There is probably no month that engenders more non-political speechifying than May. Commencements are all over the place. Even graduation from pre-K now merits a cap and gown, but one would hope that ice cream has held sway over exhortations to step up to the first grade with a “new sense of purpose and dedication.” I did hear a discussion concerning which side of the mortar board the four-year old should allow his tassel to hang.
There have been some truly memorable speeches given on these occasions, generally by famous people to a college audience. Most of the listeners, particularly the fathers, are concerned with the problem of how to load four years of curricular detritus into the family SUV, so not much attention is paid. The President, the First Lady, and all the Governors will mount the rostrum, survey the sea of faces before them and may, perhaps, deliver some inspiring words.
One of the most famous (and shortest) graduation addresses was delivered in 1997 to the graduates of MIT by Kurt Vonnegut. You can look it up; it’s worth reading. The only problem is that it was never delivered by Mr. V. Originally, it was a column in The Chicago Tribune written by Mary Schmich. Someone, apparently unknown to this day, posted it on the internet as Vonnegut’s commencement address. It spread like wildfire but quickly it was denied by the author. Kofi Annan was the actual speaker that day at MIT. The whole thing turned out to be a colossal hoax but case in point: Just because you see it on the internet, doesn’t make it true. The late Mr. Vonnegut delivered a number of commencement addresses, but this one will live as his “best,” thanks to the redoubtable Ms. Schmich and a prankster.
I gave a commencement talk to City School more than a quarter century ago. In that remote past, I didn’t even have a computer, so who knows where the hard copy is. I do remember my major thought. Instead of congratulating them on their past and challenging them for the future, I took a different tack: I told them to think about the students who were not in their midst.
Selected as the best and brightest from the William Fleming and Patrick Henry High Schools, these students were members of the academically elite. I pointed out that there were many in their high schools that could have done just as well—or even better—than they had but for one reason or another, they weren’t chosen for City School. Instead of the cozy atmosphere of Mill Mountain Theater where we were assembled, these students would have their commencement in the stark confines of a civic center.
That night I told them there were others who didn’t have a complete family assembled for their celebration. There had been divorces . . . ugly ones . . . and the parents of these graduates couldn’t be in the same room with one another. There were single mothers, single fathers sitting in the dim light recalling the time before a premature death ripped their spouse away. In both cases, I told them the absent parent could be there in spirit.
There was another student who missed the ceremony because she was dead . . . and by her own hand. A City School class documented her death in a television production, “The Empty Chair,” hoping to raise consciousness about teen-age suicides.
My goal was not to diminish the joy of the occasion but to heighten their sense of appreciation for their good fortune, some of which had been due to good luck. I closed my remarks on an optimistic note, although I don’t recall what it was. The response to my talk was gratifying, so it must have struck a responsive chord.
Occasionally I encounter a parent who was there that night and I have been asked for copies of my remarks. Those graduates of 25 years ago, this May are seated in the audience of college commencements for similar ceremonies, but now they watching their children walk across the stage, take the diploma, turn their tassel and step out into the unknown.
Who can say what awaits them? We can only hope the future will be as kind to them as it was to those few who sat quietly before me that night when all the world seemed young.
By Hayden Hollingsworth [email protected]