Excerpt from Chapter 18: Harvard

“Ma, this is Douglas! I was thinking about going to graduate school to get my master’s degree in education. I want to help other kids and families that live in situations like how we grew up . . . and the number one graduate school for education administration in America is at Harvard. Do you think I should apply?”

Mom broke out in laughter. “Douglas, why not Harvard, why not you? If they say no, you will be right where you are today, and that is not bad at all. But what if they say yes! If God put this thought in your heart, then follow through by at least applying.”

That was all the advice I needed to hear. Every time I thought about applying, my chest pounded, and my body tensed up with enthusiasm . . . I faced the possibility of attending an Ivy League school. On a whim one morning, and because I lived so close, I took the T to Harvard Square to walk the campus and pick up more information from the admissions department. The T conductor’s voice belted over the speaker. “Haaaaaavard Square.” I jumped from my seat, each movement like an out-of-body experience. I stepped off the train and climbed the stairs to Harvard Square. With each stride, I remembered a bit of my journey up to that point in my life. Everything went in slow motion, and the movie in my mind allowed for the right timing and soundtrack to accompany my ascension.

The first step symbolized my struggle of growing up in poverty; the next signified overcoming the absence of a father or father-like figure in my life; the next was seeing my mother get mistreated as a housekeeper; the next was the paralyzing fear of being bullied in elementary school; the next step was my uncontrollable stuttering impediment developed through the alienation and condescending remarks of my third grade teacher; the next was for my Little League assistant coach, who told me that I suffered from delusions of grandeur; the next was former friends that discounted my gifts; the next was my high school guidance counselor, who told me I was not college material; and the last step was for Diane at John Hancock. With each stair I climbed, I remembered how I overcame that obstacle, ultimately arriving at the Harvard Yard. Mama Luff’s words rang through my mind as I walked the uneven cobblestone sidewalks. “If not me, then who? If not now, when?”

The doubt and insecurity that I’d felt when my third grade teacher asked me to read out loud among my peers paralyzed me briefly as I reached out to the double doors of the Education building, but the momentum of graduating from Northeastern and my visit to the White House pushed me through. A kind voice behind a plain cubicle-like secretary desk greeted me immediately. “Hello, welcome to the Graduate School of Education. How can I help you?” I froze, overwhelmed by Harvard and tradition, but it only lasted a second. “Yes, hi, my name is Doug . . . Doug Luffborough. I would like some information about the Ed school, and I’l like to pick up an application, please.”

To my surprise, the secretary did not ask many any other qualifying questions: my GPA in undergrad, what qualified me to apply, or what my parents did for a living were non-issues in that conversation. She simply went to the back of the room and returned with a full application packet.

Without realizing it, I blurted out my next request. “I’m sorry, but can I have two applications? I have someone else that I need to get one for as well.” I thought of my brother, Darrell. He was only one year younger than I was and had done well in high school and college. Out of the two of us, Darrell was stronger than I was academically, so I wanted to include him as well.

Without balking, the secretary agreed, and I left the office with two applications, guarding them like a bank security guard. The glossy printed covers had embossed lettering that spelled out Harvard University Graduate School of Education: HUGSE. Reading the front made a smile spread across my face uncontrollably. The thought of both of us even applying thrilled me, and I felt a rush of excitement in my heart, like fizzing soda and sunshine. If anyone had overcome major obstacles to go to Harvard, it was certainly Doug and Darrell Luffborough.

That weekend, I went to Worcester to see my mother and personally give Darrell his application. I felt nervous talking to him about it, because growing up, we used to tease each other with names like stupid-ass and dummy, which became his pseudonyms for my real name. A part of me felt that Darrell had a better chance than I did of getting into HUGSE, but I wanted to see at least one of us get in to the school. While the entire family was hanging out in the living room and Darrell was watching ESPN, I leaned over his shoulder and asked him to join me in the kitchen in the back part of our apartment. As he entered the kitchen, I pulled out a chair and asked him to sit down. Hovering over him, I said, “Darrell, sit down—I need to talk to you about something,” I said. “You may think I’m crazy, but I think we should both go back to school—graduate school. I did the research, and the number one school of education in the nation is at Harvard. I picked up two applications, one for you and one for me, and I think you should apply with me.”

“Harvard?” Darrell burst out laughing. “Harvard! We can’t get into that school! You are crazy, Douglas.” For a moment, I laughed with him in agreement to his response, but then I sharply switched to stating my case about why we should apply.  

I squared my shoulders, determined to get his attention. “Look, I know I’m not Einstein, but Darrell, I believe that you could get in, and if you did, it would be a win for you, for our family, for Ma, and for our community. How many gang-involved, formerly-homeless, African-American males from Tatnuck Square do you know who have gone to Harvard? Exactly. Come on! Plus, if we don’t get in, we will be just where we are right now, and that’s not too bad, is it? We are already college graduates, so what do we have to lose? Nothing!” I was fired up, ready to fight him over it; the winner would choose.

We argued back and forth, escalating until Ma stepped in. “Lord, have mercy! My boys are going to kill each other over applying to Harvard! We really have come far as a family, but I want both of you to just calm down. Douglas, you have done your part. You gave Darrell the application, and it is up to him if he wants to apply . . . we support you, too, if you want to apply. Considering the road less travelled, Harvard is new territory for us, but, God is able!” After Ma spoke, our confrontation ended.

