Coprolite Newsletter, June 2004

We went to our grandson Matthew’s high school graduation last week, in a small town in northern Minnesota. The ceremony was held in the local college’s cavernous hockey fieldhouse. This allowed plenty of room for 300 graduates and their allotment of ten family members each. The vaulted ceiling’s lively acoustics amplified the sound of all those proud parents’ buttons popping.

High school graduations have definitely changed since my own back in 1952. For one thing, the high school concert band that played several professional-sounding selections was infinitely better than the amateur group that tootled Pomp and Circumstance for my class. This may just be a temporary improvement, though. I understand some high schools are eliminating their music programs now because of budget cuts.

Possibly another symptom of budget cuts was the lack of an outside speaker. Actually, the two students who gave speeches did a better job than most of the semi-celebrity speakers who are invited to give commencement addresses.

Back in 1952, the speaker at my high school graduation did his best. He was a college president, witty and sophisticated. He didn’t really talk to us graduates sitting solemnly behind him on the stage. He stood facing toward our parents out in the school auditorium. I don’t remember a word he said. But, just as our parents had done for years, he taught us more by what he did than by what he said. I’ll never forget the message his body language delivered as he stood there behind the lectern.

It wasn’t that I didn’t listen to his words. I might even have remembered them if, instead of the usual comfortable generalities, he had given us some really practical advice.

Like, I wish he had told us: "Buy stock in an unknown little outfit called the Haloid Company, which will begin selling something called the 914 Copier a half-dozen years from now, and later change its name to Xerox. That’ll make you a ton of money." Something like that would have been useful.

Or he could have told us about a camera company that would begin running its very first ads on live TV the year I graduated. He could have said, "When Polaroid is listed on the Stock Exchange five years from now, buy some of that too." Then, of course, he should also have told us when to sell those same stocks before they tanked.

What I most wish he had advised was, "Further into the future, in 1975, look up a couple of college kids named Paul Allen and Bill Gates. Offer to help them solder together a little kit they’ll order from Popular Electronics for something called a computer. That way you can buy into the company they’ll start even before it goes public in 1986. Suggest to them that they call it Microsoft."

That’s the sort of advice I wish we had gotten from our commencement speaker. The average person—certainly the average young person—never thought about investing in those days.

I also wish he’d warned us about cholesterol, which hadn’t been invented yet. And he could have amazed us by really telling us about the dangers of smoking. That was in the days when cigarette ads still asked "What cigarette do YOU smoke, doctor?" and then a guy in a white coat would endorse his favorite brand. Our speaker could have touted the value of lifelong exercise before we were seduced by the reclining chairs we would buy in the future.

There were so many things it would have been nice to have him tell us, if he had only known. Which careers were going to mushroom, which ones were going to disappear. What friends to cultivate, which ones to avoid. What qualities to look for in choosing someone to vote for, or work for, or marry.

Oh, it’s not that I didn’t get ANYTHING of value from his speech. Actually, he taught us some great lessons.

As he stood there at the podium, we graduates behind him could see his legs twisting ever more tightly into a corkscrew configuration. While his words sparkled and his tone was smooth and relaxed, his contortions revealed he was either very nervous or he really, really had to go.

From this we learned that, no matter what kind of stress or pain you’re under, it’s possible to carry on and show a brave front to the world.

We also learned the corollary of that: no matter how great you look to the world, there are always people who can see the ridiculous side of you.

Maybe that’s as profound a lesson as you can expect to get from any commencement speaker.

––Wayne Adams
wayne@coprolites.com
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