Thomas Wolfe was wrong – you can home again and again

   You can take the boy out of the North Country, but you can’t take the North Country, Morristown and the St. Lawrence River out of the boy.

    For many of us transplants, summer is not complete until we loll on a porch and watch the ship traffic, watch the loons bob among the waves, admire a glorious sunset, check out the changes in the storefronts, run into old acquaintances.

   The North Country may not have the job offerings we needed 45 years ago to sustain a professional career, but there are no shortages of memories and traditions. In Morristown, we return to the river every July Fourth. It’s a town reunion. Ogdensburg will embrace the same spirit in two weeks when OFA alums trickle in for the Seaway Festival, eager to see old classmates and retell old stories.

   The blue expanse of the St. Lawrence attracts you, but the town stirs your memories. On my first pass through the village, I studied familiar names of veterans on recognition banners and found the utility pole bearing Fran Holleran’s image. The “Coach’’ banner recognized his 1942-45 military service, but the yearbook photo represented his contribution to 32 MCS graduating classes and countless summer recreation programs.

   Once I watched that emotional opening scene from the start of “Saving Private Ryan (1998)’’ when the veteran breaks into tears upon visiting a Normandy cemetery, I disbanded the joke about my father guarding centerfield from the Nazis in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

  A memory lingers around every corner. When you walk along Main Street to watch the parade, you can’t go quietly. Former neighbor Judy Barley Taylor lives within shouting distance of the site where her father ran a service station. Her brother, Cary, and I were born on the same day 67 years ago.

  Further up the street, Chris Schroh is in town with his family.  He was just a 5-year-old living across the street; now he is a father of two living near San Diego. You recall how his father, now interred at Arlington National Cemetery, patiently gave you golf pointers and coached Little League. Chris was best friends with Mark Bennett, whose sister Heather shares an embrace.

   You lose your family in the crowd when you stop to chat with Herbie Lake, the recipient of a 100-plus backyard TD passes. A few yards away is his sister, Bonnie Lake Hollister, with her husband, Pat, a high school baseball and basketball teammate.

   Still no family? You hug high school classmate and former village mayor Cindy Bailey Holmes, who splits time between Edwardsville and Nashville, Tenn., where her two grandchildren live.

   You don’t see much of the parade because you greet classmates Gary Mourick and Kandy Smith. Standing there is Kandy’s older brother, Kit, the retired Ogdensburg Public Works director. You recall when he was the quarterback of the eight-man football team and a guard when you were a seventh-grade manager of the basketball team.

   By now, you have found your family, but not before Holmes and your wife claim they have planned and organized the entire 50^th-year class reunion for next year. Before you can hold a stake in the conversation, you’re chatting with Sandy Woodcock Bailey, recently retired from Ogdensburg schools. You remember how her father, Lyle, was Morristown’s greatest athlete in the early 1950s, starring in football, basketball and baseball. He was good enough to earn a minor-league contract with the New York Giants.

   By now the parade is ending, but you can’t ignore Jeff Smith, your backup second baseman who today is a father of three and helping Ogdensburg schools as a bus monitor in his retirement.

  But the toughest jury of all remains your family back at sister Maureen’s riverside home.

   “Anything said here today is not for publication,’’ kids your brother Fran, reminding you he is poised to sue on any bad publicity.

    The family never fails to entertain. We learn about Erin Spilman’s engagement, hear the story about the invasive crow’s nest, and watch niece Caitrin freak out when a dead carp floats into her path during a river swim. It rivals the scene in “Caddyshack,’’ when a chocolate bar lands in the pool and causes pandemonium.

  The Firecracker fun run offers the newest tradition. When runners gather inside the parish center, you slip inside your old elementary school and spot your parents’ names on the list of benefactors and the mural of Christ you helped to construct as a child.

    The family is good for attendance — five Hollerans, three Considines and five Spilmans – whether it is the one-mile walk or 5K jog. Still, your chest heaves and legs tire but you can’t escape familiar faces – Chet and Mary Truskowski walking with their  family, Brian Van Arnam running, Fran Colby puttering outside his home or Dave Shea shooting pictures and gathering results.

   I even spotted the parish priest, Rev. Chris Carrara, helping to direct runners as I lumbered through my first 5K in nine years.

   “Yeah,’’ said my brother Fran. “We positioned him there in case you needed last rites.’’

       Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/