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Salutations
to
you
all
–
Doctor
Lewis;
Trustees;
Recipients
of
special
honors;
Faculty;
Mr.
Parker,
for
the
Star
Spangled
Banner
-‐
a
true
symbol
of
resilience,
imperishable
hope,
and
the
elegance
and
promise
of
baseball.
Salutations,
especially,
to
you
happy,
proud,
caffeinated
parents
and
exhausted
and
exhilarated
graduates.
It
is
an
honor
to
be
here
at
Northern
Colorado
University
and
at
a
school
that
lives
and
breathes
its
motto:
“bringing
education
to
life.”
My
entire
life,
I
have
worked
in
the
service
of
the
mirror
image
of
that
motto
–
bringing
lives
to
education
–and,
for
over
a
decade,
have
been
playing
a
small
part
in
gathering
teachers
from
some
of
the
most
intractable
and
marginalized
parts
of
the
world
in
order
to
bring
thirsty
minds
to
the
cool,
clean,
replenishable
drinking
fountain
of
ideas.
So,
for
me,
today
feels
like
a
match.
Again,
thank
you.
Now
I’m
on
the
short
side,
an
obvious
fact
made
particularly
ironic
here,
today,
at
these
commencement
exercises
being
held
in
a
basketball
arena.
I
always
assumed
that,
being
short,
my
speeches
should
be
brief.
I’ll
do
my
best.
In
fact,
even
as
I
am
speaking
to
you,
some
of
you
may
be
tweeting
or
texting
or
updating
your
status
with
a
message
like:
I’m
a
graduate,
man!
Whoo
hoo!,
BRB,
LOL,
or
any
number
of
acronyms
or
running
commentaries
,
a
good
percentage
of
which
might
be
inappropriate
for
at
least
this
next
hour.
So,
as
one
of
many
spokespersons
for
the
notion
of
bringing
lives
to
education,
this
is
an
occasion
for
stories
–
heartbreaking
and
hopeful
stories
–
of
people
you
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 1
are
most
likely
never
going
to
meet
but
who,
like
everyone
around
you,
have
something
profound
to
share.
Let’s
truly
fast-‐forward
a
bit.
4
months
from
now,
you
may
be
polishing
that
resume
or
settling
in
a
new
job
or
helping
some
3rd
grader
glue
Popsicle
sticks
together
for
a
social-‐studies
project.
4
months
from
now,
I
have
a
pretty
good
idea
about
what
I’ll
be
doing.
4
months
and
5
days
from
now,
to
be
exact:
September
11,
2011.
At
around
9:30
in
the
morning
on
that
day,
I’ll
take
a
moment
and
reflect
on
the
last
ten
years.
I’ll
probably
think
about
who
I
am
and
where
I
am,
about
our
nation
and
where
it’s
going.
I’ll
call
my
wife
and
my
two
daughters
and
tell
them
that
I
love
them.
It
should
be
a
very
interesting
moment
because
I
have
plans
to
be
in
Port
au
Prince,
Haiti.
I’ll
most
likely
be
sitting
outside
on
some
un-‐cleared
rubble.
It
will
be
hot
and
humid
and
dusty.
Open
jeeps
and
colorful
buses
will
speed
past.
It
will
smell
of
peppers,
plantains
and
cabbage,
mixed
with
burnt
plastic
bottles.
Children
will
be
playing
soccer
with
a
ball
of
taped
debris.
Competing
radios,
each
with
a
long-‐tail
extension
cord
crawling
up
a
wall
into
an
apartment,
will
play
be
on,
music
punctuated
by
honking
horns
and
street
life.
A
young
boy
across
the
street
will
probably
wonder
what
I
am
doing
there.
I’ll
sit
there
for
a
moment
and
attempt
to
make
some
connection
between
the
collapse
of
the
twin
towers,
Osama
bin
Laden’s
death
this
week
and,
like
so
many
others,
try
to
sort
out
complicated
feelings
ranging
from
a
sudden
fresh
wave
of
trauma
to
the
stoic
satisfaction
of
justice
or
retribution.
I’ll
recall
the
images
of
inferno
marking
the
egregious,
defamatory
assault
on
humanity
on
September
11th
2001,
that
barbaric
and
senseless
attack
on
the
sanctity
of
life
itself,
that
insidious
and
premeditated
sin
of
commission.
And
from
my
makeshift
chair
of
unreinforced
concrete,
I
will
also
think
about
a
colossal
sin
of
omission
caused
by
the
failure
of
the
world
to
come
to
the
aid
of
a
country
warned
two
years
prior
that
its
dense
population
living
and
learning
in
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 2
poorly-‐constructed
buildings
on
top
of
a
shallow
earthquake
fault-‐line
could
result
in
disaster.
I’ll
muse
about
buildings
brought
down
by
entirely
different
forces,
and
though
I
have
long
ago
given
up
on
rushing
to
sweeping
conclusions
about
any
two
events,
I
will
–
nonetheless
–
attempt
to
make
sense
of
these
lost
structures
and
lives.
