James E. Ryan Inauguration Remarks

Remarks by James E. Ryan for the Middlebury inauguration of President Ian B. Baucom.

November 2, 2025

“President as Teacher”

Good morning, everyone. Thank you, Professor Holmes, for that kind introduction. Thanks to all of you for having me. I’m honored to be here, and I am grateful to Ian and the Middlebury trustees for inviting me to speak.

Before I begin, I would like to acknowledge, as have others, the death of Lia Smith and to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I did not know her, but from what I have heard and read she was an outstanding and exceptionally talented person and student, and my heart goes out to her family, friends, and the entire Middlebury community.

As for my speech, I would like to say a few words this morning about the college president as teacher.

Presidents play many roles, as you know. Leader. Manager. Visionary. Realist. Strategist. Fundraiser. Cheerleader. Consoler. Mayor. Based on the nearly seven years we worked closely together, I can say with complete confidence that Ian Baucom will excel in all of these roles.

But presidents are also teachers. This is an underappreciated role, but it can be an extraordinarily powerful one. It is easy to miss the fact that presidents are teachers, given that presidents don’t usually teach classes in a traditional way—though I will note that Middlebury’s first president, Jeremiah Atwater, taught the entire curriculum by himself. Which I’m sure makes you wonder what I’m wondering: Why is Ian Baucom such a slacker?

Today, if presidents teach at all, they teach mostly by example, which remains one of the more effective pedagogical methods in any setting, including a college.

I realize that many of you might think that students, not to mention faculty and staff, will not learn from their president because they will pay no attention to their president. I respectfully disagree. I know from experience that at least students are watching. They may watch only long enough to learn there’s not much to see. But that in itself is a lesson—namely that the president has nothing useful or interesting to teach them. 

I am here to tell you that Ian Baucom has much to teach.  To begin, he was born to the role. He is a natural teacher, a genuine intellectual, and a fervent believer in the enduring value of the liberal arts.  

To cite one example: I recall early on in our friendship when Ian and I compared notes about recent vacations we had taken. I recounted how my wife, Katie, and I took our four kids to the Jersey Shore and spent a week playing miniature golf and eating an inordinate amount of fried food. When it was Ian’s turn, he explained that he and his wife, Wendy, had a getaway vacation to England and spent time reading Wordsworth’s poetry to each other in a beautiful country field. I said something lame in response, like: “Well, that was obviously our first choice, too…” 

In addition to his abiding intellectual curiosity, I am also confident about Ian’s talent as a teacher because he taught me many lessons by his example, more than I can relay here. I’ll mention just three, to give you a glimpse of what is in store for Middlebury.   

First, Ian confirmed for me that you can both lead and be a real and decent human being at the same time. I know that might not seem like a noteworthy accomplishment.  But you’d be surprised.  

Too often leaders assume they have to shield who they are as people when leading. They are afraid if they reveal too much of themselves, their authority will be diminished. Show weakness, admit mistakes, laugh at the wrong time, cry in public, spill something on your shirt—not that I’ve ever done that—all seem like potential risks. So many play the role of president but sublimate their actual selves while playing the role.  

I should pause to point out that this is not always a bad thing. It brings to mind advice I received in law school about interviewing for jobs. “Just be yourself,” I was told.  “Unless you’re a total jerk. Then be someone else.”  

Despite that caveat, I think it’s usually a mistake to be a president but not yourself, as opposed to a real person whose job is the presidency.  

If past is prologue, Ian will bring his true and entire self to his job. In collaboration with all of you, he will make wise, bold, and hard decisions, to be sure. But he will also admit mistakes. He will laugh and he will cry, sometimes even at the appropriate moments. He will talk about his family—not just Wendy, but also their six children—Gabriel, Leah, Psalms, Kiran, Camden, and Tristan. Just as importantly, he will ask about your family, and he will listen—and remember.  

Being a real person who is also a college president matters because most people trust real people, not someone wearing a costume, and they can usually tell the difference. With the trust of a community, there is no obstacle too difficult to overcome and no goal too ambitious to achieve. Without the community’s trust, you cannot lead. Period.

You will soon learn, if you haven’t already, that you can trust Ian for a lot of reasons, but especially because he is a genuine and genuinely decent person. And if nothing else, the world in and outside of academia needs more genuinely decent human beings in positions of leadership.

