Fifty Years.

50 Years. A half century.

Fifty years ago, and every year since, Sexton High School and thousands of other schools set onto the world a new generation of eighteen year-olds with big dreams and, in some cases, with big attitudes. And yet, though they would fight you tooth and nail on this – those graduates are still children wrapped in young adult bodies, now legally of age.

Can you find me? It took me a long time!

To be honest, I was pretty uncertain about attending my high school reunion, which is probably one of those life-passage things we must all do in time. Burying our parents. Going to really lousy middle school band concerts and trying to find something nice to say later. Choosing a career path – or two or three. Looking through tears at a doctor and asking, “Well, what’s the next step?”

Rites of passage.

I liked high school. My graduating class had 460 kids. I was a drama and choir geek and one of the pretty smart kids. Not the smartest, but smart enough. My circle of friends was older than I and younger by two years either way. Very few of my closest friends were in my class and of those who were at least two had died.

(Eighty-nine of my class members had died – close to twenty percent -- including my friend and neighbor, Mary, who was my freshman college roommate. She died in a plane crash before we even finished college.) 

And yes, I was Facebook friends with a few, not many. But then, what does that mean, anyway?

Give me three reasons why I should go spend a fair amount of time with people I didn’t really know then, much less now? 

Well, here you go. I lived in the same town as my school. Really, it wasn’t like having to fly across country, as so many would.  Second, a woman I had come to know from the class in later years far better than in high school – Diane S. – was the one of the organizers. I knew they had worked hard on this event and I wanted to support it -- and her.

I'm lucky to run into Diane at lots of Friends of Theatre gigs!

And then she told me the “other Diane” – Diane M. – was coming from Texas. She was a theatre geek too. My people. I hadn’t seen her since high school but I always liked her and thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to catch up.” That was the deal-breaker.

Like many reunions, ours included a meet-and-greet, which I skipped, and a tour of the high school, which I didn’t. I wrote about the school HERE.  Wandering through there were memories and conversations about Miss Ludwig or Mr. Angus, where we met for homeroom and which of the recently painted lockers had been ours. If you read the previous post, you know that Drama Diane and I slipped away from the group to go in the basement of the auditorium where sets were built and actors dressed for our shows. It was a good afternoon.

And, that afternoon made me feel a bit less nervous about the evening dinner. I’d seen a few people I remembered well and looked forward to seeing them again. 

It was an evening as one would expect, one many have already experienced. A buffet (vegetarian options available – did we even think about that when we were 18?). Cash bar with adequate house wine or beer. A caricaturist, displays with photos and memorabilia. The committee had done a lovely job.

Ken decided he'd copy his caricature for his little boys to color!

We circled around, touched base with each other. One friend who’d attended the tour that morning didn’t come. She was running a marathon the next day. Another had become a very successful artist and we talked about his painting workshops in a few weeks (I planned to go until I realized I had a doc appointment that day I couldn't change.) A girl I first met in sixth grade was an elegant woman who owned a resort in Northern Michigan (and yes, I will probably detour on one of my up-north road trips to have lunch with her.) 

Google Mark Mehaffey for a look at his fabulous art. Carole Benson Dennings now has a resort in Northern Michigan.

A fellow I’d never talked with in high school (because he was one of the popular kids and – gasp! – on the football team) had a career restoring historic barns. I even saw the guy who was my first real date when we went to a concert by the Association. My friend Jean from church choir was a professional storyteller.

Tom and I went to see the Association when we were sophomores or more likely juniors -- my first real date. He's retired now. Jean is a professional storyteller and librarian; I've known her since church choir in sixth grade!

 People came up to me, “I wondered if you would be here!”  (I had no idea who they were then or now.) “I used to see you on television all the time. Have you retired?” (Who are you?)

And then I might just look at a name tag – each with our senior photo and name in large print (thank you!) – and realize just who that was.  (And sometimes, not!)

They'd collected lots of memorabilia, like this program from "Diary of Anne Frank."

Boy, did that one bring back memories!

It was all good – and while I took off long before the last guests left, I was glad I’d attended. And, I was especially looking forward to brunch the next day with the Two Dianes and Tom, who had been in my home room.

The next morning we gathered at a local restaurant, one where we could stay awhile and catch up. I was FB friends with all three – and yet we all knew so little about each others’ lives. Not just jobs or family, but our lives, our thoughts.

We talked for close to three hours and not really about school, apart from how that defined us at one age and yet how far we were from the definition. The Drama Geeks. The Smart Ones. The Jocks. The Band Kids. A dozen labels that fit – and that didn’t.

 Diane S., the class valedictorian, said guys came up to her at the reunion and said, “I always thought you were so cute – I had a crush on you.” “Why didn’t they tell me at the time?” she wondered.

Tom said he wasn’t in the photo of us all in our caps and gowns – he didn’t graduate with us. He was angry all through school for a lot of very good reasons, but not ones we knew about back then. He took it out on the football field. And maybe a few teachers. I had no idea.