I
may
even
have
a
poetic
or
existential
moment
there,
wondering
about
lives
attacked
on
the
outside
or
imploded
from
the
inside.
But
one
thing
is
certain;
I
will
think
about
bringing
education
to
life
and
life
to
education.
I
ask
you,
too,
to
make
connections
between
sins
of
commission
and
sins
of
omission,
to
make
connections
between
crisis
and
opportunity,
to
make
connections
between
the
past
and
the
present,
between
events
and
their
consequences.
Here are some examples from the field. Let them sink in for a moment.
In
South
Africa,
picture
a
classroom
made
of
mud
and
sheltered
by
a
corrugated
rusted
tin
roof.
This
classroom
houses
60
children
-‐
ten
rows
of
six
students
each.
Every
other
row
of
children
must
bend
over
(for
a
half
hour)
so
that
the
children
behind
them
can
use
their
backs
as
a
desk.
Then
they
switch,
a
new
group
turning
themselves
into
human
desks.
The
afternoon
sun
may
have
been
creating
an
oven
of
metal
and
adobe.
Nevertheless
real
thinking
is
going
on.
Lives
brought
to
education.
Connections
being
made.
In
China,
my
organization
had
been
working
in
Sichuan
Province,
teaching
science-‐inquiry
methods
to
middle-‐school
and
high-‐school
teachers.
Picture
the
cheery
exchange
of
ideas,
teachers
in
teams
using
toys
and
bicycle
parts
to
demonstrate
scientific
principles.
And
then,
two
years
later
on
May
12th,
2008
at
2:38
pm,
picture
that
same
area
flattened
by
the
earthquake.
Lost
students
and
teachers.
Collapsed
buildings.
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 3
Immobilized
and
devastated,
I
returned
to
China
and
met
with
the
local
Minister
of
Education.
Through
his
tears
he
said:
“Connect
earthquake
preparedness
and
planning
with
inquiry
science.
Help
the
teachers
and
the
community
learn
-‐
the
why
and
the
how
of
science
and
safety.”
Today,
that
program
has
spread
throughout
the
region,
and
now
jumped
borders
to
Haiti
and
Central
Asia.
He
paid
attention.
Once
again,
he
made
connections.
In
India,
picture
a
classroom
where
women
who
didn’t
even
know
their
names
were
learning
how
to
read.
Here,
the
teachers
made
it
clear
that
success
would
be
measured
only
when
every
one
of
the
students
received
20
out
of
20
on
the
test.
I
am
sitting
in
the
back,
watching
these
women
use
real
slate
and
chalk
-‐
no
iPads
here.
Their
incentive
for
learning
was
clear:
if
I
help
you,
you
will
help
me.
They
made
connections
between
their
own
achievement
and
the
achievement
of
others.
In
Afghanistan,
picture
a
newly
established
computer
lab
in
Kabul
for
women.
They
enter
the
room,
having
never
laid
eyes
on
a
computer,
no
less
having
touched
a
keyboard.
The
lessons
had
been
going
exceedingly
well,
beginning
with
explaining
the
parts
of
the
computer
and
what
computers
could
do.
We
wrote
letters.
We
painted
pictures.
We
kept
records.
Many
stayed
late
to
practice.
After
class,
I
remember
preparing
my
lesson
for
the
next
day,
but
something
wasn’t
working.
I
kept
getting
error
and
corrupt
file
messages
at
just
the
moment
when
I
was
shutting
down
the
computer.
Clearly
anxious,
I
entered
into
the
technology
phase
of
insanity
many
of
us
know
all
too
well
–
doing
the
same
action
again
and
again,
expecting
a
different
result
each
time.
I
hadn’t
noticed
that
two
of
the
women
in
my
class
were
hovering
close
by.
In
a
combination
of
English
and
Farsi,
one
asserted
herself:
“Excuse
me,
Doctor
Fred.”
I
looked
up,
drained
and
a
bit
panicked.
“Dr.
Fred,
I
think
you
need
to
right-‐click,
scroll
to
eject
your
device,
and
wait
just
one
more
second
until
it
says
it’s
okay.”
I
was
flushed
with
embarrassment
and
joy.
Though
she
had
never
used
a
thumb
drive,
she
had
read
the
instructions
and
was
ready
to
pass
her
knowledge
on.
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 4
In
every
corner
of
the
earth
I
travel,
in
some
of
the
most
seemingly
inconsolable
and
desperate
places
written
off
as
beyond
hope
or
labeled
as
“failed
states,”
I
see
the
same
thing:
brains
evenly
distributed,
making
connections,
however
long
it
takes…people
who
take
care
of
themselves
and
others,
people
with
an
insatiable
appetite
for
learning,
people
who
ask
questions,
people
willing
to
take
risks
for
an
idea.
These
are
stories
of
people
who
have
brought
lives
to
education.
These
are
people
more
interested
in
what
others
have
to
say
than
in
being
interesting
themselves.
These
are
people
who
embody
those
human
qualities
we
still
struggle
to
define
and
may
even
mistrust,
yet
represent
a
symbol
of
character
we
recognize
immediately.
