A lasting inspiration

In his dying days, Randy Pausch set a new standard for academic soul-searching, last lecture tradition

Randy Pausch tenderly recalled childhood dreams of floating in zero gravity and winning stuffed animals at fairs. He offered earnest advice on life and how to live it. He vowed to savor every moment of his dying days because "there's no other way to play it."

Meant as a parting message to his three young children, Pausch's "Last Lecture" mesmerized millions, first on YouTube, then in a best-selling book. On college campuses, the Carnegie Mellon professor's words, delivered last September shortly after he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, resonated even deeper.

Moved by Pausch's example, colleges across the country introduced and revived the tradition of last lectures this spring and found that the academic ritual newly inspired students and faculty alike. From the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester to the University of Virginia to Occidental College in Los Angeles, scholars delivered lectures as if they would never give another, seizing the opportunity to share their thoughts on what makes a life well lived.

"There aren't many opportunities in our culture to ask the bigger questions, and this is one of them," said Alice Laffey, a religious studies profes sor at Holy Cross who in a last lecture in February urged students to know themselves and what they love.

Pausch, who died July 25 at age 47, described his speech as a way of putting himself "in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for my children." In his lecture, he observed that "experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted" and that "brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something."

He focused almost exclusively on happy memories and mentioned his cancer only in passing. "We cannot change the cards we are dealt," he said, "just how we play the hand."

The last lecture tradition has been around academia for years, both for departing professors and for those imagining they were. Faculty members are asked to pass along words of wisdom as if it were their final opportunity, and the exercise usually elicits lighthearted advice, bittersweet reminiscing, and no small amount of personal reflection.

For Pausch, a computer scientist, the speech was not an exercise, and his humor and courage in facing death earned him widespread admiration. In the academic community, the words and wisdom of a fellow teacher struck a deeply personal chord and prompted soul-searching about lives and careers.

For even the most brilliant minds, however, following in Pausch's footsteps was daunting, and many said they were nearly overwhelmed by the task. But professors said they came to realize that a tradition designed to pass wisdom from teachers to students doubled as a path to self-discovery.

"Of all the people in the room, the person for whom it was most valuable was me," said Peter Norton, a science and technology professor at the University of Virginia. "It really helped me see what I cared about most in life. I definitely came out of the experience different than I came in."

Norton, 44, said he initially feared that he had little of value to say before realizing "there are a lot of things I could have told the 20-year-old me."

Curry College in Milton was one of the colleges that brought back the tradition this year. Wellesley College faculty are discussing plans to resume the lectures this fall.

Yet Pausch's impact went far beyond organizing lecture series. University administrators and faculty say they were touched by Pausch's courage and clarity of vision, and took his practical and philosophical lessons to heart. Lecturers marveled at Pausch's closeness with his students and his heartfelt and dynamic speaking style. Many, in keeping with Plato's admonition to "practice dying," vowed to lead fuller lives.

"If you watch his video in a serious manner, you can never look at life in the same way again," said Curtis J. Bonk, an Indiana University professor who has written in his blog about the personal impact of Pausch's lecture.

Pausch's earnest desire to pass along what he had learned to his students crystallized, in an unusually moving way, the "precious relationship between a teacher and a student," said Maryanne Wolf, professor of child development at Tufts University.

"It renewed in me a poignant awareness of the joy and sorrow and responsibility that we all have in imparting a body of knowledge to others," she said.

For the vast number of baby boomer professors nearing retirement and mulling their professional legacy and next stage in life, Pausch's meditations rang true.

"There's a huge block of faculty who moved through the system in the late '60s and the '70s who are about to leave," said William Coleman, a Wellesley College chemistry professor who gave a last lecture several years ago, before the series lapsed at Wellesley. "They are wondering on a personal level if they can continue as scholars and how they will make the transition to life outside of academics. That's part of the reason it resonated so strongly."

Pausch wrote the book, which expands on his original speech, with Jeffrey Zaslow, a columnist for The Wall Street Journal whose story about the last lecture vaulted it to prominence. Released in April, "The Last Lecture" flew up the bestseller list and still ranks number one among hardcover advice books on The New York Times list.

Pausch's example, while inspiring, was difficult to emulate, and many professors found the process of crafting last lectures emotionally draining.

David J. Skorton, Cornell University president, who delivered a lecture in the spring, said it was "one of the hardest speeches I've ever had to deliver." Yet he said the talk, which urged students to remain humble and remember that a "thin veneer" separates the powerful and powerless, was highly rewarding.

"Writing it, there was a moment of trepidation, almost panic," he said. "But being able to give a talk that is somewhat outside of yourself, I felt almost liberated."

For others who delivered lectures last spring, a time of intense media attention on Pausch, it was a bit like following a beautiful toast at a wedding.

"When my turn came up, he was all over the news," said Diane Webber, a Curry College professor. "I thought 'Oh my God, I can't compete with this guy.' "

The problem is, said Coleman, "a new standard has been set."

Peter Schworm can be reached at schworm@globe.com.