I had convinced myself that high school reunions were outdated. If I wanted to stay in touch with any of my 46 classmates, I already did so through social media.
So when the 50th reunion of the Morristown Central School Class of ’75 arrived last weekend, coinciding with Fourth of July festivities in my village of 400, I tinkered with the idea of skipping it. Alas, I was wrong.
It befuddles me how we can convince ourselves (me) that a reunion will be a negative experience:
- I haven’t lived in the village since 1979. How much can I have in common with my classmates?
- A few had published MAGA-loving posts with no basis in facts, some racist, some preposterous. Not everything someone reads or posts online is true. I could lapse into a whole lecture about credible sources and fact-checking, but I just threw up my hands and unfriended them.
- Because I live in Rochester – I hear often how we receive a lot of government services while the North Country is overlooked! – I don’t want to judged as an elitist.
Before Mary and I jumped in the car for the reunion, she warned me.
“I don’t want this to be like the one you took me to and didn’t introduce me to anyone.’’ She added, “It’s a good thing I know Cathy and Cindy and Linda because I just hung out with your girls.’’
That’s just the point of going. You need to maintain a presence with old friends. You’d miss seeing how classmates have changed.
Sure, someone may tell awkward stories about you. Own it. Sure, someone might pull a Bruce Springsteen “Glory Days’’ – “he could throw that speedball by you … but all he kept talking about was glory days.’’ Endure it. Sure, our bodies are rounding and sagging and don’t resemble the long-haired 18-year-olds who once were Green Rockets. Accept it.
I recall one night about 25 years ago when our Wednesday night basketball game adjourned to a local bar. It was the night before Thanksgiving and the place was crawling with college students.
“Wow, this reminds me of my first semester after high school,’’ I mentioned to a friend. “We all came home from college and met up at the local bar. There were great stories and plenty of laughs.’’
“That ship has sailed,’’ my friend responded. “These guys have been texting and calling each other all the time. They are catching up from last week.’’
That struck me. Within another five years, Facebook would become wildly popular. I reasoned the need for reunions would soon fade. I was wrong again.
We would miss out on showing off our grandkids’ photos, rehashing high school stories, and itemizing how busy we are in retirement – most of us are 68.
Reunions are a brief study in demographics. My class has lost seven of its 47 members. By my count, 19 showed up for our 50th. In a chat with a Morristown, N.J. acquaintance whose class was 250 strong, the mortality rate and attendance registered similar percentages.
OFA graduated 255 in 1975 compared to 111 this year. “Baby Boomer’’ graduating classes were much larger in ‘75:
- Madrid-Waddington – 81
- Lisbon – 79
- Heuvelton — 79
- Morristown – 47
- Hammond – 21
The OFA Class of ’75 will gather at 7 p.m. Saturday, July 26th at the Elks Club for its reunion. According to a recent post on Facebook, more than 75 will attend. A tour of the school is planned for 10 a.m. Friday.
One of the graduates most classmates will recognize immediately is Michael Tooley, current mayor of Ogdensburg. He could rattle off a list of accomplishments from the past 18 months such as restoring a respectful tone to city government, hiring a city manager, or trying to mend relations with city employees. But his best story would be how he got his schoolboy nickname: Toots.
“In seventh grade,’’ he recalled four years ago in an interview, “we were asked to write plays in an English class and then perform. My group of four wrote a play about a superhero (me), started out dressed as an old lady but when the time came to rescue those in distress I ripped my dress off and underneath I was wearing a bikini.’’
“Someone in the class yelled, ‘What a Toots.’ And there you are.”
I’m sure he’d rather talk about his two successful daughters, Shannon and Erin, each raising a grandchild. They’re more fun to talk about than state economic grants.
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/
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