Timothy Woodcock '93 Challenges All at Convocation

Below is a transcript of Timothy Woodcock's remarks at the 2019 Academic Convocation:

“Begin with beauty.” That is the first line of a novel by the first winner of the Louise F. Hegarty Award, Professor Emeritus Chet Raymo. The sentiment, that draws us in immediately, resonates for this occasion too. For through this ceremony, we begin with beauty, all around. The beauty of our community. Of gathering with friends old and new. The beauty of pomp and circumstance. The refreshed anticipation for teaching. And, especially, for the beauty of learning.

Stonehill College has been a part of my life, and my soul, for a long time. In fact my first year, as a student, began 30 years ago this week. Honestly I was not quite sure of myself as I arrived on Campus. I was worried about fitting in, mainly, and feeling somewhat less than successful after my one-day stint on the baseball team. I eventually found my way though. And found four incredible years. Now fond memories, small and large, come with each walk across Campus. With every stride, really. In this very spot, for example, I think of running laps, with a certain youthful joy, on the track that surrounds us; and of playing intramural basketball games right over there. But standing apart, among those memories, was receiving the Hegarty Award on this stage a year ago, then being greeted by my family – a surprise – during the recessional. I was, and am, completely humbled.

I was quite eager to learn when I came to Stonehill, about computer science in particular, which was my major. But before long, every discipline became a favorite, one that could have been a major for me as well. From English, to philosophy, to history, to religion, and of course mathematics, they all moved my thinking. Much more than I expected. The liberal education that is offered here is an opportunity for you, our students; a valuable opportunity, to be sure. It frames the essence of who we are.

In computer science, I was fortunate to learn from the very best of educators, my academic mentors, Professors Ralph Bravaco and Shai Simonson, now colleagues. They guided me with care and passion, and taught me the art of thinking. Thinking hard. I often tell my students about the debt of gratitude that I owe to Shai and Ralph. A debt that I can only try to pay forward.

That payment did not start well, however. When I began teaching here, I had it in mind that I should be an archetypal professor. Very stoic, and presenting a sort of patrician air in the classroom. I envisioned that as my route to intellectual authority. But the façade did not work. At all. So eventually, I decided to do what feels natural; and though there is some distance to go in figuring out what my teaching should look like, I have at least realized that imitating a sage was a poor choice.

At some point after my conscious adjustment in style, a student of mine wrote on a course evaluation, “Keep being you.” I think of that comment often. And it reminds me that wisdom, in many forms, comes from all directions. It comes from my students back to me, every day. For the teaching-and-learning process is symbiotic. It works when we agree to that, even implicitly. We must invest our minds, and our hearts. And, most important of all, our humanity. Stealing some lyrics from the great rock bank U2: “We’re one, but we’re not the same. We get to carry each other, carry each other. One!”

Now as a member of the Mathematics Department, I would be remiss if I did not include any discussion of math. Moreover, Louise Hegarty was a mathematician. So please allow me, or forgive me, depending on your perspective, an anecdote. When I was a student, a friend of mine, a science major, and I, would often pass downtime with puzzlers for each other, from our respective fields. One day I asked him the following question, which I have certainly discussed with many of you as well. What is the probability that, in the United States House of Representatives, there are two people with a common birthday, month and day only (so no consideration of years)? Or, more apropos, what is the probability that some two of us have a common birthday? At the end of that day, my friend showed me pages and pages of scrap paper, filled with calculations. But no answer. Yet you may have it already, whether we are looking at the U.S. House, or the crowd in this room. It is 100%. For there are 435 representatives in the House, and comfortably more people than that here today. But there are only 366 potential birthdays. Therefore not every representative can have a unique birthday. Nor can each of us. We’re one, you might say, in small commonalities. And big ones too.

A more interesting problem, and a more difficult one, arises when the number of people in the group drops to 366, or fewer. Famously, and surprisingly, the probability of a common birthday climbs above 50% with only 23 random people. And though I shall save that analysis for another time, there is a good lesson in the story of my friend. Don’t be afraid to struggle -- we all do. Don’t be afraid to fail. And don’t be afraid to be wrong.

By embracing diverse ideas and perspectives, and grappling with them, by learning to think differently, our education takes form. Our liberal education. And inspiration abounds. In the night sky, or just a grove of evergreens, casting shade towards Donahue Hall. From a perfect sentence, a hymn, or even a probability puzzle. Through the Queen of the Summit. And Stonehill College. Professor Raymo, the first to receive the Hegarty Award, writes persuasively, in many of his books, about the importance of being attentive. For there is magnificence everywhere. And right here, right now, we begin with beauty.

Beauty indeed!

Thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart.