October 10, 2007
 

All Those Friends
Turned Out To Be Strangers

And the class of 57 had its dreams,

But living life day to day is never like it seems.

Things get complicated when you get past sixteen,

Oh the class of ’57 had its dreams. 

So sang the Statler Brothers.  Today the dreams they warbled for my group, the class of ’57, consist mainly of backward glances at a life well lived.  Now our hopes for the future are mostly dreams of offspring success. 

This past weekend in the land of Lincoln, where the oft-repeated thought for the week was, “Those damn Cubs broke our heart again”, the Cambridge, Illinois Vikings, class of ’57, gathered to celebrate their 50^th reunion.  

Helen is a hostess, Frank works at the mill,

Janet teaches grade school and prob’ly always will.

Bob works for the city and Jack’s in lab research,

And Peggy plays organ at the Presbyterian Church. 

While every class feels “special”, a feeling that only grows stronger with time, our group of forty-two really nice folks, and one troublemaker, led what could only termed a  “highly normal” existence.  True, one classmate was a ”spook” for the CIA and then, after a business career that left him secure enough to pursue whatever passion tripped his trigger, is today the oldest lead guitar player in a San Francisco “cover band”. But for the most part our class turned out engineers, teachers, craftsman, stay at home moms and one lone disc jockey.  No classmate lived his or her life on a national stage.  There were no high profile athletes, great musicians or Nobel Prize winners.  

Tommy’s selling used cars, Nancy’s fixing hair,

Harvey runs a grocery store and Margaret doesn’t care.

Jerry drives a truck for Sears and Charlotte’s on the make,

And Paul sells life insurance and part time real estate. 

Today a few classmates are scattered from Florida to California.  The majority, however, sunk a taproot in Midwestern soil.  Those of us establishing lives far from the heartland were faced with a 40-year conversation gap.  The Friday night mixer seemingly exhausted all areas of common interest.  And there was still a day to go.  

John is big in cattle, Ray is deep in debt

Where Mavis finally wound up is anybody’s bet.

Linda married Sonny, Brenda married me

And the class of all of us is just a part of history.  

Saturday brought the homecoming parade and football game followed by the grand finale, a sit down dinner.  That evening both time and conversation ebbed more than flowed.  After the record corn crop had been evaluated for the umpteenth time, following terminal discussions of what the Cubs needed to do next year, and innumerable “remember the time in physics class,” reminisces, my attention locked on the Rockies/ Phillies game on the TV behind the bar.  It wasn’t a Statler Brothers song that played in my mind but John Denver singing, “I guess he’d rather be in Colorado.” 

Surrounded by classmates, people I’d grown up with, the feeling was still that of a just moved to town new guy at a Chamber Social.  Friends, family and home were far away.  Learning sometimes occurs at the most unsuspecting of moments, even at a 50^th high school reunion.  Like finding out homesickness strikes at any age.