Aug. 22, 2021: Convocation Address

Good evening members of our distinguished faculty and staff. And welcome to Bucknell University’s Class of 2025 and our new transfer students!

This is the 12th Convocation address I have delivered as president of Bucknell, and I have never felt so grateful to stand before an incoming group of students. Never.

After all the separation and distancing of the last 18 months, I am privileged to join you, in person, at this pivotal moment in your lives. It fills me with hope to look out over your assembled class and consider the talent, the curiosity, the intellect and the boundless potential you are poised to develop as you seek to become the very best version of yourselves — the version that only you get to define.

One of the highlights of a career in higher education is being able to greet new students with a sense of not only who they are, but also who they can become. Despite the hardships and struggles of the last year and a half, and the uncertainty of what lies ahead, I am, despite it all, filled with confidence and optimism about the future. And that is — in no small part — thanks to you.

I see how you are determined to persevere through this trying time, no matter how long it may last. I see how you are undaunted in making the most of the opportunities available to you at Bucknell — opportunities made possible by the faculty and staff of this university. Years from now, I see you going off to accomplish the extraordinary, proving to the world that you were the generation marked by the pandemic, but not defined by it.

I know it has not been easy, and hard moments likely still await us. I’m hopeful that you’ve all found sources of strength and inspiration to turn to when the circumstances seem overwhelming.

For me, I try to find perspective by thinking about the past, and in particular my father’s generation, which came of age during the Second World War. He enlisted right after Pearl Harbor. Unlike many conflicts today, the war touched nearly every home in America. If you weren’t among the more than 16 million Americans called to serve in the military, you were supporting the war effort by rationing food and materials that were in short supply.

This rationing was not a voluntary effort. Families were given ration books containing limited ration points. If you wanted to purchase essential items such as meat, coffee and shoes, you not only paid for them, but you also had to turn in a mandatory number of points from your book.

Coastal communities had the additional sacrifice of hiding in darkness for most of the war. Homeowners and businesses within 16 miles of the Atlantic coast had to dim their lights at night, so German U-boats could not use the illumination to spot the silhouettes of ships hugging the coastline for safety. Cars driving in the direction of the ocean at night had to rely only on their parking lights to see the road ahead. Road signs read, “Dimout Area by order [of the] War Department.” The simple act of leaving your porch lights on came with a penalty of up to one year in jail, or a fine of $5,000.

Overcoming the challenges of World War II was not simply left to an often unknown few. The responsibility rested with everyone. And so it is today, here, that our collective actions as a community will define our success, or mark our struggles.

I share this history with you not to minimize or downplay our own trials. As the father of four who are at different stages of their own journeys, I have tremendous empathy for how uniquely disruptive the pandemic has been at this stage of your lives. However, history teaches us that while we are the ones who are facing this exceptional, historic challenge, we are not the first to live our lives in extraordinary times. We should take comfort in that.

I understand that it can be difficult to relate to young adults from past generations. In our minds, we might see them as a little older, even when they were the same age. Maybe we think they were more hardened to hardship, or somehow distinctly of their own time. Yet, those who came before us were remarkably like us — just as they were remarkably like you. And that fact holds true even among those who also came of age during trying periods in history.

One example that hits close to home for the Bucknell community concerns a young woman of the World War II era who endured far more than just rationing. She was a prisoner in her own land. Her name was Dorothy Sakasegawa.

Dorothy was one of 10 children of Japanese immigrants who settled in California and lived as farmers. Their lives were relatively quiet until Feb. 19, 1942, when President Franklin Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. That order deemed those of Japanese descent to be a national security threat and forced more than 100,000 Japanese Americans into relocation camps. These camps were constructed in remote areas and surrounded by high fences and watchtowers. Many of those imprisoned were given just a few days’ notice of their forced move and told to bring only what they could carry.

Dorothy’s family was first sent to the Salinas Rodeo grounds and made to live in horse stalls. She then moved to the Colorado River Relocation Center in Poston, Arizona. There, families made their own mattresses upon arrival, stuffing straw into sacks, and lived in poorly constructed barracks that let the desert blow in. It was here, trapped in these austere conditions, where Dorothy was forced to complete her junior and senior years of high school.

