Showing posts with label speaker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speaker. Show all posts

Friday, June 7, 2019

My commencement speech draws raves


I’ve been nervous before other important talks, mostly because I had brought along a lot of books and was hoping for a sell out.

Last night at the Adelphoi Ketterer Charter School, I was concerned about an entirely different kind of sell out.

I was worried about selling out the future!

You’re forgiven if the inherent audacity of that last sentence has confused you into thinking last night’s topic was titled “Excessive Ego in Under-achieving Authors.”

No, I was the commencement speaker for 42 members of the Adelphoi Class of 2019. More than 200 people in attendance. 

I took this opportunity very seriously. Truly, I was honored by the invitation to take such a high profile role before these honest achievers.

Understand, Adelphoi isn’t your typical high school. The building next to the one where I was speaking is surrounded by a security fence topped with concertina wire. To graduate last night, many of these students had to overcome addiction, abuse, abandonment, multiple court proceedings and the kind of life challenges candy asses like me and other public school grads can only imagine.

And it was my job to inspire them? 

Hell, they inspire me.

I wish you could have heard the student bios filled with muted adulation conveyed to teachers and loved ones who shepherded them through so many often-horrific challenges to get to that stage.

We’ve spent the last three days justifiably honoring our surviving D-Day heroes, but I’m convinced the world is full of good-hearted heroes, ones who’ll never be acknowledged.

Can you sense I’m feeling emotional?

Last night I took for me the unusual step of scripting my remarks (below). I might do that more often because the reaction told me it was a home run. An upper decker (video to come).

“That was the best commencement address we’ve had in the 15 years I’ve been coming here,” one board member told me.

Most gratifying were the parents and students who sought me out at the reception to praise me. They said it was funny, poignant, inspirational, etc.

Where they right?

See for yourself ….


——    <<  >>    ——-



The longest commencement address in history lasted six hours. It was first read in Latin then repeated in Greek. Mine is going to take 6 minutes and you can quit listening in 30 seconds because that’s all the longer it’s going to take me to give  you the only advice you’ll ever need to be succeed in life.

Ready? Here goes …

“Try and do something each and every day to ensure parking at your funeral will be a real pain in the butt.”

That’s it. For as complicated as life is, a truly successful one can be deceptively simple.

It’s possible for each of you to live a life that’ll lead to funereal traffic jams, TV news helicopters and scores of loved ones complaining they had to park a mile away. But they were willing to do that because you mattered.

You can achieve this in ways that have nothing to do with power, money or fame. Being ruthless or cutthroat won’t help

What will? Being kind. Being cheerful. Being persistent. And when times are toughest being all three at once.

Be a happy example of a decent human being and all the very best people on the planet will be drawn to you. They’ll invite you to swanky parties, fix you up with classy dates, and bring you soup when you’re sick.

How do you become that person? Here’s the best part: You do it by enjoying your life.

Be daring: Try to do at least one thing each week that will blow your hair back and allow you to scream, “Wheeeeeeee!!!”

Be opportunistic: The pessimist complains about all the times they’ve been thrown under the bus. The optimist thinks one day he’ll make a really swell bus mechanic.

Be silly: Open an art gallery with nothing on the walls. Then invite people to enter and be greeted by forty guys who say nothing but, “Hi, I’m Art!”

Be determined: You’re going to be challenged with hard times. Follow Winston Churchill’s advice: “When you’re going through Hell, go faster.”

Does anyone see what I’m asking you to become? It should be obvious.

I’m asking you to become … Happy!

It’s the correct answer to the wrong question every adult asks every kid: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Take it from me; What do you want to be when you grow up?

You want to be happy. Adults tend to forget that.

We fail ourselves every time we equate success or wealth with happiness. One has nothing to do with the other.

Robert Louis Stevenson knew. He is the author of “Treasure Island” and “Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde,” two monumental books that have withstood the test of time.

But to me the best thing he’s ever written isn’t a book. It’s a single sentence.

“There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.”

Words to live by.

