Your Own Retirement Speech: What to Say, With 4 Examples

Short version, at a farewell lunch (about 1 minute)

This one is short. I've sat through a lot of these, and I know you've all got work at one.

Thirty years ago I walked into this shop owning exactly nothing with ink on it. Today I'm wearing my good shirt, and there's still a smudge on the cuff. I've stopped fighting it.

Thank you to Sid, for hiring a kid who'd never run a press and acting like that was fine. Thank you to the front counter, for every angry customer you calmed down before they got to me. And thank you to the crew on the floor, for thirty years of making me look like I knew what I was doing.

I'm going to go home and wash this shirt. It won't come out. Everybody, raise whatever you've got. To the shop, and to all of you running it now.

Why it works: one image of the place, one thank-you per group, and a toast that hands the room back to the people who are staying.

Longer version, at a retirement party (about 3 minutes)

Thank you, everybody, for coming, and thank you to Vic for organizing this, and for not letting me talk her out of it.

I spent thirty-two years in the hangar at this airport. Most of you know me as the guy in gray coveralls with a flashlight in his teeth. I've tried to sum it up, and the best I can do is this. I was usually the last person to touch the plane before it left, and I never stopped checking.

When I started, Haruki was my lead. My first week, I signed off on a panel, and he walked over, unscrewed it, looked inside, screwed it back on, and handed me the clipboard. Didn't say a word. Everything was fine. He just wanted me to know that someone was always going to look. Haruki, I did that to every new mechanic who came through here for thirty years. Some of them are in this room. Sorry. It was his idea.

Nkechi, you and I worked nights together for eleven years. You were the best mechanic I ever stood next to and the worst coffee maker in aviation. I'm going to miss both.

To the people in the office, who kept the paperwork straight so we could keep the planes straight. To the ramp crew, who worked in weather I wouldn't send a dog out in. Thank you.

And to my wife. Thirty-two years of a phone ringing at two in the morning because something was leaking somewhere. You never once asked me not to go. You'd just say, "Call me when you're dry," and I always did, from whatever pay phone or hangar office was closest. I'm home at night now. You won't have to wait for the call.

Everybody, please raise a glass. To the people in this hangar. Keep checking.

Why it works: it thanks people with reasons instead of a roll call, tells one story, and saves the family for last so the emotion lands where the speech ends.

For when you know you'll get emotional (about 2 minutes)

I'm going to try to get through this, and if I stop for a second, just wait. I've watched every one of you wait for a nervous dog to come out from under a chair. I know you can do it.

Twenty-seven years ago I opened this clinic with one exam room and a waiting area that was mostly a bench. I knew animals. I did not know payroll.

Chiamaka came in as a vet tech the second year and never left. If you've ever brought an animal here, she's the one who held it. She has held more scared dogs than anyone I know. She's held a few scared owners, too. Chiamaka, I could not have done one year of this without you, let alone twenty-five.

To the front desk, who made the hardest calls in this building, the ones nobody wants to make or get. Thank you.

And to everyone who brought us their animals. You trusted us with family. I never took that lightly.

That's what I wanted to say. Raise your glasses, please. To the clinic, and to everyone who ever held a leash in that waiting room.

Why it works: it names the emotion in the first line, which takes the pressure off, and keeps the sentences short enough to get through on a shaky voice.

Thanking a big team by groups, not by name (about 2 minutes)

Thank you. I've been at this paper for twenty-nine years and written a lot of headlines, so I'm going to try to keep this one tight.

There are dozens of people I'd like to thank by name, and if I did, Zack would be standing at the back tapping his watch the way he has every deadline since I got here. So I'm going to do it by desk.

To the night desk. You caught my mistakes at twenty to midnight and never once brought them up in the morning. Some of those mistakes were in the headlines. You know the ones.

To the reporters, who brought me eight hundred words when I asked for six hundred, every time, and were right more often than I admitted.

To the press room and the drivers, who got this thing onto porches by six in the morning, in snow, in sleet, and in that one ice storm we don't talk about.

And to Wyatt, who sat across from me for nineteen years and argued with me about commas. You were right about the serial comma. I'm only saying it now because I'm leaving.

Everybody, glasses up. To the paper, and to everyone who gets it out every morning. Somebody else writes the headline now.

Why it works: each group gets one detail only they would recognize, so nobody is left off a list, and the two names it does use come with reasons.