NOTE: The following speech was delivered at Caņada College's Commencement May 25, 2001.

Thank you President Perez for that warm and gracious introduction. And good evening members of the Board, faculty, friends, relatives, graduates -- and, most of all, Erika Guzman and Julia Grinberg -- what marvelous representatives you are of this fine graduating class. I want you all to know how pleased and flattered I am to be here tonight to join in your celebration; to be with my new partner, mi hermana, Rosa Perez, and you my new-found Caņada family, extended as it may be, but family nevertheless.

As I look out at you, the Caņada College class of 2001, I am reminded of my own students at San Francisco State University. Like them you are a diverse group. Your varied life experiences, cultural backgrounds, and perspectives have made this campus a richer and more rewarding place. For many of you, earning your degree has been a slow process, balancing work and family responsibilities with your studies. At times you may have felt tired, even discouraged, but you have not only persevered, but prevailed. You have truly earned the honors that are bestowed upon you tonight.

After a good deal of thought about what I might possibly communicate in my ten minutes with you, I concluded I should tell you a very personal story. It is the story of Joseph, not the Joseph you know from the New Testament, but the story of Joseph Jengo, a man who came to this country over a hundred years ago from a small village in Southern Italy to make, not his fortune, but a simple living in the new world.

Joseph spoke and read no English, and if the truth be known, he could read nor write no Italian either. He was an illiterate, uneducated farmer with a strong back, a love of family, and no skills. Behind his back, and on occasion to his face, Joseph would be called a WOP -- an insulting term for Italians -- like guinea or dago. Thanks to television you all know the words, even if you don't use them.

But I wonder how many of you know the origins of WOP. It is not actually a word, but three letters, W O P, which stand for "With Out Papers," the phrase that the immigration service at Ellis Island stamped on the entry forms of undocumented aliens. WOPs like Joseph came to this country in steerage, the rotten, smelly bottoms of ships, without birth certificates, visas, passports, or documents of any kind. And since the vast majority were swarthy types from Southern Europe, W O P became synonymous with the Italian immigrant and in the minds of many, simply another word for Bum. With Out Papers. WOPS. Bums.

At Ellis Island, an Italian-speaking immigration officer asked Joseph Jengo his name and after he told them, they wrote it out for him on his entry form as J E N G O. But illiterate though he was, Joseph did know how to spell his own name and voice quivering, he told these uniformed gatekeepers that it was

G E N G O -- with a hard G, not a J. "No", responded the arrogant folks in immigration, "in this country we spell it J E N G O -- with a J, not a G". So for the next 65 years, until he died, Joseph spelled his name, not as his parents, grandparents, and countless generations of ancestors had spelled it, but as he was ordered by an officious, ignorant bureaucrat who stood between him and the promised land. Jengo -- with a "J", not a "G".

Joseph Jengo worked hard for 55 of his 65 years in America as a longshoreman, loading and unloading ocean-going cargo ships, not with modern cranes and hoists, but with sweat and muscle -- until fired at age 75 when someone finally figured out his age. And for all of those 65 years in this country, Joseph never learned to read or write, or even to speak more than a few words of English, nor for that matter did he ever learn to read or write in his native Italian. And always, always, he spelled his name as immigration had taught him -- J E N G O -- with a "J."

Joseph's wife died young and he raised two sons and six daughters on his own. One of those daughters left school at the age of 13 to work with hundreds of other immigrants and their children in a sweatshop and eventually married the sailor son of uneducated Irish immigrants who had also dropped out of school -- in the sixth grade. And these two modestly educated, but hard-working, children of illiterate immigrants raised a son, who would one day become a college president.

I am that son. I am Joseph Jengo's grandson and there is not a day that goes by that I do not remind myself of who I am and where I came from. Among the things I remember most clearly is that at every step of the way, this grandson of Joseph Jengo was aided by family, friends, relatives, neighbors, teachers, and even college alumni, who had never heard the term "affirmative action" but knew instinctively what it was and realized that this descendent of peasants -- who had picked strawberries for 5 cents a basket at age eight, tilled a truck garden for 35 cents an hour at age 12, and toiled as a molder's helper in an old fashioned brass and aluminum foundry for $5.00 per day at age 14, and who before he went to college had never visited a museum, attended a concert, or even eaten in a restaurant -- that this young man might have the talent to succeed if given the proper "affirmative" support.

I know that there must be a hundred stories like mine in this audience; tales of hardworking men and women like Joseph Jengo: stories of talented but disadvantaged students, like me, who have made it to this very night because there have been others-- family, friends, teachers-- who have taken a keen interest in them and provided the support they needed.

