Deerfield
guests and friends, Dr. Curtis, Members of the Faculty, Class of 2015 and, in
particular, to the Great Class of 2014, thank you for inviting me to speak today.
It was an unexpected honor-one that I shall not forget.
I also
want to acknowledge the members of my family who are here – My Mother, who first
dropped me off at Deerfield 48 years ago. Thank you Mom for making my bed
before you left for home that day. My wife, who 45 years ago, attended the
first Deerfield prom, unfortunately, not with me, but as the date of another
boy. It is a long story, but everything worked out. Thank you Debby for letting
me spend this wonderful school year at Deerfield. Finally, I’d like to
recognize my three sons none of whom attended Deerfield. What could you have
possibly been thinking? Shame on you.
Great
Class of 2014, you cannot possibly look at me today and envision who or
what I was at age 18. Yet I sat in your place–perhaps even your pew 45
years ago. As you will experience, the past often repeats itself. And so with
the benefit of 45 years of life after Deerfield, I would like to speak about my
past in order to illuminate some Deerfield lessons that I believe you will find
important in your future.
I
returned to Deerfield this year to repay a debt–a special debt that could not
be repaid in any currency other than teaching. Looking back, no institution has
had more impact on the trajectory of my life than Deerfield. Mr. Boyden’s band
of senior faculty recognized that they were at Deerfield not just to teach
subjects, but also to teach habits, and the small disciplines that would later
become a student’s character. This still happens today. There are faculty here,
who have laid the foundation for the person you will become. You can identify
whom these faculty are for you–they are the teachers you cannot bear to
disappoint.
The
teacher I could not disappoint was Mr. Sullivan whose portrait hangs in the
lobby outside the dining hall. I suspect few, if any of you, have noticed it
there. Mr. Sullivan’s 43 year Deerfield career is summarized under his
portrait in a single word. Above his dates of service, it simply says “Master.”
In my
day, schoolboys took a special delight in rumors, a student
characteristic, I have noted, not changed by co-education. Some boys claimed
Mr. Sullivan had been a professional fighter. Others said he had laid track for
the railroad before being saved by Mr. Boyden, the saint of second chances.
None of us knew Mr. Sullivan’s real story, and we did not dare ask.
Mr.
Sullivan did not seek the approval of students. He did not want to be our
friend. He liked to keep us off balance. Yet, we suspected he was devoted
to us.
I had
no idea why he took an interest in a short, undistinguished sophomore new boy,
who was completely unfamiliar with boarding school and had a hard time fitting
in. Now, I realize he had a calling and a gift. His gift was that he could
read boys. He knew when someone needed help. His calling was to give it.
This
year at Deerfield, I have observed faculty who, like Mr. Sullivan, made their
highest priority care and concern for students. These teachers’ thoughts, their
voices, their lessons are part of you. Now leaving this place, having
immeasurably benefited from the care and kindness of these teachers, remember
that you too must repay your debt.
During
the 15 minutes between the end of lunch and the first afternoon class, most
boys checked their mailboxes. Mr. Sullivan, enjoying a cigarette and coffee
sitting nearby in the school store, caught me cutting the mailroom line. He
gruffly summoned me to his table. “Jacobs, come here and have a seat.” I sat.
We did not speak. He finished his coffee. I watched the time before class and
the opportunity to get my mail disappear. Then he dismissed me, telling me he
had enjoyed our visit and inviting me to join him the next day at the same
time. The following day I returned. I sat. He finished his coffee, and, once
again, I was denied the opportunity to get my mail. He kept inviting me
back…again and again.
Mr.
Sullivan never said anything about cutting the line, but I immediately took his
point. Corners were not to be cut. Character began with small things. Small
expectations had to be met because later in life, small expectations would grow
into larger ones. Learning to do what was required taught us who and what we
were. We were expected to develop an inclination to do the right thing–an
inclination that would manifest itself later in life when we were really being
tested.
Each
of you has been regularly exposed to these same lessons. Mr. Boyden’s genius
was to understand the importance of ritual and habit in developing character.
Mr. Boyden recognized the qualities of a school necessary to develop virtue in
its graduates.
This
was and is the importance of the intricate minuet of sit down meals–a dance of
manners, respect, cooperation, sharing, patience and gratitude. This was and is
the importance of attending school meeting, thereby reaffirming your duty to
participate in your community, not because school meeting is necessarily
entertaining or even what you may consider the best use of your time, but,
rather because often it is neither. Instead, attendance is a duty, an
obligation to something greater than yourself. Obligations to the community,
this one and the ones to come, must be performed because without the community,
you do not exist.
These
rituals and traditions and many others build brick by brick the internal
edifice that becomes your character. If you are like me, you are largely
unaware that this building of character has been taking place. Later in life
when the stakes are high–you will make good choices if you remember the lessons
of Deerfield. Honesty, respect, concern for others are meant to shine in the
Deerfield night sky. Use these stars to navigate.
Mr.
Sullivan taught Algebra II on the second floor of the main school building in a
class room which faced the hills. More than math, he taught us the effect of
time on place by exhorting us to watch the hills in the fall become engulfed by
flames red, orange and yellow, burn out in winter only to be reborn in the
spring.
My
aptitude for math was not high. Near the end of the spring term, Mr. Sullivan
asked me to stay after class. Seated at his desk, he looked up, “Jacobs”, he
said,” I have a proposition for you. I will give you a grade of 85 if you
promise never to embarrass me by taking another math course again. “Life is
short.” He said, “Do what you enjoy.” I did not hesitate. I agreed and never
took a math course again.
Mr.
Sullivan often repeated that observation: life is short. Do what you enjoy. He
spoke in a similar vein at my first class meeting. He told the assembled
sophomore class to enjoy all that Deerfield had to offer because one of us
would be dead by the time the class graduated from college. He proved to be
right in this prediction.
Take
this lesson to heart as soon as you can. Appreciating the shortness of life is
liberating. This appreciation will free you from living your life to please
others. Time is your most valuable commodity. Don’t let others take it from
you. Please yourself. Take some risks. You have been given the opportunity to
be special. Take advantage of that opportunity.
I
never had the courage or the words to thank Mr. Sullivan. His manner did not
invite intimacy. As a poor substitute, at the end of my senior year, I donated
a book of poetry to the library bearing a tribute to Mr. Sullivan in my best
fourth year Latin. This thin volume of poetry remains on the library shelves
today. Under library rules, to stay on the shelves, a book must be taken out at
least once each decade. I have made arrangements with some of the people in
this room to see that this happens long after I am gone.
All of
you have your own “Mr. Sullivans”–faculty, coaches, administrators, dorm
residents, co- curricular leaders, who have known you and cared for you and
taught you.
Mr. Sullivan
was gone before I had the maturity or ability to tell him what he had meant to
me. Don’t make the same mistake. While you can, thank those within this church
and outside its walls who have taken the time to get to know you and care for
you. Remember that you were loved at this school.
I have
now paid my debt, go forth and pay yours.
Great
class of 2014, I salute you.
