Given by: John O'Hurley, Class of 1976
May 21, 2006

Father Shanley, Bishop Boland, Father Izzo, Mr Ruane, Honorary Degree Recipients, Honored Guests, Faculty, Parents, Family and Friends of Providence College … and of course the Graduating Class of 2006:

It is truly a singular moment in my life to be standing here before you on such an important morning and to be sharing this stage with all my fellow degree recipients. In view of their tremendous list of accomplishments, I truly feel dwarfed by the presence of greatness.

But I am deeply honored to have the opportunity to address you today and to be the recipient of an Honorary Doctorate Degree, which I regard as the perfect accompaniment to the Honorary Bachelor's Degree I received thirty years ago today.

In truth I will now become the second Doctor in the O'Hurley family. When my father graduated in pre-med in 1948, he became the first of many O'Hurleys to follow. He then went on to medical school, eight years of internship and residency and a distinguished career as an ear nose and throat surgeon. Dad I hope you are as proud today as I am grateful that you led all of us to Providence College.

I was not the best student this College has ever graduated. In truth, I was right there in the meaty part of the Bell Curve. When I graduated in 1976, I was the only Theater major, and so, consequently, I won the Theater Award.

So I find it strangely ironic that I would be selected to be the last person to speak to you before you leave Providence College and you rush off into the civilized world. In this regard, I now know how Elaine felt on SEINFELD when I chose her to head the J Peterman Company after I fled to Burma for my sudden sabbatical of self discovery. I said to her, "Why don't you run the company?" She said "Why me?" And I replied, "Why, indeed."

I will begin this morning by suggesting to you that these last four years have carved within you vivid and irreplaceable memories that will stay with you for the rest of your life. If you and I are anything alike, hardly a day will pass that you won't recall some part of this unique experience of being a Friar.

I remember as crisply as yesterday, the awe that I felt as a freshman, walking into this arena for the first time to watch the Friars play. Those were the days of Marvin Barnes and Ernie D. and the first Final Four. When they played, it seemed that the earth stood still, and I remember thinking that I was standing in the shadow of giants.

I remember a small room with 99 seats called the Friar's Cell. It was the theater in the basement of Stephen's Hall. For four years it was the center of my universe. There were some nights when all 99 seats were actually filled. In my mind it seemed like we were entertaining millions … and they were some of the most important moments of my life.

I remember kneeling alone in the Chapel on a December afternoon. It was a different one than the one you have now. I remember the mid-winter light as it softly spilled through the stained-glass windows.  The Chapel was beyond silent, except for the creaking of the wooden pew. I have never forgotten the solemnity of that moment and I remember having truly experienced the presence of God.

I remember that much like Hemingway would frequent the writers' salons of Paris, we had the Bradley Cafe. I remember that no matter how good or how bad things got, that life was always best understood with a 40-cent bottle of Narragansett in one hand and my room key in the other so that I could re-carve my initials on the knotty pine restroom walls and remind the world, once again, that I had been there.

I remember dining at Raymond Hall, where three times a day, seven days a week you got to experience the Miracle of the Fishes and the Loaves. Unless they were serving meat, and then the origin was anybody's guess.

I remember surviving Western Civilization, that five-disciplined, whirlwind tour across the history of man, all for the low, low price of just five credit-hours. And I remember studying for finals thinking to myself -- those are five credit-hours of my life I will never get back.

I learned essential life-lessons by living on campus. I learned that once you place anything into a dormitory refrigerator, the expiration date becomes merely a suggestion.

I learned to pinpoint key differences between men and women. Women are blessed with patience and discipline and will separate laundry into whites and colors. Men are pragmatic and economical and will compress an entire semester of laundry into a single wash cycle.

I learned, quite specifically in fact, the fundamental relationship between physical law and statistical probability -- that if you dump the water from a styrofoam beer cooler out of the eighth floor window of McVinney Hall, invariably it will fall and hit 3 members of the basketball team, who, at the same time, just happen to be exiting out a door below. And with equal predictably, they will then race back up eight flights of stairs for the chance to meet you personally and, in their own special way, thank you for marinating them.

But my most vivid memory was thirty years ago today, sitting exactly where you are today. I was proud of what I had accomplished over the last four years, as I hope you are. As much as I enjoyed the celebration of graduation, inside I was scared to death about what was next. I thought I knew where I wanted to go in life, but I had no idea how I was going to get there. I had confidence in my talent, but the thought of takin' it to the world also filled me with a swirl of self-doubt.

So if you are sitting here today and you have even the slightest feeling of anxiety, then the remainder of my remarks today are for you. Because I understand how you feel. So I want to share something with you that I hope you will consider to help you navigate what may seem like rough waters ahead.

