On the set of "Kate & Steve" in upstate NY

On the set of "Kate & Steve"
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

CAYUTA, New York - In my spare time, I'm learning to make videos, videos I call 'rockumentaries,' which, as you might guess, include a lot of music in the films.

I've completed a half dozen of the things in the last couple of years including Cruising For Croissants (a 10-day canal boat trip in France) Sailing with Bees (a bee infestation in Sabbatical's mast) and The Whales of Banderas Bay. (Can you guess what's the big feature in that one?).

All of which leads me to the wedding I shot a week ago when a second cousin of Admiral Fox was married and I spent the entire afternoon filming and interviewing the participants, interspersed with a little eating and drinking of course.

Not many of our class got married by the time I did - Dec. 23, 1969 - and I left that next August for the west, so I missed a lot of champagne punch and toasts and garters flying into the crowd.

But one wedding I did attend in the late 60s I was reminded of while filming. It was when Merle Butler was best man at a wedding of a woman from the Class of '67 (all I remember is her name was Jody) who married a fellow from Egypt. I remember that Jody's intended had sandy blonde hair, but definitely sported Arabic-Middle Eastern features and his accented English was fascinating to listen to. I attended the wedding with Sandy Carlson (Class of '67 also) who was one of Jody's good friends. I went wherever Sandy asked, but that's another story.

Merle was serving in Vietnam at the time and suggested that I should do everything possible to avoid going over and get shot at. He was killed a few months later. But that's another story, too.

At the time, I didn't think anything about the racial and/or cross-cultural elements of that wedding at all. I just remember Jody's father being fairly beet red most of the wedding and at a hastily arranged dinner right afterwards. I realize now that he was not a happy camper - and it wasn't bourbon that was bothering him. His little girl was likely to be going back to Egypt, though that wasn't certain, and, well, her husband was definitely not your average Jamestown boy. (I remember wanting to ask him a question about the pyramids and Sandy cutting me off before I could say a word. She had a lot more class than I did.)

At the wedding last week at the gorgeous Fontainbleau Inn on the shore of Cayuta Lake, my wife's mid-20s second cousin (who grew up in rural Hector, New York and holds a degree in genetics from the University of Connecticut), married a sophisticated architect (also mid-20s) who grew up in Indianapolis and it was the wedding of the summer for the east side of Seneca Lake, with people who hadn't been invited calling up the week before the wedding begging to attend.

The sophisticated architect (and now husband) is African-American, the second cousin (and now wife) of English and Irish background. But in a some measure of change from the 60s it was one of the happiest weddings I've attended in my life. There was singing, dancing, and a ceremony that was heartbreaker. If there was any tension about this architect marrying a geneticist, I didn't see it. And my right eye is still sore from the filming and my jaw weak from talking with everyone I could.

This is one rockumentary I am really looking forward to pulling together. I've even installed some new software on a second dedicated movie computer - Final Cut - to do it justice.

Now if I could just find someone to teach all my university classes this semester...

Any volunteers?

Grey Goose mini-golf tourney at Webb's?

Miniature golf at Webb's
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

MAYVILLE, New York - For some reason, now that I am 2,500 miles away from Lake Chautauqua, I'm thinking more about our reunion than when I was a couple of hours away in Valois.

(Note to self: get new wheels for next year's high school class reunion. Showing up in late mother-in-law's ancient white Buick would be very uncool.)

I guess part of what prompted me to be thinking about next July was an email from Barb Bunce Garlock, saying that she and her husband and some other Pittburgh folks were thinking about making reservations at Webb's for the reunion weekend.

It's on my 'to-do list,' also, though the way my life seems to bounce, I hate making something that definite for nearly 11 months from now. I could be somewhere off the coast of Costa Rica on my sailboat dodging hurricanes the way things are going.

But that brings me to a serious topic: golf.

Serious? Well, okay, not that serious.

Back when we were all learning to play golf in high school in P.E. - and my mother was so intent that I learn that she paid for some private lessons - my myopia prevented me from doing much except digging trenches all over anywhere I attempted to tee off. Since getting eye surgery, I can whack a ball pretty well, but because I never really got into it, I won't be joining anyone on any golfing expeditions that are part of the reunion. (Unless we went somewhere with electric golf carts, I love to careen around in those like Rodney Dangerfield.)

