Ashland valedictorian wants to talk to U.S. students about hope, Taylor Swift and the beauty of dancing

Luke Laurenson Class of 2023 Seniors Mariah Cruz and Luke Laurenson posed before prom at Lithia Park in Ashland. (Janet Eastman/Janet Eastman/The Oregonian)

Luke Laurenson embraces the spotlight. The 18-year-old Ashland resident has acted on school stages and for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Diagnosed as a baby with dystonic quadriplegia cerebral palsy, a neurological disorder that makes it difficult to walk or talk, he gives heartfelt, honest presentations about his life at Rotary Club meetings and community gatherings.

Tapping a letter at a time on the keyboard of an assistive communication device, he states what's obvious to anyone who knows him: "I am an extrovert."

On June 9, Laurenson will be in front of a large, cheering crowd again, this time as a valedictorian of Ashland High School's Class of 2023. He’ll deliver his prepared speech with a handsfree pointer that activates a device that recites his words out loud.

He will recall his youthful, yet unfulfilled wishes to run and eat an ice cream cone by himself. He’ll mention medical treatments that will continue the rest of his life, then quickly tell about the joy of earning all A's.

He’ll end by asking everyone: "I hope if you take anything away from my story, it is that when you see a differently abled person that you will take time to be kind to them and remember they are likely capable of much more than you can imagine."

Facing him while he commands the bandshell stage in downtown Ashland's Lithia Park that evening will be Laurenson's family, including his mom, Jane Hogan, who was determined as much as her son to see him earn a general education diploma. He did more: He passed every test needed to advance each year in Ashland public schools, from Bellview Elementary to Ashland Middle School, and to graduate from Ashland High School with a 4.0 grade point average.

After his older sister Julia Hogan Laurenson was named an Ashland High valedictorian in 2018, he vowed to do the same.

His mom said he shouldn't put pressure on himself. His damaged nervous system can't produce the relaxation neurotransmitter GABA and stress intensifies his body spasms. But he knew if he worked harder, he could achieve the honor.

Days before graduation he jokes to his mom, who has been right by his side, "Thanks for backing off."

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Being selected as a valedictorian is part of a string of her son's miracles, says Hogan.

Luke Laurenson was deprived of oxygen at birth. Doctors told his mother cerebral palsy would make his body movements uncontrollable and his muscles painfully contract. The speech disability dysarthria limits the way he can express himself. At first, education experts didn't think he could manage the standard curriculum. He and his mother disagreed.

"I am grateful for my mom," Laurenson says, slowly but emphatically, in the living room of their Ashland home.

His thoughts come fast. His message is clear: His resiliency, family and friends have helped him navigate physical challenges. He sees himself as one of many trailblazers. And he says his work is not done.

After he receives his diploma, he’ll continue to live in Ashland, but he intends to "share my story of dreams coming true" at high schools across the country. He says he will advocate for people with disabilities and encourage everyone to participate in activities that fill their soul.

Laurenson's academic load this year has been easy, he says, since he had already met his math and science requirements. Courses in leadership, English, economics, government, visual arts and physical conditioning filled his day. And his contribution in classrooms benefited other students, says Ashland High School leadership adviser Aimee Cork.

"Luke's energy has definitely helped boost all of our attitudes," she says. "If it were up to him, we would have a dance or some kind of fun community event every weekend, which is the kind of enthusiasm we need more of in high schoolers."

Oregon Department of Education's Tenneal Wetherell says inclusion, where every child learns with their peers, opens minds and reshapes perspectives.

"Disability stops being a scary unknown and starts being recognized as the natural and valued part of human diversity that it is," says Wetherell, who is the assistant superintendent in the department's office of enhancing student opportunities.

"Inclusion helps students who do not experience disability to discover the breadth of human talent and gain insight into obstacles others face," continues Wetherell. "Inclusion helps students see that diversity fuels creativity, teamwork solves complex problems, and kindness moves the world forward."

Ashland High School senior Mariah Cruz will never forget the day she met Laurenson. It was at a school assembly that encouraged students to perform community service to "unlock" funds through Southern Oregon Sparrow Clubs. Collectively, Ashland students worked more than 1,500 hours, with about $3,000 going toward Laurenson buying an accessible van.

After the assembly, Cruz says she would talk to Laurenson often, and in May, she asked him to prom in a theatrical fashion. She used different colored marking pens on a large poster board to write out, "Will you go to prom with me, Luke?" and held it up, during another school assembly. When he said yes, students cheered.

On the night of the formal event, she wore a shimmering gown and he wore a royal blue suit sans tie. Like other students, they posed at Lithia Park's historic fountain, which is across the street from the bandshell, where the graduation ceremony will take place.

"Prom was awesome," says Cruz. "Luke danced all night, even as I was getting super tired."

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People with disabilities are often dismissed without a hello or eye contact, say behavior experts. Laurenson's smile, the way he jumps in his seat or opens his arms wide to welcome everyone make him hard to miss.

With his confidence and public speaking experience, he wants to pursue acting and modeling. His dream job would be to work on Taylor Swift tours. Swift's "Shake It Off" song is his anthem.

When he walked for the first time, at age 12, it made news. A YouTube video, in which he rose from a wheelchair and moved to "Shake It Off," went viral.

At 14, Laurenson was one of the youngest Oregonians with disabilities to be hired under an employer work certificate for minors issued by the state's Bureau of Labor & Industries. His first paying job was playing "Spike" in 58 performances of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival's 2019 production of "Hairspray-The Broadway Musical" set at a high school.

He sang and danced, in and out of a wheelchair, to the crowd-pleasing closing song, "You Can't Stop the Beat." In the yet-unreleased "Including Us" documentary, Oregon Shakespeare Festival director Christopher Liam Moore credits Hogan's heroic efforts, her son's force of will, and both of their love of music and dance with enabling him to walk against all odds.

This year, Laurenson was cast in a production of Ashland High School's spring comedy, "Curtains!" The role was created for him with scripted jokes he delivered using the assistive communication device, which was a first for an actor at the school.

"Luke's timing improved so much that by the third show, his lines won over the audience with laughter," says theater teacher Betsy Bishop. "The cast and crew recognized his discipline and joy in performance. I believe performance will always play a role in his life."

Laurenson dreams of joining a touring company of "Hairspray" or Swift's tours, which would also allow him to talk to students in different cities. All of his career aspirations, however, require travel. In addition to Laurenson's classmates donating to help purchase a van, Hogan started a "Shake it off for Luke" Go Fund Me page.

Ideally, a 19-foot-long Winnebago Roam van with a wheelchair lift would allow Hogan to drive her son to medical appointments and work. Now, his mom, sister Julia or an aide help him into the passenger seat of the family's aging Hyundai Sonata.

With Julia working in St. Louis, Missouri, for the Metro Theater Company, it's difficult for Hogan, 62, to guide her son, who is 11 inches taller than she is, into the car. She then needs to pack up his portable electric wheelchair, which weighs 45 pounds.

"It's also challenging to find caregivers who will travel with us for his medical trips," Hogan says. Often, she adds, "we are shipwrecked. A van would be life-changing for Luke."

Laurenson is ready, he says, to travel the country, and take the stage, again and again, to encourage others to shake off boundaries.

— Janet Eastman | 503-294-4072

[email protected] | @janeteastman