In September 2002, Roadside Theater's Ron Short received the Outstanding Alumni Award from his alma mater, the University of Virginia's College at Wise. Here are his remarks upon accepting the honor.

I must apologize and confess to the Alumni Awards Committee that when I received the letter notifying me that I had been chosen to receive this award, I didn't take it too seriously.

When my wife saw it, she said, "Oh Ron, this is an honor. This is really special!"

And I answered, "Oh honey, it's Homecoming Week. They're just looking for things to do."

She did what she always does when I don't agree with her; she called one of her friends who does agree with her. This time the friend happened to be Marcia Quesenberry who said, "You tell him that he better take this seriously. It is special and an honor, and "Papa" Joe Smiddy is a past recipient."

When I heard Joe's name, I knew it was serious.

Maybe if I can explain my reasons to the Committee, they will understand better my reluctance to accept the notion of an award.

This reluctance does not come from the standard notion that all Appalachian people believe that anything they might do is unworthy of merit. A notion, by the way, that is greatly misunderstood by most people. Appalachian people don't lack faith in their own value, but we grew up in a culture where the good of the whole is more important the admiration of the individual. That's what "Don't get above your raising" really means.

My bigger sense of reluctance comes from the fact that I have been fortunate enough to have been surrounded by truly "special" people all my life, and it is hard for me to see myself in that list:

• It starts with my mother, a woman who can take a scrap of wool, a piece of flannel, and create a work of art that will also keep you warm!
  
  She told me from the day I was born, "You are as good as anyone, but don't ever believe that you are better than anyone else!"
  
  
• My grandmother, who taught me in no uncertain terms--"There's a difference between being special and being 'bigheaded'!" It was she who, without ever knowing it, contributed greatly toward my being a writer when one day I overheard her say, "That boy asks too many questions, he won't live to be fully growed."
  
  Right then I stopped talking so much and started listening more carefully, and it is the skill of "deep listening" that I believe is the first prerequisite for being a writer.
  
  
• My father. What can I possibly say about my father that will help you understand how important he is?
  
  There was a time when only nobility and wealthy people were called "mister," and, whether we want to admit it or not, class prejudice still determines how we treat people today.
  
  My father is a working man, a farmer, coalminer, barber, but you can go to Wise and ask anybody and they'll say, "Oh yes, I know Mr. Short." They all call him "mister."
  
  I was over in Scott County a while back looking at some land out in the middle of nowhere, when a man on a four-wheeler rode up, obviously not too happy that we were there.
  
  "Who are you and what do you want?"
  
  When I explained, he said, "Oh, I know you! You're Mr. Short's son!"
  
  "Mr. Short." I don't think anybody has ever called me "Mr. Short," because, unlike my Dad, I haven't earned it yet.
  
  
• My brother and sisters, who have, with hard work and courage, built a life for themselves.
  
  By most standards in this country, I have not been successful. I have never made much money nor have I been famous, but my brother and sisters have always treated me like I was a success. They have never made me feel unimportant or small.
  
  
• My friends, who are here today. It is not hard to be my friend, but it seems hard to stay my friend. Sometimes it seems like in that small, creative, myopic space of the artistic mind, there is room for only one, but they have stayed my friends in spite of my faults, and they are here today proving that friendship.
  
  Thank you.
  
  
• My friends and colleagues at Roadside Theater. For 25 years, we have struggled together to create a body of work with value and purpose. Always, it seems, that work has been under-appreciated and under-funded. They have always struggled yet never has there been a time when they didn't create an environment of intellectual and artistic challenge for me to work within. And no matter how hard we have had to struggle, we have never lost hope or faith in our work and each other.
  
  
• Finally, and most importantly, my wife, Joan. It is not because she has spent her life with me in full support of my work and encouragement for my gifts, because she has, but it is for her own work, which is special beyond recognition. Everyday my wife goes out and saves lives. She is a teacher. There is not a year that goes by that the cards, the notes, the letters don't come to our house saying:
  
  "You saved my child's life!"
  "We had given up all hope, but you made the difference."
  "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me."
  
  Ladies and gentlemen, that is "special."

So I hope the Committee will forgive me for my initial doubts. I do thank you for this award. It is an honor for me to receive it, but most of all, I thank you for this opportunity to recognize the truly special people in my life. I might never have this opportunity again, and I share this moment and this award with them.

Life is made up of little moments. This quote from Wendell Berry pretty much says it all for me.

"It is the height of human arrogance to say that we will save the universe when we don't even try to save the foot of ground on which we stand. But if we should somehow, all of us, save the foot of ground on which we stand, we will, in fact, save the universe."

Thank you.