I was the one who could only feel comfortable on stage and playing a part – because only a few people could see the real me. It took me a long time to be comfortable speaking in class or to someone I might have admired or even had a crush on.

Barefoot in the Park

Drama Diane, now in publishing, said she took philosophy as an elective. “They don’t teach that anymore. Why?”

We agreed, we could all have used a little more philosophical and critical thinking in high school and those years that followed. I suspect today's kids could use it too.

We graduated at the height of the Vietnam war, a war that took my high school boyfriend into the Air Force. That same war took me to war protests on campus. The relationship didn’t end well. I wish he’d come to the reunion. I would have apologized to him for not understanding what he experienced. 

I wish Ron had come to the reunion. I know more now about what he must have experienced in Vietnam.

After high school, we learned to live independently. For many of us, it was first in a dorm, then an apartment, then either on our own or in a relationship. We learned how to be responsible and the consequences when we weren’t. We went our own ways – sometimes staying in the fields we chose at 18 and more often, evolving into other interests and passions.

I think we became even more real to one another than we may have been before. I know so much more about all these people than I did – not just what they do, but who they are. The one who surprised me most was Tom, the one I had known least. The angry one who didn’t graduate. But he wasn't angry now. And boy, was he smart. Wise. The one who had learned the power of negotiation and compromise as a union steward and the importance of standing up for what was right.

From all this I have discovered something very important about attending a class reunion, a lesson I am happy to share with anyone who will listen. It isn’t just about getting to catch up with the people you knew, but to discover those you didn’t know so well. In revisiting those times gone by, we were all afforded the opportunity to step back and look at ourselves and how we’ve evolved in those 50 years. Wins. Losses. Life. It shows on our faces, our hips, our words, our thoughts.

And what’s ahead? For all of us, there will be the challenges of age. I think all four of us had health issues we didn't talk about at breakfast and no doubt, more to come as we age. We may discover new interests or work as long as possible. We will see our peers die and others thrive in retirement.

As for Tom? He said he wanted to be a lumberjack and saw wood and enjoy doing that with his sons.  

I hope he does.

Sharing with:    Best of the Weekend     /     Let's Add Sprinkles

A New Visit to an Old School

Fall seems to be a big time for class reunions and my school was no exception. One of the highlights of the weekend was a tour of the school.

Homeroom!

According to wikipedia (that oh-so-reliable source!), J.W. Sexton High School "is the most important in terms of architectural innovation." Architectural designs began in 1939 and took two years to complete. Construction was halted after the bombing of Pearl Harbor for sometime, but it resumed and the school opened in 1943, with the auditorium being completed in 1949 and the pool in 1956. If the school was built today, it would cost $26 million. Its total capacity could handle more than 2,500 students. (Our graduating class was 460.)

Source: Reunion committee

The exterior of the building is handsome but it is the interior that then -- and now -- continued to amaze me. Designed at the end of the Art Deco period, it includes many features from that era, including an impressive clock tower and rotunda on the exterior.

Source unknown

One enters a spacious foyer with curved walls, paneled in light oak and with a high ceiling. It is flanked on both sides with trophy cases. Another beautiful feature was a collection of mosaics on the floor at various points in the buildings where hallways meet. The floor is made from a material called terrazzo, which resembles granite. This was in the foyer, definitely setting the place!

 By the auditorium we see Punch and Judy.

Others highlight music (in the corridor leading to the band, orchestra and choir rooms...

... and

Different mosaics were inset at various places in the hallway.  We wondered if there might have been water fountains there.

The walls are of tile with decorative tiles set within the terracotta colored tiles. These reflect mythological figures and stories...

...along with scenes from Shakespeare...

 ...and other shapes from nature.

The tiles were created specifically for the school by the interior designed and were made with standard stock with little extra cost to the school district.

As you might guess, my favorite area was the auditorium. It could seat over 1,000 with its large balcony and had red seats in the school colors. I spent a lot of time here during my three years at school -- onstage and off.

It became clear that our tour wasn't going to include the basement where the scene shop and dressing rooms, so my friend Diane and I skipped away from the tour to go downstairs. The scene shop looked much as it did during our years.

I even found my cousin's name painted on the wall near the ceiling. She was there nine years before me.

The dressing rooms looked a little sad and the green room was stuffed with lumber and whatever other junk seemed to be in hiding. It was pretty clear there is no drama department left at Sexton.

But the stairway held memories. Although I didn't recognize any of the names here...

... you can see from this photo of our drama teacher back in 1969 that there are names from my era. They had been overpainted by later generations!

The library was also impressive. I remember when his mural, by a woman named Linda Wright, was created on the library wall. (NOTE: If the blogger named 60 Something -- a no-reply blogger and I couldn't find a site -- is out there, thanks for commenting. You know, when I walked into the library, I said to someone, "Sue Radke did this." But then the name Linda Wright was on the mural and no sign of Sue so I thought I must have been thinking of something else. As you said in your comment, you thought she had something to do with it -- and I did too, so thanks for letting me know. I wish she'd signed her name!)

