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In 1961 I graduated from the business school at the University of Southern California with a B.S. degree in accounting.

I was thrilled to be the commencement speaker for the Leventhal School of Accounting last week, before an audience of four hundred graduates and a thousand friends and parents. I’d like to share with you my speech, slightly edited.

Remember, this speech is intended primarily for accountants, but I think it applies to all of us.

My speech:

Congratulations to all University of Southern California accounting graduates of 2017, your parents who may not ever get out of debt, your professors who are thrilled to see you go – for the right reasons, I’m sure, and guests who just happened to wander by and sit down to hear me speak.

I’ll start with a confession. I love accounting. I actually enrolled in a bookkeeping class in high school, when accounting was not cool. And every night for years I kept my own set of personal set of books. I recorded every cent of my income and expense, and made sure that the debits always equaled the credits. How geeky is that? And you know what you call a trial balance that doesn’t balance — A very late night.

I was seventeen years old in September, 1957, that was about four centuries ago, when I first walked onto the USC campus as a freshman. As Dean Holder mentioned, I’ve been a Trojan ever since.

What was different then? Just about everything. Tuition, for example, was twelve dollars a unit. I’m sure you graduates have already done the math in your head and realize that is one hundred ninety two dollars a semester. But the story gets better. My father was a student at USC in the early 1940’s, when tuition was four dollars a unit. That’s sixty-four dollars a semester. Imagine, a degree from the University of Southern California for five-hundred twelve dollars. That will get you about five weeks in one class today, but who’s counting?

USC must have done something right. My dad is now one hundred two years old, and is here with us today. I’d like to introduce him – my dad, Fred Fox. Dad played French Horn in the USC Marching Band at the 1945 Rose Bowl game, and we still watch television together and root for the USC football team.

And Dad, I’m finally going to finally pay you back for my USC tuition – out of my next social security check.

Many of you will soon start work at one of the big four accounting firms. That is when your real-world education will begin in earnest.

Before my senior year in what was then the USC School of Commerce, I was hired as a summer intern by Peat Marwick,

In June, 1960, my first day on the job, I was sent to jail. I entered prison at The Wayside Honor Rancho which held a thousand minimum security inmates. Fortunately, I was not there as an inmate, only as an auditor, but without the benefit of having ever taken a single course in auditing.

I arrived at the Honor Rancho in my VW Bug a few minutes late – that’s a no-no — and finally found the senior on the job. He looked at me with more than a bit of skepticism. Maybe it was my black shoes with white socks. Or my twenty-five dollar suit.

“Audit the canteen account,” he said.

“Sure. Happy too. Uh, exactly how do I audit the canteen account?”

The senior sighed, pointed to a thick ledger and boxes of cancelled warrants. That’s like cancelled checks, not warrants for my arrest.

“Look at every twentieth entry in the ledger, be sure there is a matching cancelled warrant, then make a tick mark next to the amount in the ledger.”

“Sure. No problem. Uh, exactly what is a ‘tick mark’?”

I spent three long days at the Wayside Honor Rancho. I had no idea what I was doing.

Fortunately, even after that awkward start, I was hired by Peat Marwick to work in their tax department. When I presented my first tax memo to the tax partner he took a quick look. It took him five seconds to ask me, “Did you find the dsafqqewopir case?”

“Uh, no sir.”

“That’s the leading case on the subject. Go back and start again, and Alan, please don’t wear white socks to the office tomorrow.”

I learned to dress for success, and now offer you ten more lessons I learned out in the real world of accounting.

Number One. Be on time. If you aren’t, someone else will be.

Two. Admit when you don’t know how to do something, and that might be often. And never call yourself or anyone else stupid. The problem is usually lack of knowledge, not stupidity. There is a big difference.

Three. Remember, you are an accountant — a person who solves a problem people didn’t know they had in a way they don’t understand. You have to develop compassion. Especially for yourself.

Four. Your future is always ahead of you. And that’s the problem. It’s is a carrot that dangles in front of your nose. Plan for the future, but don’t forget to take pleasure in your present accomplishments and activities. Enjoy your life as you live it. Cling fiercely to the present, because right now is the only future you are ever certain to have.

Five. The most precious thing you have is life, yet it has absolutely no trade-in value. Remind yourself often to find the joy or the value or the lesson in whatever you are doing in the moment, like standing up and giving this speech, or sitting down and listening to it.

Six. Snowmen fall from Heaven unassembled. Your career will not be assembled by anyone else. You have to put it together yourself.

Seven. Pay attention. If you day dream for fifty minutes in class you get an “A” instead of an “A+.” If you day dream for five seconds while you drive to an audit, you may be late. Very, very late.

Eight. Crisis is opportunity. When my wife Asha was twenty-seven years old she tripped while jogging and seriously injured her back. Asha was in the hospital for three weeks and at home in bed for three months in tremendous pain. She thought about the pain, and decided to shift her career to become a medical reporter so she could help others in pain. Not too long after that she won her first Emmy for reporting.

Nine. Follow your heart. It’s a lot more fun than carrying around a head crammed with numbers all of the time. Well maybe just part of the time.

Number Ten – respect your elders. And take care of yourself so that you’ll live long enough to have trouble finding one.

In conclusion:

If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without a glass of wine,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
… Then you are probably         the family dog.

My final thought is that it’s okay to be human. You don’t have to be perfect.

My final, final thought is: Be Audit you can be. I’ll repeat that for your parents, they haven’t been in school for a while – Be Audit you can be, and as graduates of the Leventhal School of Accounting, Class of 2017, you are off to a great start.

