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My 40th High School Reunion
Returning home to my little Appalachian town of Fairchance is a definite memory-jogger. Driving down my old street, looking at trees that I used to climb, and seeing my old house is like time travel. Hometowns never seem to change if you look through the eyes of a child.
Rumpy's Service Station is gone now; so is Rumpy. The pond where I would fish is still there, but now there is a picnic area. The trees I planted along the driveway of my old house are gone, but not before the roots cracked the cement. I see the window of my old bedroom where I used to shoot kids, sniper-like, from my window, with my brother's BB-gun. The apple tree is gone, but I can still taste them. I ate them green; with salt. I still remember getting belly cramps.
My Aunt Norine and Uncle Dave lived across the street. There are strangers living in that house, too. This was the house where my father's casket was viewed. He died in 1957 when I was six. My uncle has passed away, and my aunt, now 95, lives in a nursing home. Several years ago, she gave me her recipe for my favorite homemade dill pickles. I have been making those pickles every year since that time. I brought her a jar of mine this time, much to the suspicious horror of the Transportation Safety Board. My Aunt did not know me, but I hope she remembers her pickles. I was also able to see my Uncle Richard, who was visiting my Aunt Norine. He is the last of my uncles.
Of my mother's 13 siblings, only four survive, including my mother, all over 80 years old. My grandmother's house is still there, now clad in aluminum siding. It looks different now. My cherry tree is gone.
A short walk from the nursing home is the childhood home of my best friend, Terry. His parents are still there. His mean dog, Pepper, fortunately is gone or I would have been bitten by now. His parents still remember me, mainly since they were still getting mail for their long-deceased parakeet, Chipper, up until a few years ago. Terry and I signed up Chipper for some free offer back in the early 1960's and Chip Dawson continued to get junk mail for the next thirty years. Their big chest freezer (with the ice cream) is gone, as is the aquarium that once contained guppies. The guppies met an early death one summer weekend when we ate them, on a dare of course, when his parents were away. Beer was involved.
On every corner, at every house, my brother and I recalled stories. There were windows we soaped at Halloween, the building that once held a bowling alley were we both sat pins, and passed the old cannon in front of the municipal building. There was the church that I attended. The old school is gone; replaced by a brand new one a few miles away.
I have never been to any reunions, so there will be people there that I have not seen in 40 years. The reunion was held at the Summit Inn, an icon at the top of Summit mountain above Uniontown. I signed in and was given a name badge; my actual senior picture from the yearbook. I had straight, dark hair and weighed several thousand pounds less then I do now. My pimples are now gone, replaces by wrinkles of wisdom.
I wandered over to a display board, decorated with pictures of my classmates that are no longer with us. Some old letter jackets, a school cheerleader sweater, and a book of newspaper clippings were on the table. Over 25 people from my class have died, many before the reached the age of twenty. Car accidents. Cancer. Viet Nam casualties. All of them; gone.
I looked around the room for any familiar face. Other than Terry, I saw one - my ex-wife. I had no idea she would be there, but that's okay. She was the captain of the cheerleaders. Her best friend in high school, another cheerleader, passed away from breast cancer a few years ago. For the first time in many, many years, I shared a table with my ex-wife. We shared pictures of our grandchildren.
One by one, people came up to view the picture clipped to my sports coat. Among the shouts of "Oh, My God!", I received lots of hugs and told the same story over and over as to what I am doing now. I expect that I have increased my Blog readership by a few more.
I spotted a few old girlfriends, and several people that I have no idea, even now, who they are. The 60's music was playing way too loud. Old women, once teenagers, were dancing. As usual, the men watched, perhaps remembering sock hops from years past. One by one, several of us retreated to the lobby for a quieter area where we could talk.
Let the stories begin. Four remembered the time that Terry and I created a fake séance, complete with a tape recorded demon that frightened the living hell out of them. I was fondly remembered as the guy that could forge just about any teacher's signature, used for reasons yet disclosed. A slide show of old photographs played in the background. I saw my picture with the Toothless Club - those of us who had partial dental plates that could be removed. Toothless people in Appalachia are relatively common, however.
My friend, Terry, had a cardiac arrest a few years ago, followed by some corrective heart surgery. He is now a diabetic. Don, another old friend came by to comment on his emphysema, a result of his years of smoking. Dog Lehman didn't show due to a recent back injury. We all signed a get well card for him.
We were the last table to go to the buffet, so most of the food was gone. It was not very good anyway, not unlike our old cafeteria. Perhaps, this was part of the theme.
By 11 PM, old farts were dozing off and the women still gabbing. One by one, we said our good-byes, wrote down our e-mails, and promised to stay in-touch. There were many people that I had hoped to see that did not come for various reasons. This was my first reunion, and perhaps it will be my last. The friendships that we fostered in our youth have faded, but memories remain, at least for now. Soon, those too, may be gone, just like my old apple tree.