Over the next couple of weeks, I worked daily on the application and called my brother to see how he was doing with the process, but we never went into too many details about it. In addition to sharing that I’d overcome gang involvement, low expectations, and homelessness, I also shared my graduation experience at Northeastern and our visit to the White House. I felt that if anybody had used education as a platform for success, it was Darrell and me. Also, my experience at City Year gave me a passion for educating children within an urban context because I had lived it.

As the deadline approached, I tapped in to some of my mentors for feedback on how I could strengthen my application. Just one day before the deadline, Darrell and I completed our applications, and together we went to HUGSE and dropped them off. Our shoulders rose up, our heads lifted with a big sense of accomplishment, and Darrell and I decided to celebrate by going out to eat in Harvard Square. We had a little celebration but knew that even though we had done our parts, the rest was out of our hands. Because I feared friends would discourage me, similar to how my third grade teacher had, I did not share my application process with them.

Months passed without incident, and on April Fools’ Day in 1996, I received a large envelope in my mailbox, and the return address said: Harvard Graduate School of Education. I remembered similar large envelopes showing up when I was in high school and applying to college, and it meant one thing: I must have gotten in. And despite this knowledge, I couldn’t find the courage to rip the envelope open to see for myself. I set the envelope on the kitchen table and paced back and forth until I thought my heart might beat out of my chest. I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.

“Congratulations! You have been accepted into the Harvard University Graduate School of Education.” I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing clearly, and I read the words over and over again. Like a leaky faucet gasket, ready to explode, I burst into tears of joy, covering my face with my hands as saliva filled my mouth and leaked onto my hands.

I panted, barely uttering my words. “Thank you, God, thank you, God, we did it!” At that moment, I knew it was God’s will for my life, that it had been we all along. I went to my room, looked at the infamous boardwalk picture, and saw my silhouette on the other side of the mountain. I stood there staring at the picture, talking to Jesus and wailing until my eyes were bloodshot red, irritated, and sore from rubbing them. Not only was I college material, but I had been admitted into the number one Ivy League Graduate School of Education in the world.  I had to compose myself because I knew I had one very important phone call to make.

“Hello? Darrell, this is Douglas. Did you get anything in the mail today?” My voice was still recovering from the weeping, but I was full of joy. “Yes,” he said, not giving off any indication of the outcome.  “Well, what did they say?” Instead of answering my question, he fired one back at me. “Did you find out anything?” Now it was my turn. “Darrell, did you get a small envelope or a large envelope?”

The pause on the line was almost imperceptible. “I got . . . I got a large envelope.” His voice was confident, certain, happy. I went numb; I was beside myself with disbelief of what we were able to pull off. Not missing a beat, I replied.

“I did too!” I wailed again like I had done just twenty minutes before. Both of us yelled and screamed into the phone as if we had won the lottery. Between the two of us, we recited every happy proverb we could remember. The one repeated most often, above the shouting and whooping, was, “All things are possible for those who believe.”

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Excerpt from Chapter 17: City Year

One day after lunch, I was walking back to the office and ran into one of my former Co-op advisors from Northeastern. Janice had recently left the university to work for an organization called City Year. Michael Brown and Alan Khazei, roommates at Harvard Law School in 1988, founded City Year because they felt strongly that young people in service could be a powerful resource for addressing America's most pressing issues. Together they built City Year with the conviction that one person can make a difference; and since its inception, City Year has promoted the vision of service as a common expectation—and a real opportunity—for citizens all around the world. City Year’s vision is that one day the most commonly asked question of a young person will be, “Where are you going to do your service year?” Currently, City Year is serving in 25 cities across the United States and in three international affiliate sites located in Johannesburg, South Africa, Birmingham, England, and London, England. They are known for their red jackets, sense of idealism, and strong organizational culture. Many times on my way to work, I saw over 50 energized and enthusiastic young people with bright red jackets, khaki pants, and boots doing morning military-like calisthenics called PT on Copley Plaza. Rain or shine, wind or snow, they were out there. I was inspired by their spirit, discipline, purpose, and pride for the work they did throughout the community and thought City Year might be a better fit for me. I liked the image of working in a corporation, but I also wanted to work within the community helping the poor and other kids who grew up the way I did.

My former Co-op advisor introduced me to a woman named Nancy Routh, who was the Director of Human Resources at the time. Nancy was looking to grow her HR department, and my generalist position at John Hancock and my HR degree from Northeastern were a perfect match. Almost six months later, before my next formal review with Diane, I resigned from John Hancock and accepted a position with City Year. I would be working with Nancy in Human Resources, making more money working in a nonprofit than I was receiving at John Hancock. The pay surprised me, but Nancy shared that City Year was looking to recruit top talent and was willing to compete with the for-profit sector to get the right people on board. Without looking back, I walked away from John Hancock, leaving the start of my corporate insurance career and Diane’s iron fist of poor leadership behind.

The move to City Year felt right; the staff I worked with appreciated the skills I contributed. Not long after being hired, Nancy offered me a lateral move to become a Team Leader, overseeing and managing six to eight corps members. “Doug, I have been watching you since you started here, and I’m impressed with your attention to detail and professional sense of urgency. I think the role we have you in is great but will not get the best out of you. I would like to provide you with an opportunity where you can utilize your leadership skills and work more directly with our young people in the community,” Nancy persisted. This would be my first formal supervisory role and would give me greater exposure in the company as a burgeoning leader. It was hard to believe that Diane had told me at John Hancock that I was a procrastinator and had poor time management, and now in my new job, I was being asked to play a greater role. If Diane only knew, I thought.

