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Curtis-Bowen Award went to Bobbi-Jo Bowen, presumably for being the Best Bowen of the Year. As for the speeches, the approved metaphors involve doors, thresholds, crossroads, and bridges, although exceptions are permitted: at Vermont’s Chelsea High, the Class of ’98 were “caterpillars emerging as butterflies,” according to valedictorian Kelly MacCarthy, winner of the L. B. Bowen and Bertha Bowen Award, an award apparently open to non-Bowens.
    Someone always says that life is not a rehearsal. This year it was Mary Burnham of Waits River Valley School. “Life’s not a rehearsal,” she said. “This is it.” If life were a rehearsal, Mary’s speech would be cut before the first out-of-town preview. The starrier the guest speakers, the more pitiful their attempts to ingratiate themselves with pupils: over the border in New Hampshire, former Governor Steve Merrill cited Madonna as a fine role model because she’s in the gym every day at 5 a.m. “Madonna understands commitment,” he told Woodsville High Graduates.
    Of course, in these non-elitist times, the very idea of a star speaker is suspect. For the commencement address at Whitcomb High in Bethel, the graduating class, instead of choosing a state senator or some other local worthy, invited John Hubble, a “member of the high school maintenance staff”—i.e., the janitor. With all those metaphors about thresholds and new doors opening, it makes sense to ask the guy with a full set of keys. “Always try your best,” Mr. Hubble told them, “but don’t take things too seriously.”
    Naturally, a little controversy is to be expected. For example, class valedictorian Kate Skidmore declared that it was time “to tell the truth” about Woodsville. “Look around you!” she cried. “There are gay people everywhere in Woodsville.” This seems unlikely: Woodsville is named for a man called Woods, who went into the woods business and started a sawmill. It’s populated by scrawny, leathery, stump-toothed guys in plaid and their somewhat more expansive wives. I’ve spent hours looking for a decent gay disco and no one’s ever said: “Oh, sure. Second left after the lumber yard and the woodchipper rentals. I was just heading over there myself.”
    Alas, such genial provocations have now been swept aside by Kate Logan, late of the Long Trail School in Dorset, Vermont. Hitherto, Dorset has principally been known as the site of America’s first marble quarry, in 1785. Today it’s famous for young Kate, who seems to have lost her marbles completely. At last week’s commencement, the eighteen-year-old stepped to the podium, warmed up with some traditional guff about her “journey on a road less traveled,” moved on to thank the school for challenging and inspiring her, and then threw off her cap, let her white graduation robe slip to the floor, and finished her speech completely naked.
    “Without expectations, feeling the limitless directions, to open myself completely,” continued Kate, as students, teachers, friends, and family took in every dimple of her five-foot, six-inch, 140-pound form, “for it is only then, when I am open and free, that truth and wisdom will reveal themselves.” As you’ll have gathered, Miss Logan’s public speaking style can use all the visual aids it can get.
    Afterwards, Kate said she’d given the last half of her speech nude to celebrate her graduation on a “spiritual level.” “When you’re moving through a place of truth and being yourself,” she said, “it’s always going to work out right.”
    The school, meanwhile, has released a statement saying “the incident was overwhelmingly inappropriate and is not reflective of our student body.”
    As The Burlington Free Press noted, it was certainly reflective of one student body.
    Heigh-ho. Life, as someone said, is not a rehearsal. Or, anyway, not a dress rehearsal.

    1      “Land of Hope and Glory” is A. C. Benson’s lyric (largely unknown in the United