Address to the Class of 2023:
Thank you, Headmaster [Head of School] Bill Taylor, your predecessors Arch Smith and the late Phil Smith, the trustees, faculty, and everyone from the T-P community. And hello to the graduating Class of 2023, your proud families, and friends.
When I received the email asking if I was available to speak today, I had to read it twice — I figured opportunities like this were left for guys like Mo Vaughn, former NY Met and Boston Major League Baseball star — my former teammate and T-P legend. Then I realized, today was right smack in the middle of Memorial Day weekend — I then realized why! Kidding of course — but seriously, gentlemen, you are moments away from having a new title — alumni. However, before it’s official you will have to endure this one last lecture. I hope it leaves you with the hope that someday you too can be standing up here, regardless of whether you believe it or not today.
I arrived at Trinity-Pawling as a 14-year-old Jewish kid from New York City and from a divorced home. I had been diagnosed with a learning disability as a kid and struggled with academics. It was the fall of 1984 — I was scared and felt like a fish out of water. Perhaps many of you felt the same when you first arrived.
During the next four years, I learned a sense of responsibility, independence, and gained confidence in myself. I had wonderful teachers and coaches whose words still echo in my head today. Including Mr. and Mrs. Kneeland, who made me feel like one of their own.
But by sitting here today, you’ve already accomplished something that I actually did not. To be quite honest, I didn’t get the privilege of graduating with my class in 1988. (In fact, I better make sure no one from my disciplinary committee hearing is in the audience today — they might kick me out again.) But seriously, it would be one of a series of failures that I made as a young man that changed my life, even though I didn’t realize it at the time.
Clearly, you have not made the same mistakes that resulted in my early exit from this school during senior year, but rest assured, you will make your own in life. Some big, some small. And I know they will provide some of your greatest lessons. Most of the time, even more so than your successes.
One quick story before I get started. When I first made varsity football, we were playing a game against Hotchkiss, and I wanted the ball so badly. I remember Coach Hutchinson saying, “Give Drath the ball — I know we’ll get some yards from him.” In the huddle, they called my number. I got the ball and ran through the line of scrimmage — 1 yard, 2 yards, 3 yards, 6 yards, 7 yards. As I’m turning to try to get 1 more yard, a defensive player makes a perfect tackle, his helmet down, and hits the ball out of my arm. It’s a fumble. It’s a turnover. The whistle blew and I was quickly out of the game. (I don’t think Mo Vaughn, who also played tailback, has this story.)
I remember being on the sideline so angry at myself and wanting desperately to get back into the game. I didn’t get my chance that day. And that day, that play, that experience still haunts me. To this day, I still want to get the ball back. What I would do to get back into that game!?
You might be sitting here thinking, “What a sad story.” But I don’t see it that way today. I love that memory. Because it reminds me that I’m still hungry. That I still want the ball. It drives me. I could’ve walked away with just a bad taste in my mouth, but instead, I walked away hungrier than ever to achieve that extra yard.
Sometimes it’s too soon after a failure to realize its value. It took me some years to learn that this was something positive. However, if you look for it, there is always a positive in your failures.
When I couldn’t graduate with my class, I was angry and resentful. I didn’t realize then that the cause and costs for those errors were my own doing. But now, I realize that my failures helped line the path that brought me here today.
I would love to say that my troubles ended right after Trinity-Pawling and I turned my life around. Unfortunately, that’s not my story either. I went to the University of Arizona, where I made another error in judgment and ended up back home the second semester of my freshmen year — with an outlook as bleak as ever.
Just so you know, both at Trinity-Pawling and Arizona, my failures were related to drugs and alcohol. Little did I know how dark it can be before the dawn.
With all my friends away in college and only a construction job as a prospect, I became determined to get the ball back. I made some changes in my life. I started going to meetings to help with my drug and alcohol problem, and I found a new faith in something greater than myself. A faith that to this day has never let me down. I am not sure exactly where it came from, but it was my inner understanding that knew the right thing to do. The good and hard things that are right. We all have it — it was always there, but I was ready to listen to it. I hope you will, too.
