Joe Kennedy

Joe Kennedy is routinely named the region's best writer by readers of The Roanoker magazine.

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Notes from the Virginia Tech graduation in Blacksburg on Friday, a highly unusual day:

At 11 a.m., outside of Lane Stadium, Lt. G.C. Jackson of the Blacksburg Police Department tells a New York Times reporter it's too early to go in and check out Lane Stadium. The reporter leaves.

"We handle graduation ceremonies exactly like a football game," he says. "I'd like to stress that the procedures today aren't any different," though the number of officers on hand looks a lot higher.

Under a tree, Brigham Young University alumnus Matt Ratto from Portland, Ore., says, "I became a Hokie after the first football game."

He would receive his master's degree in business that afternoon.

His parents, Steve and Barb Ratto, stand with him. They talk about the April 16 shooting spree that claimed 33 lives.

"We don't think that event defines Virginia Tech," Steve Ratto says. "What they do going forward is going to define Virginia Tech."

It rattled a pro

About noon, Joanna and Joe Dombroski of Manassas help their daughter Jessica carry her belongings away from her dorm across from Cassell Coliseum.

"It's a long walk to our car," Joanna says, "but we're OK with it because we're thankful we're not one of the parents who don't have this opportunity." Joe Dombroski works for the federal Drug Enforcement Administration. The shootings shook him, Joanna says.

"He always felt like he could protect his family, even after we were evacuated from Pakistan."

Mixed emotions

About 1 p.m., the crowd begins to grow at the memorial on the Drillfield across from Burruss Hall, headquarters for the university's administration.

Chase Jones, an engineering graduate from Nashville, Tenn., says, "This is a great college, and this is one of the best times in the students' lives," and the shootings won't change that.

As he speaks, two men walk past the wilted flowers and Hokie stone markers. One says, "Where's the Jewish guy? He's my hero."

He is referring to Liviu Librescu, the engineering professor who died of gunshot wounds suffered while blocking the door to his second-story classroom so his students could jump out the windows.

On the far left side of the memorial, shooter Seung-Hui Cho's name can barely be read on a small candleholder. A woman bends to look at the materials on the ground, then rises and says, "You know what? That family lost somebody, too."

Across the street, a unmarked white campus police car climbs onto the wide sidewalk in front of Burruss and stops. Tech President Charles Steger, in a formal suit, emerges from the passenger door.

Steger speaks briefly to a reporter and climbs the steps to Burruss, the police officer trailing him. A family of six, posing for a photo, speaks to Steger, and he acknowledges them. Otherwise, nobody notices him.

Outside Norris Hall, where most of the killings occurred, Salvatore Picinich, a New Jersey native, snaps photos. His young relative, Anthony Palmieri, has earned a degree in engineering.

Picinich, 30, teaches school. He is "proud and thankful" for Anthony's accomplishment.

Back on the Drillfield, an older black woman approaching a memorial talks to another about Nikki Giovanni.

"I remember some of her poetry," she says. "The press didn't like it at all."

They are among Ashley Randal's relatives who've come from as far as Denver for her commencement.

"I hope tonight will be a combination of people being a little bit melancholy and people celebrating," says Robin Randal, Ashley's mother, from Dumfries.

Ashley says, "It's time to move on, for the next class to come in."

Inside the big white tent at the Drillfield's center, people move slowly past condolence boards, signature panels, mementos and more memorials.

A sign says: "Hokies forever. God bless you and your stolen souls."

The mood is somber, and people cry.