land. He talked about them and the new Indian democracy, which was then just about 30 years old. He talked of the Hindu religion and of its philosophy of tolerance. He talked of the eternal things: of hope, of love, of friendship, of wisdom, of his dreams and aspirations for the future. On and on into the night he talked: of life, of liberty, of <strong>Rotary</strong>, of peace, the deepest sentiments of the human soul. Eventually, he got up off the floor and went to the corner of his living room where he had a little Hindu shrine. He picked up a small, faded paper and he came and stood in front of me. I can see him today, standing there with such dignity and majesty — a five-foot, brown-skinned, wrinkled, white-haired old man. And then he said, “Rick, this poem reflects my dreams for my life and my country.” Ninety-four years old! “It is the poem your great American poet Robert Frost read at the inauguration of John Kennedy.” And he began to read. He was mistaken: Frost had read a different poem at Kennedy’s inauguration, but I didn’t correct him. And always in my mind, I see him as he stood there that night and read Frost’s immortal words: The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. I looked at my watch and it was 5:00 in the morning, but I wasn’t tired anymore. I had been refreshed in the human spirit, as if I’d had a long shower and 12 hours of sleep. I looked into the face of this wise old man and reached over and touched his feet with the mark of respect, the way one does a patriarch in an Indian family. And then I couldn’t help myself: I grabbed this little white-haired man into my arms, pressed him against my chest, and with all my heart and soul, I loved him, I truly loved him. A perfect stranger, one night, way out in the Great Indian Desert. I will never forget him. I saw him once — He stood a moment there. His eyes met mine — And laid my spirit bare. He held my hand — Then passed beyond my ken — But what I was — I will never be again. What was the miracle that caused his life to cross paths with mine, that made me the recipient of such a gift? The miracle was <strong>Rotary</strong>. He was a Rotarian, and lucky for me, so was I. The first man put me into <strong>Rotary</strong>. The second put <strong>Rotary</strong> into me! Who touched you? And so, this week, here, at this time and in this place, you begin the journey. And when the <strong>Rotary</strong> club presidents in your district wonder how you ever got selected, just remember the words of Bishop Fulton J. Sheen: “If they’re kicking you in the rear, you must be out in front!” In the words of Past <strong>Rotary</strong> <strong>International</strong> President Richard L. Evans: It sometimes seems that we live as if we wondered when life was going to begin. It isn’t always clear just what we are looking for, but some of us sometimes persist in waiting so long that life slips by — finding us still waiting for something that has been going on all the time. . . . There is no reason to doubt . . . good intentions — but when in the world are we going to begin to live as if we understood that this is it? This is life? This is our time, our day, <strong>International</strong> Assembly Speeches 2013 11
our generation . . . our one chance to do something for somebody else. This is the life in which the work of this life is to be done. . . . This is it, whether we are thrilled or disappointed, busy or bored! Givers or takers. This is life, it is all we’ve got — and it is passing. What in the world are we waiting for? John Adams said, “Only two kinds of people in this world ever really count: those who make commitments, and those who keep them.” Governors of <strong>Rotary</strong> <strong>International</strong>, you have made your commitment. Go now, and keep it! 12 <strong>International</strong> Assembly Speeches 2013