But I see that Webb's Resort has its own miniature golf course, so maybe we can put together a few rounds of that with an appropriate trophy and recognition at our dinner soiree. Besides, it's much easier to carry around a tall, iced glass filled with Grey Goose & collins mix while playing the miniature version anyway.

Fore!

Reunion is official - now we have T-shirts

Official Class of '66 reunion T-shirt
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - Sometime in the next day or so you should receive an email with more details about next July's Class of '66 reunion and a form to fill out about what events you will attend, food you want, and other sundries.

But today, here's a preview of the T-shirts you can purchase. Sweatshirts will also be available.

Randy Carlson has been sending me names for the email list. And if you are getting your email, you should be receiving the updates. A gaggle of people who work at Cummins should have their emails forwarded in the next few days, too, which will put us well over 50 members of the Class of '66 in email contact.

School has started for me in California so for a few days, I won't have much to say here, as I am already swamped with requests for advising, lectures to prepare, university committees to wiggle out of, and which student start-of-the-semester keg party to go to this Friday night. (Ok, the last one isn't real...)

But I'm still pondering the Class of '66 Yahoo website conversation about the different societies we had within high school, Lakewood vs. Busti, etc... And who, exactly were the 400s?

Later on that, though. I have a class in 20 minutes and undergraduate noggins to start knocking on.

What to make of the dreams of reunions

Darby O'Gill & the King I
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

VALOIS, New York - I've entered the last few days of summer vacation, which is a gross misnomer given that we have to close up the cottage, put away two boats for the winter, attend a wedding Sunday (which I have to videotape for a rockumentary) and then fly to California Monday at 0'dark early to begin teaching the same day. (I have three classes that day...)

Jaysus.

Add to that, a veneer of all the thinking I've been doing about our high school class and reunion.

So what do you get? Weird dreams. Extremely weird dreams.

Being Irish, believing in leprechauns, banshees and sundry other spooky things is second nature. So Darby O'Gill invaded my sleep two nights ago, as did the occasional banshee (a ghost, the kind of ghost you do not want invading your sleep time).

But last night the dreams were all about our high school class. Well, at least filled with people from high school. And while the usual cast of characters moved in and out of the scene - Randy Carlson, Bud Hooper, et al, - last night Nancy Anderson popped up and, well guys, she looked marvelous.

I barely remember Nancy Anderson, except that she lived on the corner of Brook and Erie Streets in a big brick place. She had red hair, more freckles than your average person named Anderson and sometime she just vanished, like Jackie Hamm, Gary Shenkle and a lot of others.

In this dream, we were having a reunion and she was going from person to person, filling them in on what had happened in her life since high school.

I strained to hear what she was saying but couldn't. Sometimes in dreams you can simply crank up the volume. Not last night. Nancy's secrets are safe, unless someone can fill us in.

I can hardly wait to take a nap today, if I have time between close-the-cottage projects.

Today's song? It's by the Everly Brothers, of course.

All I Have to Do is Dream

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

When I feel blue in the night
And I need you to hold me tight
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam

I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I'm dreamin' my life away

I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam

I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I'm dreamin' my life away


I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

FADE
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

Do all Class of '66 reunions involve wine?

Three amigos
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

VALOIS, New York - You might think that a wine that goes by the name of Uncle Homer would be, well, not something that would stir the soul of Robert Mondavi, let's say.

But Sunday, Bob and Donna Swanson drove from Jamestown for the day and we visited - and revisited - a large bottle of Uncle Homer's Red during the afternoon.

It's a great wine, from a winery two miles up the road called Rasta Ranch, a place right out of the 60s with posters, tie-dyed shirts and Janis Joplin music playing not-too-softly while you sip.

That last time I saw Bob was at our 25th reunion and we had a lot of good laughs Sunday remembering things like trying to do 'the stroll,' at the Casino on the second night and how we survived the flood at the 20th soiree.

We also lamented the state of public education today, dredged up lots of memories of different teachers we had (it turns out Donna is related to Calvin Hanson), and wondered aloud about how many people might actually show up in Mayville next summer for the 40th reunion.

Between the list of people signed up for the Yahoo! discussion group that Allan Winger put together and the number of regular hits on this website, my guess as of today would be maybe 100 people (50 from the Class of '66 and their spouses).