Being a Team Leader was more challenging because I worked with young adults, ages seventeen to twenty-four, who were working on their GED, had a high school diploma, had some college experience, or were college graduates. The young adults had different maturity levels, work experiences, and intellectual capacities. With nervous enthusiasm, I spoke. “So, hi, everyone. My name is Doug, and I will be your new Team Leader for the rest of the year.” The team looked at me with blank stares plastered on their faces; it was clear that we did not all share the same excitement. On cue, the team looked toward Jonah—the pseudo- Team Leader.

He recognized the attention, stood, stepped forward one foot, and spoke. “You are the third Team Leader we’ve had in the past four months. I guess we are glad to have you, but I’m compelled to ask: will you be with us for the remainder of the year?” His voice was steady and stoic, but he wore an apprehensive and nervous look on his face, as if to say he wasn’t convinced I was there to stay. “I can tell you that I just joined City Year, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, so I hope you guys will at least give me a chance.”

The team looked up to Jonah and trusted him, so I knew very early on that in order to make progress with the team, I had to get Jonah on my side as quickly as possible. City Year was an organization that believed in order and structure and had strict policies regarding being on time, wearing a neat and clean uniform, and wearing your nametag on the top right side of your shirt. If corps members or staff showed up late, were out of uniform, or forgot their nametag, they were written up. After three write-ups, corps members and staff members would be put on probation and risk being released by the organization. The first week, I wrote down infractions but did not formalize them. It was my way of showing the team that I meant business but that I wanted to make sure we were all clear on the expectations before I upheld existing parameters.

The second week was a different story. At physical training, or PT, that Monday, I noted two members who arrived after we started. Once the exercise was complete, I pulled the team aside and explained the rules, the process, and my detailed notes regarding the previous week. “Someone once told me that if you are 15 minutes early, you are on time. If you are on time, you are late. And if you are late, you are fired. After today, if you are going to be late you need to call me. If you don’t, I will mark you down as a no-show, no-call, and you will be written up.” Immediately, there was push-back by Jonah. “Written up? You just got here and already you are trying to be Mr. By-the-Book Team Leader? Give me a break . . . I’m out of here!” He turned on his heel, his chin in the air, and walked off. I called after him. “Fine, Jonah. If you walk away, I will have to write you up for insubordination and for leaving our team circle.” But Jonah kept walking.

I turned my attention to the rest of the team. “Does anyone else want to leave?” To my surprise, no one else left, even though they acted like they wanted to by looking in Jonah’s direction; some rolled their eyes while others huffed with a sigh of frustration. It was then that I realized that their alliance was not as strong as I thought it was. Later on that evening, after I ate dinner and had some downtime, I decided to give Jonah a call. Not really wanting to deal with the confrontation, I sat at my kitchen table and slowly dialed each number, and then took a deep breath when I heard the call go through. “Hello, Jonah, this is Doug. I find it ironic that you questioned me about walking out on the team and then you walked off when you heard something you didn’t like.” “Well, you became our third Team Leader and then within a week, you went on a power trip. You don’t even know who we are,” Jonah fired back.

I cleared my throat, careful about the words I would use. “Listen, I just started working here, and I’m following the rules set in place by the organization. Our team needs order, structure, and accountability, and it is my role to make sure that happens. You can either help me or you can leave the team, because there is only room for one Team Leader.” Jonah’s frustration was palpable through the phone. “Is that a threat?”“No, it is a promise. But . . . I hope you will work with me to lead the team, because I need your help, Jonah. Give me a chance and see what I can do by backing me, bro. Can you do that?” I protested as the seriousness of the conversation lifted me out of my chair to a standing position. The tone of my voice was firm yet hopeful that Jonah would join me. Dead silence paused our conversation for so long that I wasn’t sure if the phone had died. “Hello, Jonah. Are you still there?”

His voice dropped, an unhappy reconciling with the reality of accountability confronting him. “Yeah, I’m still here, but I have a lot to think about tonight to see if I want to still do this.” I exhaled relief. “Okay, I can respect that and want you to have that time. If I see you tomorrow, I will consider that you are with me on this. Thank you for taking my call.” And with that, we hung up. When I set the phone down, a lump filled my throat. I wondered if Jonah would be willing to work with me. He was a leader, and I really wanted to work with him—growing our previously leaderless team and him. Even though I was on the verge of strong emotion, I was confident I could do it with the right people surrounding me. I went to bed that night dreading the worst—that Jonah had called the other team members after our call and that no one would show up for work the next day. Despite my confidence that I handled it the best possible way, I tossed and turned, questioning whether leaving John Hancock was a wise career move. I realized that being in a leadership position is one thing, but becoming a leader is another. I was starting to learn that being a leader might also mean being misunderstood.

