The lawn in front of the oldest building on campus contains greying concrete benches of old. Slowly eroding away and sinking into the Earth, the smattering of benches on the hill might resemble tombstones to a distant eye. A weary student might take a break on one of these moss encrusted relics. Perhaps looking around, they might spot an inscription carved into the back of the stone. Brushing away debris, one of them faintly but clearly reads “Class of 1910.”

1910. An average graduate would be around 118 years old now. I wonder how many of them are left.