A Sojourn in Waynesboro: Part 1, The Reunion

Last weekend my high school class--the mighty class of '73--held a 33rd reunion. Not being one to miss these things (although less in the name of class spirit and more in the name of observing human nature--and reconnecting with a few old pals), and grabbing any excuse to visit my 88-year-old mom, I made my way to the big W.

Not that getting there was any easier than the last time (see Gnome-mania, below)--what with a snow squall at O'Hare that slowed us up with de-icing and a paperwork snafu with the refuelers to boot, I missed my connection in Philadelphia and had to wait six god-damned hours for the next flight. (Note to self: never, ever fly through Philadelphia again if humanly possible.) Luckily, there were four of us hapless travelers stranded in Philly, so we passed the time in friendly, if frustrated, camaraderie. At any rate, the weekend turned out to be well worth the trouble, what with the reunion, the fall foliage, and the Fall Foliage Festival Art Show. Please bear with me as I cover them in a series of posts.

First, the reunion. On the one hand, it was fun. Some people I hadn't seen in years--in more than a decade--came either to the Friday night gathering at the local watering hole or to the cocktail party at the local country club on Saturday night. It was great to see them and catch up. And it was kind of horrifying to realize that these folks have kids who are in college or married or... well, some of these guys are grandparents. Of course, my stepkids are either in college or graduated from college, so that means me too. But somehow it seems bizarre to see all these folks--people I associate with my teenage years--all grown up and well (I mean WELL) into middle age. Which is why it was also weird.

I found that I had less to say to casual acquaintances than at previous reunions--I was much more content to hang with old friends who really HAD been (and/or still ARE) friends, rather than people with whom I never really connected--or whom I remember only because they were the popular kids that everyone knew just by default. And, oddly enough, those "popular kids" stayed to themselves as well--something that was not as much in evidence at the 20th and 25th reunions. Although this was much more the case at the cocktail party than at the bar. At the bar, people were coming up and saying "hi," and I still don't have clue as to whom several of them were... although they seemed to know me. I guess this is part and parcel of the reunion experience.

It was a successful reunion. It also made me realize a few things.

First, I really, really missed Jeff. Although at my 25th I left him to his own devices for way too long as I carried on a drunken but profound conversation in the ladies room with Lauren F. (not in attendance at this reunion), I learned my lesson then. I wish he had been there. I would have shown him off proudly. And I would have danced a lot more. Heh.

Second, if you never had much to say to a class member back when you were actually attending high school, you won't have much to say to them 33 years hence. In fact, you will likely have much less to say to them. But they (and you) will likely be much more able to make friendly small talk than you were 'way back when.

Third, if you grew up in a small town and now live in a big city, be prepared for the ubiquitous question, delivered in incredulous tones: Do you LIKE living there??!?

Fourth: It is astounding how much people you barely spoke two words to in your entire high school career know about you. The reunion drunk (see below) actually came up to me at the Friday meet-and-greet and said, "You were Barbara S.'s friend! You were always carrying a book to read! Your mom lives by the park! You probably don't even know who I am!" And I wouldn't have, either, except I'd been chatting with his wife (whom I had just met) for a few minutes before he lurched onto the scene.

Fifth: The friends you could always talk to for hours and hours in high school? You can still find TONS of things to say to them. And they to you.

I don't have any pictures of Friday's festivities; I took some, but the flash just washed everyone out and it was too dark to get crisp pictures sans flash. I do have some pictures of the cocktail party, mainly of my table. So here we go.

In this one, a demonic Barbara looms menacingly behind an unsuspecting Sam M. Barb, as you know if you follow this blog, is my best pal from junior high and high school days--and we continue to be fast friends. Sam is one of the original Young Fools on the Go, although now he works for the U.S. Postal Service. Back in elementary school, Sam, Lee S., and Rob D. (who also did not attend this soiree) made 8mm scare movies, and in one of them Lee was set on fire. On purpose. I don't think he was harmed...at least, not physically. The emotional scars, though... hmmm.

And here is that very same Lee, leaning over to talk to Tara, his date. Lee works in the pathology lab in a VA hospital in Richmond. In the foreground and kind of washed out is Susan C., or Chibby (if you would rather call her by her junior high nickname). Sorry, Chibby! Back in those salad days, Barb, Chibby, and I were fast friends. In high school, though, Chibby went back to being Susan and eventually drifted away from our little group. We still have a lot to reminisce over at events such as this, though. The Chibster's a guidance counselor at the local middle school.

Here's a different view of our table. The guy in the white shirt is Robbie R. He was the cutest guy in our class. Bar none. We all had wicked crushes on him, but he was way out of our league. Still, Barb and I and the other female Young Fools were really pleased to discover in our senior year that Robbie--although still way out of our league--wasn't stuck up at all. In fact, he had a great sense of humor, and he didn't seem to mind hanging out with nerds like us now and again (as long as he could take leave of nerdom whenever it suited him). It was great to catch up with him at this party, although he has had some very bad patches healthwise in the last several years. He seems to be on the mend, though.

The music for this do was provided by Wanda and the White Boys, a great oldies band fronted by Wanda Eaves, of the mighty class of 1973. Who knew, back in the day, that Wanda had such pipes? She didn't try out for chorus, much less for a coveted spot in Concert Choir (the goal of most of us who claimed the least bit of vocal talent). She's been fronting this band for years, though, and making a living at it. (In fact, Wanda and the White Boys played our 20th reunion as well.) Makes me happy just to think about it.

Every reunion has one: the sloppy drunk. I won't name him... but once he found the mic, well, he just couldn't resist it. Let's see: he admonished us all to get up and shake a leg because "It don't matter, we're all drunk anyway!" He took credit for coming up with the name of Wanda's band: "We was comin' back from Junior Variety Show meeting at Cindy B.'s house, and it was four of us guys and Wanda crammed in my '57 Ford. And I said, 'Hey, look! It's Wanda and the white boys!' And a legend was born..." And he told a long story about how he proposed to his wife on April Fool's Day ("She said, 'Is this a JOKE?'"), then got cold feet and they had to throw away the invitations but she stuck by him and they got married anyway and it's been 31 years and I love ya, honey!

But, you know, he was funny and sweet and--although he lapsed ever deeper into a very, um, redneck Southern accent every time he commandeered the mic--he was so enthusiastic that we didn't mind his inebriated tales. I just wish I had a video phone, though. This stuff was ripe for YouTube!

Next installment: The art show. But it will have to wait until tomorrow.