Mayor Marilyn Ezzy Ashcraft, Alameda High School, Class of 1977
As a proud Alameda High grad, I was honored to be invited by the AHS Class of 2022 to be their commencement speaker. Here’s an excerpt of what I told my fellow Hornets:
I was a shy, nerdy girl in high school who never imagined becoming Mayor of the City where I grew up. So, be open to possibilities, and say “yes” to opportunities, even if they scare you.
Take care of yourself. Pay attention to your physical and mental health. Eat healthy food and get enough sleep. Find ways to manage stress—take a walk, go for a run, hang out with friends, walk your dog. And please seek help if you’re feeling overwhelmed / depressed / anxious / not yourself. Tell someone.
Be kind. Make it a habit to reach out to someone who could use a smile, a “hello,” or someone to sit next to. Give others the benefit of the doubt, and extend that same kindness, and forgiveness, to yourself.
Speak up and speak out when you see or hear something you know isn’t right—a racist joke, a hurtful remark, bullying behavior. Your speaking up might also inspire others to follow your example.
Be curious about other people. Ask the follow-up question: “Tell me more about that.” “Help me understand what you meant when you said…”
Be a good citizen. Register to vote and vote in every election. Volunteer for causes and candidates you believe in. Run for office!
And to the Class of 2026: You can surmount any challenge you encounter! Congratulations & Best Wishes!
Claire Slattery, Alameda High School, Class of 2005
I am a proud graduate of Alameda High School, class of 2005. When I got to Stanford, I arrived as many of us do—performing, proving, and pretty hard on myself. I was following the script I had written for myself in high school. Then, in my freshman year, I took an improv class where each week a group of us made things up together and delighted in what we discovered. We were taught to “just show up,” “be average,” and “celebrate mistakes.” Huh?
I was confused. In my script, I was exceptionally prepared, striving to be the best, and mistakes were not okay. And yet, I was also hooked. What a gift. What a surprising relief. That class changed my life, and eventually became my life’s work: teaching people to use improvisation to show up as their most present, creative, and courageous selves. No scripts required.
Here’s the thing, Class of 2026: whether you know it or not, you are leaving the land of the scripted. School. Home. Maybe even this town. You’re off into the unscripted. A little terrifying, yes, but also good news because when there’s no script, you really start learning who you are. What lights you up. What drains you. What in-the-moment response feels most like you. You’ll make plans. You’ll prepare. You’ll still trip and scrape your knees on the cement of your experiences. You’ll collect a few scars.
Here’s what I’ve learned after two decades of real-life improvisation: The moments when life feels most unscripted are an invitation to declare yourself home. To listen to yourself. To grow toward who you actually are, not who others expected you to become. To put down the script and pick up yourself.
Karin K. Jensen, Piedmont High School, Class of 1983
Today, I write for the Alameda Post, am an author, and teach at the Alameda Ballet Academy. I love dancing, books, time in nature, and family. Balancing the mind, body, and spirit is important to me. Still, there have been seasons in my life: first, the professional life, head down and nose to the grindstone, to save money and buy a home; second, motherhood and teaching dance; and now, third, where I pursue different passions.
Embrace that you can be different things and go down different paths over the course of a lifetime. Try things. Follow the breadcrumbs. Pursue small interests that may lead to larger passions, and if not, develop an appreciation for what’s involved. Think in seasons rather than permanent balance; maybe there is a professional season, a parenthood season, a creative season, a rest-and-rejuvenation season. Resist the pressure to become a “brand.” Modern culture rewards narrow niches because they are easier to market—yet some of the most important thinkers and artists have worked across disciplines.
Bill Pai, President of the Mastick Senior Center Advisory Board, York Community High School, Class of 1980
“Not all who wander are lost.”
—J.R.R. Tolkien
As someone who received a BA in English Literature and then spent my entire career in the information technology (IT) industry, I acknowledge the possibility that what we study in school may not have an obvious connection to the paths we take in life. However, the speaking and writing skills I refined at college later became valuable assets in the world of business.
An education isn’t merely what you memorize from the past, it is about how you learn to think and apply that thinking to new situations.
You graduates are entering adult life at a time unique in history for both its uncertainty and its opportunity. A Chinese proverb says, “When the sky falls, big men must hold it up.” Your generation’s time is coming, and the choices you make will have profound impacts on our country and the world. With the new chapter in the story of humanity that you are about to write, may we continue forward in pursuit of William Faulkner’s vision: “I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail.”
“For myself I am an optimist—it does not seem to be much use being anything else.”
—Winston Churchill
Ali Savage, San Leandro High School, Class of 2001
I grew up not too far from here in San Leandro—SLHS class of 2001. Like most high school students, I had no idea where life would take me, and I’m grateful it eventually led me to Alameda and this wonderful community.
My advice to graduates is simple: throw kindness around like confetti. Be kind to your neighbor, the person working at the coffee shop, the stranger walking down the street, and yourself. You can be kind and still be strong; you can still hold boundaries and have hard conversations. The smallest moments of kindness stay with people for years. If you can be nothing else, be kind. Regardless of where you land, your community and your life will be better because of it.
Gene Kahane, Harry Ells High School, Class of 1976
2026 grads, here’s what I’ve got for you: Try to reclaim your humanity. Try to recognize that you are a person, on this planet, with a myriad of other people near and far. And that these people are your brothers and sisters, your cousins, or any other relative metaphor that works for you. And that they, and you, are endowed with certain attributes that we seemingly have lost.
We are capable of seeing one another, in person, sharing space. We are capable of talking to one another, about matters significant or trivial. We can learn about each other from that, being and talking, but also working together, playing together, living side by side, not in our separate rooms, but outdoors, hanging on the porch, the local parks, anywhere people gather can be a sacred place for this reclamation project.
And to help facilitate this, you know what you have to do—you need to look up, see one another eye to eye, not screen to screen, not through filters and aliases and any other obstacles that have been created that separate us. So yes, put the phones away, in your pocket, backpack—not holding them in your hand, just put them away-away. This way you can give a double high five, hug, dance, play catch, hopscotch, or anything that engages you with another person in a genuine, human way.
It’s not going to directly get you a job or solve the climate crisis, but if we can reconnect in that basic, profound, beautiful way, in the present, in person, with another person, then it gives us the best chance to solve all those other problems, because it’s going to take everyone. It’s a we thing and not an I thing, and to make a we, you gotta be courageous and reach out—it’s how we build a community, and we need that so very badly.
Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at [email protected]. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.