Maybe we can get the whole event sponsored by Rasta Ranch Winery or Poplar Ridge, another Valois outfit. Poplar Ridge is a favorite of Bob & Donna's. It's owner, Dave Bagley, is a local legend, not just for his wines, but for sitting at the tasting bar sipping Coors light while people sample his selections.

In the meantime, I'm going to have some Uncle Homer's Red wine shipped to California to offer to some wine snobs I know. And I think I better brush up on how to do 'the stroll.'

With my knee still on the injured list seven weeks after an epic lake party here, it's likely I'll sit out dances with names that include The Twist.

So I say today, anyway. Enough Uncle Homer and who can predict?

============

Today's song, of course, is a stroll, the one stroll song I remember from high school dance class (or was it junior high dance class?). What I remember most, is getting my feet tangled while dancing with Sally Smith and, it seemed, the entire world watching.

I Want to Walk You Home

by Fats Domino

I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home
I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I wish I was the lucky guy
Who could walk you right on down the aisle

I love the way you walk
I love to hear you talk
I love the way you walk
I love to hear you talk

I'm not trying to be smart
I'm not trying to break your heart
But if I ask you for a date
Will you tell me that I'm not too late

I want to hold your hand
Please let me hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
Please let me hold your hand

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I saw you walkin' all alone
That's why I want to walk you home

So let me walk you home
Please let me walk you home
I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I saw you walkin' all alone
That's why I want to walk you home
That's why I want to walk you home
FADE:
That's why I want to walk you home
That's why I want to walk you home

Class of '66 entourage visits Sonoma winery

Class of 66 in Sonoma
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SONOMA, Calif. - I missed the visit of Steve, Linda, Barb and Scott to California in July, a photo from which is posted on the Yahoo website put up by Allan Winger. (And posted here, too, obviously...)

Steve and Linda have a home in Santa Rosa, not too far from where I live in Sacramento. And they visited the Sonoma Valley (with Barb and her husband Scott), where I spent most of the 1970s working for newspapers before moving to Grass Valley (in the mountains) for a few years.

I probably should have stayed in the mountains and avoided the Sacramento Valley, but that's another story, better saved for another day or our reunion next summer.

It was great to log on to the Yahoo site and see the photo. I've been preoccupied with back-to-school issues and haven't been checking it as often as I should - or posting. I wonder if our teachers like Harry Robie or Hubie Davis or Harold Burgard got stressed the week or so before school, getting their lesson plans set up.

In my case, I have been teaching journalism classes for 20+ years and feel like a dinosaur. (I heard what you just thought, Cheryl...)

The weather in upstate New York has turned to fall already, a very familiar feel from when we would be getting ready to return to SWCS. The days suddenly seem shorter, the air is cool in the morning and already the leaves are starting to drop off some of the trees. The two boats on the beach already represent a chore, not potential good times. They both have to be hauled, winterized and stored before I make my sojourn back to California August 29.

When you live in Sonoma or Sacramento, fall arrives sometime in, well, maybe late November. Winter is December and January (it gets as low as 40 degrees sometimes) and spring is already springing in late February.

That's not why I moved to California in 1970. But it's a nice spiff anyway.

So today's song is a natural:

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN'
performed by The Mamas & Papas
 (Phillips-Phillips)

 All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
 I've been for a walk on a winter's day
 I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

 Stopped in to a church I passed along the way
 Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray
 You know the preacher liked the cold
 He knows I'm gonna stay
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

 ------ flute ------

 All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
 I've been for a walk on a winter's day
 If I didn't tell her I could leave today
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

Back to school time - Where's my shoes?

Timberland - better than Sperry Topsiders?
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - It was just about this time every year that my mother would pile me into her Rambler and announce that we were making a pilgrimage to Carnahan's in downtown Jamestown.

Time for some new threads and almost always, a new pair of shoes for school.

Because I was completely clueless about what was fashionable, I was an easy shopper the first few years of high school. Two pairs of dark pants, three or four light shirts with collars, some socks and maybe a windbreaker.

The pants were the most urgent, because every summer I seemed to grow at least two or three inches.

But the shoes I remember because when it came to shoes, it was hard to figure out.

You needed Converse All-Stars for gym class (Did they even make any other kind of shoe like that then?), but for school, I really wanted some kind of slip-on loafers.

Mom like lace-up shoes. More mature, she said.