I recently received an unfortunate diagnosis. I have Parkinson’s Disease. Can’t die from it, but it can diminish my quality of life. The diagnosis left me feeling angry and scared. But then a prevailing emotion emerged: I became thankful.

Not for what’s to come, but for all that’s already happened. I can’t believe just how lucky I’ve been.

What’s funny is how nothing in my life worked out the way I was sure it would when I was in your position. 

I have no prestige. No influence. No monuments. No savings.

So why am I so happy? I knew early on I wouldn’t need those things.

If I were to die tomorrow, all I’d have are the warm memories of a lifetime of happiness and gratitude for being the recipient of so much genuine love.

Now here at the conclusion is the time when other, more esteemed commencement speakers are telling graduates, “You only live once!”

It’s bullcrap. In fact, you’ll only die once. You’re graced with the option to live every single day.

So may you live — truly live — for as long as you’re alive.

And may parking at your funeral one day many, many years from now be for your many friends and loved ones a huge pain in the butt.



<Need an inspirational & funny speaker for your group or event? I’m your guy: storyteller@chrisrodell.com, 724 961-2558>

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Biblical sorts of praise for my book, me


I can’t help but wonder if worshippers at a Murrysville Presbyterian church who’d filled the pews eager to bask in the word of God felt spiritual distress when the Almighty was pre-empted by the word of Rodell.

A pastor told me he’d devoted his Sunday sermon to my Arnold Palmer book.

To me, it would have been like expecting the victorious team to douse you with a big jug of Gatorade and instead having some weak tea spilled on your sleeve when the clumsy towel boy trips.

I learned this on a Friday night at the Tin Lizzy when it seemed every stranger in the building expressed a desire to meet me and fill my head with ego-inflating praise.

It went so long and was so elaborate I barely had time to finish my first beer.

Felt like I was being punked.

First were the sisters, a pair of local sweethearts I’d somehow never met. The waitress said they’d just ordered some Tin Lizzy pizza and were hoping to meet me and buy books. Could I stop what I was doing for a quick chat?

Understand, I was engaged in drinking beer at the bar and there have been many nights — hell, there’ve been many years — when the answer would have been, no, I can’t possibly stop what I’m doing. But at 55, that adolescent phase seems to be a bit on the wane. And after so many years of being professionally ignored, I’m preferring to hear people say nice things about me and my work rather than constructing a Force 9 hangover.

So we’re talking and laughing and having conspicuous fun when a stranger at table 4 interrupts. Now, any interruption in that setting is rude and should not be encouraged, but the interruption, spoken enthusiastically in a near shout, involved praise for me so I was all for it.

“I love your book,” he said. “Read it in two nights. It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read.”

And this was coming from a guy who knows a thing or two about good books. I’m talking THE Good Book.

Yes, my new friend said he was a Presbyterian minister and felt parts of the book were useful tools in his everlasting quest to save souls of Murrysville sinners.

I guess, gee, that’s the most flattering review yet.

It went on like that for the next hour. People who’ve read the book or heard me talk are coming to the Tin Lizzy to meet me and buy more books. Sold eight that night.

I left sober, but feeling oddly buzzed nonetheless. Who knew flattery could be so intoxicating?

It happened again yesterday and this time I was in a motor vehicle.

A woman who’d heard me speak at the Murrysville library (I’m on a real Murrysville roll) was calling about booking the Tin Lizzy banquet room to hear my stories (see first link below).

“You were wonderful!” she said. “I could have listened to you talk for hours. You have such an engaging manner and such a great sense of humor. I never …”

I interrupted here and asked her to start over and word-for-word repeat exactly what she’d said.

Val was driving and I wanted to switch the phone to speaker.

And she did!

She said she wants to bring 15 to 20 women to hear my stories November 16. I’m hopeful this could catch on. 

You know, I heard from a lot of publishing industry experts who said the book I proposed — one that has less to do with golfing and more to do with living — would fail. One said the book should detail precisely which clubs Arnold Palmer used to win which tournaments.

