This afternoon it is my privilege to welcome back to Cornell Janet Reno, former U.S. attorney general and member of Cornell Class of 1960. As attorney General, Janet Reno headed the world's largest law office with some 125,000 employees for nearly eight years. She was the longest serving attorney general since before the Civil War and one of the most active, taking on high profile matterrs, many of which went to the core of American constitutional concerns. She addressed everything from the Oklahoma City bombing to Waco, from Whitewater to Elian Gonzales, from the Uni-bomber to Ruby Ridge. In spite of confronting so many controversial and difficult cases, she gained broad support for her personal honesty and her undaunted independence.
Janet Reno made integrity and professionalism hallmarks of her administration of Justice. She demonstrated time and time again that she will not give in to pressure or public attack, no matter how virulent. She used the authority of her office to enforce Civil Rights, Environment and Health Statutes, and to reduce crime, which decreased dramatically during her term in office. She advocated incarceration for serious repeat offenders and alternative forms of punishment for first-time non-violent offenders. And she focused substantial attention on prevention and early intervention efforts to keep children away from gangs, drugs, and violence. Last summer she was inducted into the National Women's Hall of Fame in Seneca Falls. She continues to be engaged in issues important to her including dispute resolution and advocacy for children and the elderly. Born and raised in rural Dade County, Florida, on the edge of the Everglades, where she first took-up the vigorous outdoor pursuits she continues to enjoy, Janet Reno came to Cornell as a Chemistry major, with plans to be pre-med. She worked her way through the University by waiting tables and served as president of the Women's Student Government Association. She went on to Department Law School, where she was one of only 16 women in her Law School class of 500. Returning to Miami with her law degree, she worked as staff director of the Florida House of Representatives Judiciary Committee. And in 1978 she became chief prosecutor of Dade County, a post at which she was elected five times by wide majorities. Despite the demands of her career, she has remained active and involved in Cornell. Both in Florida and Washington, she provided externships and other opportunities for Cornell students. She is a former member of the Cornell University Council, and she was one of the original members of the Presidents Council of Cornell Women, which began in 1990. She is featured in the video that celebrated PCCW's 10th anniversary last year. She returned to campus for Trustee Council weekend in 1994 and for her 40th Cornell reunion last June. I want to thank her personally for attending a number of Alumni events at which she has lent her personal support to Cornell initiatives. And she has done that in a quiet fashion, which is typical of her desire to continue to remain faithful and loyal to Cornell, but without the kind of the fan fair that often accompanies such loyalty by a public persona. Let me introduce to you, a great Cornellian, Janet Reno, Senior Convocation speaker.
It was 45 years ago that I arrived at dawn, on a Greyhound bus, by myself, at this great institution. I had never been here before. I was . . . a bit intimidated. But then I saw the hills and gorges. I saw the buildings. I saw one of the most beautiful places that would forever be stamped on my mind. I came to a new world. A world of ideas so varied, so diverse, so deep. And I couldn't believe it all and couldn't grasp it all. There were common sense ideas, there were problem-solving ideas, there were absolutely batty ideas, that I still continue to carry around. There was whimsy. There was discussion. There was staying up all night having the most marvelous exchange you could imagine. And that has meant so much to me.
But the strength of Cornell for me is that I came to a new world, a small place compared to the whole world. A new world of the world's peoples. More diverse in race, culture, ethnic background, and in discipline than any place I have been before or since, and that has made such a difference. Cornell did something special for me. I came with dreams, and Cornell has done so much to make those dreams come true. I dreamed of public service and participation in the democratic process. I did that because both my parents were reporters who had reported on the comings and goings and ins and outs of a rambunctious young city, only 60 years old, called Miami. I came from parents who took me out of school and put me in front of the McCarthy hearings of Joseph Welch, leading this country's defense of what was right. And I realized that only six years after we had dispatched Hitler we still faced a thought process that endangered the democratic process we hold dear. I had spent a year in Germany, and had driven past Dachau before it opened. I was told what had happened there, and had asked my German adult friends, "How could you let it happen." And they said they just stood by.