I knew I needed to get back to school. The prospects of a career without a degree did not seem promising. I applied for some classes at NYU and started to really excel. While I wasn’t matriculated, I took it more seriously than any studying I had ever done. While working as a bus boy and going to school, I happened to meet someone who would become an angel in my life named Peter Johnson — bless his memory. Peter was an example of God working in my life. He mentioned that Columbia University had a program for students who had promise but had lost their way. He said I would need to get straight A’s at NYU and take a test, and even then, it was no sure bet.
Lo and behold, one year after leaving the University of Arizona, I was enrolled and on the campus of Columbia University. If that wasn’t God intervening in my life, I don’t know what it was. It would change my trajectory and help me believe that with hard work, faith, and determination, anything was possible.
At Columbia, I threw myself into campus life. I joined a fraternity and one day on my way to lacrosse tryouts, I made a wrong turn and stumbled into the campus radio station, WKCR-FM. When I opened the door and saw the equipment, and another student behind the glass reporting the news, I was in awe. I wanted to get into that game. Three weeks later, I got my Class 3 FCC license and was broadcasting the news myself. I had no idea that would set my future career in motion.
Soon after, I applied and was offered an internship at ABC News. It was the beginning of the Persian Gulf War, and I was hooked. Getting coffee, running scripts, filing tapes — it didn’t matter what they asked. All I wanted to do was be there and learn everything I could. I wanted the ball.
I graduated from Columbia with a solid GPA and after a couple of smaller jobs, applied to CNN. I moved to Atlanta, Georgia without knowing anyone and found a home and a team at CNN. Again, I started at the bottom. I was making $17,000 dollars per year as a video journalist. (It sounds important, but really, they compensated in the title what they didn’t give us in dollars.)
I was at the bottom of the barrel. As a VJ, we would sometimes work overnights, we learned how to use the cameras, stage management, and teleprompters — it was like school all over again. I was hungry and was promoted after taking tests called newsmaker tests. What I loved most about CNN was that it was a true meritocracy. They didn’t care where you were from or what you had previously studied. They rewarded those who worked hard and proved themselves. Those who wanted the ball.
Another lucky turn — a friend of mine told me there was a new network starting in New York. I moved back to the city and helped launch the Fox News channel. It was my dream job. Back then, our mantra was, “We report, you decide,” and we believed that and that was how we covered the news. Of course, now, the mantra of Fox News is “We report, you decide, we get sued, we settle out of court, you don’t care…” Every day was a new assignment and a new lesson, and I didn’t take for granted how lucky I was to be doing what I dreamed of.
One night, a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to go to a boxing match. Honestly, I wasn’t such a big boxing fan. In fact, I was very tempted to say no and stay at home. But I said yes. I went up to Yonkers Raceway in the Bronx and into a field house — a large metal structure that was normally used to auction off horses. But that night, it was filled with cigar smoke, wise guys, and the excitement of an ensuing battle. One by one, each of the fighters walked through the crowd and into the ring. It was so gladiatorial in nature. I had never seen such a sight and was immediately hooked. It wasn’t the boxing itself — it was the environment and the characters that I thought only existed in movies. I found the promoter who would become another angel in my life. I asked him how I could get involved, and he said he’d give me a job as a publicist. Little did I know at that time, that being a publicist meant driving a van, picking up fighters at airports, bringing them to motels, getting them towels in the locker rooms, helping them get their medical tests done, and once in a while, writing something for the press. I didn’t care. I wanted the ball. I did anything and everything they asked. I had to start at the bottom again, and I did it happily.
Not so happy were my parents, who couldn’t understand how a college grad had become, in essence, a glorified driver. However, to be fair, they were impressed with how quickly I could get them a towel. But I had faith that this was a direction that I needed to take. I listened to my inner voice when the outside noise seemed to make the case that this would lead nowhere. That this was crazy.
I became enamored by the fighters themselves and their stories. I wound up becoming an agent and representing over 40 fighters. I traveled to Poland, Germany, England, Budapest, and many other places, bringing fighters, known as the B-side in boxing, opponents. I always identified with the underdog — surprise, surprise! But I became disenchanted when I realized my fighters were props who never stood a chance to win.
