Remarks by Del Gonzales
Thank you for that very kind introduction Dean Munemo. I’m very honored to be the recipient of such a prestigious award and, honestly, at first, I couldn’t believe it.
On Class & Charter Day, when they were announcing the awards, the recipient of the award before the Soper Merrill, the Fillius Drown Prize Scholarship, was selected because he helped discover a planet. A whole planet! Shoutout to Isa Khan. So when Dean Munemo went on to introduce the winner of the Soper Merrill, I thought I had no shot.
I mean the only thing I’ve discovered in the past four years is how to awkwardly wave at people on Martins way (does it).
So Dean Munemo says “This year's winner is Del”. If you were there, you may recall that my face looked something like this… (does face). I was completely in disbelief.
But disbelief isn’t new for me. When I was admitted to Hamilton, I felt the same way.
I attended a public school in Louisiana, where the state education was ranked 49th out of 50 in the nation at the time.
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d end up at a small liberal arts college in upstate New York. I thought I’d go to a state school, where football is the main focus and no one has ever heard of an “Adirondack chair.” So when I opened my Hamilton acceptance letter and saw confetti, I was stunned. Because, for the first time, I felt like maybe something unexpected was possible for me.
When I got here, though, that disbelief came back. I was convinced I had somehow tricked admissions — maybe they just liked my name (Delbert Gonzales)? I couldn’t believe that I belonged. So to make myself believe I belonged, I threw myself into everything. At any given moment I was in two or three clubs, working two or three jobs, balancing classes, attending rehearsals, and whatever else I could fit in. And I know I wasn’t alone. Parents, professors, ask a student if you can see their google calendar and I promise you: you’ll see so many colored blocks you’d think you're about to lose in a game of tetris.
We all stretched ourselves thin, and yet somehow we still showed up to each other’s games, performances, and presentations… especially if there was free food.
Somewhere along the way the need to prove myself and the disbelief, shifted into a sense of belonging. And that’s because of this community.
Although we all have different majors and interests and have been on different sport teams and clubs. I think we can all say we are each graduating with a major in “Community”.
In a clown workshop I attended, the instructor called it “communal effervescence”. It’s this shared feeling of energy and excitement when people come together for the same purpose or event. Like right now you watching this speech or over the course of these four years with each of us here with the common goal of learning and supporting each other.
And it’s in the small things. It’s a professor pulling you aside after class just to say “you’ve got something.” It’s a friend texting “you were amazing” after your show. It’s Kevin at MCQ saying “Happy Monday.”
Sometimes it takes a community of people believing in you, even when you don’t, for you to believe in yourself.
We talk a lot about Hamilton’s resources, but the real resource isn’t that 1 billion dollar endowment. It’s the people. The friends, mentors, staff, and family.
And if you’re ever in doubt, like I was, if you ever forget that you do belong — I hope you hear the voices of the people who believed in you here, and I hope you carry those voices forward. Because out in the world, it will matter that we uplift each other. That we stay connected. That we don’t just believe in ourselves, but keep believing in each other.
So to the people who’ve believed in me: Professor Bahr, Aaron Ray, Amy Gaffney, Mark Cryer, Emily K. Harrison and the entire theatre department and of course all of you: Thank you.
And if you’re still in disbelief today, let’s believe this much: what we’ve done here matters. We’ve grown, we changed, and we made a difference.
Congratulations, Class of 2025.
Believe it.
We did it.
