Commencement Speech, Part 1
Here is a little something to read during this 15 degree, icy weather. It is the transcript of Ronald Reagan's speech he gave at my college graduation in '93. It is too long to fit in one post so I had to split it up:
" I'm delighted to be here on this glorious day of hope and promise. It is indeed
an honor to have the privilege of speaking to you today and to receive an honorary
degree from this distinguished institution.
Surely my service record alone can’t explain my presence here. More than half
a century ago I was made a 2nd Lieutenant in the Horse Cavalry Reserve. That’s
hardly enough to warrant the honor you do me today.
But I do have to confess to you that during my presidency, I had an idea that I
could never get anyone to support -- I wanted to reinstate the Horse Cavalry in the
armed services.
Frankly, my being here cannot be based on my academic achievements either.
Yes it’s true that my alma mater -- Eureka College -- awarded me an honorary
degree 25 years after my graduation. That only aggravated a sense of guilt I’d
nursed for 25 years. I’ve always suspected the first degree they’d given me was
honorary. Truthfully, I am very proud to receive this degree today and my prayer is
that I can somehow be deserving of it.
It is a special pleasure to address the graduating class of 1993, as together we
mark the culmination of The Citadel’s sesquicentennial year. My goodness -- one
hundred and fifty years. Has it really been that long? It seems like only yesterday
that Colonel Harvey Dick and I were watching the first 20 members of the Corps of
Cadets report for duty.
You know, the military college had been created that past December, and we
weren’t quite sure how things would turn out. I remember asking him, “Colonel
Dick, do you think these ‘original knobs’ will make the grade?” Well, a week later,
ten of them were serving “confinements;” the other ten were finishing up “tours;”
and all 20 had turned in at least one “E.R.W.” You see, some things never change.
Come to think of it, I seem to recall the Colonel was even driving the same station
wagon around Charleston. The only difference was that back then, that wagon had
real horsepower.
Seriously, on my way to Charleston I took a peek at “The Guidon,” which they
tell me is the “Bible of the Knobs.” The more I read that little booklet, the better I
like it. For example, I learned the three permissible “knob answers”-- “Sir, yes, sir”
and “Sir, no, sir” and -- I liked this third one best of all -- “Sir, no excuse, sir.” By
golly, I think, we ought to send the entire U. S. Congress down here to learn answer
number three.
Then I read this friendly advice in the book: “When you receive an order, carry it
out to the best of your ability. Never argue or offer suggestions which you think
might be better. This is not in your best interest.” Well, it seems to me that The
Citadel has a few things to teach the Cabinet and the Executive Branch, too! In
fact, maybe we should just put the whole Federal Government through cadet
training!
But then I remembered the last time the Corps of Cadets and good people of
Charleston decided the Federal Government was taking too active an interest in
their affairs. Before you knew it, Cadet George Haynsworth and the other “Boys
Behind the Gun” had fired the famous “first shot” at the Yankee steamer Star of the
West. Well, we all know what happened after that. As I recall, it took a good four
years before everything calmed down again. Just think of the “E.R.W.” those fellas
would have had to write!
In fact, of course, the “Boys Behind the Gun” served valiantly the cause to which
they had pledged their devotion. In this, they exemplified a Citadel tradition -- a
tradition that would transcend the divisions of our nation’s bloodiest internal
struggle, and inspire generations of future cadets to courageous service to a nation
reunited.
The Citadel’s roll of honor today stretches unblemished from the Ardannes to the
38th Parallel, from Grenada to the Persian Gulf, with name after name of those who
have served our country bravely in time of war --names like General Charles
Summerall, General Mark Clark, and your current President, General Bud Watts.
Yes, countless soldiers have distinguished themselves on fields of valor and are
part of the century-and-a-half tradition of duty and honor we celebrate today.
But for me, there is one name that will always come to mind whenever I think of
The Citadel and the Corps of Cadets. It is a name that appears in no military
histories; its owner won no glory on the field of battle.
No, his moment of truth came not in combat, but on a snow-driven, peacetime
day in the Nation’s capital in January of 1982. That is the day that the civilian
airliner, on which he was a passenger, crashed into a Washington bridge, then
plunged into the rough waters of the icy Potomac. He survived the impact of the
crash and found himself with a small group of other survivors struggling to stay
afloat in the near-frozen river. And then, suddenly, there was hope -- a park police
helicopter appeared overhead, trailing a lifeline to the outstretched hands below, a
lifeline that could carry but a few of the victims to the safety of the shore. News
cameramen, watching helplessly, recorded the scene as the man in the water
repeatedly handed the rope to the others, refusing to save himself until the first
one, then two, then three and four, and finally five of his fellow passengers had
been rescued.
