Graduation Day

In 1979 there were no parents in New York City. There were grown-ups wandering around apartments suggesting things, but parenting as a viable institution was over and both sides knew it. The 60s had blown authority to bits and we inherited all the freedoms without any of the causes. Nothing to fight for or against except ourselves.

We took this awful liberty about as far it could go, running the streets and trying on adulthood in all its guises, from drugs to sex to whatever we could get away with, which in late 70s Manhattan was anything you were bold enough to attempt, and capable enough to pull off.

I went to the Walden School on the upper west side, Andrew Goodman, the murdered civil rights worker of Mississippi Burning fame, our most famous alumni. Among my close pals and classmates were Matthew Broderick and the playwright, screenwriter and film director Kenneth Lonergan, whose play “This Is Our Youth” is about yours truly (among other things), much of “Dennis Ziegler’s” dialogue taken right out of my mouth. But that’s a story for another time (a good one).

The story for right now is that I went to a crazy-assed progressive school on the upper-west side where I was allowed to sell weed, play sports and not go to classes I didn't like (math and science). My teacher reports read like mystery novels, no one able to crack the case of rebellious young Tom. The only reason they graduated me was to get me the hell out of there. Yet, this did not keep me from being the class valedictorian, or at least the one who made the speech, and so I wrote a poem. My co-MC for the ceremony was a wonderful young woman named Miranda Benedict and in an act of solidarity, I let her read the first half of it. But now I'm finally going to get my chance to read the whole thing, forty-five years later.

So, sit back and dig these 17-year-old blues.

New York City, 1980. My high school graduation speech.

(Please listen along as you read )

Sometimes I wonder to myself
What you guys are into really
Is it organic twinkie health
Or a mega-dosive skateboard wheelie
Is it at all costs no-fault wealth
Or to expose your thoughts and good friends freely

Well, I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong
And that I have the light perspective
But I may end up singing Chopin songs
In a Mastic Shirley drug collective
At least I don't listen to Cheech and Chong
And worry if my cologne's effective
I think about this because the days are long
And my toes hurt from these shoes, corrective

So come on comrades, gather round
We're all pleading the same cause
We're trying to figure out what we've found
Before our hands turn into paws
Before our minds go so far down
We only see each other's flaws

Bang your pectorals on the wall
It's good to have a sturdy build
Spiro Agnew took a fall
To join the Dinner Theater Actor's Guild
Eighth grade girls stay in your stalls
Until your bushel bras are filled
Mommy dear hold all my calls
While I have my blood distilled

The true culture is still in tact
Fiedler’s gone, there’s still the “Pops”
If someone tells you, you can’t act
Shoot em’ dead and do the props
When the defense department’s defense stacks
Call a draw or call the cops
‘Cause this is where the rhythm cracks
And all the fancy rhyming stops
And 1965 begins

Comrades, commissars, cartoon lovers, illegal aliens, religious fanatics and people in a general karmatose state
I come to bury the Shah
Not to praise Iran

But seriously friends
Friends, fiends, Feds, folksingers, fortune tellers and freelance photographers (portraits a specialty)
Do not worry, we will sit shiva when Bob Dylan dies

Alert all Robin Hoods, Robin redbreasts, and Robin Roberts
All you Little Johns, Little Anthonys, little lambs and Malcolm Littles
The world is ready for you
But don’t worry
I will tell it, it will just have to wait until your done with college

I loved high school
It taught me to keep a fire extinguisher handy no matter where I am

Paging all students, Studabakers, lawn-rakers and stucco lovers
I can get you a great deal on rabbinical supplies
I’m even giving a special to all minority students sporting at least a “B” average, I will set you up, personally mind you, with more porcelain hamantashen than you could possibly eat

I have now been driven to the point where I am demanding the attention of all people who are rare, fair, and have a flair for business
I need people who are wise, tell lies and fly the friendly skies
Did you know that at various malls on Long Island, after they are done with the mannequins, they put them in the gas chamber (sweet revenge)

All you girls out there who think winking and blinking is the same thing I think it’s about time we go on a date

Comrades, hang in, hang out, hang nail, hang ten, hangman, hang it up
Hang up the falseness and the fear and the giggly happiness, unless you really feel it and if you really feel it you better hang on because that’s all you got

I’m talking to all you bed-wetters, dog-sledders and Huddie Ledbetters
To you meter maids, banks tellers and penny arcade dwellers
To you kiss-ass yes mammers
Bill Blass, Son of Sammers
And you cram cram for the next exammers

Potentially I may even consider consulting all you
Helen Keller, westside dragons
Peter Sellers, Bilbo Baggins
Joseph Heller’s got me gaggin’ type of Joe who’s inclined to proudly declare that his participating Carvel owner has the finest low fat dairy product in the good old U.S of eh, who am I kidding? The only reason I am not cursing and being sexually aggressive is because they simply will not let me

Please remember, don’t sit too close to your color TV, you might get TB
And tell your parents to place bets, pay their debts, stop making idle threats
Try out for the Rockettes and smoke a lot of cigarettes.

Paging all you crap-shooters, naysayers,
Roto-rooter bingo players, what’s we gonna do?
You know it’s kid’s sly, mama cry, daddy say, “My my, can you tell why you have to lie.”

How can you sign your name the same way twice
Down on one knee, shootin’ dice
My Hotel Poor Folk room ain’t nice
Uncle Ben’s converted rice
Don’t smoke pot it’s bad for mice
Take it apart, that’s my advice!