The bookshelves and circulation desk are made of oak and the room is large. I met up with several old friends there who recalled working in the library and a lot of "shusshing" going on!

There were memories attached to the gymnasium, site of many a basketball game and gym class in those awful navy blue one piece gymsuits girls had to wear.

We learned that the choir room was now for detention but the band room was still there! (In fact, just this past week, the school resurrected the Homecoming Parade for the first time in years.)

From the third floor, we had a great view of the football field! Our drivers ed classes were on the other side of that and on cold winter mornings it felt like a very long walk!

It has been fifty years since we gathered together and collected those diplomas. For some, it was their first step toward higher education. For others, Vietnam or jobs at Oldsmobile, our local factory, called.

Many friendships were made, many lost. And that day...

...many renewed.

On Cookies and Growing Up

It's Girl Scout cookie time. I am reminded of this at work when the children of colleagues come by with their list in hand.

I am reminded when the doorbell rings and it's the little girl from two doors down, bundled up in her coat, smiling, two front teeth missing.

I am reminded when my other neighbor's granddaughters knock on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Must buy from all, even if it's just a box or two!

Oh, I remember Girl Scout cookies. My snotty little East Lansing troop did the cookie thing like others have before and since. I don't remember if we "won" anything. I just remember the cookies! (My mother, who was a troop leader told me years later we were a pretty bratty bunch! We also look hopelessly bored!)

I think if most of the kids in my Scout troop were to look back honestly, we would all say we weren't at all deprived. We lived in a lovely white-bread neighborhood where a donation at school for someone's get well bouquet would tally out equivalent to seven or eight dollars today.

It is the reason my parents moved when I was going into sixth grade. I was getting to be a little brat who wasn't impressed by much of anything and they were going to nip that in the bud by adding a little diversity to my life.

Of course I pitched a fit. What self-respecting ten-year-old wouldn't? But one doesn't have much choice in the matter at that age, so the summer before school began, I moved, leaving behind my best friend Michele (not at all snotty, I might add, and today a tremendously gifted jewelry designer) and the three Loomis girls who were very nice, too. I think (I hope) I probably wasn't all that poofy if I had such nice, down-to-earth and unspoiled friends.

You wouldn't have known I'd made much of a change from the neighborhood, or even from my elementary school. But when I got into junior high, I was surrounded by a wonderful mix of kids from all income and racial backgrounds. That was increased all the more in high school.

When I was in ninth grade, my friend Mary's parents tried to convince my parents to send me to the somewhat more posh, less inner-city school in the next county where "the kids would be more like they are."

Bless my parents. They had no intention of moving me out of the school they had chosen for me, years before I would attend it. It was probably the most significant and important decision that helped shape my life.

I was going to be a Big Red.

I not only enjoyed my years at J.W. Sexton High School, I thrived. My circle of friends was diverse. The shy kid who stammered in front of her junior high speech class became a drama star (well, not quite a star, but a relatively decent actress. And, while some may disagree, not a drama queen, either!). But I did discover this passion for theatre, terrific friends, music and so much more.

Our school board is considering whether or not to close my high school. The choice is between this and another city school. In both cases, the test scores are down, as are enrollments in the district. The thought of seeing this wonderful place close hurts me to the quick. A few years ago, I attended an open house there -- 60 years. I noticed things I'd long forgotten.

Pewabic pottery tiles in the walls...

... mosaic floors...

... a beautiful auditorium. I saw names on the stairway leading to the theatre's dressing rooms I'd long forgotten.

Stunning sculpture.

I made terrific lifelong friends in drama, like my friend-forever, Suzanne, with whom I shared the stage in "Barefoot in the Park."

And I've said goodbye to too many, including beautiful Gail Ulrich, whose heart was as large as the sky and who left this world decades before she should have.

The school board is looking for all the right reasons to close one school and save another. Which needs the least repair? Has the best reputation? Has the most kids walking to school? There are arguments to be made for both.

They don't care that thousands; no, tens of thousands of us, graduated with stories, friendships, life skills, new passions, a sense of confidence and self.

But I do.

So, in another month or so, when all the little Scouts who've come my way bring my cookies, I'll think back to my Scout troop, little girls who wanted to be grown up. And I'll think about what leaving did to help me grow up, too. I hope other kids will have the chance to experience what I did, where I did.

A Note about Photos: Some of the postcards are from my collection and others were pulled via googleimages. Some (tiles, sculpture) were by a fellow named Reid Sprite. Still other photos were shared on the Sexton Facebook page, so thanks, folks, for those. Finally, the cookie jars in the restaurant were taken at Van's Pastries in Grand Rapids. And note, that one looks like my childhood jar!)

Please visit my book blog, Chopsticks and String for a look at Alexander McCall Smith's "The Charming Quirks of Others."