Valedictorian Kevin Castellano's Graduation Speech

Family, friends, trustees, and distinguished guests, this speech is really for my fellow classmates, but I guess the rest of you are more than welcomed to listen in.

They say that graduations are ceremonies in which the commencement speaker tells hundreds of identically dressed students that individuality is the key to success. If that is my duty this morning as commencement speaker, then I can confidently say that I have one, easy job. I don’t think that there are many groups of individuals that are as unique and internally driven to succeed as our class.

But with such an essence of individuality and personal success in our class, you might think that our grade and Hopkins in general lacks a collective identity or a feeling of community. With such talents and opportunities, it seems almost probable that each of us would have slipped into an isolated ego trip. Well, perhaps it is Louis Hahn’s national math rankings matched with his superior break-dancing skills that keep the rest of us grounded. Nevertheless, with so many individual pursuits at Hopkins, it admittedly confused me at first as to how our class did reach a strong, collective identity, especially in the past few months.

As I reflected on our class’ identity, I realized that, in many ways, our class is like Hopkins’ cross-country team. Now, I understand that it seems odd for me to use the running team as an analogy, considering that I am a lineman on the football team who needs a two-minute rest and a glass of water to successfully complete a forty-yard sprint. But, just bear with me.

On my way down from Malone a few months ago, I asked the girls’ cross-country captain, Katie Clark, how the track team became one of the most united teams at Hopkins despite the individual nature of the sport. Personally, I have always thought of unity and community in the sense of a football team. If Hugh Bridgers, Kyle Zaffin, or I miss our blocks on the offensive line, we can say goodbye to Billy Ryan’s skinny Irish body. In that way, there are much more noticeable collective identities and common goals in football than in cross-country.

So Katie told me that cross-country is very much individualistic. Of course, her time does not affect Ben Zuckerman’s or Nick Stoler’s. Just as in Math class, her grade doesn’t affect Dante’s or Cheryl’s.

But Katie also told me that their strong sense of community grows during practice. As they struggle through treacherous five-mile runs, each runner knows that there are twenty other kids sharing the same pain and enjoying the same sense of accomplishment in the end. More than anything else, it is their shared struggles that keep them going as a unit.

In the same way, as we struggled to bang out a Bucar paper on Sunday night, I mean a week ahead of time, or studied at all hours of the night for Dr. Ploeger’s weekly bio tests, we always knew that there were 127 other seniors doing, in their own individual ways, the same, exact thing. Just like the cross-country team, it was our shared challenges that have kept us going. And, at the end of our challenges, there was also a shared sense of accomplishment as we wrote that last word of a term paper or answered the last question on an exam. And when one of our classmates reached greatness, the rest of our grade tended to share in the success.

Our class’ visible spirit at Hopkins basketball games this winter stands out to me as a prime example of this. I remember specifically when James Patterson unbelievably blocked a Hamden Hall basketball player in our 48-27 win. In the stands, the rest of us blocked the shot with him. This was true especially for me, for my five foot six body can only jump that high if I were to stand on Greg Kenna’s shoulders. Through shared successes like James’ and struggles like exams and SATs, we have bonded over the past four years and created a mosaic of individuals known as the Class of 2004.

And what better time to do this than arguably our most awkward and embarrassing years of our lives? Walt Whitman noted that “we must all be foolish at times. It is one of the conditions of liberty.”

As a class, we learned that Alejo will some day make a better Republican politician than a gangster rapper. We learned that Dante really wants us to be ourselves and enjoy ourselves. We learned that when throwing a football, Charlie Hellman has pinpoint precision, that is, if he aims at an indoor fire sprinkler. And most of all, we learned that Picasso is to the paint brushes and canvas as Jim Bucar is to the whipped cream cans and exposed skin. Over times like these, we have grown to know each other very closely, and sometimes more closely than we ever wanted.

But alas, starting today, we will have to say goodbye. In two months, Sarah and Vikki will be headed to Scotland. Dan will be playing soccer in California. Max will be enjoying the cold winters in Ithaca, New York. Even he won’t be able to sweat there. McAllister will bear the heat of Hotlanta. And well, actually, just about the rest of the class will be headed down the road to Yale. Distances as long as Philly to Cali and Scotland to Hartford will test friendships in the coming years.

In 1972, a lyricist for the Grateful Dead, John Barlow wrote a song called “ Looks like Rain” about a farewell between two lovers that I think expresses a lot of our feelings about our upcoming good-byes.

Jerry Garcia sang, “I woke up today, and felt your side of the bed. The covers were still warm where you’d been layin’. You were gone: my heart was filled with dread. You might not be sleeping here again. It’s just that I’ve gotten used to having you around. My landscape would be empty if you were gone. But I’ll still sing you love songs, written in the letters of your name. And brave the storm to come, for it surely looks like rain.”

Certainly, each of our landscapes will be emptier with each other’s absences. However, each of us is also strong enough to brave the storm of separation and talented enough to create sunny days ahead. To borrow Victor Hugo’s words, “The future has several names. For the weak, it is impossible. For the fainthearted, it is unknown. For the thoughtful and valiant, it is the ideal.” And each of us is valiant enough to embrace the future and fill it with our own ideal success.

But what will success mean down the road? Will it be determined by a grade on a paper? When the grades are gone, then what will we look at? In Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Miller describes a wandering protagonist in Biff Lowman. After failing to find a job, Biff learns a much greater lesson about success. He says to his father, “I stopped in the middle of the building and I saw the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. All I want is out there waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am.”

We may have laughed in the beginning of the year when Dante told us to be ourselves and enjoy ourselves, and then decided to tell us again and again. However, in a few years from now, we might just see the sky and realize that Dante’s message is the beginning of the road to everything we want in life. If not, hopefully we’ll know by our next reunion.

And at our next reunion, what role will all this have in our lives? How will the friendships made and the lessons learned affect Don Ohonjo when he is a biomedical engineer? How will they affect Christina Sumpio when she is a lawyer, Jeff Stern when he is a doctor, Dave Roberts a millionaire, actually, that has already happened, and Emily Koh, the future editor of the New York times?

Susan B. Anthony suggested that, “Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.”

So when we look back on Hopkins and reminisce about the glory days, it won’t be prize day, acing McCord’s problem sets, or even this graduation. It will be the more precious moments like Jake Burroughs and Dave Goodrich sneaking in a game of poker while Mr. Bucar wasn’t looking and Hugh Bridgers playing the guitar at a coffeehouse. It will be the laughter and tears that we’ve shared together in the last six years that will make Hopkins inhabit special places in our hearts.

Kevin Castellano '04
Valedictorian