According to her daughter, Dorothy was not quick to express resentment over her time in the camp. However, she was known to speak quite glowingly of how her life changed in 1944, when she was permitted to leave Poston to attend Bucknell University.

We are fortunate to have a letter Dorothy wrote during her first year at Bucknell to her high school principal. The return address reads 216 Larison Hall, which is home to students to this day. Despite the ordeal of her confinement, Dorothy’s letter reads remarkably like the messages some of you might send home soon.

Dorothy writes that her first-semester grades were good, but not great. She’s trying to apply herself more in the second half of the year. She noted that finals were coming up in a few weeks, adding, with an exclamation point, “Ugh!” I had no idea that people used “Ugh!” way back when. At the start of the year, she said she was nervous and lonely, but soon found her friendship circle. She wrote that she loved getting to know the other students, staying up late in the dorms and sharing midnight snacks over conversations. She called this bonding “an education in itself.”

In the end, she told her former principal, “I wouldn’t trade Bucknell for anything.”

For 175 years, emerging adults just like you have arrived at Bucknell wondering what life at this university would hold for them. None experienced the exact circumstances we face today, but many overcame their own exceptional challenges.

Think of the Class of 1865, who attended Bucknell during the bloody years of the Civil War. More than 620,000 American lives were lost during those students’ time on this campus. In their final year, they read the news that President Lincoln had been assassinated. Those Bucknellians entered the world just as the country was grappling with how we could reunite, heal and move on.

I think of Edward McKnight Brawley, who became Bucknell’s first African American graduate in 1875. He earned his education during the early days of Reconstruction and just 12 years after the Emancipation Proclamation. That work, as we know, is still incomplete.

You will find a bust of Edward outside the Vaughan Literature Building. It sits on a pedestal engraved with the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who spoke on our campus on April 23, 1958.

Almost exactly 10 years later, the Class of 1968 saw the civil rights leader murdered during their time as students. Those students were seniors in high school when President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, and they were just going off into the world when his brother was violently taken from us too. That class was also here on campus on March 7, 1965, when peaceful protestors crossing a bridge in Selma, Alabama were met with brutal, unjust force on the other side. As a child of that era, I can tell you how difficult it was to shake the feelings of uncertainty about the world at that time.

I also think of the Class of 2005. They came to Bucknell at a time when our nation wasn’t at war. They arrived on campus not fearing terrorism or foreign attack. Then, just weeks into their first semester, they were sitting in the very classrooms in which you will soon sit, and they were getting ready for their days in the very dorm rooms you will return to tonight, and they watched as the terrorist attacks of 20 years ago, this September 11, forever changed the world they knew. In a few weeks’ time, we will gather to mark that event.

Yes, we are living in extraordinary times. But we are not the first. And like those before us, we are not alone.

Coming of age in periods of hardship — beginning your Bucknell journey under circumstances that are more challenging than they ought to be — does not absolve us from looking at the world and asking ourselves “What can I learn from this?” and “What part can I play in making it better?”

While we want your Bucknell experience to be filled with joy and memories that you will carry for a lifetime — and I assure you that it will — your time here is not meant to be a haven from the problems of the world. We are here to prepare you to help solve the problems of the world. Even more, we are here to enrich the world.

Every dark moment is an opportunity for us to create light.

You were selected for this distinguished class because of your track record of accomplishments and your promising potential. For the next four years, you will learn from faculty and staff who are teachers, mentors and practitioners of the highest standing.

If you aren’t prepared to take on the hard challenges, then who is? If you don’t see yourselves as capable of changing the world, then who will?

Bucknell will ready you to be proactive, thoughtful and productive citizens, not simply by equipping you with facts and skills, but also by generating the wisdom and well-rounded thinking that only comes from a liberal arts education.

The individuals and leaders who will be best equipped to handle the interconnected challenges of our global community will be those who can think broadly — who aren’t bound to siloed disciplines; who go about their work with great care and consideration of the larger world around them; and who do so with humility about who they are, and insight regarding the world around them.

We develop accountants with a love for poetry, artists intrigued by history and engineers inspired by the natural world.

