Last week I discovered I’ll be the faculty speaker at for the College of Education’s fall graduation ceremony. One of the beautiful English Education students at Iowa must have put my name forward. I’m humbled.
Talking at graduation is quite an honor, to be sure, but now I’ve got to write a speech. November is busy for this humble professor, but I’m sure I can find time to jot down a few notes. Some wisdom to impart to these poor people who will have to listen to me wax poetic. In academic regalia, nonetheless. Under the watchful eyes of deans, members of the board of regents, and honored guests. I hope I don’t say anything scandalous. I probably won’t. Probably.
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This isn’t my first rodeo being honored by beautiful students. I’ve given a handful of speeches during my time as a humble educator.
The National Honor Society at Cooper High School selected me to give a speech at their annual ceremony. This would have been 2005 or 2006. I was less filtered in those days. My talk, as I remember it, was pretty wild. You see, I’d been preparing my speech on my drive home from Cooper one afternoon. Speaking loudly in the quiet of my car. I was so caught up on the speech that I wasn’t paying attention to my speedometer. Somewhere between Robbinsdale and my apartment in Uptown, a police officer, in service of the city of Minneapolis, pulled me over. I got a ticket. Lost $100 trying to prepare my talk. With inflation these days, that is about $1,000 in 2023 dollars.
I opened that speech at Cooper by telling the audience that I’d received a ticket in service of the National Honor Society. I told them the exact amount.
“I’ll be taking up collections in the foyer after the ceremony,” I said. “Checks can be made out to Sam Tanner.”
I went on to talk about how many letters of recommendation I’d written for honors students at Cooper, and how cool it was to be a part of so many of their journeys. Nobody remembered that part of my speech. But they did remember the ticket. Random people came up to me afterwards and tried to give me money. Students, of course, but parents too. I remember the superintendent was there, watching me with concern. Of course I turned down the money. I have scruples.
I gave another speech at Roseville High School. I think it was for the National Honor Society as well. At the time, I was actively trying to shy away from the narcissism that comes with being a popular teacher. Trying to keep my head from getting too big. So I gave a talk about things I admired in my colleagues. I remember reading a quote from Kurt Vonnegut. I’ll do that in my speech at graduation here in Iowa too. I often quote Kurt Vonnegut and I’ll keep doing so, especially now that we’re distant colleagues – we’ve both been gainfully employed by the University of Iowa.
I’ve been in front of big crowds countless other times as a teacher. Giving speeches. Playing basketball. Being an MC. Oh, and I once performed an original rap song with another teacher at a pep rally at Cooper. He played guitar and I danced. It was horrifying and, if memory serves, is still up on YouTube. Don’t search it. It’s not the kind of clip that ages well.
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I’m not sure what I’ll talk about in my speech yet. I’ll probably tell my card house story. It’s the most important story I’ve got to tell and, given that I’ll have a kept audience of hundreds of people, I’d like to give them something good. Something useful.
And I’ll try not to be long-winded. I’ve sat through countless graduation ceremonies at this point in my career. I’ve learned that the quality of a speech at such events is often closely connected to brevity. So, you know. I’ll have to contain myself.
I’ve got another writing task in front of me now. A high stakes task in that I’ll be reading the words aloud to lots of people. I don’t really get nervous being in front of crowds these days, but I’m certainly excited. It’ll be a trip to give the talk.
So here I am, a humble and honored educator, preparing to give a little of myself at graduation this fall.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 