The next morning, there were no messages from him or any of the other members. Right away, I concluded the worst: that they had bailed and that I was down to a team of one: me. At work before the morning program, other teams huddled and stretched together, but I stood alone. I replayed the conversation I’d had with Jonah the night before until it was a broken record. Was I off target with what I shared with him? Was I wrong to push him so hard? I sat down on the cement staircase and questioned my leadership and fit with City Year, the lump from last night returning to my throat. I looked up and shaded my eyes to avoid the beam of sun on my face, and off in the distance, Jonah clipped his way towards me, each team member behind him in single file. I sat there motionless and smiled on the inside, but my pride would not allow me to show it. The image of him leading the team towards me was a sign of the changing of the guard. My words had impacted him, and he now seemed receptive to letting me lead. I stood up, and when he was within a few feet, I first extended my hand to him, looking him directly in the eyes, and and then pulled him to me to show gratitude for him trusting me.

I said good morning to each team member and gave them each a hug, too. Then we circled up. “Thank you guys for coming this morning! It means a lot to me. Now let’s get to work!” The big smile covering my face from ear to ear made the team smile and laugh, too. Our team worked at two different sites each day. In the mornings, after we finished all organizational affairs, we headed to Boston City Hospital where we worked in various departments. In the afternoons, we worked at an afterschool program called The Shelburne Community Center, serving as tutors, mentors, and recreational aides. We ran a homework assistance program, and once homework was completed, we led various athletic activities such as basketball, dodge ball, kickball, volleyball, and capture the flag. We had a two-hour break to travel from one site to the next via public transportation and ate lunch along the way. During the travel time between both sites, I gained the best insights on each of my team members.

City Year changed my life and helped me realize my purpose in life! To read more about my City Year experience go to Amazon and order your copy of Watch Me Rise: From the Streets of Despair to the Halls of the Ivy League today.

Excerpt from Chapter 16: The White House

My mouth fell open at the beauty of it all: the large chandelier glittering with light, the marble and ivory columns that separated one room from another, the intricate oil paintings of former U.S. Presidents with red patterned velvet chairs placed up against the walls, the ruby red carpet with golden trim that filled the entire hallway. Instantly I felt like I was somebody, which was the feeling I had been searching for all of my life—the feeling of being noticed, of being wanted, and of being valued and appreciated by others. We then toured the East Room, Green Room, Blue Room, Red Room, and the State Dining Room. Our guide pointed out that the Green and Red Rooms were personally designed and refurbished by former First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy. At this, Ma perked up with excitement, just as she had at Senator’s Kennedy’s office.

She leaned toward the guide with a half-joking-half-serious candor. “Are you guys looking for a housekeeper?” she asked, followed by, “How long does it take your housekeeping staff to clean this part of the White House?” Her questions went along with her expressions of approval at the former First Lady’s color and design scheme in each room. My only response was an eye roll, and I put my head down and chuckled as I watched her act as if we were in our own home.

We toured the museum-like public access part of the White House for an hour and then walked back outside, along the White House lawn, toward the West Wing—the entrance to the Oval Office. There, a single U.S. Marine stood expressionless and opened the door for us. I felt very official with the U.S. Marine posted outside the door. As we walked in, my palms began to sweat, and my knees threatened to buckle as our guide shared that when the President is working in the West Wing, a single U.S. Marine stands sentry outside the north entrance on thirty-minute shifts until the President leaves the West Wing. I was ecstatic with heart-pounding excitement to see the President again, now on his turf. In the West Wing reception room, where visitors wait to meet with the President, well-known politicians walked past us, sharing hellos or smiles. In the hustle and bustle, we saw Vice President Al Gore, former U.S. Surgeon General Charles Everett Koop, various members of Congress, foreign dignitaries, and other world leaders I had seen on television. After twenty or so minutes, we were escorted down a hallway just outside the doors of the Oval Office and were told to stand there until someone came out to get us. Everyone in our group was full of excitement and reverence for the situation. Although there was commotion, talking, and lots of activity all around us, we became observers, not saying a word.

White House Communications Director George Stephanopoulos opened the doors of the Oval Office, and the breeze it created brought with it the same confidence that came over me at the podium during my graduation speech. With his clipboard in hand, Mr. Stephanopoulos addressed us all.

“The President of the United States is now ready to see you.” Those words were music to my ears. The President of the United States will now see me. In that moment, I felt that if the President would give me the time of day, as he was right now, then the world was my oyster . . . I could do anything.

Mr. Stephanopoulos turned to the President. “Mr. President, I would like to present to you Doug Luffborough and his mother, Elsa Luffborough Mensah; President John Curry from Northeastern University; and Senator John Kerry from Massachusetts.”

The mystique of the Oval Office covered me, and it was just like it looked in the movies—but it was real. I was first to cross the threshold, and President Clinton greeted me and handed me an autographed photo of us from my graduation.

Right behind me was my mother, who by this time felt so at home that the first thing out of her mouth was, “Mr. President, it is nice to meet you, but my throat is dry from today’s tour, and I wonder if you would be so kind as to get me a glass of water?” Her straight face and polite demeanor incited laughter from everyone in the room, and an aide quickly met her request. My insides leaped in momentary humiliation that the first thing my mother did when she met the President of the United States in the Oval Office was ask him for a glass of water, but even though all formality was out the window for her, she was in her element, so I let her have her moment in the sun. After the life she lived, why not!

The President walked me over to his desk and told me that when he was sixteen years old and a part of Boy’s Nation, he met former President John F. Kennedy.

