttered with my rabbits, although many are boxed up now in deference to my hubby’s taste.
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Denise Howell
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• Many years ago, I had a few nice pieces of rhinestones. When they became unpopular, and you could buy them at garage sales for $1 or less, I started collecting pins, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and shoe clips. My husband purchased two large glass antique frames, added a velvet backing and hinges, and hung them on the wall in my closet for me to wear. Now that they are in style thanks to celebrities sporting them.
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Alice Samworth
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• In our world, it’s frogs. It all began years ago when my husband said I woke one morning posed like a sleeping frog. Our first frog was a small stuffy bought to memorialize that, but now our collection numbers more than 50 frogs. It’s routine that our grandchildren must make a count every visit — sometimes just checking, sometimes to add another.
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Jo-Ann Zador
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