I resolved then not to stand by, but I didn't know how you proceeded. As I looked though, I realized that my mother's exhortations to go out and try to make the world a better place were not really realistic. Because the world did not get better when, in my lifetime, a Hitler had lived. But I resolved that unless we try very hard, the world could get to be a lot worse place, and I wanted to do whatever I could in public service. Realizing that there were slings and arrows and criticisms and editorials and all sorts of horrible things that people could say about you. How do you think your dreams come true? Before I came to Cornell I had two lessons. Once mother announced she was going to build a house. We said, "What do you know about building a house?" And she went to brick masons, plumbers, and electricians and she asked how to build a house. She came home and dug the foundation with her own hands, with a pick and shovel. Very carefully built that house. It took four years. For so long it seemed like a pipe dream, and then it became a reality. And she and I lived in that house until she died, just before I came to Washington. And it was a symbol to me that you can do anything you really want to, if it is the right thing to do, and you put your mind to it are patient, and keep at it.
In 1992, just before she died, the house taught me another lesson. Hurricane Andrew hit dead on. She got up at three O'clock in the morning, folder her hands, sat down in her chair, and she was totally unafraid. For she knew how she had built that house. She had put in the right materials. She had not cut corners. She had built it the right way. We went out in the dawn of the new day and it looked like a World War I battlefield but the house had only lost one shingle and some screens. Build your life the right way.
The next lessons were taught to me by my father, who came to this country when he was 12 years old from Denmark, speaking not one word of English and having people tease him about his funny language and his funny clothes. Four years later he was the editor of the high school newspaper. For 43 years he wrote beautiful English for the Miami Herald. This nation must retain its tradition as a nation of immigrants. That's what makes America strong. And he also taught me that your word is your bond. And if you're not careful and you're not accurate than a newspaper reporter is going to get after you, so you might as well be candid and honest in everything that you do.
But I came to Cornell with more lessons to learn, and I learned them plentifully. I did not know how we would afford it, and Cornell gave me the opportunity through waiting tables and closing dormitories and giving me a sense of dignity in doing so that made me think, "Yes you can do anything you really want to, if it is right, and the money shouldn't stand in your way". Don't let those loans stand in your way. They get paid off. I did it. It takes time. You think, "was it worth it?" Yes it's worth it.
I came asking the usual questions that Freshmen, Sophomores, and 50 year old ladies, and 62 year old ladies ask: Who am I? What's life for? Should I take off in the red truck? What else should I do? How does one live together in these days and times? How do we appreciate diversity? Cornell, as I said, was a place of more people, with more diverse backgrounds, and they taught me so much. They taught me to trust the people, to believe in people, to listen to people, and to listen to them first. To give the people the tools to do the job, the information to form judgements and the people would rarely disappoint you. Cornell taught me not to be afraid of big ideas. I had a philosophy professor the first year and I'd go up and start chewing on his ear about some big idea and it was so touching later to hear that he thought that I wasn't off base, that I might make something of myself. Don't vote for piecemeal solutions. This great university is the most comprehensive university that I know. It doesn't permit of easy, simple solutions to some of life's problems. Look for the whole picture. But be a problem solver. And I had a very unusual vantage point for being a problem solver. I was the night girl, and in those days we closed dormitories at 12 on weekdays, 12:30 on Fridays, and 1:00 on Saturday. While the dates were waiting they told me their problems, and I helped solve them. After the dates when home, my friends told me their problems and I tried to help them solve them. This is a great problem solving institution in so many of its colleges and departments.
Don't be afraid to challenge, but the University did something very special. President Mallot told us at the beginning of this freshman year that if you have any concerns come see me. Well I had a certain concern about the quality of some instruction and so I walked into Day Hall, asked if I could see the President and make an appointment. I was told "Of course", and I met with the President and he invited me to meet with the Board of Trustees. I had more fun and thought, "Oh, this is what happens when you go in and say I would like to meet with the President." And that has always been a hallmark for me of Cornell. The Board of Trustees made me feel at home and made me think I could perhaps change some things.
So, in June of 1960 I stood in your shoes and I looked to the future and I dreamed. And 41 years later we are here. And stop and smell the roses along the way, because it goes by so fast. Stop and hear the poetry. Take some time to kayak. Look at that beautiful painting. But love the joy and beauty of this world. And so I found myself, on January 20th, early, early in the morning, trying to line up things on my desk so that I would provide a smooth transition. I wondered how I would let go of all the issues that had been of such concern to me. The next day I walked out across Pennsylvania Ave., leaving the department as the President was being sworn in and I thought, "Hmm. I have neither the jurisdiction or the authority to do anything about these things now" and poof, the pressure left me like that.