“That was the first time in my life that I knew that one day, a boy from Hope, Arkansas, would also become President. In fact,” he went on, beaming, “when I became President, I found out that each President has a choice of using another President’s desk during his term, and for me, only one desk would do. I chose the famous JFK Resolute Desk, recognized in the historic photograph of the young JFK, Jr. peeking out from its panel. See!” He pointed out the details of the picture, and being so close to modern history sent another wave of amazement through me. I vowed then to keep giving life my best.

After the exchange, we all sat down to visit, but I was so mesmerized that I can’t remember much of our conversation. A short time later, we gathered in the front of the Oval Office as what seemed like a drove of Associated Press staff filled the back of the room for a formal press conference.

Right on cue, the President commanded the room. “Hello, everybody. Those of you who travel with me regularly will, I think, recognize the young man on my right, Mr. Doug Luffborough. He was the student speaker at Northeastern University in Boston the other day. This is his mother, whom I introduced and got a big hand. They’re here with President John Curry of Northeastern and Senator John Kerry, his senator. I invited Doug and his mother to come visit me in the Oval Office, so they didn't wait long to take me up on the invitation.” The president paused as the room filled with laughter, and then added, “I'm glad to see them here today.

“You may remember also that he brought the house down. He not only gave a great speech, but he sang at the beginning of his speech. I thought to myself, if I could sing like that, I wouldn't be giving speeches today.”

Compelled to say something, I blurted out, “Well, it was a wonderful opportunity for me and a wonderful opportunity for my family and especially for my mother. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this, and I'm just really thrilled. And I'm really glad that Northeastern was the place you decided to come. It's been a pleasure and an honor to be here today. Thank you.”

Ms. Walker, the news reporter from Boston, chimed in. “Mr. President, what was it about Doug that impressed you so much?”

Without skipping a beat, the President eloquently answered her. “Well, first of all, that he had come from such humble circumstances to go to college and to stay in college and that he had made the most of it. He obviously never felt sorry for himself. He obviously had a mother who helped him to believe in himself, as many others do. And the fact that his fellow students picked him to be the spokesperson for their class showed that they identified with the values and the inner strength and drive that took him to the success that he enjoys. I was very impressed. And I just thought it would be neat if they could come down here and see me.”

After the President finished his statement, Mr. Stephanopoulos ushered the press out of the room and we said our goodbyes. I had hoped to have more time with the President, but I also understood how busy he must have been, and I knew that these moments would be some of the most memorable in my entire life.

President Clinton turned to shake my hand. “Thanks for coming to see me. By the way, Doug, have you ever thought about a career in politics?” “Not at this time, Mr. President, but I’m open to where my career will take me,” I said before I turned to leave the Oval Office. The President smiled and nodded, pursing his lips in a satisfied smile, which I took as approval for my politically correct response.

It was hard leaving the White House because I knew the realities I faced back at work. My supervisor, Diane, would be the pin to burst the White House visit bubble. However, deep down, I knew how real this experience was for me and my mother, and I knew that we would never forget it. To this day, I’m appreciative of President Clinton’s public invitation to visit him in the Oval Office. He honored my journey from being homeless to graduating from college in less than five years, but what impressed me the most was the way he treated my mom . . . like the queen that she is and has always deserved to be.

Order your copy of Watch Me Rise on Amazon. Schools and nonprofit organizations receive a 50% discount for bulk orders and for the ordering form please email Doug at dougluff@gmail.com.

Continue to Rise!

Excerpt from Chapter 15: Lights, Camera, Action!

We climbed the stairs to the stage, and I found the seat that had my name on it: Doug Luffborough, Student Commencement Speaker. As I sat down, I realized that I was among the top politicians in our state. Seated next to President Clinton was Senator Ted Kennedy, and not too far from him was Senator John Kerry. Next to Kerry was the former Governor of Massachusetts, Mike Dukakis. There I sat, among men who had given decades of their lives to public service, and I knew my life, my story, represented what they fought for: access to higher education for low income, first generation college students, access to financial aid and student scholarships, and access to college-to-career opportunities through Co-op programs at Northeastern. There was no coincidence that I was seated among these men. I, too, was meant for something greater than my past.

Right next to me, a Secret Service agent was dressed in cap and gown, but he stood out like a sore thumb. He wore an earpiece and spoke quietly into his wrist every time the President engaged in conversations with others. From my seat on the stage, I could see my mother, sister, and two brothers, nestled close to one another in their seats. I could not believe what was happening and was more than ready to speak. After the color guard presentation finished and everyone sang the national anthem, President Curry took to the podium to introduce me:

“Ladies and gentlemen, Douglas Luffborough III represents what Northeastern University is all about. Access to college regardless of economic station, access to academic excellence for bright and talented young people, access to good professional jobs during college and afterwards. A double business major in management and human resources, Doug will next week begin full-time work at John Hancock Financial Services, where he has worked under our co-operative plan of education over the last two and a half years. I am proud, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce to you your student speaker, Doug Luffborough!”

While my introduction was being read, instead of fear or nerves, what ran through my mind was that this was the moment I had waited for my entire life—a chance for my voice to be heard.

I stood up and went straight for the glass of water I saw just beside the podium. My speech would open with a song, and with the steam-room heat, the talking and the laughing, I did not want my voice to crack. As I tasted the refreshing, cold water, I noticed that my thumb covered over the emblem of the White House, and then it dawned on me that the water was not intended for me, but for President Clinton. I could not believe that I just drank the President’s water . . . but making sure that I stood proud in front of 14,000 people on live television was my number one priority.