Shortly after I became an actor I met a man who said something to me that changed my life. He was 75 years old, an immigrant from Russia, and a self-made man. He was funny and gregarious, he was prosperous, he was a man who was loved by young and old, and he was one of the most generous men I had ever met.

I asked him one evening why he was a success, and not just a financial success, but successful both in the quality and the spirit of his life. He leaned over to me, grabbed me by the arm, and in a voice that was filled with gravel, and wisdom, and kindness he said, "John, you have only two choices in life -- you can have an ordinary life, or you can have an extraordinary life. That's it. It has nothing to do with money, or power. It has everything to do with the power of your choices."

If you had dumped a styrafoam beer cooler filled with water from an eight floor window, I wouldn't have been more stunned. That was what I wanted, that was the journey I wanted to take. I wanted to have an extraordinary life.

I have digested his words for many years now, and I've made them the theme of my life.
So I would like to present to you for your consideration this morning , what we can all call from hereon in, THE PETERMAN GUIDE TO THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE.

An extraordinary life, as I've come to understand it, has three simple elements. And these elements are common to everyone who has ever taken that journey. An extraordinary life is a life of Achievement, a life of Meaning, and a life of Reflection.

Achievement begins with imagination. If you only take one thing from this precious time we have together today; remember this -- what you imagine has value. What you imagine has value. It is as tragic as it is true, but the greatest plans on earth still lie in the minds of people who still think that everybody else has a better idea than they do. Dream large, dream small, but trust what you imagine, because what you daydream about is what you are supposed to do. What you imagine is one of the only ways God can talk to you.

When you trust what you imagine amazing things happen. You become willing to make the leap to achieve what you imagine. I say "leap" because nothing worth achieving is ever close at hand. It's always farther away than a comfortable reach. It involves risk.  But, believe me, if you leap the net will appear. When you leap, the net will appear.

When you learn to value what you imagine, you will also learn to finish what you start. You will take the ball across the goal line. You will put the ball through the hoop. You will put the puck in the net. As you will soon experience, the world is littered with ideas that were dropped at the five yard line. The world that you are inheriting is too competitive, too uncertain, and too hair-triggered to place any value in half hearted attempts. Choose to be a champion because a champion always closes the deal.

But Achievement alone, does not an extraordinary life make. Achievement, alone, is not enough. Hollywood and the rest of entertainment world are filled with people who seem to accomplish much, but live lives that are otherwise without much value, except for their ability to fill the pages of magazines that seem to dedicate themselves weekly to their confusion.

An extraordinary life has meaning, and meaning comes only from love. Love for another, love for God, and love for yourself. When we learn to love another we experience the joy of selflessness because we extend ourselves for their good. When we love God we experience the gift of humility, and the comfort of knowing that we are never alone. When we love ourselves, and perhaps this is the toughest kind of love, we learn that we are a gift. We protect that gift and avoid destructive behavior. We develop a sense of humor about ourselves and the world around us. As G.K. Chesterton so poignantly wrote, "Angels fly, because they take themselves lightly"

The final aspect of the extraordinary life is what makes it all worthwhile, and that is perspective. You have heard people tell you "Never look back, always look forward." I say, nonsense -- always look back and as often as you can. It is the only way you know how far you have come. Like today. That half-look over your shoulder at the child you were and the person you've become, and all that you have achieved in between is your story, your history. The enjoyment of that progress will make you appreciate all those who were part of your story -- your parents, your family, your friends, your teachers and places like Providence College.

And from your appreciation will come what is perhaps the greatest virtue of the extraordinary life -- and that is generosity. You will give back, because you know you have been given so much.

So there you have it -- the Peterman Guide to the Extraordinary Life. I invite you to consider it and make it your own. But I will share this one thought -- the moment that I realized the choice of an ordinary life or an extraordinary life; the day that I realized what I imagined had value, that if I leapt, the net would appear, that I must finish what I start; the day that I realized that there is only meaning in who we love and how we love; the day that I realized that by looking back over my shoulder was the only way I could ever see how far I've come; that was the day that I began the slow, deliberate walk to this podium, because until then, I had nothin' to tell ya'.

So I will conclude with the words of J. Peterman, a man of adventure, blessed with as much lunacy as wisdom. They are the words I wrote in a note to Jerry Seinfeld and the rest of the gang in a letter that was published at the end of the series. These words are meant as much for you as they were for all of them.

I wrote:

As I write this, I  am standing knee-deep in the amber waters of the River Ganges, elbow-to-elbow with the fish-wives of New Delhi, learning the gentle art of river laundering, and putting a last-minute spit-shine on a pair of baby blue boxer shorts.

As I watch the slow parade of boats pass before me at sunset on this never-ending river, I am reminded of how lucky I was to have docked at your port-of-call for as long as I did, how sad I am to set sail again, but grateful that, for me, the horizon is still out of reach.

I wish you all, all, extraordinary lives.

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