JAMESTOWN, NEW YORK, 1976 - The reunion party in 1976 seemed like it was a long time from the day that we walked across the stage.
I missed it anyway, though I was in town. I didn't know about it! Merde!
Ten years out of high school seemed like an eternity, but looking at the photo with today's blog (provided by Lee Anderson), the faces don't look that much different from the yearbook.
Some of the guys are definitely sporting a lot more hair than at graduation (and beards, lots of beards) but we were young and the thought that we might ever be going to a, gasp, 40th high school reunion impossible.
Just before I sat down to write this, I had an newspaper buddy show up, a guy I worked with in Petaluma in the mid-1970s at the Petaluma Argus-Courier, a daily there that has since faded down to weekly and barely surviving. Our kids were about the same age and we both had a fondness for cheap red wine, the movie Casablanca, a young (and completely unavailable) female secretary at the local university - and writing stories that uncovered wrongdoing, especially on the part of sleaze-bag politicians. (Remember those guys Nixon and Agnew?)
The photo we took today of the two of us gives me glimpse of what the group shot will look like at our 40th high school reunion.
Mature is the description I prefer to put on the caption. My 7-year-old granddaughter says I'll never be mature but is kind enough not to add any of her own adjectives for what her granddad looks like with another almost-white-haired guy in the picture.
Mature, indeed. Mature.
She's right about one thing, I probably never will grow up anyway.
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