TEXT: Sorensen's final USC commencement speech

Andrew Sorensen gave his last commencement address as USC president today. Following, is the prepared text of what he had to say:

USC COLUMBIA COMMENCEMENT MAY 9, 2008
3:30 P.M.

I offer my heartfelt congratulations to each of you graduates, and rejoice with you in your achievements. During this summer, as you prepare to assume greater independence, you will inevitably continue spinning fantasies about the next several years. What kind of friends will you have? Will you fall in love? Again? For those of you going on to graduate school this fall, how will you handle the academic competition? And for those of you embarking on professional careers, will you thrive in the hurly-burly of the marketplace?

Because I am acutely sensitive to the numerous landmines that dot the terrain you roam daily, I want each of you to cope superbly with life's impediments. You have had to deal with a variety of problems along the way, and in the brief time I have with you this afternoon I could easily dwell on the numerous pitfalls that lie ahead. But in spite of my genuine anxiety for your welfare, on this happy occasion I would much rather focus on your marvelous potential. We are nearing the end of the first decade in a century that holds unparalleled hope. The knowledge revolution is charging ahead with dizzying speed, and there

is a fantastic future immediately before you.

But before we focus on your future, close your eyes for a minute and imagine that you are joining me as I whiz us to Boston in my state- of- the-art time machine, back a century and a half ago to June of 1854. Henry Brooks Adams — an eager teenager — is anticipating his enrollment at Harvard College the following September. Now fast forward fifty years while we look over his shoulder as he writes this in his autobiography: "Only on looking back at his own future . . . and pondering on the needs of the twentieth century, he wondered whether, on the whole, the boy of 1854 stood nearer to the thought of 1904, or to that of the year one. He found himself unable to give a sure answer."

I recently watched a rerun of the movie "Back to the Future," in which Marty McFly was strapped into Doc Brown's time machine and catapulted back to 1955. The then popular Chordettes, singing "Mr. Sandman Bring Me a Dream," reminded me vividly of a June evening that same year, when I was a senior in high school, I thought I was the personification of cool, gliding across the dance floor softly crooning that tune in the ear of my dare. But that was long before I met my lovely wife.

As I look back over those nearly fifty-three years since I danced away a high school evening, I firmly believe — in stark contrast to Henry Adams – that the boy of 1955 stood enormously nearer to the thought of 2008 than “to that of the year one." I say that without hesitation because since then the thousands of students and faculty I have served — and especially those of you in the Gamecock family –have insisted, in Mr. Adams's words, that I "consider the future and the past with an equal mind." In short, y'al1 have refused to let me stay locked up in the past —looking only backward.

We are gathered here today in one of those most unusual of moments: ever so briefly suspended in time, reflecting on where we have been while at the same time squinting down the opaque time tunnel to where we are going. Although you think you are the same persons who so nervously began your studies here just a few years ago because you have precisely the same names, you are in countless respects very different from the day you became Gamecocks — and even more dramatic changes are ahead of you.

The poet T. S. Eliot observed: "What we call the beginning is often the end, and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." You have completed your respective degree programs – the end; now you embark on the rest of life's exhilarating voyage, symbolized by shaking my hand as you cross this stage. This is where you start from. Thus we call this ceremony commencement. I trust that over the next several years you will be truly excited as you discover nooks and crannies of knowledge you never remotely imagined, and are stimulated by new friends and experiences.

I fully realize that many people do not share my optimism about your collective future. Listen to this denunciation of the self-indulgence of youth by a universally recognized observer: "The children now love luxury. They have bad manners, contempt for authority, they show disrespect for elders, and love chatter instead of exercise." I know that sounds like Bill O'Reilly going ballistic about what Hannah Montana is wearing, but those words were written by the Greek philosopher Plato over 2,400 years ago. Older people have been offering similar lamentations about younger people for millennia.

The noted American humorist Mark Twain offered this witty comment on the ponderous works of the nineteenth century German composer, Richard Wagner: "His music is not as bad as it sounds." Analogously, I believe passionately that your generation is not as bad as the pessimists sound. In spite of the perennial allegations by many of your elders that you are hopelessly narcissistic —thinking only about yourselves, the fact is that two-thirds of you Carolina graduates have participated in community service activities during your years here, and one in four of you has lead these initiatives. I salute your altruism, and encourage you to find ways to continue, caring for others and, as you are able, volunteer to spearhead such efforts.

In conclusion, allow me to salute the entire University of South Carolina class of 2008. As you leave these hallowed halls, I encourage you to continue questioning authority. Just don't do it on your MySpace site where future employers might see it. On a serious note, you have boundless potential and immeasurable richness of opportunity: the years before you are loaded with incomparable promise. I pray that you will have the perseverance and wisdom to give "legs" to your fondest dreams.

One of you gaduates recently asked a classmate: "What have you liked most about your four years here?" His response: "It's easy to make a small university big. But it’s very difficult to make a big university small. Carolina has succeeded in doing so beyond my wildest expectations."

The reason we have been able to make this great big school small is because all of us believe we are members of the Gamecock family. The fact that y'all believe every one of us, in spite of the size of our student body, belongs to a small family is evident when our Honors Council stages a benefit for their organization by selling tee shirts emblazoned with the following inscription below the president's picture: "Andy is my home boy." I assure you that my portrait, or whether or not you bought one of those tee shirts, is absolutely unimportant. But what is important is the implicit sense of community it conveys. You and I are Gamecock family. In the years that lie ahead, I pray . that you will take with you the message of making a big university small and translate it into making a big community small — everywhere you live!

Nearly 200 years ago, the Reverend Jonathan Maxey, first president of this University — memorialized by a monument in the heart of the Horseshoe — addressed the graduating seniors with these words, which are as vital today as when he uttered them: On you are fixed the eyes and hearts of your parents and friends. From you they hope and expect much." This commencement, and those of your classmates tomorrow will be the last Carolina assemblies at which I shall preside. My final benediction upon you is this sage advice from the prophet Isaiah: "May you rise up with wings as eagles, may you run and not be weary, may you walk and not faint."

Godspeed, good luck, and unconditional blessings on y'all.