There is nothing mystical or magical, or illegal, unethical or fattening, about reaching out to others and helping them to achieve goals through "affirming" their right to an education, to a job and to a decent standard of living. If there is any one institution in America where we can demonstrate the tremendous value of diversity and affirmative action to our entire nation, it is higher education. A college education, whether it be a four-year degree or a two-year experience, is the gateway to self-discovery, to the full development of individual talent, to economic opportunity. That is what my campus, San Francisco State, is about; that is what Caņada is about. That is why we are all here tonight--to celebrate the stories of all who have excelled because their basic talent and intelligence has been recognized, valued and supported.

And while we are celebrating you, the graduating students, let us also recognize and honor those extraordinary faculty who have made it possible for you develop your natural skills and talents. This year I have made it my responsibility to learn about them, and I can attest that they are men and women of principle and intellectual distinction who care deeply about you, their students. They join us tonight to share in our collective pride in your achievement and they will watch surely with very mixed emotions as you prepare to leave them to pursue careers and further your education.

You may know that your college and mine have a special relationship -- a new partnership that has been created with you in mind. I am speaking of the "Pathways" program that is going to allow Caņada College graduates to stay right here, on your own campus, and earn a four-year degree from San Francisco State University. President Perez and I take great pride in this significant accomplishment.

What made this partnership work was a tremendous amount of good will and hard work on both sides -- particularly from many Caņada faculty members. I want you to appreciate what they have done and join me in feeling such great pride in this path-breaking accomplishment.

Finally, let me talk to you about your power to make a difference in your community right now. People your age, living lives very much like yours, are doing tremendous things. You don't need to wait until you have a bachelor's degree, or a high-paying job, or a home and family to be a force in your community. You can be, and I hope you are, already joining in efforts to address some of our society's problems.

Recall the words of Robert Kennedy on the occasion of his campaign for the Presidency some 33 years ago -- "Some men see things as they are and ask 'why?' I dream things that never were and ask 'why not'?" Or the anecdote his brother Jack loved to tell about the French diplomat who asked his busy Moroccan gardener to plant a tree in his garden the very next day. "But why hurry, it will not bloom for a hundred years," protested the gardener. "Then plant it this afternoon," said the diplomat. You need to dream the impossible and seek to achieve what is noble and right.

At San Francisco State, for example, we encourage this through many classes that include a community project in which students can apply what they are learning in the classroom. We have students who are going into housing projects to train children and adults how to use computers; who are teaching English to older immigrants and helping them prepare for their citizenship test; who are offering jazz workshops to kids in a tough neighborhood; who are helping to design low-income housing projects; and who are creating web pages for non-profit groups.

What we hope to show our students is how effective, how creative, how powerful they can be -- when they choose to get involved. You hear a lot of complaining from the media about how uninvolved young people are these days, how many of them don't vote, how they care about the good life for themselves, not the hard lives of many right around them.

I don't believe this for a minute. National studies show us that more college and university students than ever before -- as many as 70% -- have done some volunteer work in the last year. Many of you care, and you help. I want to encourage you to make involvement a lifetime habit, and to take it one step further, to get involved in the organizations and civic structures that really shape change in our communities. We need people who will serve on committees in their children's schools, who will run for the school board, who will join -- and work hard in -- environmental groups, who will serve on the board of directors of a center for battered women, a homelessness project, a teen center for at-risk kids. We need people -- good people -- who will run for public office.

I believe from all that I have heard that you are leaving this institution prepared and eager to take this kind of active role in the world around you -- to involve yourselves in your community, however broadly you define it -- to take personal responsibility for making some part of our society -- our global society -- a little fairer, healthier, more just.

Let me warn you that there may be others out there who do not share our enthusiasm, often dull, uninspired people who will try to tell you about all of the difficulties you will face -- what with the economy, the international situation, the enormous challenges we face as a community -- drugs, housing, AIDS, the homeless, education, transportation, and the environment. Remember the thoughtful warning from The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.: "One of the great traditions of history is that all too many people fail to remain awake through great periods of social change .... (for) ... every society has its protectors of the status quo in its fraternities of the indifferent." Don't be discouraged by the seriousness of the problems we face, or afraid of change -- rather be energized by the challenges.

Our democracy and our very survival depend upon this -- the readiness of each new generation to help make a better world. It is particularly important that you see yourselves in this role. Diverse and multicultural, with roots that stretch around the globe, you have the perspectives and experiences that our nation needs to help guide a complex world in this new millennium.

In just a few minutes, we will arrive at the part of the program for which you all have been waiting: the awarding of degrees! But one final word before this joyous moment. You, the Caņada College class of 2001, are the faces and futures of the 21st century. In all your wonderful diversity, you will be this young century's heart, its mind, its leadership. You are the most splendid resource that this state has to offer. You leave this campus with an excellent education and with reserves of energy and commitment on which to draw in the years ahead. America in a new century presents many challenges and I join with President Perez in the confidence that you are ready for them.

Thank you.