My classmates immediately made me feel comfortable and at ease, and I looked across the audience to locate my mother and family. In the rafters, Secret Service snipers had their semi-automatic rifles pointed in my direction. I was just a few feet from the President of the United States, and security was their top priority. I closed my eyes, found my pitch, and inhaled the first breath for my speech, which began with singing “Day-O.” At first, the audience joined me, but after a few bars, they listened closer to see how the song would end.

When I finished the song, the auditorium erupted in cheers and applause. For an instant, I thought, Yes! This is exactly what I was hoping would happen! The energy in the Boston Garden was electrifying. I had them!

After the applause quieted, the silence was reverent—I could have heard a pin drop when I started speaking. And while I knew that everyone there wanted to hear President Clinton, I wanted them to know about Doug Luffborough, too. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to address students, both past and present, who were just like me, who struggled in life to get to college. I wanted my story to encourage other students and parents to believe that what seems impossible can be possible.

It seemed as though everyone there, including the President of the United States, was on the edge of their seats with anticipation of each word, each phrase that I had prepared. I thought about my trials and tribulations during my speech and looked at my mother several times out of respect for all she had done in my life. When I finished speaking, over 14,000 people rose to their feet, including the President of the United States, who greeted me at the podium. He shook my hand, bringing us closer together. “Great job! Where is your mother?”

I wanted to point, but the President held my hand firmly with both of his, so I tried to explain where she was, which was difficult in a room full of thousands of proud parents. I could see the Secret Service snipers in the ready position because I was right next to—and touching—the President. Fortunately, my directions worked, and he was able to see where my mother was sitting. I then made my way back to my chair, sighing in relief. I did it, I thought. I nailed it.

President Curry returned to the podium beaming with pride, obviously moved by my speech. After that, the focus shifted to the keynote speaker, President Clinton. As he took the podium, the reality of what I had just done hit me. I felt like I had just woken up from an uplifting dream. At that point, I could not focus on his speech; I was dwelling on what I had just done and the courage and confidence it required. Especially with what I had endured in the third grade, with my challenges with stuttering and reading out loud in public, with the lack of support from my guidance counselor—but now, my inferiority complex and personal insecurities were shattered in front of the entire nation. Then, one part of Clinton’s speech caught my attention:

 “I can also tell you that I was deeply impressed by Doug Luffborough, and if I could sing like him, I would not be up here today as President.” The audience laughed, as President Clinton went on. “I read an article about Doug and his mother and his family, and his trials and working his way through college before I came here. And, in the article, he said he plans to invite himself and his mother to the White House. Well, I’m going to beat him to the punch . . . I would like Doug and his mother to come to the White House. If any man in America knows what having a good, hardworking, strong, loving, and disciplining mother can mean, I certainly do. I know it can make all the difference in the world as it did for Doug and as it has for me, and I think it would be appropriate, just sort of as a symbol of all the parents who are here, if Doug’s mother, Mrs. Elsa Luffborough Mensah, would stand up!”

 As my mother stood to her feet, I stood as well, to honor the woman who endured pain, physical abuse, and disappointment after disappointment, but who did not let the negative circumstances around her change her positive outlook on life. One by one, others stood to honor the housekeeper and single parent who raised four kids on her own, and who was now being honored by the President of the United States of America. One of my life goals has always been to make my mother proud, and on that day, I knew she was. She had every right to be proud that the nation recognized her for her journey, and the sacrifices she made for her children.

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Excerpt from Chapter 14: Day-O, Day-O

From that moment on, I decided to surround myself with people who would lift me up in life instead of tear me down. I wanted people in my life who filled my cup instead of emptying it, and living by myself gave me the confidence and freedom to limit the negative influences of others. Through that interaction and subsequent lesson, I learned that sometimes the people closest to you are the ones trying to stop you from pursuing your dreams. They are the dream stealers, the yeah, but-ers around you. By this time, I could stand on my own two feet and was not moved by what others thought I should do. I was moved only by what I felt was best for me in that situation.

When my classes ended that day, I retreated to the serenity of my apartment to reflect on the conversations I’d had with others throughout the day regarding the student commencement speaker application. I was surprised that none of my friends had any interest in applying for the opportunity and was even more surprised at the revelation that most of the naysayers in my life were people who were close to me—people I had known for a long time. With this thought as the backdrop in my mind, I started working on the application. In just two nights of purposeful intensity, I finished a first draft of the speech, which was the major component of the application; however, I decided that I would not share my progress with anyone until my application was submitted—I was finished letting negative people sprinkle their opinions in my life. Every day for a week, I worked on the application, refining sentences, phrases, and whole paragraphs. I wanted each statement, each word, to reflect a universal message of hope, accomplishment, and inspiration, not just to my fellow classmates, but also to all who would hear it.

By the end of the week, and several days before the deadline, I submitted my application with all the required documents. I felt very strongly that the speech represented me, the student body, and the university well. The process beyond that point was out of my hands.

There were three rounds to the application process: the first was passing all the application requirements; the next was having the speech reviewed, evaluated, and scored by a mixed group of student leaders and faculty members; and the final part was auditioning in front of a panel comprising the Dean of Students and other faculty members and student leaders.

After I submitted my application, I went back to my life and did not think about the application any further. My goal was just to apply and see what happened. Two weeks later, I received a letter in the mail informing me that I met the requirements and that my speech was moving to round two. It would be reviewed and scored by the graduation commencement review board. Less than one week after that, I was in my room when I received a phone call.