But I stuck to my guns, an awkward stance for an avowed pacifist.

Only a handful of golfers will ever know what it’s like to golf like Arnold Palmer did, but the value of this book is it shows how all of us can live like he did.

No, it’s not The Good Book.

But it ain’t too bad.



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Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Keynoting in my beloved "pimp" shoes



It’s been almost two weeks and my sails are still filled by all the heady compliments I heard at my Columbus keystone before 200 associates of National Church Residences.

People said I was great.

Note the tense: I was great.

Nobody said I am great.

The only thing I can figure is someone in the audience must have been texting my family.

It’s a real joy to be given the opportunity to talk in front of that many people and have them repeatedly interrupt with laughter and ovations.

Best part? It’s now all on YouTube. The hotel had a videographer film the whole shebang, including the 20-minute meet ’n’ greet at the end where 50 people — 50! — lined up to buy crayon-signed copies of my book.

I whittled the 45-minute talk down to 12 minutes. This is the link. I invite you to give it a skim. There’s no nudity — you’re welcome! — but I do swear and people enjoy profane titillation.

I think it’s the perfect promo for me. It shows a good-sized crowd reacting enthusiastically to my every punch line. It shows humor, poise, compassion and heart. The only way it could be better is if it showed the shoes above.

Ah, yes. Bask in them. They’re Giorgio Brutini, maker of “contemporary shoes for confident men.” I only wear them to events where I’m promised a big paycheck. They never fail to earn flattering attention. It certainly happened in Columbus.

It was after my talk and I was passing by a group of five women who’d heard me speak.  We smiled and nodded. As I passed, one of the senior women said to the group but loud enough for me to hear, “Now, those are the kinds of shoes only a real man can wear.”

She wasn’t flirting, I don’t think. It was more like she was instructing her younger friends so next time they saw shoes like mine on a man like me they’d know they were seeing something to behold.

I say she wasn’t flirting, but after I bowed my head in dapper acknowledgement of her compliment I put a little turbo wiggle in my butt for a walkaway encore. Of course, I overdid it and almost tripped, which would have given the ladies a chance to laugh all over again for all the wrong reasons.

Then I called my wife.

I had to tell her. See, these shoes were once a controversial subject in one of those matrimonial tugs-of-war over spousal tastefulness.

I paid, I think, about $150 for them in 2002 at Kamps. It may surprise those who know me for dressing like a guy always ready to spring off his bar stool to help gut a deer, but when I have dough I invest in nice clothes.

I appreciate the importance of looking swanky. 

It was something I only sensed in 2002. I remember the salesman having to persuade me they weren’t too flashy. “Someday,” he said, “you’re going to want to make a dashing impression on influential strangers. These shoes will do that without you ever even having to open your mouth!”

Sold!

But when I took them home, Val said things that gave me cold feet, an ironic turn considering the topic was brand new shoes.

I’m paraphrasing here, but the phrase “pimp shoes” leaps to mind.

I was 39, but had yet to establish any real ego so, deferring to her sensibilities, I put the shoes back in the box and headed back to the mall. I was woefully unprepared for the counter argument that awaited.

The salesman was furious. “She’s crazy! These are marvelous shoes! I’d be doing you a disservice if I let her goad you into returning these!”

I remember feeling tremendous pressure. Do I side with the mother of my children or some stranger who earns his living by carrying a steel shoe horn in his shirt pocket?

What I should have in hindsight done was tell him, yes, he was right, it was high time for me to man-up. Then depart the store for another hour and returned to sheepishly say she’d ordered me to again return the shoes. I could have done this repeatedly until either the store closed or he got fed up enough to bitch slap me into submission right there beside the imported loafers.

You know how this story ends. I took a stand. And a walk. 
In my new shoes!

They remain one of my most proud purchases. I usually wear them with black pants and black shirt under a charcoal blazer. It’s all very understated.

I can’t see myself ever getting rid of them — for strictly professional reasons. They make a great impression 

And you just never know when I might one day need them to satisfy an adolescent ambition to pimp.


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