When Ken Grundborg took his seat among Georgia Tech’s graduating class last month, he was older than many of the students’ grandparents. Yet, unlike the graduates surrounding him, the 88-year-old Arlington resident wasn’t celebrating years of hard work. Instead, he was celebrating decades of waiting.
Twice, Grundborg earned degrees from Georgia Tech. Twice, military service prevented him from walking across the commencement stage.
“That is a day that I will never forget,” Grundborg says.
Military Service and Sacrifice
In 1960, after completing his undergraduate studies in civil engineering, the U.S. Army sent him to Korea. Six years later, after earning a master’s degree, another military assignment to Vietnam caused him to miss commencement again.
“I asked for a delay so I could graduate,” Grundborg recalls. “They said, ‘No, I’m sorry. Your spot is not filled, and we need somebody to fill it.’ My dad was in the military, so I knew at the time that trying to argue with Uncle Sam was not going to end well. I put on my uniform and went to Korea.”
When he finished his master’s degree, the same thing happened.
“They said, ‘We have a really good opening in Vietnam that we need an engineer officer for,'” he says. “So I saluted and said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and went to Vietnam.”
Missing commencement became just another sacrifice in a military career that would span 28 years. An Army Corps of Engineers officer, Grundborg built missile sites in Korea, roads and facilities in Vietnam, served in Panama and Germany, helped oversee construction of facilities supporting NASA launches at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California and eventually retired as a full colonel.
He later spent more than two decades with Jacobs Engineering, helping oversee major federal projects and U.S. embassies around the world.
Grundborg’s Long-Awaited Graduation
Last month, 66 years after he missed his first graduation ceremony, Georgia Tech invited Grundborg back to Atlanta to receive both diplomas and finally participate in the commencement experience he had sacrificed in service to his country.
The weekend itself unfolded like something out of a movie. Grundborg believed he and his wife, Mila Lynne Floro, were traveling to Atlanta for a simple ceremony. Instead, a carefully orchestrated surprise awaited him.
Nineteen family members traveled from seven states and the Bahamas to celebrate alongside him. University officials arranged special accommodations. Media outlets requested interviews. Complete strangers stopped him to offer congratulations.
Somehow, Floro managed to keep almost all of it secret. “He had no idea,” she says.
The surprises began the moment the couple arrived at the Georgia Tech Hotel and Conference Center. Their room had been decorated with balloons, champagne, and graduation gifts. For Grundborg, the celebration represented something even larger than receiving a diploma.
“I had never been to a graduation,” he says. “Not my brother’s. Not my sister’s. Not my own. I was overseas when they graduated.”
A Special Ceremony
At Georgia Tech, university leaders embraced the opportunity to finally honor one of their oldest graduates. The school arranged golf-cart transportation between ceremonies, allowing Grundborg to avoid long walks across campus. During both commencement events, he sat in the front row among students who were nearly seven decades younger than he was.
Then came another surprise. University officials informed him that he would be the first graduate called to the stage. “When I got up there, the president said, ‘You put me in a bit of a bind,'” Grundborg says. “‘You are 60 years late for your graduation.'”
Georgia Tech had even located the original commencement program from 1960. His name was still listed among the graduates. For a man who never expected a graduation celebration at all, the experience was overwhelming.
“It is unbelievable, the emotion that you have when you miss it the first time around,” he says. “And then you get the opportunity to do it in grand style. I have never had a day like that.”
More Surprises
The surprises weren’t over. That evening, relatives gathered for what Grundborg believed was an ordinary dinner. Instead, he walked into a graduation party created entirely in his honor.
“When I opened the door and walked inside, there were all the friends and relatives,” Grundborg says. “I had no idea. It just blew my mind.”
For Floro, the celebration represented more than a graduation. It was a chance to recognize a lifetime of sacrifice, accomplishment, and quiet perseverance.
“When Ken came back from Vietnam, people would spit at him. They would curse him,” she says. “I wanted him to get that recognition. He’s very shy. He doesn’t ever take credit for anything. I wanted people to thank him for his service.”
Since returning home to Arlington, Grundborg has discovered that his story resonates far beyond his own family. People have recognized him while traveling. Strangers have paid for meals. Thousands of congratulatory messages have poured in online. Many thank him for his military service. Others simply tell him that his story inspired them. Even now, he has not managed to read all of the comments.
“He gets emotional,” Floro says.
Asked what it felt like to finally walk across the stage after 66 years, Grundborg pauses. “It feels like a dream come true,” he says. “I certainly did not expect anything like this.”
The degrees had been earned decades ago, but the graduation was worth the wait.
Feature image courtesy Mila Lynne Floro
