As I was preparing my speech for last Friday’s graduation, I kept thinking about not just this outgoing class, but all of you who came before. So this is for every Portfolio Center alum. To borrow from Elvis and Willie, “You are always on my mind…”

Years ago, when I was a college student, I couldn’t fathom how I could hate art history class so much, considering how much I loved art history. As I sat through slide after slide, struggling to stay awake as the instructor droned out his canned lecture, I thought, There’s got to be a better way. And I vowed then that if I ever had the opportunity to teach—which wasn’t anything I expected or planned to have—I’d find that better way.

Fast-forward thirty-plus years—past my own careers in advertising and design, and my stint as an adjunct instructor here, and then Dean of Students, I’m President of Portfolio Center—and still teaching. I’ve been teaching classes at PC for over ten years, and I challenge anyone to find a single student who would say he was ever bored in my class. Tired, yes; frustrated, absolutely; but never bored.

I have made it my mission to figure out how to get the best out of the young people in my charge. Your futures are my business. There’s an old saying that a parent is only as happy as their unhappiest child. I feel that way about PC students. I take your happiness personally. I can’t control how you drive, what you consume, or who you love—all of the other things that can affect your quality of life as you go, but I do make sure you’re fully prepared for your profession. And prepared to meet, with all your strength, every challenge that awaits you.

For the past couple of years, it has been my great pleasure to work with you guys, as a teacher, as an advisor, and—as inevitably happens here—as your friend, a role I trust I’ll continue to play into your own middle age and after. In my office, I have giant notebooks full of cards and letters from such friends as you, who still keep in touch, still seek my advice and, still, sometimes, cry on my shoulder. I don’t forget you, and—try as you might to forget the 5:30 a.m. classes, the 12 hour meetings, and those times I told you three days before critiques to start your project over from scratch—you won’t forget me either.

Before you go off into your lives, I want to take this opportunity to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.

But first—a short true story: Many years back, I had the good fortune to spend a long weekend in Philadelphia, sequestered with Milton Glaser. During that weekend he gave me a piece of advice about teaching. At that time, I had taught maybe one or two classes and was quite content building the design firm I was about. I considered teaching to be relatively benevolent in nature and was sort of cavalier about it. I was “giving back,” as they say… but, what Glaser told me back then influenced me much, and to this day it still rings in my ears… “Hank, you have the wrong idea,” he told me. “Teaching is a very selfish endeavor.” Well, of course his remark caught my interest. With my full attention, he continued, ” I suspect you teach for yourself, in a sense, for your own fulfillment. Teaching is useful for defining and testing one’s ideas. It is inspirational, and it points out how other generations are responding to events in their own lifetime.” What he was telling me, too, is that teaching is yet another way to create.

What I mean to say, then, is that you gave me the opportunity to be creative in a different way than design or advertising or art proper once did. It’s a special sense of accomplishment to finish a poster or create a logo or brand a business—but watching my students—who will NEVER be finished—go on to participate creatively in the world, to build your own businesses and families, to teach those coming up behind—either as instructors, or as mentors to younger creatives, yourselves—is beyond special.

I have always sought to create a safe and supportive environment that would enable you to take the risks necessary to grow and surpass even your own expectations, to face your opportunities fearlessly.

Indeed, all of you took many risks here, mining your joyful and difficult memories, and sharing them with me and with your classmates, and then—through your work—with the culture at large. That is something I expect you’ll continue to do—creating out of your own truth and values. I look forward to seeing what you’ll do in the years to come.

You’ve been through so much—have come so far. Still, your lives are just getting started. And I hope that—above all the other things you learned here—you’ve come to know what you’re made of—what you’re capable of as individuals, and what you’re able to accomplish together, when you lean on and help each other. These relationships will continue to sustain you.

You inspire me with your passion, honesty, and bravery. Your courage feeds my own. Your accomplishments make me feel accomplished, and I take these gifts of yours with me as I meet the next class and the next. I thank you for that.

In closing, I’d like to give you a couple of pieces of advice:

Go out and be the change you want to see in the world.

And choose to lead; be the leaders you are all capable of being.

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