But, a dark cloud descended and said "You have a brilliant dream to be on Saturday Night Live." I got up there; I met Will Ferrell and all his paraphernalia and I thought, "Oh my goodness." We had a lot of dress rehearsal at 8:00 and I came through the wall in perfect form, my lines were delivered to perfection, and nobody laughed. And I thought, "I'm a failure as a comic." And then you could see beneath the lights, "it really is her" and the place broke into pandemonium. That experience was the perfect way to end eight years of public service. Because it is very important that we laugh at ourselves every now and then and realize that we are not all that we are cracked up to be some times, that we are only mortal and that there is much more to be done in this world. But it was also a reminder to me of how important it is that America laugh with each other. It struck a chord, because even to this day, people will come up to me and say, "I'm a Republican Jan, but I even thought you were good on Saturday Night Live." This chord needs to be tweaked every now and then because we have gotten so into uncivil rhetoric, into political invective that does not serve public discussion, public debate.
I knew I was going home, and I walked out into the snow covered New York the next day. The first salutation I received was "Hello private citizen". Three days later, I took my jury summons that I had just received and went to the federal court house and was picked to serve on a panel and quickly got dismissed. But I was reminded all over again of the power and glory of being a private citizen in a democracy, of the remarkable institution of the jury and what it means in terms of everyone equal before the law. But I came home to a community I loved. One I had divided and hurt by a decision I made to return a little boy to his father. There were protests on our street corner, but I felt almost triumphant. I was able to tell the Miami Herald, "No, that doesn't bother me. That's the first amendment and that's the reason they came from Cuba and it must be preserved at every possible cost." But it is a reminder that we must never take our community for granted. That all debate and discussion and public issue requires communication, participation, running for office if necessary, contributions, and for people to be involved. If we are not involved, if we just stand by, if we say that is beneath us, if we say, "I can't be involved," "I can't be bothered," strange things happen, and we don't want that for our democracy.
One of the joys from the job was to invite ministers of justice, and attorney generals, and prime ministers from the emerging democracies of Eastern Europe and from around the world. They came with stars in their eyes, participating in one of the greatest experiments known to human history -- the conversion of a totalitarian state to a democracy. Sometimes they would come back frustrated, as they would watch their democracy ebb and flow. It is such a fragile institution, we must never take it for granted, and we must cherish it.
Along the way, I learned other lessons. I ran for office in 1972 for the legislature, and I lost. But a man campaigned with me who had been the only person to vote for a resolution supporting the ending of segregation in Florida's public schools. He knew, by that vote, that he was going home to overwhelming political defeat, and he did. But he made a comeback years later and we campaigned on the same campaign trails. He said keep on doing and saying what you believe to be right. Don't pussyfoot. Don't equivocate. Don't talk out of both sides of your mouth and you will wake up feeling good about yourself. But if you equivocate and pussyfoot you are going to wake up the next morning feeling miserable. Well I didn't feel entirely good because I'd lost the election, but I've never forgotten what that man taught me and I convey it to you as something to remember. It also helped to find that somebody had put a biography of Abraham Lincoln on my bedside table and that Lincoln had lost his first election. Losing is not the end of the world. Pick yourself up; move on ahead, there is life after loss. There's life after mistakes, if you learn from your mistakes. Be accountable, tell it like it is, don't hold grudges -- with yourself or anybody else.
And so, from both these perspectives, 41 years ago, and just these past five months, have my dreams come true? Many have, and some more will. But the bottom line is, not all our dreams come true, because it requires a constant vigilance in a democracy, a constant involvement, never giving up, never stopping. Our efforts to serve our country, is it worth it? Is it worth being cussed at? Fussed at? Figuratively beaten around the ears? It is worth it so many times over. These past eight years have represented the greatest opportunity that any lawyer could have to try and use the law the right way to try and make America freer, keep people safer, and try to give all more equal opportunity in this land that we love. I wish the same from you. If the New York Times editorializes against you, the Washington Post may support you. But if they both condemn you, you know you've tried to do the right thing. But whatever you try to do, try to help other people who cannot help themselves, or try to make a difference, because there is nothing more wonderful than service.