Many
of
those
children
in
South
Africa
–
their
backs
as
desks
–
understand
the
leadership
of
sacrifice;
in
earthquake-‐devastated
China,
teacher
leaders
turn
crisis
into
opportunity;
in
India,
farming
women
teach
us
the
leadership
of
collaboration;
in
Afghanistan,
women
learning
computers
for
the
first
time
teach
about
the
leadership
of
problem-‐solving.
Regardless
of
where
they
come
from
or
what
obstacles
they
face,
their
motivation
is
intrinsic.
All
of
them
know
that
they
have
to
keep
learning.
It's
as
if
they
operate
with
a
different
kind
of
currency
beyond
money,
beyond
the
currency
of
influence
or
frequent
flyer
miles,
barter
or
work-‐study,
credit
cards
or
sweat
equity.
Theirs
is
a
currency
of
human
and
intellectual
connection.
Theirs
is
an
electric
currency
of
human
agency,
reciprocity,
and
love.
Their
currency
initiates
every
interaction
with
hospitality
and
ends
it
with
gratitude.
Their
currency
is
nothing
short
of
an
active
(yet
invisible)
faith
in
the
power
of
human
beings,
anywhere,
to
make
change.
Operating
more
from
a
compass
than
a
roadmap,
their
currency
works
beyond
class
distinction,
beyond
race
hatred,
beyond
artificial
borders.
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 5
These
leaders
aren’t
born
or
made;
they
just
show
up.
They
hear
and
answer
a
humming
sound
in
the
distance
calling
them
to
rectify
the
indignity
wrought
by
sins
of
omission
or
sins
of
commission.
They
hear
the
sound
of
the
world
straining
to
rise
each
morning
and
rotate
on
its
axis,
pleading
with
us
to
Atlas-‐up
for
a
moment
and
share
the
burden.
Some
may
hear
the
melody
of
faith,
from
above,
and
others
may
hear
the
steady
beating
of
their
own
hearts.
In
the
end,
it
doesn’t
really
matter.
They
all
share
a
call
of
human
dignity
because
they
simply
cannot
accept
anything
less.
For
many
of
us,
this
humming
sound
can
be
a
distraction,
even
an
annoyance,
like
the
sound
of
a
ballast
about
to
go,
cutting
off
the
lights.
After
all,
the
tyranny
of
the
urgent
always
feels
like
an
unstoppable
force:
making
a
buck,
providing
for
our
families,
handling
the
nitty-‐gritty
realities
of
life.
It
may
not
be
a
sound
we
can
hear
or
wish
to
hear
right
now.
For
some,
it
may
be
pitched
too
high
like
a
dog's
whistle.
But
the
sound
is
still
ringing.
And
those
leaders?
They
hear
that
hum
and
that
call
every
day.
I
am
asking
you
to
do
the
same.
It
need
not
be
heroic,
but
we
do
need
your
strong
shoulders
to
carry
just
a
bit
more
and
your
strong
minds
to
pay
attention
a
just
a
bit
longer
so
that
those
around
you
can
hear
that
hum
of
dignity
too.
And
if
you
do
hear
it,
more
often
than
not,
your
life
–
all
of
our
lives
–
will
sound
like
music.
Look,
I
can’t
tell
you
when
the
time
will
be
right,
but
you’ll
know
it
when
you
see
it.
One
last
example
shall
give
you
a
sense
of
this
message:
Several
years
ago,
I
observed
a
doctor
at
a
teaching
hospital
explain
a
particular
kind
of
heart
operation
to
his
medical
students.
I
joined
his
students
on
a
second-‐floor
observation
perch
in
order
to
track
the
doctor’s
hands
and
listen
to
him
explain
what
he
was
doing.
At
one
point,
the
doctor
looked
up
at
us
and,
as
if
staring
into
each
one
of
our
souls,
said:
“This
next
phase
is
delicate
and
crucial.
You
need
to
connect
x
part
with
y
part.
Do
you
see
that
everyone?
Good.
OK.
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 6
Now,
you
need
to
complete
this
next
phase
of
the
operation
in
under
30
seconds
or
the
patient
will
die.”
We
all
looked
at
each
other.
Then
he
said,
“So
take
your
time.”
He
didn’t
ask
them
to
rush.
He
asked
them
to
know
what
they
were
doing,
to
pay
attention,
and
to
make
that
connection.
For
us
here,
today,
this
is
a
call
and
a
challenge
to
rise
from
the
rubble
and
construct
a
society
that
brings
education
to
life
and
life
to
education.
And
if
you
do
that,
you’ll
hear
that
song.
You
can
listen
to
it
whenever
you
like
-‐
when
you’re
alone
or
in
a
crowd.
Let
that
music
be
your
sound
track,
even
as
you
tuck
your
diploma
under
your
arm
and
drink
something
cold
and
frosty.
Enjoy,
too,
the
song
of
celebration
you
so,
so,
so
much
deserve.
Godspeed.
University of Northern Colorado commencement speech: Dr. Fred Mednick, May 6, 2011 7