William Marvel: Commencement

Fifty-five years ago, on a hazy, humid Saturday, 131 teenagers paraded into Kennett High School’s steaming gymnasium, now known as the Marshall Gym. I’m sure the valedictorian and salutatorian expressed soaring expectations about what we were about to go out in the world and do, but I don’t remember a word they said. I don’t even recall who they were.

Many of the parents felt as much relief as pride, because back then the chances of dropping out seemed to increase as the senior year progressed. My father, who initially entertained devious visions of sending me to the Naval Academy, remarked at graduation that he had feared the day would never come. Despite good grades, I didn’t like school and often absented myself, only to be suspended for doing so. The punishment suited me perfectly, for I disliked school mainly because it interrupted my reading.