(Note: These are the edited remarks of ߲ݴý Trustee Gus P. Coldebella ‘91 at a May 19th ceremony for seniors on the men’s lacrosse team who could not attend commencement because they were competing in the NCAA Tournament in Philadelphia.)
Thank you for that kind introduction.
In reflecting on why I was invited to participate in this event today, I thought perhaps it was my incredible ߲ݴý sporting career, such as when, in 1990, I led the (then) Red Raiders hockey team to ECAC and near NCAA victory . . . as the hockey organist. Oh, the penalty minutes I served for playing “Three Blind Mice” at those refs! Or maybe because I developed such a unique forehand stroke in tennis PE class that I am the only student in ߲ݴý history ever to have put myself in the infirmary with a self-inflicted tennis injury. Whatever the reason, it is my pleasure to represent ߲ݴý’s Board of Trustees at this very special and truly unique event.
In a few minutes you will take on a new role in the ߲ݴý community that you have been a part of for the last four years as a student. You will join the 32,000 people who make up ߲ݴý outside of ߲ݴý: its alumni. I have never run across a ߲ݴý alum who won’t talk to, meet with, or buy a coffee for a ߲ݴý student or fellow alum to try to offer advice, to help him or her find a job, or what have you. It’s a very special group of people. Avail yourselves of the generosity of ߲ݴý alums. And when you can, become part of that alumni volunteer network yourself. Continue the tradition of giving back. It is incredibly gratifying.
On behalf of all of ߲ݴý’s living alumni, welcome — about five minutes early— to the party. You are the future, the lifeblood of ߲ݴý’s alumni ranks, and I look forward to great things from you. Both for your own good, and, let’s face it, if you’re successful, that raises the value of my diploma. Let’s all give you a round of applause.
The seniors we are here to honor tonight are part of a team of firsts. The first ߲ݴý men’s lacrosse win ever in NCAA postseason play, taking down the No. 1 team in the country. And that amazing first led directly to tonight, which (as far as the historians can tell) is the very first off-campus commencement ceremony in 193 years of ߲ݴý history. Now that’s a big deal.
In talking to fellow alumni about this event, everyone sounded a common theme: “What a sacrifice it is for those guys to miss graduation. I’m glad we’re doing something for them.” And yet we know, as your parents do, that this is not the first sacrifice you have made to get here. Not even close. Your sacrifices started freshman year, and maybe even before. The nine seniors here tonight have missed a sum total of four Spring Party Weekends; four spring breaks; four Easter weekends; a large chunk of four Januaries that could have been spent with your families in places more populated than Hamilton, N.Y., in the middle of winter; countless Friday nights at the Jug; and campus events too numerous to count, such as speeches by Sir Richard Branson, Gen. Colin Powell, Bill Clinton, and the Dalai Lama. And what were you doing while you were missing all of this stuff? Traveling. Conditioning. Practicing. Training all summer long. Doing your studying on buses. So this is definitely not the first time you have sacrificed for ߲ݴý.
But the funny thing is, I’ll bet that if I gave each of you a choice — a choice to be in Hamilton, N.Y., tomorrow for commencement on campus, or to be here, getting ready to do battle against Duke with your teammates — I think I know exactly what your answer would be. To a man, you would say, “Right here, with my team, is where I want to be.”
And I would also wager that each one of the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen players in the room would trade away their walk across the Sanford Field House stage — in a heartbeat — and willingly have their graduation in a chilly hotel conference room (like this one), listening to a blowhard trustee (like this one), if it means they’re representing ߲ݴý in the NCAAs next year, the year after, and the year after that. Sacrifice? The sacrifice for these guys would be if they were anywhere else besides right here, right now.
So I’m going to be straight with you. While this ceremony is technically for you, it’s not really for you. I’m fairly certain that being in Philadelphia and taking the field tomorrow is its own reward. This is actually for us. This is ߲ݴý’s opportunity to thank you. Thank you for representing the institution that we all love, with honor. Thank you for serving as extraordinary examples of the scholar-athlete ideal — something that is woven into ߲ݴý’s DNA. Thanks for once again reaffirming that ߲ݴý athletics hits far, far above its weight. And thank you, most of all, for your accomplishments: not just on the field, but in the classroom, in the community, as students, as teachers, as mentors, as teammates, and as friends. Thank you.
Another advantage? At every ߲ݴý pub night, at every ߲ݴý Reunion, from now until the end of time, you can remind each and every one of your classmates that you graduated 14½ hours before they did. And that counts for something, right?
I am now not going to launch into my 90-minute Steve Jobs-at-Stanford-quality graduation speech. After you guys win the championship, you can watch Mark Murphy’s online, and get all the words of inspiration you need. Tonight, I am fairly sure that the only advice you need is from another Murphy — Coach Mike — whose words should not be crowded out by anything else.
But I did ask my three-year old daughter Tenley, ߲ݴý Class of 2033, what she would suggest I say to you tonight. And I discovered that she is a graduation speech genius. Though she doesn’t yet know how to read, her recommendations were in the tradition of the two finest graduation speeches in history, both only two words long: Churchill’s “Never Surrender” and Vonnegut’s “Use Sunscreen.” Short and to the point.
Her first recommendation, somewhat embarrassingly, was “Love you!” So, hey, not to be awkward or anything, but we love you guys.
We got a little off-track with the second — “Happy birthday” — which was followed by a discussion of aliens and outer space, so I’ll fast forward to the next one, which she said after I told her you were in Philly for a big, big game. She said: “Go sports!” You know what that means. You’ve got to crush those guys tomorrow. A three-year-old is counting on it.
The last one is my favorite, because I think it captures what every graduation speaker at every graduation from the dawn of time has tried to convey in one way or another. She said, “Tell them ‘I hope you’re happy.’” And we do —quite deeply — hope you’re happy. ߲ݴý strives, as an institution, to give you the tools, not to make the most money or have the best job — even those are sometimes wonderful collateral benefits — but to have an interesting, challenging, inquisitive, fulfilling, successful, happy life.
So, Class of 2012, we hope you’re happy now, and that your happiness increases in the years to come. Thank you, and congratulations.