Fr. Van Dyke, Mr. Glennon, Dr. Maginnis, Dean Rodriguez, family, friends, and the men of the class of 2024, good morning.
The legendary Mr. Barry reminded me of something recently that I think might inspire some nostalgia on a day like today. He reminded me that every 15 minutes the chapel bells ring. You might even hear it during my speech. Well, I did a little research, and I came to find out that these bells have been ringing, rain or shine, for 90 years. They have survived a world war, countless deans and headmasters, three new buildings, and, most recently, a global pandemic. They bear the cold of winter, and embrace the heat of summer. Like these bells, the class of 2024 has remained steadfast and present, making ourselves heard day after day.
However, we couldn’t always hear these bells. Coming into Prep during a global pandemic, nothing was certain. What would school look like? Would we ever get to play sports? How could this class possibly come together…
But through this uncertainty, the community did come together. The class of 2024 and the people around us refused to let the bells go silent. We were dealing with history. By coming to this school, we had made a personal and silent pledge to continue the legacy of the men before us. There was no other option. So we put on our masks with our fresh ties and blazers and headed to 10900 Rockville Pike. Some of us flew long flights across oceans without knowing when they would see their families again. Mr. Harkins and the residential staff wore masks, quarantined, and provided comfort to every new boarder. Our grounds crew brought in cases of filters, sanitizers, and signs. Oscar, Mr. Burton, and Q packaged meals for us and lifted our spirits in the cold and socially distanced field house. Some of us stayed online the entire year, logging in day-in and day-out from every time zone of the world. Everyday there were doubts. We might go to school and only talk to one new person. We might log onto Zoom only to be kicked out minutes later. We might make it all the way to school, only to be stationed in a cold corner of the cafe surrounded by fellow Hoyas in their masks. Some of us never made it out of MPR that entire year. What a time.
You felt out of the loop. No matter where you were, on a screen or in person, you always felt slightly disjointed. But we moved with the bells. We showed up day-in and day-out because we knew it meant something. Through breakout rooms in Zoom classes, limited gatherings, and arranged school events, we saw a glimpse of the brotherhood at Georgetown Prep. We saw it in the love that our big brothers like Tommy Alexander and Pat Fitzgerald had for each other and for us. Remember tricycle races? Bellyflop competitions? Ugly sweater contests? Anything to bring us together. We saw it in Fr. Van Dyke’s fireside chats and Mr. Glennon’s daily emails. We knew there was something there, tantalizing us, just beyond our grasp.
By sophomore year, there was still a mask in between us, but it didn’t matter to the class of 2024. The bells were re-tuning. All that mattered now was making up for lost time, to finally harmonize in unison. And I can tell you what the bells sounded like: They sounded like Dino and Christian finally playing the piano to an audience. It sounded like Ari and George Qiao belting out songs for us in the chapel and the theater. It sounded like Will Kim, Burke, and me lying on the grass, cheering on Ryan McNamara, Mike Young, Jay Arce, and the boys of JV football. It sounded like a large, burly man named Jake Sclafani barking orders at us at lacrosse games. It sounded like the bleachers erupting as our own Carson Whittier threw a touchdown pass to Sam Muir in our first game back. It sounded like the leaves crunching under Jack Sullivan’s spikes as he set new personal records running through the forest of our golf course. It sounded like Jude Howard half-joking, half-losing his mind over Honors Chem in the library, or Hogan pushing Mr. Nardella’s buttons just a little too far.
Sophomore year sounded like hope. Everything we had imagined about Prep was starting to happen.
This community, the sacrifices you made--you parents, families, faculty, and staff, the extra care you took, created a window of opportunity for this class.
And what an opportunity it was.
We faced the full rigor of Georgetown Prep: Junior year rang in with Dr. Ochs’ 7:35 AM lectures, and the Barry test slapping the desk with its thunderous weight. And who will forget Lesher coaxing Avi to knock on Dr. Tusell’s door in the dorm in an attempt to cancel our test. Hoyas don’t give up: After 30-odd emails, he did cancel that test.