“Mr. Luffborough,” said a man with a baritone voice, “I am with this year’s graduation commencement review board, and I’m calling to congratulate you for passing the second round and to schedule your final oral audition with our review board next week!”

I was beside myself with surprise and excitement. I immediately took out my planner to reserve one of the available slots. I was ecstatic. I had made it to the finals, and now it was on! I decided that I needed to take it up another level, but how? I only had one week to prepare.

I took out the speech and read it from beginning to end, pausing and taking notes where I thought I could improve it. When I finished, I still felt like something was missing . . . but I could not figure out what it was.

Deciding I needed a mental break, I turned on my nature music and stared at the bridge picture at the foot of my bed, meditating about the present moment and the possibility of becoming the student commencement speaker. I envisioned myself standing at the edge of the dock. Then, the dock transformed into a stage at the old Boston Garden. Speaking with confidence and conviction to a sea of excited graduates, proudly wearing their graduation gowns, hats, and tassels, I conducted the audience into embracing their overwhelming pride. I could hear the applause of friends and family members swelling to a roar in the auditorium.

In that moment, I saw myself singing in my speech. I jumped up from bed. That was it! I needed to start my speech by singing like Maya Angelou had my freshman year! After nine years of singing in high school and college, and singing musical selections at karaoke and during the last call for alcohol at the local watering holes, I knew I could carry a note or two. My only obstacle now was that I did not know what song to sing, and more importantly, how I would connect the song to my speech.

The next day I called my mother to tell her that I was chosen as a finalist for the student commencement speaker, and I told her about my daydream about opening my speech by singing. Ma was very supportive.

“Douglas, that is so great,” she said. “I told you that one day all of those music lessons would pay off. Yes, you should sing for them. No one else will do that.”

“Yeah, Ma, I think singing will set me apart from the others, but the only problem is I don’t know what song to sing,” I replied. In the long, silent pause on the phone, I could tell my mother was thinking.

“If God inspired you to sing, then I am in agreement with it, and I’m positive that He will give you the song. Just spend some time praying, and God will reveal it to you.”

This response soothed me, as I had come to know it as her default anytime we came to a crossroad in life. My mother always trusted in God for direction, and nine times out of ten, God responded.

I worked on my speech for hours. “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)” by Harry Belafonte kept coming back to me. But I couldn’t figure out how this Jamaican calypso folk song could tie it all together. Sure, it was a fan favorite at the karaoke bars at the end of the night. The song is widely known as a work song, as it’s sung from the point of view of dock workers who spend all night loading bananas onto ships, and when daylight appears, the shift is over and they want their work to be counted up so they can go home. Even though the connection wasn’t clear, I had to trust that the song kept returning to me for a reason. I was determined to find a way to connect it to my story.

Then, an inner voice—what my mother calls the Holy Spirit—spoke clearly and directly to me: “Home, daylight come and me want to go home. When you were a senior in high school, you were homeless and had no place to stay. Slow the melody of the song down, and sing it from a place of being homeless—as if you were recounting the days you spent on the streets, in the motel, couch-hopping from friends’ homes, and sleeping on the floor at Joe’s place.” I heard these words whispered into my ears and my heart, so right away I worked on revising my speech to connect the metaphor. I was certain this was the direction I needed to take, but I wanted to try it out in public before my audition.

I went back to the training department at John Hancock and asked Steven Bell and his team to give me some constructive feedback, and they graciously agreed to serve as my panel of friendly critics. I felt very nervous but told myself that if I couldn’t do it in front of less than twenty familiar faces, then how could I do it in front of thousands of not-so-friendly faces? With the confidence of a lion, I roared the opening bars of the Banana Boat Song from a place of being homeless, and in that moment, I saw the eyes well up on the faces of those staring at me. It was the first time since being homeless that I had emotionally put myself back in that situation, and it took everything inside me to finish the song and the speech without breaking down.

“Wow, Doug, what a voice,” one person said, and then others chimed in.

“Why that song and why did you change the melody that way?”

“Oh, I loved the song, but I would sing it this way.”

“What a story, Doug. I never knew you were homeless; you are such an inspiration to so many others . . . keep going.”

“There are some areas that need work, but I think you are on to something.”

Their responses were both encouraging and constructive—and the group was unanimous that opening my speech by singing was the best way to do it. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking of Ms. G and her pep talks about singing from my heart and using music to tell my story. She never knew how impactful her teaching and mentoring was for me, but I felt that winning this competition was a way for me to let her know.

By the day of my audition, my speech had undergone multiple iterations and had been reviewed by over a dozen critical friends who provided feedback, guidance, and constructive opinions. I felt that what remained was my very best work. It was out of my hands and in the hands of the judges.

I arrived fifteen minutes early, just as Coach Miller had taught me when I was ten years old. I checked in and sat down in the hallway, fiddling with the paper on which my speech was written, so much so that it lost its crisp and neatly prepared shape. There I sat, alone in the hallway, and I couldn’t help recounting the experience of living on the street less than five years prior. Regardless of the outcome, I had already won. There was nothing for me to be ashamed of. I had accomplished so much more than I ever thought was possible.  

