Following are remarks from Rosemary Goudreau O’Hara, B.S. Journalism 1976, accepting her Alumni of Distinction Award on March 31, 2017.

My husband suggested I spend these couple minutes telling you funny stories about my journalism career, but all I could remember was the person who sent me a letter that misspelled my longtime byline, Rosemary Goudreau, as Rosemary Good Rear; and my source at the state health department who liked to leave this message with the newsroom clerk: “Ask Rosemary to call Strep Throat.”

From my days as a reporter, mostly on the medical beat, I mostly remember the people whose stories I told. The little girl who was one of the first children to get a heart transplant, and how I cried the day she died. The young men I came to know in the early days of the AIDS epidemic, and the day I finally had to remove their cards from my Rolodex because they all had died. And the young man I knew as the Mayor of Sunland — then known as the state hospital for the mentally retarded — who never should have been there and was scared to death to leave when it closed. He died a month later. They called it “transfer trauma.” For a while there on the medical beat, my colleagues joked that having me tell your story was a kiss of death.

From my days as a newsroom editor, first as a Miami Herald assistant city editor and eventually the managing editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer, I remember the buzz of a newsroom filled with people committed to telling the world what was going on and the sense of being part of something bigger than ourselves, something that was making a difference.

Today, as the editorial page editor of a metro daily, I’m gratified to still be doing journalism that makes a difference. On the opinion pages, we get to stand up for the community, help people reflect on the news, hold people accountable, pat people on the back and convene a great public forum.

But we all face bumps in life and I am no exception. In 2008, I got laid off as the editorial page editor of The Tampa Tribune and so with bills to pay, I began a journey of reinvention. I landed some work in politics, taught an opinion writing class here at UF, and launched a business, called Florida Voices, that syndicated Florida-focused opinion copy to newspapers and others. I didn’t know where it would lead, but the journey kept me in the game and eventually led me back to newspapers.

As I thought about what I wanted to leave you with tonight, and from having worked with so many young people in this new era, I wanted to offer three simple pieces of advice. Show up and do your work. Volunteer to do whatever needs doing. And set high standards for yourself, don’t settle for good enough. Do this and you will rise above the rest.

Like yours, my journey began here at UF, where I was fortunate to have professors who similarly pushed me, professors like Jean Chance, John Wright, Jon Roosenraad and Buddy Davis.

The lessons I learned at the Alligator also gave me a jump-start in landing a good job.

I’ll never forget the day Dan Rather walked into the Alligator, then on University Avenue. He was at the top of his game as the new anchor of the CBS Nightly News, and was here to see one of his favorite professors, Hugh Cunningham.

We had a white board in the Alligator office, and asked any visitor of some renown to sign it. I remember handing Dan Rather a magic marker and asking him to sign the board. When he was done, he handed the pen back to me and asked me to sign it, too.

So as I stand here tonight to proudly accept this honor, and I hear about all the great work you’ve already done, I wonder who — among you — will be standing up here in 20, 30 or 40 years. And what stories you will tell.

I encourage you to take good notes along the way. Because your spouse, too, might suggest you tell funny stories.

Now, an epilogue.

In a Saturday Facebook post about the banquet and my remarks, I noted that I hadn’t signed the white board that day. “I couldn’t possibly. But in that moment, Dan Rather made me believe he saw something in me. I saw the same promise multiple times Friday night during a UF ceremony honoring the college’s top graduates, along with four “alumni of distinction.” To hear what these students have done, and what they are about to do, made me feel hopeful about the future of journalism, like the reinforcements are here.

The next day, Tom and I visited the Alligator, which long ago moved from its old office on University Avenue. The newsroom looked surprisingly similar, though the old white board had long since disappeared. We visited with Martin Vassolo, the editor, who was an intern at the Sun Sentinel last summer, and will be a Miami Herald intern this summer.

As we were looking around, I noticed Martin walk over to the dry-erase whiteboard and start to erase some planning notes. Then, he handed me a magic marker and asked me to sign the board. Tom, too.

See why I have hope?