But when the helicopter returned for one final trip, the trip that would rescue the
man who had passed the rope, it was too late. He had slipped at last beneath the
waves with the sinking wreckage -- the only one of 79 fatalities in the disaster who
lost his life after the accident itself.
For months thereafter, we knew him only as the “unknown hero.” And then an
exhaustive Coast Guard investigation conclusively established his identity. Many of
you here today know his name as well as I do, for his portrait now hangs with honor
-- as it indeed should -- on this very campus; the campus where he once walked, as
you have, through the Summerall Gate and along the Avenue of Remembrance.
He was a young first classman with a crisp uniform and a confident stride on a
bright spring morning, full of hopes and plans for the future. He never dreamed that
his life’s supreme challenge would come in its final moments, some 25 years later,
adrift in the bone-chilling waters of an ice-strewn river and surrounded by others
who desperately needed help.
But when the challenge came, he was ready. His name was Arland D. Williams,
Jr., The Citadel Class of 1957. He brought honor to his alma mater, and honor to
his nation. I was never more proud as President than on that day in June 1983
when his parents and his children joined me in the Oval Office -- for then I was
able, on behalf of the Nation, to pay posthumous honor to him. Greater love, as the
Bible tells us, hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend.
I have spoken of Arland Williams in part to honor him anew in your presence,
here at this special institution that helped mold his character. It is the same
institution that has now put its final imprint on you, the graduating seniors of its
150th year. But I have also retold his story because I believe it has something
important to teach to you as graduates about the challenges that life inevitably
seems to present -- and about what it is that prepares us to meet them.
Sometimes, you see, life gives us what we think is fair warning of the choices
that will shape our future. On such occasions, we are able to look far along the
path, up ahead to that distant point in the woods where the poet’s “two roads”
diverge. And then, if we are wise, we will take time to think and reflect before
choosing which road to take before the junction is reached.
But such occasions, in fact, are rather rare -- far rarer, I suspect, than the
confident eyes of one’s early twenties can quite perceive. Far more often than we
can comfortably admit, the most crucial of life’s moments come like the scriptural
“thief in the night.” Suddenly and without notice, the crisis is upon us and the
moment of choice is at hand -- a moment fraught with import for ourselves, and for
all who are depending on the choice we make. We find ourselves, if you will,
plunged without warning into the icy water, where the currents of moral
consequence run swift and deep, and where our fellowman -- and yes, I believe our
Maker -- are waiting to see whether we will pass the rope.
These are moments when instinct and character take command, as they took
command for Arland Williams on the day our Lord would call him home. For there
is no time, at such moments, for anything but fortitude and integrity. Debate and
reflection and a leisurely weighing of the alternatives are luxuries we do not have.
The only question is what kind of responsibility will come to the fore.
And now we come to the heart of the matter, to the core lesson taught by the
heroism of Arland Williams on January 13, 1982. For you see, the character that
takes command in moments of crucial choices has already been determined.
It has been determined by a thousand other choices made earlier in seemingly
unimportant moments. It has been determined by all the “little” choices of years
past -- by all those times when the voice of conscience was at war with the voice of
temptation -- whispering the lie that “it really doesn’t matter.” It has been
determined by all the day-to-day decisions made when life seemed easy and crises
seemed far away -- the decisions that, piece by piece, bit by bit, developed habits
of discipline or of laziness; habits of self-sacrifice or of self-indulgence; habits of
duty and honor and integrity -- or dishonor and shame.
Because when life does get tough, and the crisis is undeniably at hand -- when
we must, in an instant look inward for strength of character to see us through -- we
will find nothing inside ourselves that we have not already put there.
And you know, it turns out that much the same thing is also true for our country.
Indeed, I believe this is especially so in the most crucial area of all -- America’s
ability, when necessary, to defend her citizens and her freedoms, and her vital
interests by force of arms. For here, too, the crisis is often upon us in an instant.
Here, too, our instincts and character must be equal to challenges we can scarcely
predict. But here, even character and instinct will not be enough. We must
also have the tools -- the military capability -- ready in advance of the crisis that
may demand their use.
Yes, it’s true that today the world is a different, better place than it was a decade
ago, but it is not an entirely safe place. A multitude of terrorists and international
hoodlums are working night and day to do us harm. U.S. troops have been called
into action over a dozen times in the last four years. And dozens of deadly conflicts
still plague the globe, from central Europe to the former Soviet Union to the Middle
East. (continued in part 2)
Modified by TnDuc at 4:10 PM 1/23/2005
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