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Good morning and buenos dias!

I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say today. 
But more than that—I thought about what I wanted you to feel.

Because today is not just a transactional milestone.
This moment isn’t just significant—it is sacred.
And sacred moments require us to pause.
To reflect.
To remember.

Lately, for deeply personal reasons, I’ve been thinking a great deal about memory. 
Memory not just as a recollection of things past, but as a reverent act of love.

Memory is a gift.
A quiet, enduring gift.
It is how we honor what mattered.
It is how we name what was true.
And it is how we carry forward not just our histories—but the sacrifices that made our very presence possible.

Before we speak to what comes next— I ask for your indulgence for where this began.  In my case with a compass rusted by salt and time.

It sits on my desk now, but it belonged to my father. He carried it in his hand as he crossed an ocean, seeking freedom, guided only by hope and an unshakable belief in something better.

He had no roadmap.
Just courage.
Just resolve.

That compass reminds me—every single day—that this work is not abstract.
It is not detached.
It is personal.
It is sacred.

Because I am not here by chance.
I am here because of sacrifice.

I am the product of a public mission—of public-school teachers (graduates from Jersey City State and Kean College) who believed in a working-class son of immigrants before he knew how to believe in himself.
People who labored in dignity, with little applause, to give their children a fighting chance.

And that story—it’s not just mine.

It belongs to every student we serve.

The student who takes evening classes after a full day’s work.
The mother who packs a lunch for her child and a borrowed textbook for herself.
The veteran who quietly rewrites his future, line by line.
The first-generation scholar who walks onto our campus for the first time not knowing exactly how they’ll make it—but determined to try.

The DREAMer who moves through each day with quiet courage—carrying two languages, two homes, and a future that demands twice the faith.

These are the stories that define Ұ������ and Kean.

They are not exceptions. They are the reason we exist.

And today—with this partnership—we build a bridge not away from that legacy, but deeper into it.

Nearly 100 years ago, Ұ������ was born of necessity.
It was created not for the privileged few, but for the many—for the working families, the dreamers, the doers, the ones who carried hope like an heirloom.

Today, with Kean University, we renew that promise for a second century.
And let me be absolutely clear:
This is not just a merger.
It is a moral proposition.

A declaration that public higher education—at its boldest and most faithful—can still be a gateway.
Still be a sanctuary.
Still be a launchpad for lives that would otherwise be written off.

And for that, I am deeply grateful to my partner in this work—Dr. Lamont Repollet.

Thank you, my friend. Thank you for your conviction. For your stewardship.
And for daring to believe that two proud, public institutions could come together not in compromise—but in covenant.

To your extraordinary team at Kean: thank you for your clarity, your collaboration, and your courage.

To Ұ������’s Board of Trustees: thank you for your steadfast leadership and your unflinching commitment to values that have always outlasted volatility.

To our faculty, our staff, our senior leaders: you have carried this institution through seasons of strain and still poured yourselves into our students with unrelenting care. You are the soul of this place.

And to those whose labor is too often unspoken but never unfelt—those who repair our buildings, who ready our classrooms, who keep our campuses safe and dignified: this day is yours, too.

Your work is not peripheral. It is foundational.

You remind us that the mission of education is not upheld by vision alone—but by hands.
Calloused. Skilled. Steady.
The kind of hands that built this university.
And the kind that will build what comes next.

And to our labor brothers and sisters—thank you.

Your solidarity has been steadfast.
Your advocacy principled.
Your commitment to the dignity of work and the humanity of our mission has shaped our university not just physically—but morally.

Our institution is stronger because of your voice, your partnership, and your unshakable belief that progress must never come at the cost of people.

We are also grateful for the steady counsel and collaboration of those entrusted with helping us navigate this critical chapter with care—including our state partners who have walked alongside us with purpose. I particularly want to acknowledge Mr. Amoroso, whose engagement has helped ensure that our path forward wasn't just about oversight but fidelity to mission and community. And on a personal note: thank you for the quiet strength you helped fortify in moments that demanded more than resolve. It made me stronger.

This partnership is about consecration—of purpose, of people, of promise.

It is the convergence of two institutions that have always understood something essential:
That education is not a luxury.
It is a public good.
A democratic promise.
A moral obligation.

So let us be bold in saying what this is:

This is not a concession.
It is a commitment.

This is not an end.
It is a beginning.

We are reclaiming what public universities were always meant to be:
Not fortresses of privilege, but beacons of possibility.

Let this day be remembered not for the press release, but for the promise.

The promise that the next generation of first-generation students—students with grit in their eyes and hope in their hearts—will not have to climb alone.

Let us be worthy of the trust placed in us.
Worthy of the sacrifices that brought us here.
Worthy of the future that is still being written.

We have not just been appointed to this work.  My faith affirms for me that we were anointed for it.

So let this be our legacy:

That in a time of uncertainty, we moved with conviction.
That in an era of division, we chose community.
That when the road narrowed—we built a bridge.

And may we build something so audacious, so lasting, and so just—
that when our students rise, as they always do, they can look back and say:
“They built that bridge for me.”

Thank you. God bless you all. Now let's get to work!