SHE WAS AN IMMIGRANT from Haiti who had lived with the shame for thirty-six years. He was a prominent banker who wiped tears from his eyes as he admitted the truth about his adult son. They were telling me their stories because they knew that I would understand. I shared their secret and their pain. A history of illiteracy. But we shared something much greater. We were survivors. We had triumphed over a debilitating and shameful struggle despite tremendous odds against us.
For two years now, I’ve been traveling the country lecturing on illiteracy and the difficulties I’ve had to overcome. The stories I’ve heard have saddened and heartened me. We are the most educated nation in the world. But we have a staggering rate of illiteracy. If you think you don’t know someone who is illiterate, think again. Perhaps you have an older relative who calls you to write things down because he or she “can’t find my glasses.” Or perhaps you know someone who is grateful for the car GPS because, truthfully, they can’t read a map or written directions.
As an adult, imagine hiding for a lifetime something so fundamental to your everyday life. Never able to fill out a job application or take a driving test. Imagine raising children who have read more books than you. If you’re a child, what about taking homework home from school and never understanding it. Or experiencing the humiliation of being caught by your friends. How do you start your education over? In whom do you confide? These are questions I faced as a young teenager. But today I’m an avid reader. Books are a lifeline, and words are the foundation of my professional life.
People laughed at me when I told them I wanted to work in television. It might have seemed impossible, since I could barely speak. But in my silence and beneath my shame, I had a burning belief that all things are possible. A faith that God would make a way. I think there are lessons to be learned from my journey and the steps I took, even as a child, to put myself on a path to success: self-discipline, hard work, the power of prayer. The importance of finding and nurturing mentoring relationships. My story may be no different from yours or someone you know. I want to encourage you to have faith, to believe in the impossible.
I also want to encourage the “angels,” like my Dr. Lewes. I’ve met them all across the country at luncheons and dinners. They speak to me through tears about their challenges and often thankless responsibilities in trying to bring light to a world without words. They tutor, they read, they fund-raise, and they encourage. They need to believe in the difference they are making in people’s lives and in this world. And they must know how much we love and appreciate them. I would not have made it through college without my buddy Peter Holthe. Recently, our friendship was tested in ways neither one of us would have expected back in 1978.
“Dear wise and almighty God, we come to you as humbly as we know how, just to say thank you, Lord. Thank you for blessings seen and not seen. Thank you, Lord, for our family our friends and even our enemies. Lord, please put your arms of comfort around my dear friend Pete. Let him know that he is loved. Be with him, Lord, when he goes into surgery. Be with the doctors. While they will hold the instruments, let them know you will be holding them in the palm of Your hand. Lord, so many people love and need Pete. Let Pete feel our love and our strength. Give him peace. Give him comfort. Give him strength where he’s weak. Give him comfort where there may be fear. Lord, we who love Pete and love You are claiming a miracle right now. We proclaim it in Your name. These and all other blessings we ask in Your name and for Your sake. Amen.”
When I finished praying on the phone, my friend Pete said, “Thank you, brother. I love you. I’m not sure I believe in prayer, but I know you do. I’ve watched it work in your life. Maybe it’ll work in mine.”
“I love you, too, Pete.” We hung up the phone. We were both crying.
Now in our late forties we have been facing a difficult time together. This time it’s Pete who’s facing one of life’s greatest challenges: a rare and deadly form of cancer. As always, Pete’s taking the analytical approach to the problem. The faith part is up to me, his wife, Kara, and a host of relatives and friends.
There are countless people who have shared their personal stories or told me about their children. I wrote this book to celebrate our victories and the successes of so many like us. I wrote this book for the adults who are faking it, for the children who are being left behind, and for every child who sits in the basement class in his or her school, labeled “slow” or “unteachable” when, in fact, they may be hiding an inability to read.
In 1978 I was on the verge of dropping out of college. In 2006 I was invited to Ohio Wesleyan as their commencement speaker. Cap and gown, doctor of humane letters, the whole deal. What an improbable journey. It happened to be Dr. Lucas’s final commencement. He was retiring. I had always wondered what I might say or do if he and I ever crossed paths. When the moment came, I braced my back, took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and said, “Thank you, Dr. Lucas. I would not be here without you. Bless you.” Then I took his hand, gripped his shoulder, and said, “I wish you well.” He smiled. I couldn’t be sure if he even remembered me. He’d served a valuable purpose in my life. Nothing more. Nothing less. That day as part of my speech, I told the story of my experiences with Dr. Lucas. I never mentioned his name. The goal wasn’t to embarrass him, but rather to share that part of my journey with the graduating class; success is often preceded by struggle.
