“The Fonz, the Fraud, and the Fine Line Between Inspiration and Indoctrination”

Let me start by saying this: I’m under no illusions about Hollywood. It leans left—like, Olympic-level pole-vaults into the arms of Bernie Sanders left. And yes, Henry Winkler, the Fonz himself, is very much part of that club. But here’s the thing: the man showed up at our Georgetown graduation, delivered a speech that was warm, funny, personal, and—most importantly—human. He didn’t lecture us, didn’t guilt-trip us, and didn’t take a detour into political rage mode. He gave us what we needed: encouragement, humility, and a few life lessons from someone who’s actually lived.

Compare that to Minnesota Governor Tim “Tampon” Walz, who gave his own commencement speech recently in his home state, and let’s just say… it was the rhetorical equivalent of eating cold, unsalted tofu while someone yells the word “equity” at you on repeat.

This wasn’t just a tale of two speeches—it was a masterclass in how to connect with young people versus how to completely misread the moment and drone on like you’re reading aloud from your latest executive order.

The Fonz Did What the Fonz Does

Henry Winkler—best known to the world as Arthur Fonzarelli, the cool, leather-jacket-wearing heart of Happy Days—could have phoned it in. He could’ve done what some celebs do: parachute in, drop some generic platitudes about changing the world, and peace out before anyone asked him about taxes. Instead, he gave us a raw, real, deeply personal story.

He told us about growing up in New York City with strict, short German parents. About failing geometry four years in a row—summer school included—and scraping by with a D-minus that finally got him into Emerson College. He told us how he got rejected, how he almost flunked out, how he made it to Yale Drama, and how, after all that, he still couldn’t get hired in Hollywood after Happy Days ended because, well… he was too good at being the Fonz.

He also talked about battling negative thoughts. His secret weapon? Not motivational quotes, not Instagram therapy buzzwords—Bundt cake. No icing. Melt-y chocolate chips. That’s how you counter the voice in your head telling you you’re not good enough. It was charming, relatable, and refreshingly free of performative politics.

And while yes, you could tell Winkler had his progressive leanings—he referenced empathy, humanity, and even threw in a subtle jab at Steve Jobs for saying America had “too much empathy”—he never made it about politics. He didn’t shove his worldview down our throats. Instead, he reminded us that we matter. That our instincts matter. That everything is possible, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

And for that, Hollywood lefty or not, I respect the hell out of him.

Meanwhile, in Minnesota…

Cue Governor Tim Walz. Or as some of us in the peanut gallery now affectionately call him, Tampon Timmy—partly for his robotic delivery, partly for his tendency to insert himself into issues with all the subtlety of a middle school health class diagram.

Walz’s speech was everything Winkler’s wasn’t: overly scripted, jargon-loaded, emotionally tone-deaf, and about as inspiring as a soggy congressional hearing. Instead of talking to students, he spoke at them—like he was presenting a slide deck at a corporate DEI retreat.

He didn’t tell stories. He recited buzzwords. “Equity.” “Collective responsibility.” “Centering marginalized voices within institutional frameworks.” I’m not exaggerating when I say you could swap his speech into a city council meeting on trash pickup and no one would blink.

Where Winkler gave us Bundt cake, Walz gave us bureaucracy. Instead of saying “You are powerful,” he essentially said “You are future administrators of sustainable intergenerational stakeholder models.” Thanks, Timmy. I’ll be sure to tattoo that on my soul.

It wasn’t just boring—it was condescending. Like we were too fragile or ignorant to hear anything outside the confines of a sterile, pre-approved worldview. It felt like he was using the podium to audition for a federal cabinet post instead of celebrating the students in front of him.

Why It Matters

Some people will say, “What’s the big deal? So one speech was better than the other.” But I’d argue it’s a little deeper than that.

We’re living in a time where almost every space—schools, workplaces, even family dinners—is being overtaken by politics. Everything has to be about ideology. Every event has to be a chance to “raise awareness” or “dismantle systems” or “interrogate privilege.”

But sometimes? People just want to hear a good story. They want to laugh. They want to cry. They want to feel seen—not as political pawns or demographic data points, but as human beings trying to make sense of life.

Winkler understood that. Walz didn’t.

And ironically, Winkler’s speech probably did more to inspire real change in that crowd than all of Walz’s “inclusive institutional scaffolding” ever could. Because people don’t change when they’re scolded. They change when they’re moved.

Final Grade

So if we’re handing out grades here:

• Henry Winkler: A+. Made us laugh. Made us believe. Made us proud to be Georgetown grads.
• Governor Walz: C-, and that’s being generous. Felt like a substitute teacher who forgot his lesson plan and just read from the glossary of a sociology textbook.

At the end of the day, you don’t need to be famous, powerful, or politically correct to connect with people. You just need to be real. Winkler showed up as himself. Walz showed up as a talking points memo in human form.

So here’s to the Fonz. The leather jacket. The D-minus. The Bundt cake. And here’s hoping future commencement speakers follow his lead—and leave the policy pitch at home.

AYYYYY.

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