A Night to Remember

By Dr. Chuck Kelley

Looking back, I suppose it was my first public “Night to Remember,” the kind of night when you carry what happened with you for the rest of your days. The occasion was the formal end of my childhood and my life at home. The people I grew up with, played sports with, and went to school and church with for years gathered with our friends and family for the last time in the Beaumont Civic Center for the graduation ceremony of Forest Park High School, Class of 1970, The unknown future awaited. None of us would ever be able to come back to life as it was that night. Joy, anticipation, uncertainty, apprehension, relief, pride and so much more filled the largest indoor space in Beaumont. One of life’s biggest transition points was here.

The question we faced that night was perfectly expressed in a book title worthy of the Hall of Fame for titles: Is There Life After High School? by Ralph Keyes. The author suggested that high school was the great tribal experience of America. Whatever your family or demographic setting, whatever region of the country was your home, whatever kind of school you attended, we all had similar experiences in high school as we learned, developed personalities, discovered dreams for a future elsewhere, and so on. Use expressions like Geek, Nerd, Jock, or cheerleader-type and we all know exactly what they mean. We learned them in high school. Many other experiences, people, and events would continue shaping us, but some clues about our future selves were now in place. An old life was ending and a new life was about to begin. We knew we were turning a page and starting a new chapter. Life does not have many moments with such certainty of a profound transition, but this night was definitely one of them.

For the first time in the history of Forest Park High School, a student was allowed to give a graduation address. The senior class voted and I was elected to be that student. The principal called me into his office after the election and warned me not to say anything religious. He was always worried about he and the school being sued for such things, especially since one of my classmates through all those years was the son of a very prominent Jewish family. This was the end of the chaotic sixties when prayers were removed from school (except during final exams), Bible readings were no longer allowed, and so on. I told Mr. Hawthorne that I had to be myself or it would be weird. You know who I am. My senior class knows who I am, and they made this decision. I did promise I would do my best to not break the law or make anyone mad.

When I walked to the microphone, I faced the largest crowd I had ever addressed. Being a high school senior and knowing so much, I decided to take on a simple topic: the problem of evil in fifteen minutes. If there was a God who was good, why was there so much evil in the world? I read a poetic piece of a man ranting and raging to God about all the evil in the world. That piece closed with God asking the man a question: Why man, Why? We are the problem of evil. I added, that sense of frustration about the way the world is, that feeling that a piece is missing from our hearts is God’s way of telling you that neither you nor the world can be right without Him. I closed with the words to a song appropriate for this strange experience of saying good-bye while at the same time preparing to say hello as the unknown future beckoned.

The summer before my senior year I was invited to participate in a leadership conference involving two high school seniors from each of the fifty states in our Union. It was big enough to not know anyone when you arrived, but small enough to know everyone by the time you left. None of us had ever encountered that kind of diversity of ideas and life experiences. You quickly learned how many different points of view were out there, but it was a safe space to listen and to learn. The schedule was very intense and designed for us to build relationships, including much singing together. As you might expect for teenagers thrown together with lots of activities, shared experiences and not much sleep, by the end of the week we had deep friendships and wept at the thought of going home again. As we drove down from the Rocky Mountains to the Denver airport, we laughed, and sang and cried. After checking in for our flights, we decided to sing one last song, our favorite from the week. We got on either side of a mezzanine level and sang back and forth to each other one more time as a crowded airport came to a stop and listened with rapt attention. The final stanza of that song was my final word to the Forest Park Class of 1970.

When I am gone,

May this wish linger on

And its echo fall soft

On your ear

May your riches increase

And we all live in peace

And your happiness grow

Every year my friend,

Your happiness grow every year

One for the money

            Sing for a penny

Two for the show

            Any song that you know

Three to get ready

            It’s been good to know you

And four to go

            We’ve a long way to go

            We’ve a long way to go

For me it was indeed a night to remember. If you are curious about the rest of the story, I was awakened early the next morning by the father of my Jewish classmate. He thanked me profusely for my commencement address and told me it was the greatest speech he had ever heard. Mr. Hawthorne and Forest Park High School were not sued by anyone. A graduating senior giving a commencement address became a tradition. And a philosophy major in college taught me the problem of evil is a bit more complicated than I realized that night. But I was right on one thing. The problem of evil cannot be resolved without God. It has been good to know you. We still have a long way to go. Happy graduation Class of 2025!