I go to a dedication of a new church; they were replacing a church razed by arson in South Carolina. I come off the dais and a lady burst through the rope lines saying, "Janet, you got me child support in Miami and I wanta thank you." And she gives me a big hug and she says, "These are the young men you got me child support for." Grown now and doing well. And it is that magic of being able to help others that makes public service so rewarding. There was a man who stopped me on the street and said, "Thank you for arresting me". I said, "I didn't arrest you." He said, "Thank you for getting me into drug treatment, when I had lost my family, lost my job, and I had hit rock bottom." "I've been drug free now for two years. I've got my job back. I've got my family back. Thank you." We re-investigated a man in another jurisdiction who had been prosecuted, convicted, and sentenced to death for the poisoning death of his seven children 22 years before. He'd always claimed his innocence. We secured his freedom. It was justly due. And those are the services to others that you remember and cherish for all of your life. But there is so much more to do. And Cornell, Mr. President, is the perfect place to do it. And the class of 2001, that I've had such a wonderful beginning exposure to, is the perfect class to lead the way.
We must make sure that in this nation we invest in all our people, not just some. We must make sure that the children of America have proper preventative medical care, proper education, proper supervision in the afternoons and evenings when they are so at risk. They must have parents who know how to talk to kids and relate to kids. They must have opportunities to serve and to make a difference. Our youth have such strength and such hopes. Let us make those hopes come true for all, in every way we possibly can. But let us make sure that we put people first, looking at each person as not just a name, a test score, a grade, but a person who has experience in life that can convey so much to us if we but listen. Let us hear their voices, see their dreams, and work with them to make them come true.
Let us make sure that this nation understands the strength of Cornell's diversity and that it becomes part and parcel of the fabric of this society. But let us not give up on anybody. There are five to six hundred thousand people coming out of prison each year for the next four to five years. Let's make an investment in them, so they don't return to the apartment over the open air drug market where they got in trouble in the first place, but that they become productive members of society that fuel the economic engine of this nation and contribute in every way they possibly can.
Let us make sure that we do not neglect the elderly, and that we address the issue of elder abuse and neglect which is rising. That we address it as Cornell is addressing it, in a comprehensive way that helps design communities where people can grow old and be productive, and continue to participate in a self-sufficient manor. Let us remember people, and give them the tools to flourish.
The second issue is, let us end the culture of violence in this nation once and for all. Mr. Rawlings pointed out that crime is going down to historic lows over 30 years. But we tend to become complacent. Let us not become complacent. Let us rally together and realize that violence is something that cuts across so many disciplines. It is not the problem of the police officer alone, or the prosecutor, or the judge, or the prison official. The person we are concerned with is in the first three years of life, when the concept of reward and punishment and the conscience is developed. And when 50 percent of all human response is learned, that person is as much involved because what good is the prison going to do, 18 years from now, if the person doesn't understand punishment?
Mr. President, this university could set the tone for America in looking at problems such as violence in a comprehensive manner, with all the disciplines of Cornell brought together to solve it and to teach people how to solve it in communities across America. It makes me so proud when I see, again, the great array of knowledge and ideas and problem-solving techniques this university possesses. Let us make the law real for all Americans. Too many people cannot afford lawyers and the law is worth little more than the paper it is written on. I've got two Harvard lawyers on their way here, some place, and I've challenged them and I challenge the lawyers-to-be in this audience to think beyond your practice and understand that unless the law is real to all Americans, it is diminished in the life of everyone and has no force.
There is a statement on the East wall of the Justice Building that says, "The common law is derived from the will of mankind, issuing from the life of the people, framed by mutual confidence, and sanctioned by the light of reason." Unless all are involved, the law will not work as effectively. Let us do the same with health care. For a nation that knows so much about curing people, we ought to be able to develop a health delivery and health care system that can make sure that every American has preventative medical care.
We stand at a critical moment in our time when we have the glory of the Internet before us; the potential for communication, commerce, education and understanding is unparalleled with anything that we have ever seen before. But there is a dark side of hacking, of denial of service, of threats to infrastructure. Let us come together, industry, academia, law enforcement, to address this issue. Let educators talk with us about how we develop the moral and ethical standards amongst children growing up, to know how to use that Internet so that it is a potential tool of wonder rather than disaster.
And finally, of all the things I've ever done, the most important to me, and the most rewarding to me, was to remember the people I love. I inherited two 15-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, when their parents died. The girl was in love, and I learned an awful lot about raising children in these intervening years. It takes hard work, love, intelligence, and an awful lot of luck, but there's nothing as rewarding as to have her throw her arms around my neck as I sent her off to college and as I saw her graduate cum laude in three years, and say, "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you." Or to take my mother during the four years that she was dying of cancer and make sure that she saw the world. That she went to Canada by train and went up the Saint John's river by houseboat and to Costa Rica and to the Caribbean on a cruise, and to make sure that she died at home comfortably in my arms, will be the thing I most cherish. Don't forget the ones you love.