During this period, I spent a lot of time in boxing gyms. There, I met a guy named Luis Resto. Luis was a quiet, pleasant man with a dark past. I heard many whispers that he was banned from boxing for life, that he killed a man, that he went to jail, and that he could never enter a ring again. He was there, living in the basement of a dark, dank gym in the Bronx, training kids. My journalistic instincts perked up and I knew there was more to the story.
Back in 1983, 25 years prior, Luis Resto fought a fighter named Billy Collins, Jr. Billy was an Irish kid from Tennessee. Good looking, undefeated, and what the boxing world loved. Definitely the favorite that night. But what happened in the ring was a terrible tragedy. Luis would win by upset, and Billy’s face would look like he had elephantiasis, eyes swollen shut beyond recognition. Resto would go over to Billy Collins’ corner as a good sport might to shake hands with Billy and his father, Billy Collins, Sr. Billy’s father grabbed Luis’ gloves and immediately started yelling, “There’s no padding in these gloves! There’s no padding in these gloves!”
What ensued after that was a terrible tragedy. Billy Collins, Jr. would suffer permanent eye damage, and less than 8 months later, was dead. Some said suicide. Some said drunk driving. It was unclear.
So, when I found Luis Resto proclaiming his innocence 25 years later, I knew that I had to tell this story and I had to uncover the truth. I had no experience in documentary filmmaking, but I had faith deep inside that this was what my next chapter would bring. Again, many, including my parents, thought I was nuts.
A year later, I was able to get the rough cut of the film to a friend who was coaching a girls’ lacrosse team. One of the parents was an executive at HBO. He watched the film and Assault in the Ring premiered on HBO. We were even lucky enough to win the Emmy for Best Sports Documentary in 2010. Another God moment.
I’ve gone on to make many films since then and have learned many valuable lessons along the way. I made a film about Renee Richards, the transexual tennis player who was born Richard Raskind and played as a female at the US Open tennis tournament in 1977. Richard Raskind was a nationally-ranked tennis player at Yale who became a world-renowned eye surgeon, which might seem like a charmed life. But what I learned from Renee was that no matter what, you need to be true to yourself and your own identity at all costs — whatever those on the outside say.
I made a film about Pete Rose for ESPN, and I learned about a man enslaved in his own hubris, unwilling to admit fault and ask for forgiveness.
I made a film about Roberto Duran and Sugar Ray Leonard and their legendary fight commonly known as No Mas. I saw the difference between one who had moved on and one who was stuck in the past, refusing to be honest with himself.
I made a film about a man, Hector Macho Camacho, who was unwilling to face his own demons and wound up murdered, and his family’s search for closure.
I’ve made a lot of other films, but one of the most recent ones has perhaps the most poignant message no that I can leave with you today. The Dream Whisperer is about a 10-year quest by a now 86-year-old man, NY Knick legend Dick Barnett, to never give up on a dream. Dick’s selfless quest for his civil rights-era teammates to make sure they were remembered in the Basketball Hall of Fame showed me the importance of having a dream and never giving up. Always wanting the ball.
I pray and hope that all of you here today have a dream and a passion and a desire that keeps you up at night, waiting for the excitement of the morning. To have a meaning — a purpose, is the greatest gift a person can have for a career.
About 12 years ago, I wrote a letter to Arch Smith apologizing for my behavior back in 1988 and asking if I could do service and help in any way with the School to try and make things right. I returned to campus over a dozen times talking to you boys about filmmaking, sharing rough cuts, and talking about your dreams. Arch Smith surprised me one time and handed me my diploma — 25 years later. If that’s not God, then what is it?
T-P, again, taught me. I learned that it’s always better to give than to receive. What can you offer, not what can you take? That you will be measured by what you give rather than what you acquire.
Thank you, Phil Smith, for making sure I paid for my mistakes. Arch Smith, for granting me forgiveness. And Bill Taylor, for giving me the opportunity to speak to you today and continuing to lead this great institution and its core values forward.
Have faith in God and never quit on yourself. If you don’t think you have a connection with God, go deep within yourself and ask for the next right step, and the answers will come. Be persistent and determined and never quit on yourself. May God bless you, and to all of you new alumni, I pray that you always have the desire to get back into the game and always want the ball!
Go Big Blue — Roll Pride!
by Eric Drath ’88
Watch Eric’s full Commencement Address here.