printable versionClayton Brown's Founders' Day essay
BY CLAYTON BROWN
I thought when I returned to Stanford after a stint in investment banking that I would have more time on my hands. The concept seemed fairly reasonable: on the one hand, brutal 100-hour work weeks; on the other hand, a place that refers to itself as the Farm and needs an acronym for Music and Fun Under the Sun—that's MuFuUnSun, for those who haven't brushed up on your Stanford talk lately; not to be confused with MemChu or the CoHo. But, sorely mistaken, I was quite busy all the time. I must have forgotten just how much goes on at Stanford—classes, extracurriculars and good company, sometimes in combination with that fun in the sun thing.
So what did all this mean? I looked over one day, and my leisure-reading queue had multiplied out of control. Not exactly the end of the world, I know, but I was determined to put a dent in it. I picked up a book that I had hastily ordered on Amazon.com a few months earlier. Rather immediately, though, I discovered something unusual. The first thing I saw was the dedication, and these 14 words gave me pause. Rarely does one see a dedication that is not to a person. After absorbing the words for a moment, a thought popped into my head: "What do you wanna bet this book was written by a Stanford grad?" I flipped to the back, and sure enough, it had been written by a Stanford grad, three of them in fact.
The dedication read, "This book is dedicated to the Nomads, who take risks to follow their dreams."
I paused and leaned back in my chair, satisfied. I may as well have finished the book right there. To read an otherwise stray sentence in a universe of literature and instantly seize upon a common experience and ideal, that's something you can't find just anywhere. The dedication, to me, captured the outside-the-box, innovative, enterprising and entrepreneurial—with a dash of whacky—ethic that is central to the Stanford community.
So, how did it happen? Where did all this dream and nomad talk come from? To whom do we owe our common spirit? In 1884, founders Leland and Jane Stanford contemplated the principles on which their university would be founded after speaking with various university presidents. Mr. Stanford—builder of the first transcontinental railroad, governor of California and fabled businessman—believed in the development of "cultured and useful" citizens through an education both liberal and practical in nature. He said, "I attach great importance to general literature for the enlargement of the mind and for giving business capacity. I think I have noticed that technically educated boys do not make the most successful businessmen. The imagination needs to be cultivated and developed to assure success in life. A man will never construct anything he cannot conceive."
Mr. Stanford charged the university with the mission of providing a world-class liberal arts and sciences education complemented by strong engineering and research programs. This philosophy contrasted with that of eastern universities established before the signing of the Declaration of Independence, which were more indicative of the Enlightenment period in their quest to educate "thinkers." Stanford, in a way, became the first great American university by merging the classical model of the Enlightenment with America's most hallowed touchstone—innovation. This founding paradigm embraced the American strength of entrepreneurship at the height of the Industrial Revolution and underpinned an uncommon commitment to both philosophy and application.
Although New York newspapers predicted that Stanford professors would "lecture in marble halls to empty benches," students came in unexpected numbers, and the inaugural class produced the 31st president of the United States, Herbert Hoover. And within a century's time, Mr. Stanford's dream had been realized, with the university spawning the greatest technology business center on Earth—Silicon Valley.
I would posit that what has made all this possible, and marks the Stanford experience more than anything, are common values and goals. Not just the actions we take, but the common connection that persists and binds us together throughout our lifetimes. It's the same connection that allowed you and me to understand just what that author meant when he dedicated his work to "the nomads who take risks to follow their dreams." There's a reason why this area is regarded as one of the world's great entrepreneurial centers. It's the notion that Stanford is a community of passionate initiators who have more than personal interest at heart. A passion, that is, not unlike the one that inspired the establishment of this university.
Jane Stanford spoke of such a passion and a community, in the memory of her son, a year before her death: "Through all these years I have kept a mental picture before me. I could see a hundred years ahead when all the present trials were forgotten, and all of the present active parties gone, and nothing remaining but the institution. I could see beyond all this the children's children coming here from the East, the West, the North and the South."
I'm happy to say to Jane today that I was one such child, from the South. And five years ago, as a freshman, I was so enamored by my experience at Stanford that I set out to write the Founders' Day speech. Though I was not successful, I dug it up when writing this speech for old-times' sake. My first reaction upon reading it was visceral—I cringed at the writing. So thank you, Stanford, for making my written word, at least, tolerable … I hope. My second reaction was to marvel at how my view and understanding of the university had matured. I spoke mostly of the open spaces of the university, its summer camp-like and nurturing atmosphere—MuFuUnSun galore, in other words. The kind of stuff freshmen love. Today, I feel like I've more come to appreciate the full breadth of Stanford and the role that it plays during different stages in our lives.
And so I would like to read to you the final line of my Founders' Day speech as a freshman, and then conclude with an amendment. I wrote: "I may be a freshman with no car [and] no major … but I have one thing that I treasure greatly: three more years at this university." A bit more grown up now, let me say this in the same spirit: "I may be a grad student, now with a car and a career on the horizon, but I have one thing that I treasure greatly: a lifetime with this community."