So for an hour or so, ever goddamned lace-up shoe (I would claim) hurt my foot, or didn't feel quite right, or was the wrong color (brown?) or just seemed, well, not what I needed for those slippery winter days ahead.

Eventually, I would get the loafers, usually having to agree to letting her buy an extra plaid shirt for me (I wasn't fond of plaid shirts, but if it meant maroon loafers, OK).

The guys are Carnahan's were great though, and it was the only place in Jamestown my mother had a charge account - a fact I used to good advantage the last two years of high school when I would slip in and pick up a shirt or two when dances were coming up, knowing the Wrath of Mom would follow.

But Jaysus, I couldn't wear a plaid shirt to a dance!

Except for my rare (and very much discouraged) forays to Carnahan's, whatever clothes I started out the school year with was what I ended up with until the next summer.

And some things don't change all that much.

Last week I wandered into some joint called Shoe Supermarket in Elmira, New York, went over to the boat shoe rack and grabbed the first size 10 pair of shoes that looked ok. Yes, boat shoes have laces, though once you tie them good, you never touch them again until the shoes disintegrate out from under you.

Now if I can just pick up a few non-plaid shirts for teaching, I'm set to go for the whole year.

What? No new neckties to start the semester at the university?

Not when you have have tenure, amigos...

A satellite peek at Lakewood and Jamestown

Google photo - Lakewood et al
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - I'm reading a book by Thomas Friedman called The World is Flat, a look at how much the world has changed in the last 15 years - let alone in the nearly 40 years since we graduated from SWCS.

And as I was looking around today - trying to find a nice exterior shot of the Jamestown Post-Journal so I could rail more about their circulation policies - I stumbled across the satellite photos on Google that people have been telling me about, which are as astounding as I have been told.

I've played with the images a little in the past, but today when I zoomed in on Jamestown and then moved the cursor around a little, it was great fun to see Lakewood, Chautaqua Gorge, Mayville - even Frewsburg.

When the first U.S. spacecraft first landed on the moon, I was sitting watching TV with my grandmother (she was in her late 70s or early 80s at the time) who was stunned at what she saw. I was awed, too, but being a science fiction buff even then, it seemed, well, so natural for a spaceship to land and people to go stomping around.

After watching that first step out of the spacecraft, my grandmother - nicknamed Shotgun by my friends - got up and left the room, muttering to herself.

I later asked her what was going on and she just said, "NO..."

No?

"I don't believe it," she said. "I just don't believe it."

My grandmother had been born in the 1880s, seen electricity come to her part of New York City, was the first woman in her social set ride in an automobile, lived through the inventions of the phonograph, radio, television - and God-knows-what-all - and she had simply reached her capacity for swallowing change. I believe when she died some years later, she still refused to believe that someone had walked on the moon.

We've had a few changes ourselves since the Class of '66 went careening out into the night: incredible medical advances, computers, digital photography, the Internet and on and on...

Kee-rist, I had my eyes operated on eight years ago and after a life of myopia, now have 20-20 vision. (That would have helped a lot in sports in 1966...)

Friedman's book is going to help me explain to my granddaughter about what's going on in the world today, though one of the main tenets is that things are changing so rapidly, it's hard to predict what's next.

But in the meantime, I think I'll check the Google satellite shots of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to see if the surf is up.

The Post Journal story about Cummins

LAKEWOOD, New York - Thanks to Sue Siecker - who has a subscription to the online edition of the P-J, here's the story I was trying to access the other day when I ran that photo of Hillary Clinton with a diatribe about the newspaper.

More on that exchange with the publisher, in another posting.

In the meantime, here's what went on for all you Cummins fans.