But the bells never stopped ringing and neither did we. Through long talks in the library with Derek Karns and Bukowski, or long lifts with Weinstein and Aidan Dubetsky, or even longer laughs in the Cafe with Christmas or Hudson. There was always someone there.
Junior year, we rang in unison.
We learned to appreciate this on our Kairos retreat. Some of you might know that many other schools have Kairos. Many people ask me why Prep students always talk about Kairos? It’s because our mission is different. The goal of Kairos was never to form a brotherhood or to unify a class. See at Prep, the love was already there. Kairos at Georgetown Prep is like seeing your brothers that you haven’t seen in years. It felt like going home. We were not building bonds; we were cementing them.
Take a second to remember what it was like. Remember your cabin or dorm, remember the anticipation, the stories, the laughs, the tears. In those three days, the bonds that had been seeded in trauma bloomed into love and trust for one another.
And these bonds made a lot possible. They brought home a triple crown IAC championship, acted their hearts out in three plays, and filled the chapel with song and joy. We were reviving the spirit that had been taken away from us two years ago.
And the next round of bells were already beginning to ring.
Senior year sounded like a melody of pure joy. Our song was loud, rowdy--R-O-W-D-I-E--and, most of all, passionate for our brothers. It sounded like hearts racing at the Landon homecoming game. In one of our largest student sections, you could hear a pin drop as Deli silenced the crowd for every one of Chervanek’s beautiful kicks. Then, as the final second ticked away, uproar, a symphony of hugs, sighs-of-relief, and Coach Paro yelling at us not to storm the field. It sounded like Officer Remo initiating epic dance battles--a freshman’s worst nightmare at soccer games. It sounded like the Cabin, packed so deep we could hear the stands creaking beneath us, or Bruno in his beautiful yellow costume putting his heart and soul into his drum.
It sounded like Matt Duke and Michael Purring mixing those songs just right at homecoming and prom. It sounded like Evan Zhao finding that perfect note on stage. Or Johnny Crowley perfecting his rendition of “All of Me.” It sounded like the thwack of club on ball as Matt Duke and Rua secured their 4th IAC title. Or the rim creaking in pain as Goap slammed home another one, or the pop of Sam’s mitt as Ray diced up batter after batter on the way to a 4-peat IAC title. It’s the music of a Costello trumpet or the soothing viola of Ethan Ristu.
If you listened to the bells of the class of 2024, you heard celebration.
But there were some things you couldn’t hear.
Those bells, loud and magnificent, have unheard songs between every ringing. Moments in time where their job is simply to be present and rooted in the Jesuit Chapel below. I would like to highlight those moments for the class of 2024. The moments where we were present and rooted in our Ignatian mission.
This class has amassed well over 10,000 hours of service. In these hours, we served food to the homeless at Manna food center, packaged meals with Families4Families, formed relationships with the kids at KEEN and Best Buddies, and helped those on the margin with Jesuit Refugee Services. We immersed ourselves in vibrant communities in Guatemala, El Paso, Montana, and Philadelphia. Not to mention the individual projects that many in our class have dedicated themselves to: the Leo Fund, the Remo Classics, Refugee Action Team, Poor Robert’s...
And more: this year we collected over 38,000 pounds of food for our annual food drive, effectively increasing last year’s amount by 240%. Think about the individual lives we impacted. The people we served. We made a difference, yet ask any Prep guy about their service and he will tell you, “It’s the least I could do.” “It’s the least I could do…” Like the bells behind me, these men are reminders of the humble spirit that pervades through this school. We are Men for and with Others.
This spirit of action is humbling. It's grounding. It’s everything that Prep was meant to be. An avenue for change, hope, and Christ-like charity. It’s giving of ourselves and not asking for reward.
We are called by Ignatius to practice gratitude. To recognize God’s presence in all things. We see God in every smile, every hug, every wave from Mr. Atayi, every meal, and every bond we have made with each other. Like these chapel bells, we will sing our song of gratitude throughout the world, where we will face more uncertainty.
But know you don’t go alone. Keep in your heart our brotherhood. Let it be your shoreline, what centers you in your storm. In your uncertainty, come back to your brothers, find us in your heart. We will be here for you, always and forever.
Thank you.
Patrick DeYeo ‘24
