About UCEA

President's Letter

Commencement

UCEA InFocus, May/June 2008 (PDF)
Robert Wiltenburg, UCEA President 2008-2009

We’ve just finished commencing, and there is a welcome pause in the rhythm of the academic year. Of all our graduation rituals, the recognition ceremony for evening and adult students is my favorite—and not just because I have to be there: our chancellor, several other deans, and faculty are regulars as well. We hold the ceremony in the evening of course, a couple of nights before the Friday morning all-university outdoor ceremony. I do enjoy the pageantry of those bright (mostly) mornings in the quadrangle when drab and everyday colleagues suddenly break forth robed in multi-colored splendor and high solemnity—and of course there’s that ever-renewed sea of shining young faces. That morning is always a grand moment of institutional and cultural memory, and of inter-generational theater. But our evening ceremony is not only more intimate, but gives, in some ways, a deeper idea of what a great university is and does. Our continuing education students are not here because they happen to be 22 years old, or because all their friends were doing it, or because someone else made them come. Instead, they’ve deliberately chosen the life of the mind and the pursuit of learning, often against long odds, often at considerable sacrifice, and always in continuing dialogue (if not outright conflict!) with other pressing concerns. They, more than most, understand that learning is always in competition with other good and necessary things for our attention and efforts—and their hard-won achievements are all the sweeter for that recognition. They also know that no one pursues an education unassisted, and so they bring, with our encouragement, everyone relevant to their success: parents and spouses; siblings and children; neighbors, teachers, and friends. We have a couple of speeches—one student, one faculty member—and we give out awards. We read all the names and shake all the hands. And of course there are refreshments (make mine chocolate) after. But really, the ceremony is no big deal in itself, and we’re always done is less than an hour. The brevity is perhaps one attraction, but what people really come for is the other people. No other sector of the university has such a diversity—of ages and stages, backgrounds, appearances, or courses of study. You feel, as one rarely does these days, the way people once felt in old parish churches, or perhaps at new citizen swearing in ceremonies, that everyone there matters, and has a chance, and has taken an important step in bettering their minds and their lives. And we have the best anecdotes in the university as well. One of the winners of our academic achievement award lingers in mind. I’d pulled her file out of a stack of half a dozen candidates: 4.0 GPA with a major in Applied Math. Not something you see very often. But I’d never met her and knew nothing else about her. Comes the evening ceremony and I call her to come forward. She’s thirty-something, average height, no glasses, pleasant smile, dressed for the occasion—but she’s not alone. In one arm, she’s cradling an infant, and by the other hand has a toddler, and as she reaches the podium, someone in the back calls out, “Way to go, Mommy.” Well, we all dissolved in puddles on the floor, wishing we’d brought towels instead of handkerchiefs. How had she accomplished this? And how was it that our normal recognition ceremony had been suddenly transformed into an allegorical vision of modern womanhood: Madonna, 4.0, with children. At my university, as I’m sure is true of many of yours, the last decade or so has seen a great emphasis on numbers; and not just the bottom line, but knowing what numbers to keep, and knowing what to do with them. We’re a better and more accountable operation than we’ve ever been. But much as we need ever better numbers, we also need ever better anecdotes. Continuing Education has the some of the best stories to tell—within the university and beyond. Let’s make sure they’re heard!