Just as it was on my first day of college, little was going as planned. It was mid-May, but it felt like mid-November in Ohio. It was cold and rainy. The graduates and their guests were soaked. But adversity and I were old friends by now, and it was time for the commencement speech. So I took the “opportunity” God had given me and made the best of it. Here’s some of what I had to say that chilly day:
I know many of us prayed for sunshine and clear skies today, but thank the Lord He made umbrellas. To the graduates, President, Faculty, staff, the Board of Trustees, honored guests: It’s a privilege to be with you today as we mark this historic moment in the life of our beloved university, and the lives of these young people. As uncomfortable as conditions may be, we’re still blessed. It’s Mother’s Day. There are few gifts greater one could give a mother than to fill her cup, fill her heart with pride. Graduates, many of you may not have a dollar in your pocket, but the gift you’ve given your families today is priceless. . . .
I know we’ve come to honor the ones receiving the degrees today. But I believe graduations are also moments to honor those who paid for those degrees. Graduates, despite what some of you may think, you did not get here by yourselves. I would ask the parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles—anyone who made a tuition payment and prayed a prayer for one of these children—to please stand. Parents and relatives of the class of 2006, please stand so we can applaud you. This is also your day. I’d especially like to acknowledge the single parents here this afternoon. As a father, I know it’s not easy for two parents to raise a child. But as the proud baby boy of a single mother, I too know the unique sacrifices that single moms and dads make. On behalf of your sons or daughters, thank you for your many sacrifices.
I’d like to thank my own mom, who, just as she did twenty-four years ago, sits in the audience today, beaming with pride. My mother, Clarice Pitts.
A newspaper reporter interviewed my mom once for a story about me and asked, “Mrs. Pitts, how did you manage as a single parent, a divorcée, to send three kids to college?” Her answer: “It was simple. I said, ‘Go to college, or I will beat you to death.’ ”
Simple parenting is good parenting. Thanks, Momma. I’d also like to thank my brother and his family for joining us today. . . .
Let the record show I believe in Ohio Wesleyan University. The liberal arts education provided here is second to none.
Graduates, please know you are well qualified to compete in any field, against any competitor, from any college, at any place in the world.
As a correspondent for CBS News, I’ve interviewed the last five presidents of the United States, reported from thirty-three countries, covered three wars and natural disasters of biblical proportions, from the tsunami in Indonesia to Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. None of that would have been possible had it not been for the four years I spent here in Delaware. Not possible without professors like Verne Edwards, the head of the journalism department until his retirement. Mr. Edwards is here today with his lovely bride, Dolores. Thank you, Verne. Can I call you Verne now? For four years I was always nervous just to be in your presence. Today I’m grateful to call you my friend.
None of the dreams I had for my life would have been possible if not for many of the friends I made at OWU. Friends like Peter Holthe from Minnetonka, Minnesota. Pete was the whitest white guy I’d ever met. We were hallmates in Thomson Hall freshman year and suitemates sophomore year in Welch Hall. Pete told me that before we met, the only black people he’d ever seen were in Ebony magazine. Pete and I remain close to this day. That’s the beauty of OWU. Children of the working class and children of the wealthy can meet in this corner of the world to learn of history’s great philosophers while studying the forces that went into making an igneous rock. I had a geology class (I hated geology and, for the most part, geology hated me). But my first time in the mountains of Afghanistan, the country was foreign yet the rocks beneath my feet were familiar.
Class of 2006, you are 401 strong. You represent 21 different countries of the world. You are 401 of the estimated 1.3 million college seniors graduating in America this spring. According to BusinessWeek, you are about to enter the best job market for college graduates in at least five years. You have much to feel good about. Feel confident but never arrogant. Arrogance, I believe, is the cloak of cowards. Stay humble. My mother always told us, If you work hard and pray hard and treat people right, good things will happen. But, above all else, stay humble. Humility has its place.
It is with that sense of humility I’d like to share a few final thoughts with the class of 2006. I know all of you are smart and computer-savvy. In this computer information age, you laugh at people like me and your parents as we still struggle with the VCR back home, and you stay connected with your friends by Skype, Facebook, MySpace, and Xanga. What the heck does Xanga mean? I bet most of you own an iPod, laptop, and a cell phone. And all those gadgets are wonderful.