I also learned from Ian that inclusion and excellence go hand-in-hand. Ian spoke often about the phrase “We the people,” which starts off the preamble to our Constitution.  Ian noted that our country has become stronger as our conception of who belongs to the “we” expanded over time. He explained that the same was true of colleges and universities, which also opened their gates wider over time to allow any and all qualified applicants an opportunity to attend regardless of their backgrounds or identities.

But for Ian, it was never enough to admit a broadly diverse and fiercely talented group of students or hire an equally broad and talented group of faculty and staff, though that was a crucial starting point. Colleges and universities also need to do the daily work of ensuring that everyone in the community feels like they belong—like they are included and deserve to be there, as they do. 

For Ian, this is in part personal. His family consists of biological and adopted children, for whom there is no distinction in terms of love and affection. He understands on a visceral level the importance of feeling like you belong.

I couldn’t agree more with Ian’s perspective, in part because I was adopted. But more importantly, I agree because I think most people perform at their best when they are feeling confident. It is hard to feel confident, in turn, if you don’t feel welcome. So if you want your students, faculty, and staff to do their very best work, which is a president’s highest calling, it’s crucial to make people feel at home. They should be challenged, of course, but they should never question whether they belong.  

In his role as dean and then provost, Ian—and Wendy—were brilliant in making UVA feel like home to all they encountered, including by regularly opening their home to students, faculty, and staff. I am sure they will chart the same path here, and I am sure Middlebury will be the better for it.  

Indeed, you will stand as a counterexample to those who have seemingly abandoned the quintessentially American idea that the path to excellence is to draw from the widest pool possible, make those you invite into your community feel welcome, and create the conditions that enable all to succeed. Use whatever acronym you want, but if you give up on those ideals, you are giving up on excellence.   

Last, and relatedly, Ian taught me the importance of stubbornness. I should say the importance of selective stubbornness, because Ian is open to compromise. He is only stubborn when principles are at stake. Ian personifies the old adage, often wrongly attributed to Thomas Jefferson, that “in matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock.” 

In our work together, Ian inexorably focused on the principles that were at stake in decisions we needed to make. This could sometimes get tiring. I recall when we were discussing whether to build (yet another) parking garage, Ian wanted to know what principles we were advancing. After a few of us gently pointed out that the principle at stake was more parking, Ian explained that it was really about how we treated our staff and asked whether parking was the only or best thing to focus on. We moved ahead with the parking garage, but Ian’s question prompted a broader effort to identify pain points for our faculty and staff.  

Just as importantly, Ian refused to sacrifice basic principles, whether personal or institutional. Over the last year of my presidency, I was occasionally at odds with our board, which as you know sometimes happens and as you also know is never the president’s fault. In any event, the board was pushing in directions I did not think were in the best interests of UVA, and I would consult with Ian about whether I should give in or stand firm. Ian’s advice was to look for compromise when you can but hold fast where principles are involved—unless, of course, you are willing to give away your soul.   

(As a quick aside, I am grateful to report that, thanks in no small part to Ian and his advice, I may have lost my job as UVA’s president, but I kept my soul.)   

What Ian taught me is that “stubborn” and “principled” often look the same, especially to those who are unprincipled. But Ian would say do not be deterred.  

Instead, he would tell you to remember the wisdom of Emerson’s observation in “Self-Reliance” that “nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.” Which is to say that it actually matters, in an almost existential way, that you stay true to your principles and, in the case of college presidents, that you stay true to the principles upon which your institution rests. At the very least, you don’t toss principles aside because of political pressure or personal ambition.  

I cannot imagine a more important lesson to teach college students—or some college presidents, boards, and governors, for that matter. Here, too, Middlebury can be a beacon for others to follow.

Ian Baucom will be an outstanding and outstandingly principled president. He will also be a beloved teacher.  Like any good teacher, Ian will not be perfect and will make mistakes. Like the very best teachers, he will welcome constructive disagreement, and he will never stop learning from all of you. He will be a president you will absolutely want to pay attention to, especially as he teaches by example. (You are fortunate to have him, as he is fortunate to have found all of you. Indeed, it is hard for me to imagine a better match of person, place, and time.)

Thank you again for having me, and I wish you all the very best.