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Rumpy's Service Station is gone now; so is Rumpy. The pond where I would fish is still there, but now there is a picnic area. The trees I planted along the driveway of my old house are gone, but not before the roots cracked the cement. I see the window of my old bedroom where I used to shoot kids, sniper-like, from my window, with my brother's BB-gun. The apple tree is gone, but I can still taste them. I ate them green; with salt. I still remember getting belly cramps.
My Aunt Norine and Uncle Dave lived across the street. There are strangers living in that house, too. This was the house where my father's casket was viewed. He died in 1957 when I was six. My uncle has passed away, and my aunt, now 95, lives in a nursing home. Several years ago, she gave me her recipe for my favorite homemade dill pickles. I have been making those pickles every year since that time. I brought her a jar of mine this time, much to the suspicious horror of the Transportation Safety Board. My Aunt did not know me, but I hope she remembers her pickles. I was also able to see my Uncle Richard, who was visiting my Aunt Norine. He is the last of my uncles.
Of my mother's 13 siblings, only four survive, including my mother, all over 80 years old. My grandmother's house is still there, now clad in aluminum siding. It looks different now. My cherry tree is gone.
A short walk from the nursing home is the childhood home of my best friend, Terry. His parents are still there. His mean dog, Pepper, fortunately is gone or I would have been bitten by now. His parents still remember me, mainly since they were still getting mail for their long-deceased parakeet, Chipper, up until a few years ago. Terry and I signed up Chipper for some free offer back in the early 1960's and Chip Dawson continued to get junk mail for the next thirty years. Their big chest freezer (with the ice cream) is gone, as is the aquarium that once contained guppies. The guppies met an early death one summer weekend when we ate them, on a dare of course, when his parents were away. Beer was involved.
On every corner, at every house, my brother and I recalled stories. There were windows we soaped at Halloween, the building that once held a bowling alley were we both sat pins, and passed the old cannon in front of the municipal building. There was the church that I attended. The old school is gone; replaced by a brand new one a few miles away.
I have never been to any reunions, so there will be people there that I have not seen in 40 years. The reunion was held at the Summit Inn, an icon at the top of Summit mountain above Uniontown. I signed in and was given a name badge; my actual senior picture from the yearbook. I had straight, dark hair and weighed several thousand pounds less then I do now. My pimples are now gone, replaces by wrinkles of wisdom.
I wandered over to a display board, decorated with pictures of my classmates that are no longer with us. Some old letter jackets, a school cheerleader sweater, and a book of newspaper clippings were on the table. Over 25 people from my class have died, many before the reached the age of twenty. Car accidents. Cancer. Viet Nam casualties. All of them; gone.
I looked around the room for any familiar face. Other than Terry, I saw one - my ex-wife. I had no idea she would be there, but that's okay. She was the captain of the cheerleaders. Her best friend in high school, another cheerleader, passed away from breast cancer a few years ago. For the first time in many, many years, I shared a table with my ex-wife. We shared pictures of our grandchildren.
One by one, people came up to view the picture clipped to my sports coat. Among the shouts of "Oh, My God!", I received lots of hugs and told the same story over and over as to what I am doing now. I expect that I have increased my Blog readership by a few more.
I spotted a few old girlfriends, and several people that I have no idea, even now, who they are. The 60's music was playing way too loud. Old women, once teenagers, were dancing. As usual, the men watched, perhaps remembering sock hops from years past. One by one, several of us retreated to the lobby for a quieter area where we could talk.
Let the stories begin. Four remembered the time that Terry and I created a fake séance, complete with a tape recorded demon that frightened the living hell out of them. I was fondly remembered as the guy that could forge just about any teacher's signature, used for reasons yet disclosed. A slide show of old photographs played in the background. I saw my picture with the Toothless Club - those of us who had partial dental plates that could be removed. Toothless people in Appalachia are relatively common, however.
My friend, Terry, had a cardiac arrest a few years ago, followed by some corrective heart surgery. He is now a diabetic. Don, another old friend came by to comment on his emphysema, a result of his years of smoking. Dog Lehman didn't show due to a recent back injury. We all signed a get well card for him.
We were the last table to go to the buffet, so most of the food was gone. It was not very good anyway, not unlike our old cafeteria. Perhaps, this was part of the theme.
By 11 PM, old farts were dozing off and the women still gabbing. One by one, we said our good-byes, wrote down our e-mails, and promised to stay in-touch. There were many people that I had hoped to see that did not come for various reasons. This was my first reunion, and perhaps it will be my last. The friendships that we fostered in our youth have faded, but memories remain, at least for now. Soon, those too, may be gone, just like my old apple tree.
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