But when you leave this place, there are a few old-fashioned tools you’re also going to need in order to survive in this ever-changing world. Here are two:
Please and thank you. Knowing how to give a Power-Point presentation may take you far. But human decency and politeness will make the landing easier when you get to wherever you’re going. Please and thank you. Powerful words. Empowering words. Make them part of your permanent vocabulary. It worked for your grandparents. It will work for you.
If I had a speech title today, it would be “Follow Your Dreams and Find Your Passion.” I believe in dreams. Progressing from academic probation during my freshman year at OWU in 1978 to Commencement speaker in 2006—I have to believe in dreams!
Whether you graduate today Phi Beta Kappa, Summa Cum Laude, Magna Cum Laude, or just plain “Thank you, Lord,” you must believe in your dreams. You see, America is at a crossroads. We need new dreamers—not daydreamers but dreamers. Daydreamers play and procrastinate, but dreamers plan their work and work their plan.
So, my future fellow alumni, dream and dream boldly. When good men and good women dream, a runner breaks the four-minute mile. An astronaut steps foot on the moon. A doctor finds a cure for a terrible disease. A colored girl from the segregated South becomes Secretary of State. . . .
Class of 2006, what is your role? What do you dream? And you can’t dream without faith. Young people, degrees are good. But when trouble comes—and for you just entering the world beyond college, trouble will surely come—please know this. If you take one step, God will take two.
Have faith in something greater than yourself.
Now, I’m a Christian and proud of it. But whether you turn to a preacher or a priest, an imam or a rabbi, have a name you can call other than your own. You can’t dream without faith. And faith without love is empty love.
Now, I’m not talking about that kind of love you think you may have found on Fraternity Row during freshman year or at your first party in the Cave. I’m talking the kind of love I’ve seen on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan. It’s the kind of love angels bring. It’s the kind of love I experienced here at OWU, second term, freshman year. This is my testimony. I’m sure each of you has yours.
That term I was on academic probation. I had an English professor—for the record, he no longer teaches here.
To tell you how slow I was, I got a D in his class, first term, and took his class again the second term. This English professor knew me. I knew him. One day in class he handed out test scores in small blue notebooks, and when he handed me mine, he announced in a loud and clear voice to all my classmates, “Mr. Pitts, congratulations! Your best work thus far.” With a bit of surprise and a sense of relief, I opened that blue book, and there at the top of the page, in bold letters, was a D+. Seeing my anguish, the professor leaned forward and said, “Mr. Pitts, come see me after class.”
I did, and that English professor who no longer teaches here, said, “Mr. Pitts, may I speak frankly?” Before I could answer, he went on and said, and I quote (I carried this quote in my heart ever since). He said, “Mr. Pitts, your presence at Ohio Wesleyan University is a waste of my time and the government’s money. I think you should leave.”
“A waste of my time and the government’s money.” I was eighteen years old, and this man, this teacher, crushed my dreams. So taking his advice, I walked over to the admissions office and picked up papers to withdraw from school.
It was clear to me I was not worthy, so I sat outside Slocum Hall with tears running down my cheeks, filling out the forms to drop out of college. At that moment, a stranger walked by—a woman with a round face and a warm smile. She said, “Excuse me, young man, are you okay? May I help?” With nothing to lose, I explained my situation. She listened and said, “Come by and see me tomorrow. Do not leave school before talking with me.” I would soon find out that this stranger, another English professor, was not just a professor. She was my angel.
Dr. Ülle Lewes, please stand. Dr. Lewes. That day you didn’t simply soothe my tears. You saved my life. Thank you for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for being my angel.
Class of 2006, each of you have angels to thank for bringing you this far. I encourage you to thank each one. And don’t just thank them. By being a high achiever you can thank them. And you can thank them someday by being an angel for somebody else. Graduates, real success is not measured by how much you take from this life but by how much you give to it.
For those of you going on to graduate school, I say, give yourself to your studies and study the way Michelangelo painted. For those beginning careers or just taking summer jobs, learn to work like Martin Luther King. Live each day as if it’s your last. Don’t simply be good—be better. Better isn’t good enough, so be the best. Don’t settle for your best. Be an angel.
If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m an optimist. I believe in each of you. I believe in the promise of America, despite her many warts. America is still the greatest country on earth. Be good to her and she’ll be good to you. Love her and she’ll love you back. Be dreamers and be passionate about your dreams.
I leave you with the words of Horace Mann, the founder of nearby Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. He told Antioch’s first graduating class: “Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.”
To the graduating class of 2006 from Ohio Wesleyan University: Congratulations and God bless you. Today you make your family proud. Now go and make your world better—because you live.