We encourage minds who are equally interested in travelling to distant lands, navigating the expanses of the digital world and exploring the rich collection of books in Bertrand Library. Yes, honest-to-goodness, hard-copy books. In my opinion, they are irreplaceable.

The Bucknell community also generates servant leaders, who display humility, compassion and selflessness on their journeys to success.

Living in trying times does not relieve us of these responsibilities, and history has shown that even the toughest of circumstances has not limited Bucknellians from making a difference in the world. In fact, it provides rich opportunities to rise to the occasion and demonstrate just who we are — who each of us is.

Again, every dark moment is an opportunity for us to create light.

After Edward McKnight Brawley graduated from Bucknell in 1875, he rose above the expectations for Black Americans of his era, going on to serve as president of Selma University and Morris College, which he helped found.

Dorothy Sakasegawa spent her first year at Bucknell bravely speaking to churches — all-white churches, and all-Black churches — to share her story as a Japanese American living in an internment camp. She was terrified standing behind the pulpit, but she forced herself to overcome her fears. She described the experience, writing, “I think it is through these relationships that all of us will have a better understanding of each other.” She also wrote, “By majoring in sociology, I hope to do my share in helping others.” She was connecting her studies here to her life ahead. Indeed, after graduating, she travelled to Holland to help the region recover from the war.

In the immediate aftermath of September 11, the students here rallied around each other. They huddled in each other’s dorm rooms, bonded with fellow students they might not otherwise have gotten to know, and travelled in packs to make sure nobody was left alone at such a dark time. Even before people were ready to return to learning, students and instructors gathered in classrooms, just to share their feelings and check in with one another.

We persevered through that time because we persevered together. That in-person connection was so critical. I can’t help but wonder if we would be there for each other in that way today, or if we would desperately try to find that support system through social media, likely in vain. I’m a techno-gearhead who spent 35 years in Silicon Valley, and so I’ve often used my Convocation remarks to marvel at advancements in technology. But I believe that with all we have gained from our smart devices and digital lives — and we’ve gained a lot — we are losing a richness that we risk never getting back. I urge you, strongly, to invest in in-person connections during your time here. That investment will not only strengthen your wellness in tough times, but it will also contribute to your development as conscientious citizens, as better friends, and, quite honestly, as more accomplished individuals.

Many of us have been guilty of counting down the days of this pandemic, even though we cannot be sure when it will end. My colleagues know I am particularly guilty of this as I seek to inject a bit of levity now and then; I know, for instance. that it’s 110 days until the last day of the semester — and 1,366 days until you graduate. As a consequence, we have reinforced in ourselves the idea that this is a time in our lives to simply outlast — to wait out, to just get through. It’s a natural feeling, but let’s fight against it. Let’s be sure to focus on the present, what happens here, and what we can do with it, starting here and now.

Tonight, you are embarking on a time in your life that will be unlike any other. You are sitting in a new place, but it will soon grow to feel like home. You are surrounded by a sea of strangers who will quickly become a community. Within this community, you will develop deep and lasting friendships. In time some of those friendships will fall away, but I am certain that some will last a lifetime and deepen over the years. One of my closest friends is someone I met on day one of my first year in college — which, by the way, was just 16,775 days ago.

As you return to your dorms tonight, you will walk some of the same pathways that students have walked for 175 years — students who have become elected leaders, activists, novelists, scientists, professional athletes, leaders of faith communities and technology visionaries.

Over the next four years, you will accomplish what you did not think was possible. You will encounter challenges and find ways to overcome them. You will discover new passions, set new goals and be inspired to pursue new dreams. You will be offered the opportunities, experiences and resources to grow into the best versions of yourselves. Oh yes — at times you will stumble, and even fall. We’re here for that too, but only if you see us as partners in the precious and unique work in progress known as you.

At this moment — at this incredibly special moment — you are not on a set path. You are free to dream, you are free to explore, you are free to discover, and most important of all, you are free to create who you want to be.

Spend your time at Bucknell counting the days up, not down. Live in the present, understand the past and challenge yourself to contribute to the greater good. I cannot wait to see what you accomplish.

Welcome again, Class of 2025. ‘ray Bucknell!