Speech for the “Harry’s Last Lecture” series at Stanford University
Sandra Day O’Connor Thank you so much. Thank you, Richard. Now, this is a surprising and daunting effort for me I’m just an unemployed cowgirl at present. And so there’s little chance that I’ll be able to state for you, oh, the meaning of life. 58 years ago, I graduated from this wonderful university. There were good many times during my years here, and that I attended services at this magnificent Stanford chapel. But I never expected to speak from this podium. And we’re gathered here this evening to remember and honor a Stanford professor who played a pivotal role in my life. And I think that of many others. The late Harry Rathbun. As you heard, I grew up on a family cattle ranch in an arid and remote part of southern Arizona and New Mexico. It was about 35 miles from the nearest town. My early companions were my parents, and five or six cowboys. My parents like to read so books also became my companions at the ranch. We were ranchers, we didn’t know lawyers and judges. My father had wanted to attend Stanford. But when he graduated from high school, his parents died soon after. And he was sent out to the Lazy B ranch to keep things going until his parents estate could be settled. That took close to 20 years. And he never left the Lazy B ranch. He never attended Stanford. I probably thought about Stanford because of my father’s admiration for it. I was sent away to El Paso, Texas to go to grade school and high school. I lived with my maternal grandmother. The only university