Lawrence Today magazine, Fall 2003
It is a Lawrence University tradition that recipients of honorary degrees at the annual Commencement ceremony deliver brief "charges" to the graduating class. On June 15, 2003, those speakers were Patricia Hamar Boldt, '48, and Oscar C. Boldt, who each received the honorary degree Doctor of Laws; Bruce H. Iglauer, '69, Doctor of Music; and Edmund S. Morgan, Doctor of Humane Letters.
Patricia Hamar Boldt, '48, LL.D.
'03
Community Volunteer
Appleton, Wisconsin
Many years ago, before Björklunden, Lawrence had something called Winter Weekend. On several occasions, students and faculty traveled north to the Porcupine Mountains near Ontonagon, Michigan, so they could ski all day and party at least part of the night. One time, President Warch and I were talking about such a weekend, and when I allowed as how I was familiar with the area, he said, "Oh, I didn't know that you grew up in Ontonagon." My reply was, "I lived at Ontonagon. I grew up at Lawrence."
I hope all of you, too, have grown up at Lawrence. No matter what went on in your lives these past four years, there can be no doubt that you have grown and that your experience here has begun to shape you in ways you may not be aware of today. You have grown up at Lawrence, and you will continue to grow. The reading, the writing, the thinking, and talking and performing you have done here will not allow you to conform to the ideas of others, to be drawn into television's sometimes assault on your intelligence, to lose your idealism. Don't.
A great many people have invested in this place — invested in you — with the expectation that people who have a liberal arts education are equipped both to lead and serve, to stay grounded in the ideas, virtues, and disciplines that have spanned the centuries and have stood the test of time. You will be a positive force wherever life leads you, speaking for or witnessing for peace, justice, and freedom; protecting and promoting the arts; helping the less fortunate; caring for the environment; being decent human beings, as the world, with all its opportunities and challenges, opens up to you.
In our society, happiness is a highly sought-after goal. You are equipped for your search and now can sort out just what your strengths are and put them to positive use. Sometimes looking for and finding happiness are parallel to each other, sometimes finding happiness comes without looking, and sometimes looking finds nothing, if you look too hard.
President Warch, when asked, suggested that Commencement speakers give a charge to the class. You may remember that one of the speakers at your graduation — somebody's grandmother, no less — concluded with some A, B, Cs for you.
A — always be intellectually alive and aware.
B — believe in yourself and believe in something greater than yourself.
C — care about your community, care about your college, and always be considerate.
The remaining letters of the alphabet I leave for you to define and make a part of your character, so that you will always be grateful for what has happened to you here and proud to say, as I am, I graduated from Lawrence.
Oscar C. Boldt, LL.D. '03
Chairman, The Boldt
Group
Appleton, Wisconsin
I graduated from the University of Wisconsin in civil engineering, but much of my education occurred from the Lawrence campus, where my young boy's interest in history was kindled by Lawrence's collection of Indian artifacts, which were displayed in the days when no child would think of stealing anything that was not his.
Much later, in the '40s, I participated in a social-studies program at Lawrence known as Blind Dating, a custom which required your date to sign out, indicating where she was going, for what purpose, and when she would return. Being a Lawrence girl, it didn't take long for me to fall in love, and she was everything anyone could hope for.
We were soon sharing our dreams and aspirations for a better world than seemed to exist at the end of World War II. We had little to offer, other than active minds, healthy bodies, and a willingness to work. We tried to understand the community around us and how we might make it a better place. In Ernie Pyle's words, we believed that "it was the right thing to do."
I learned from Nate Pusey about the importance of the liberal arts in creating a better world. Pat would patiently explain to me that I couldn't solve everything with logic. This is a difficult idea for an engineer to accept. We worked in many aspects of the community to fulfill Lawrence's aspirations for her and, by adoption, for me as well.
I suspect the university continues to have those aspirations for the graduates of today, hoping that your education will enable you to return a portion of Lawrence's investment in you.
