By Thomas Bartlett

It is, in a sense, the ultimate donation.

Some alumni, not content with a bumper sticker, wish to demonstrate their undying affection for their alma maters by having their earthly remains scattered on campus. The problem is that colleges generally won't grant them permission, fearing that soon everyone will be emptying urns onto the quad.

But they do it anyway.

When Jim Boon gets a request, he always says no. Mr. Boon, executive director of the alumni association at the University of Texas, says people often want to throw ashes off the Waller Creek bridge, a picturesque spot on the Austin campus. But allowing that would raise questions about who could scatter, and where, and whether ceremonies would be permitted. "It would open up a whole can of worms," he says.

Still, he knows people do scatter ashes because some later confess. "I always say, 'Thank you for telling me,'" he says.

Matthew B. Merrell has had much the same experience. The official policy of Davidson College, where Mr. Merrell is director of major gifts, is not to allow the scattering of ashes. However, a relative of a recently deceased alumnus called to say that the family had held a little ceremony on an undeveloped tract of land owned by the college, and disposed of the remains there. "I don't know why they felt compelled to share that," he says.

And, policy or no, Mr. Merrell says that the "dirty little secret" is that if you want to scatter ashes, no one is going to stop you. "We're not going to enforce it," he says. "If someone wants to come onto campus and dump ashes, they can do that."

Often alumni desire to repose eternally on the grounds of a university's sports stadium. According to Herb Vincent, senior associate athletic director at Louisiana State University, his office has received dozens of requests from alumni —and, in some cases, just fans —who want to have their ashes scattered at the football stadium. Sometimes they show up at the entrance, remains in hand.

In 2007 the son of a former wide receiver for the football team showed up before a game and asked to walk around the field. While he was in the end zone, staff members noticed him pouring something onto the turf. It was his dad's ashes.

Louisiana State went on to win that game in the final seconds with a pass to —Mr. Vincent swears —that exact place in the end zone. The Tigers also won the national championship that season.

Where your ashes are scattered says something about who you were, according to Stephen Prothero, a professor of religion at Boston University and author of Purified by Fire: A History of Cremation in America. "Identity doesn't end with death," he says.

Coming Home to Campus

Spreading ashes usually isn't a legal problem (of course dumping anything on private property normally requires permission). And it's not a health issue either, contrary to unfounded fears that human ashes are toxic.

A handful of colleges actually welcome ashes. The University of Virginia built a columbarium wall in 1992 and has plans for more. The idea occurred when the university cemetery, founded in 1828, was nearing capacity, according to Dearing W. Johns, head of the cemetery committee. The cost for a vault, which can hold the ashes of four people, is $2,500.

Although the university doesn't advertise the fact, it's fine, says Ms. Johns, to spread ashes in the cemetery. Plus, it's free.

Two years ago the University of Notre Dame began a program called Coming Home —basically, a mausoleum offering "niches" and crypts. So far 312 spots have been sold, and more construction is in the works. Last month the Florida Senate passed a bill that would allow the University of Florida to build a columbarium. "We thought it would be a really nice addition to the campus," says Katie Marquis, director of membership and marketing for the university's alumni association.

For years, people have scattered ashes without permission in Duke University's 55-acre campus garden. So, in 2006, the university opened a small area where alumni can have their ashes buried. Names are inscribed on limestone markers that line a path through the garden's azaleas and camellias.

At $25,000, the honor of being laid to rest at Duke isn't cheap (the money goes to the garden's foundation). So far, about 50 spots have been reserved and a half-dozen have been used. With 900 stones, there's plenty of room to grow. Jeffrey Yohn, director of development at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens, says that while the university doesn't perform ceremonies, employees will take care of the actual burials. They try to put the ashes as close to a flower or a bush as possible. Says Mr. Yohn: "It's actually good for the plant life."