Congratulations. And thank you.

Alan
 

I’m remembering my mom today. Though she died more than twenty-five years ago, her influence on my life was enormous.

When I was young, every day after school I would enjoy a snack and a two-hour conversation with my mom. Our conversations would last until she served dinner at 5:30 pm sharp (unless Dad arrived home later). This continued through my early teens. The value of that time I spent with her is immeasurable.

1. I learned how to cook. Food has always been important to me. I realized when I was very young that if I knew how to shop for groceries and how to cook with the right ingredients I would be the master of my own food destiny.  I especially enjoyed cooking cheese blintzes with my mom. She prepared the cheese stuffing. I had the fun of frying the skins. And, of course, I most enjoyed the dinners created by our joint efforts:  Cheese blintzes with sour cream.
2. My mother was a great cook, but the best food was always for “the company.” Fortunately, mom knew to always prepare more food than “the company” could eat. I used to wake up early the next morning, before my little brother, so I could finish off most of the leftovers. To this day, I follow my mom’s lead and make a little more than I expect “the company” to finish.
3. From my mom I not only learned the value of taking good care of myself, I learned the importance of following good advice. For example, she stressed that I should brush my teeth at least twice a day. But because I didn’t always follow her advice when I was younger I now have a number of tooth implants, She also taught me to shower every day and not only do I follow that advice (thankfully), I find that is where I do my best thinking.
4. My mom taught me to drive carefully. She hated driving. She couldn’t wait until I turned sixteen and had my own driver’s license so I could drive her around. Alas, when I was fifteen and a half I “borrowed” my mother’s car without permission. A friend with a license drove us to the beach. My father discovered my illicit trip (sand in the car?) and postponed my driver’s license until I was sixteen and a half. Poor Mom. But to this day I always pay strict attention when I drive.
5. My mother instilled in me the value of being generous to others. She always offered a kind word or helping hand to anyone who needed it. To carry on her legacy, I founded a philanthropic organization to help children in need fulfill their potential.
6. My mother taught me how to garden. She also taught me to dream big and have patience. As a kid I grew a twenty-four pound banana squash (see the photo above). Later this year, my publisher, Clavis Publishing (an international publishing house based in Belgium), is publishing my children’s book Benji and the Twenty-Four Pound Banana Squash.
7. My mom taught me that I should value everyone no matter their gender. Specifically she insisted I should have a few boys as friends. When I was ten I wanted to invite only girls to my birthday party.  “No,” Mom said, “you have to invite at least one boy.”  So I invited one boy.  And a dozen girls.  In my twenties I began to make friends with men.  Now, some of my closest friends are men (though I still prefer women).

Enjoy your Mother’s Day on Sunday, hopefully with a lunch or dinner, surrounded by relatives, friends, and good conversation. Maybe even include a few male relatives or friends. if your mother insists.

Alan

I’ve always lived in a haunted house.

I’m not talking about a house with ghosts that pass through walls, or rattle chains in the basement or the attic. I’m talking about all of those ghosts that live in the shelter of my own mind.

When I was thirty-one years old, single and dating, I always asked one question on a first date; “How did you get along with your father?” I believe that all of us project our father’s or mother’s face onto each man or woman we meet later in life.  Sprite, for example, adored her father. That’s a ghost I can happily live with. And yes, when I was young, I thought my mother was a Saint. I still do.

Some of my ghosts are helpful. They inspire me by murmuring words of encouragement. “You can do this.”  “Express your love.”  “This too will pass.” I will always have a cozy nook in my mind for those phantoms that care about me

But what about the wicked goblins who, all too often, spring from their hiding places deep in my mind to taunt me with memories I’ve long ago transformed into enduring expectations of rejection and failure?  Those spooks are nasty to live with and difficult, if not impossible, to evict.

When I was two or three years old, I woke up screaming every night with a recurring nightmare of being chased by “The Big Bad Wolf” who was going to eat me alive.  My father always raced into my room to sit on the side of my bed.  He patiently suggested that, in my dream, I should stand my ground. He told me that instead of running away, I should turn around, face the Big Bad Wolf, and tell him “I’m not scared of you. Go away Mr. Wolf.”

I tried to follow my dad’s advice, but running away felt safer. But finally, after many months, I did what my dad suggested.

In my dream I stopped running, turned around, and said to the slobbering Wolf, “Mr. Wolf, I’m not afraid of you. Go away.” To my surprise, the Wolf looked startled.  Then the Wolf stopped, turned around himself, and slunk away.

“Daddy, daddy, the wolf ran away!” I ran into their bedroom and woke up both of my parents to spread the good news.

That wolf has never returned. Nor has the dream which haunted me after I graduated from college. Maybe you know that one, in which you haven’t attended class, never read the text book, and have to take the final exam in two hours?

Most of the internal ghosts which I struggle with today visit me while I’m entirely awake. They whisper to me, “That person won’t like you.”  “You’re too fat.”  “Sprite doesn’t want you anymore.  She didn’t greet you as ardently today as she did yesterday.”

These whispers are rooted in my past, not my present, and I don’t expect to ever dislodge them all.  But I’m making progress. Some of my ghosts, such as “You have to work all the time,” or “Sprite will emotionally abandon you one day,” have begun to pack.

It has taken determination, reassurance from others, and the passage of time for me to reduce the influence of those voices. It also helps when I talk or write about them, exposing my ghosts-in-residence to the light of today.

I’ve always lived in a haunted house. How about you?

Alan