For 50 years now, I have been messing up the campus. In the early morning hours we were an unwelcome alarm clock, awakening campus life with noisy machines, disrupted vital services, and interrupted traffic flow. We created huge piles of dirt and large clouds of dust, from which 18 structures emerged. Most people believe that the result is a better campus, but a few have not forgotten that we disrupted their slumbers.
We hope we have demonstrated in our lives the value of taking a chance and seeing the best in people; while struggling to grow, we have found enjoyment in the work necessary to change ourselves and joy in helping others. There are very few things which cannot be achieved if you are willing to make the effort.
Much of the meaning in our wonderful lives has been influenced by Lawrence, and we are deeply grateful for the honor which the university has conveyed on us today.
In closing, a few words for those graduating: Hold on to the sense of mission which you have set for yourselves. No matter what your initial experience might be, accept the fact that it takes time to be heard and time to be understood. Hold firmly to your aspirations for a better world. It will require patience and practice as you go forward with confidence. Take intelligent risks. Be honest and do good work.
Lawrence believes that your rich training has prepared you to make special contributions in the world which is now emerging. It became your world today, and you should not permit anyone to steal it from you. With the unique training you have received here, you have also acquired unusual opportunities to make a difference. Ignore the fact that others before you have failed; find a way to success, your way.
Pat continues to remind me to smile. It just seems that a smile will enable people to know they are experiencing the real you. Your welcoming joy in living should help you to achieve your goals without unnecessary burden. May your journey be rewarding, filled with challenges, hard work, good works, and success. As you demonstrate the substance of your life, may it be shared with others as well.
Finally, as Garrison would say, "Keep in touch."
Bruce H. Iglauer, '69, D.Mus.
'03
Founder and President, Alligator Records
Chicago,
Illinois
I have to say that I find receiving this degree to be rather ironic. For much of my four-and-a-half years at Lawrence, it seemed that one of the main goals of the college administration, and in particular the dean of men, was to get rid of me. I was considered a troublemaker of the first order. I was one of the small group of students who stood every week on the sidewalk outside the chapel, with a giant cross, holding a sign that read something like, "Would Jesus be bombing Vietnam?" Most Lawrence students ignored us, and the good people of Appleton mostly drove by and yelled at us. Later on, as the war became less and less popular, many of the same students and townspeople joined us in protest marches down College Avenue — but not the dean of men.
As an official Lawrence troublemaker, I participated in the take-over of the university president's office, to protest against punitive policies toward students with drug problems; I went to Milwaukee to march on behalf of integrated housing; and I also protested on behalf of something very few of you will remember, a much more self-serving issue called "open dorms."
So, the administration of Lawrence considered me to be a troublemaker. I guess I come from a long line of troublemakers. My sister, who was a much better student than I ever was, got in trouble back in high school. The school guidance counselor called in my mother and explained that, although my sister was an excellent student, she had a bad tendency to "question intellectual authority." My mother, who could be a troublemaker herself, thought for a moment and said to the counselor, "I'm sorry. I thought that was one of the goals of education." So, as far as I was concerned, I was carrying on my family tradition; I wasn't trying to be a troublemaker, just questioning authority, be it the Lawrence administration or the U.S. government.
Ironically, questioning authority, especially intellectual authority, was something that a Lawrence education encouraged — but some members of the administration didn't.
When I left Lawrence, I followed my personal passion. I moved to Chicago to learn more about this wonderful, intense, emotionally healing music called Blues. At that time, Blues music was mostly performed by members of the African American community — by black people, for black people. Of course, that led me to the question of why American media were ignoring this fabulous folk art form that existed right under their noses. The Blues is one of the great, lasting, and passionate creations of African Americans and, as I delved further into it, I found that the world and culture of black people in the United States was like a parallel universe, existing in the same country as the middle-class suburb where I grew up and the decidedly upper-middle-class college I attended but with little relationship to either. In fact, the people I met and worked with were not the least bit interested in my academic credentials but only in my passion for their music and my willingness to invest my energy into my mission of bringing Blues music and its culture to the world outside the Chicago ghetto.
