Looking back, senior year seems like a succession of lasts. The last class. The last game. The last EA Day. The last Noodle Bowl. To me, four years passed in an instant, yet it feels so long ago that I was a Third Former in the Field House on opening day, watching the seniors lead the kindergarteners. I had no idea what lay ahead. This year, when it became our responsibility as the oldest Fords to lead the youngest—it seems like a lifetime ago.
Now everything is behind us, and next fall we head our separate ways. We’ll begin our own lives, start our own families, make new memories and new friends. But we’ll always recall those numbered days we spent in Wilson Hall, when we were all together, and we accomplished great things.
Water polo had an undefeated season and became Eastern Prep Champion, the first time in program history; our squash team placed third in the nation and were Inter-Ac champions; Theater put on successful productions of The Three Musketeers and Carousel; the Robotics team won its tenth straight state championship, and more awards than I could count. We had six National Merit Semifinalists, and thirty-three students will continue their athletic careers in college. Our Honor Council opened up to students in Town Hall meetings, Form competitions invigorated our assemblies, and we reveled in President Vincent Scauzzo’s fiery rhetoric. Not to mention our individual accomplishments made in the classroom, the art studios, the lab, and on the playing field.
There were days when we felt invincible. November 2, 2019, Haverford at Malvern. The victorious Fords charged onto Quigley Field in all our costumed glory, planting our maroon and gold H on enemy territory. A victory helped in no small part by our chants and the well-meaning jeers lobbed at the opposing team.
Then came EA Spirit Week: the trivia tournament and the athletic contests, pep rallies and banner-painting. We stood and cheered as our finest lobbed cannonades of dodgeballs towards underclassmen and faculty. We cheered in Centennial Hall as Bobby Blewett scarfed down an entire plate of hot wings. Then, we brought the inferno to EA. No matter what they did, they couldn’t contain our enthusiasm. Our energy overflowed onto the football and soccer fields, the golf courses, the cross-country track, and threatened to bring the roof of Burke Natatorium crashing down.
And there were nights when the Field House shook with a stampede of hundreds of Haverford souls, the bleachers a sea of rippling yellow-gold #2Strong shirts, the echoes of a thousand chants reverberating off the walls. A player shoots from behind the three-point line, and the crowd goes silent as the ball turns in the air, only to erupt when it drifts into the basket.
Our class’s strength comes not from our individual ability, but from the strength of our brotherhood.
A wise man once said, “While it is always best to believe in oneself, a little help from others can be a great blessing.” If so, then Haverford is a place where we truly blessed; not only are we supported by friends, but by brothers. Our class’s strength comes not from our individual ability, but from the strength of our brotherhood.
There are many snapshots of Haverford that will make me smile, thirty years from now, when I recollect my younger years. Kwaku’s announcements that capped every assembly. Chess matches in the library. The Robotics World Championship, where our determination (and our sleep schedules) was put to the test. Watching plays with the boys. Waiting in the lunch line for Blackjack Chicken, which stretches all the way to the salad bar.
I’ll miss the late-night grinds and flex period study sessions, Mr. Maley’s lectures, spicy mayo vs. barbecue ranch, the Tank, the Notables—I could go on and on. But looking back, there is so much more I wish I experienced, memories that I wish I had made. If I was only aware how precious my time here would be, I would have made the most of it.
In the past four years, much has changed while we’ve wandered these halls. A great generation of educators left their mark on the school. We were among the last to experience Mr. Trocano’s Browns quizzes, Mr. Upton’s sarcasm, Dr. Ehrhart’s wit, and Mr. Green’s poetic prose. The Street got a makeover over winter break, and Crosman Hall, a former home for many of us, was replaced by a big, shiny new middle school. In junior year we puzzled over rotating classes and flex periods but cheered the double frees. Even this paper you’re reading has evolved to reflect us, the modern Ford.
We’re in the midst of another election season that has proven to be as divisive as the last, and the surge of anger and protests across our cities in the past week following the death of George Floyd signal the American people’s frustration in the system.
Meanwhile, the outside world transformed faster than we could comprehend. We’re in the midst of another election season that has proven to be as divisive as the last, and the surge of anger and protests across our cities in the past week following the death of George Floyd signal the American people’s frustration in the system. With our Haverford education, I am confident that we have the knowledge and ability to solve the issues that face our nation. Haverford molded us into the men we are today. Now it’s our turn to change the world.
We’re not a class that needs to be reassured we’re the best, because we’ve always done what’s expected of us. We’re comfortable in our legacy we leave behind these hallowed halls. There are many things we should be proud of: our tenacity, our creativity, our commitment to leave our school community better than we found it.
Although in time our deeds may be forgotten, our names and accomplishments indistinguishable to the hundreds that adorn these walls, we’ll never forget these four years of happiness, sorrow, and hardship, the teachers that helped us understand the world, the experiences that shaped our lives—and our brothers, who showed us love and kindness even in our darkest hours.
This memory of Haverford will shine eternally in the hearts of us one hundred and thirteen.