A voice called out from the other end of the hallway. “Doug Luffborough!” “Yes,” I replied, jumping up from my seat. “We are ready for you,” the voice came back. As I walked down the hallway, I heard a bell go off in my head from the Rocky movie, and I knew there was no turning back. I gave myself a silent pep talk. Let’s do this. This is my Whitney Houston, one-moment-in-time chance to let them know what Doug Luffborough is all about, and I will never get this type of opportunity again, so let them have it.

When I walked into the room, I introduced myself to a panel of five people staring at me with blank, expectant faces. Three were faces of faculty members that I vaguely recognized, and the two others were student leaders on campus—but I did not know or have personal relationships with any of them. After I introduced myself, I handed out an updated speech. The judges seemed amicable to the change, so without any second thoughts, I put my head back, rolled my eyes back in my head, and took a deep and powerful breath. I opened my mouth with confidence and sang.

“Day-O, Day-O . . .” And just like my pre-audition with my co-workers at John Hancock, when I opened my eyes and looked at the judges, their eyes were welled up with tears. I could see that they were doing everything they could to fight off the emotional connections the song was making with them, just like what happened to me five years earlier with Maya Angelou’s speech. It was then that I thought, I might just get this thing.

When I finished my speech, the judges still seemed to be fighting back tears, but they maintained the same stoic demeanors they displayed as I entered the room. One member of the panel said, “Thank you, Doug. We have five finalists, and we will make our decision in about a week. Regardless of the outcome, you will hear back from us. Thank you for coming in.”

Outside the building in the quad area, I felt the weight of all that pressure had lifted. There was no trace of the stuttering impediment that plagued me in the third grade and throughout most of elementary and middle school. It was not an overnight transformation, but this was when public speaking became natural to me, as natural as breathing. In one way or another, I wanted to become a professional speaker and move others with my words.

Before I knew it, a week had passed and I received the phone call I had been waiting for. “Doug, I want to start off by congratulating you for being chosen as our next student commencement speaker for Northeastern University.”

“Wow,” I said, in total amazement. “I am so excited and honored to win this distinction and to represent my class.” In that conversation, I learned that I needed to meet with the president of the university, who would assign a speech coach to work with me, but that bar none, my speech was the best and the most creative. I had put myself out there by singing, but my motto in life was swiftly becoming, “Go big or go home.” God knew what He was doing, and I immediately called my mother to tell her the good news. I went to my bedroom and lay on my bed to make the call, and as the phone rang, the boardwalk picture at the foot of my bed caught my attention.

“Ma, you are never going to believe this, but I did it! We did it! I was chosen as the student commencement speaker for my graduation!” “Praise God,” she replied. “I knew it! I knew you could do it. Thank you, Jesus. Yes!” I added to her excitement. “I don’t know who the keynote speaker will be at this point, but usually it’s someone famous, and I will be sharing the podium with that person. I cannot believe that they chose me!”

“Well, whoever it is, it will be someone that complements you, son. Now is your time, and I have a feeling that whoever speaks will be moved with what you have to say,” Mom said confidently. They picked me, they picked me, I do have something to say! I said to myself after getting off the phone.

The next week, I started working with my speech coach. To my surprise, he did not cut up the speech or re-write it. The only thing we worked on was my delivery, formalizing certain comments and phrases, and slightly condensing the speech to fit within a seven-minute window that had little wiggle room.

After my speech was polished, I went to my meeting with John Curry, who was then President of Northeastern University. He was a very warm and welcoming person. He wanted to know more about my family and me, and he reviewed my transcript. “So, Doug, tell me a little something about yourself.”

“Well, sir, I grew up in Worcester, the oldest of four and the first person in my family to go to college.” The words flowed freely from my lips as I continued. “I had a tough upbringing but have learned to take my disadvantages in life and turn them around.”

Next, Mr. Curry shared his story, and as he was talking, I realized that this was a bigger deal than I expected. He looked at me with serious composure and asked, “Is there anything in your past that I need to know about that could reflect negatively on the university?” I got nervous, not wanting to self-sabotage this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, yet I also wanted to be as transparent as possible.

“I have nothing to hide, President Curry. My story is true. I grew up without a dad, had challenges in school, was involved in a breakdance gang, and was homeless my senior year of high school. That’s it. I have never been arrested and really want to make you, my mother, my mentors, and the university proud. This is an opportunity of a lifetime, sir, and I’m not trying to mess it up.”

Assured by my confidence, President Curry nodded and said seriously, “Good, because the spotlight will certainly be on you and the university. Our keynote speaker for your graduation will be the President Bill Clinton.”

I grabbed the desk with both hands. Excuse me? The President of the United States will be the keynote speaker?! No pressure there. My internal sarcasm competed with my enthusiasm, but shock won out. I felt like I blacked out for a couple of seconds, and chills went down my spine as I envisioned preceding the President of the United States of America. If there was ever a time to step up to a challenge, now was it. For most of my life, I had sought shadows instead of spotlights, and now I would share my story and the stage with the President of the United States while my mom, Mr. Cott, Coach Miller, Mrs. Quinn, Ms. G, Pam Boisvert, Steven Bell, and the rest of the world watched.

The news travelled fast, and students came up to me saying things like, “Wow, how did you get that?” and “Are you ready to speak before the President? What an honor.” The team that had helped me with my speech at John Hancock was ecstatic. Every time I passed one of them in the hallway, they looked at me as if to say, “That’s my boy!” Pride gleamed from them.

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