I haven't exactly gotten rich producing and selling Blues recordings, managing Blues musicians, and operating a small, independent record company, but I have had an incredibly rich career. I have been able to live out my dreams and, by recording and promoting the music I love and believe in, to share it with the rest of the world. By not being willing to accept the soulless pap that the mass media throws at us and calls music, I've continued to be a little bit of a troublemaker, fighting to help get Blues music heard on radio, on television, and in print. And by helping to organize other passionate people who are recording and promoting music they believe in, I've tried to help a sort of small entrepreneurial counterculture to survive and to thrive.
I guess passionate people have a way of finding each other, because I was even lucky enough to find my wonderful wife and soul mate, who invested the same kind of passion in her career fighting for services for crime victims and witnesses.
What's my message to you guys in all of this? To tell you that, as you leave the safe confines of Lawrence and step out into the so-called real world, you, too, can be a troublemaker. You don't have to compromise your ideals, to step into an existing social model or an available professional role. It's possible to live your life following your passion. To maintain some of that idealistic vision I hope you have, you need to invest yourself in improving the world in some small way. You may not get financially rich doing it, but there are lots of other forms of riches in the world.
I urge you to be, in the best sense, troublemakers. Question authority — intellectual, governmental, social, and otherwise. Stir the waters. Find your own path and follow it with all the passion you can and be wary of anyone who claims to know for sure the One Right Way to Live.
I want to close with a quote I heard recently and love. It's from the first freely elected president of the Czech Republic. When the Czech people had a chance to choose their own leader, they didn't choose an M.B.A. like our president; instead, they chose a playwright and a poet — you know, a troublemaker — Václav Havel. And he said, "Seek out and keep the company of those who are seeking for the truth, and run quickly from those who have found it."
Edmund S. Morgan, L.H.D. '03
Sterling Professor
of History Emeritus, Yale University
New Haven,
Connecticut
The world as it was when I was your age has disappeared. Whatever advice or admonition I can offer on the basis of my experience when I was in my 20s or 30s is not much use. But, there is one thing that matters as much now as it always has. That is luck. Get lucky. The reason I am here today to receive this honor is luck.
I was not born lucky. Indeed, I considered myself unlucky. There was nothing I wanted more than anything else when I was young than to be good at hockey. I loved the game, and I was hopelessly bad at it. I would give away the puck to anyone who skated by. I was not so eager to be good at history or literature, but I worked at it. I was still unlucky when in college I failed my first history exam. I stuck with it, went to graduate school, and wrote a pretty good dissertation, but basically I was B+, and I knew it.
Then came the Second World War — bad for the world, but lucky for me. There were no academic jobs, but I was pretty good with my hands, as I was pretty good at a few other things. So I took a job as a machinist's helper, though I didn't know much about machinery at the time. That was when I got lucky. It turned out that I was not just pretty good at it — I was damned good. Within a year I was a full-fledged tool-and-die maker — I learned fast. More importantly, I knew I was good, and it changed my whole outlook on myself and the world.
Whether you are good at history is a matter of opinion — I still can't be sure that something I have just written is really any good. But when you are making something out of steel or brass in a machine shop, you will know instantly how good it is. You can measure the goodness to ten-thousands of an inch with micrometers. My work measured up with the best. I was good.
That was my luck, and it changed everything I did thereafter. They say you have to be good to be lucky. And I have been lucky in everything that has happened to me since then. I stopped being a toolmaker after the war and went back to the academic world. But I went with a confidence that earning a Ph.D. had never given me.
America is no longer an industrial society, and I would not advise anyone to become a machinist or a toolmaker now, but I do think getting to be good at something, no matter what it is, has something to do with getting lucky.
So, my charge to you is to get lucky, as fast as you can, and be good at something; it doesn't matter what.