Ben Carson

Vol. 19, No. 33

June 8, 2000

Commencement 2000

Ben Carson tells of his journey from poverty

Benjamin S. Carson went from an angry street fighter in Detroit to become director of pediatric neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Carson, who attributes his escape from the poverty of his youth to the support and love of his mother, is the recipient of numerous honors and awards, including an honorary degree from UD in 1997.

His autobiography, Gifted Hands, chronicles the road from a broken home and poor self-esteem to his life today. His second book, Think Big, elaborates on his philosophy of success in life, and his newest book, The Big Picture, offers an in-depth look at a professional surgeon's life, as well as his perspectives on priorities, race, society, success and living out a life of faith in a complex world.

He and his wife, Candy, created a program known as the Carson Scholars Fund, for students in grades four through 12 in Maryland, Delaware and Washington, D.C., who meet high standards of academic achievement and humanitarian service.

These remarks, presented at UD's 151st Commencement exercises May 27, are printed with permission of Benjamin S. Carson Sr., M.D.

Congratulations to all the graduates. You know that a Commencement builds dreams. I think back on a time when I was in your seat and also even much further back than that, when I was a youngster sometimes spending hours sitting in the hallways of Detroit's Receiving Hospital or Boston City Hospital.

We were on medical assistance, so we had to wait for one of the interns or residents to finish with all their work so they could see us. But, I used to entertain myself by listening to the PA system: "Dr. Jones, Dr. Jones to the emergency room; Dr. Johnson, Dr. Johnson to the clinic." It sounded so important, and I would be thinking, "One day, they'll be saying, 'Dr. Carson, Dr. Carson to the operating room.'" But, of course, nowadays we have beepers, so I still don't get to hear it. But, it was wonderful having that dream. You know, you have to have something that inspires you to go on.

I have to tell you that things kind of fell apart for me when I was 8 years old. My parents got divorced. My mother was one of 24 children and got married at age 13. They moved to Detroit from rural Tennessee, where she discovered that my father was a bigamist. (I was telling that story at a commencement at the University of Utah. Nobody thought it was that strange. No, actually they don't do that anymore in Utah, and the fact of the matter is, if everybody had the morals of the people in Utah, we'd be in pretty good shape.)

But, at any rate, things kind of fell apart, and we moved to Boston. (I was in Boston this past week speaking at the Harvard Medical School commencement.) But, things weren't so good while we were living there. We lived in one of the tenements. We became very, very familiar with poverty. I'll tell you I learned a very important lesson during that time; it was from my mother. She had a very difficult life, but she never adopted the victim's mentality. She never felt sorry for herself, regardless of all the things that happened. And, that was a good thing. The problem was she never felt sorry for us, either.

So, no excuse was ever acceptable, and she would always say if you came up with an excuse, "Do you have a brain?" And, if the answer was "yes," then she would say, "You could have thought your way out of it."

Well, eventually we moved back to Detroit; poverty was rampant. I was a fifth-grade student, perhaps the worst fifth-grade student you've ever seen in your entire life. My idea of a good day was when I got somebody else kicked out of class. Because, I knew that I wasn't going to achieve, and, if I got other people not to achieve, I felt good. You know, misery loves company. And, my nickname was "Dummy." We were having an argument one time about who was the dumbest kid in the class, and it wasn't that big of an argument. They all agreed it was me. But, the problem was somebody tried to extend the argument to who was the dumbest person in the world. And, I took exception with that, so we had a rather vigorous argument.

Unfortunately, that day, we had a math quiz and I got a zero. Now, that wasn't a problem; I always got a zero. The problem was that, on that day, the teacher said you had to pass your test to the person behind you, let them correct it and give it back to you. The teacher would call your name out loud and you had to report your score--out loud. Now, this was great if you got a 95 or a 100, but not so good if you got a zero, and you knew everybody was going to laugh when you said it. So, I started scheming. I thought, "I know what I'll do. When she calls my name, I'll mumble. Maybe she'll misinterpret what I said, just write it down and move on." So, when she called my name, I said "nuhhhhhhn." And she said "Nine! Oh, Benjamin, this is great! I knew you could do it. See, class, I've been telling you all this time. Look what Benjamin has done!" Finally, the girl behind me couldn't stand it any longer, and she stood up and said, "He said, 'None!'" Well, of course, the kids were rolling in the aisles, and the teacher was so embarrassed and, if I could have disappeared into thin air, I would gladly have done so. But, I couldn't, so I had to just sit there and act like it didn't bother me, but it did. It bothered me a lot, not enough to make me study, but it bothered me a lot.

I was very fortunate because my mother, even though she had had only a third-grade education, believed in me. She was always saying, "Benjamin, you're much too smart to be bringing home grades like this." It didn't help, but she always said it. The thing that really helped was she prayed and she asked God to give her the wisdom to know what to do to get her young sons to understand the importance of intellectual development, because my brother was doing poorly also. You know something? He gave her the wisdom, at least in her opinion. My brother and I didn't think it was all that wise, because it was to turn off the TV. She let us watch only two or three TV programs during the week and, with all that spare time, read two books apiece from the Detroit Public Library and submit to her written book reports, which she couldn't read. But, of course, we didn't