=================

Senator Visits Cummins Plant
To Mark 750,000th Engine

By NATE DOUGHERTY

LAKEWOOD — Sen. Hillary
Clinton leaned over a massive
engine in the middle of a stuffy
Cummins Inc. plant, signing her
name next to nearly 1,000 others
sprawled across the glossy red metal.
The U.S. Senator and former first
lady visited the plant to celebrate a
Cummins milestone — the
750,000th engine produced — and
tout the passage of three bills to
improve diesel emissions.
She also praised the competitiveness
of Cummins Inc. and the importance
of the manufacturing industry
to the American economy.
‘‘What you’re doing in this plant,
building these engines, is maintaining
American competitiveness and
American jobs,’’ Mrs. Clinton told a
crowd of about 400 gathered at the
plant. ‘‘If we don’t continue to compete,
and out-compete other countries,
we’re not going to have the
quality of living we have here in
Chautauqua County and in America.’’
Before her speech, Mrs. Clinton
took a tour of the plant along with
Cummins Inc. corporate officials.
As her entourage passed different
areas, workers in t-shirts and shorts
stopped to watch for a few seconds
before filtering back to their stations.
Near the end of her tour, she
stopped at a world map poster with
push-pins to show Cummins
employees and family members stationed
overseas in the military. Later
in her speech, she spoke of a conversation
with an employee who recently
returned from serving in Iraq.
County Executive Mark Thomas,
who accompanied Mrs. Clinton during
the tour, praised the plant’s
diversity and employees’ strong
work ethic, which has allowed it to
make significant growth in the last

few years.
‘‘It takes all of us to make this
work, make this plant work, make this
county work,’’ Thomas said.
During her speech, Mrs. Clinton
told the crowd how important Cummins
has been in building engines to
help reduce diesel emissions and gave
details of her own efforts to reduce
emissions.
The first, an amendment to a federal
highway transportation bill, allows
state and local governments to tap
into an $8.6 billion clean air program
to reduce pollution from construction
equipment used in federal highway
projects in areas with poor air quality.
Another amendment authorizes
$100 million to retrofit old school
buses or buy new ones to reduce emissions.
The third measure, the Diesel
Emissions Reduction Act of 2005,
establishes a five-year, $1 billion program
to fund technology to reduce
diesel pollution.
‘‘Clean diesel to me is one of the
best investments we could make, and
we couldn’t do it if Cummins wasn’t
ready to produce,’’ Mrs. Clinton said.
She also spoke about the launch of
the Senate Manufacturing Caucus,
which is intended to address the root
problems facing American manufacturers.
One of the main goals of the
Caucus is to find out how to prevent
manufacturing jobs from going overseas.
One of the main issues will be
removing roadblocks, Mrs. Clinton
said.
‘‘You’ve got to have a level playing
field,’’ Mrs. Clinton said. ‘‘If you
want to be competitive, you’ve got to
make sure no one throws road blocks
in your way.’’
Send comments to
ndougherty@post-journal.com

My gripe with the Jamestown Post-Journal

Senator Hillary Clinton
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, New York - While ruminating about this website (and thinking about what my next posting might be) I went to the Jamestown Post-Journal website and ran across the following teaser:

Senator Visits Cummins Plant
To Mark 750,000th Engine

LAKEWOOD - Sen. Hillary Clinton leaned over a massive engine in the middle of a stuffy Cummins Inc. plant, signing her name next to nearly 1,000 others sprawled across the glossy red metal.

=====================

Now I know that some of the members of the Class of '66, their spouses, maybe even their children, work at Cummins, so I clicked for details and got the obnoxious "You Must Subscribe" window that so infuriates me when I see it on any newspaper website that I usually write a detailed letter (on real paper even) to the newspaper in question to explain some facts of life about the Internet and why charging for these kinds of stories is, well, nothing short of bullshit.

Yes, I know. The Wall Street Journal does it. But the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times don't.

Neither should the P-J. It's Bush-league bull... (and that's not a reference to the President, unless you want to take it that way).

Then I went in search of a photo of Sen. Clinton to run with this entry and found her official photo, along with tons of others. (When you are thinking about a presidential bid, you better have a hot web site. She does.)

This picture (the one in which her facial expression makes it look like its really a picture of her wax likeness at Madame Tussaud's Museum) is her official Senatorial photo. As in, this is the best she is ever going to look.

I've fired photographers for better shots than the one I have posted here. Her official photo. Kee-rist!

But I digress.

I reluctantly realize that the Jamestown Post-Journal is probably the only source of certain kinds of information about members of the Class of '66. So, for those of you who do have online subscriptions, if you run across any news of our classmates - and think it should be posted - email them in my direction.

In the meantime, I'm going to draft a letter to the publisher of the P-J (James Austin, - jcaustin@post-journal.com) to offer some advice about the economics of web publishing and suggest that he give the Class of '66 a free subscription.

Maybe a lot of free subscriptions.

August - time to think about back to school

Track trials
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - Although the first day of school for me is August 29, already the days seem to be getting shorter (ok, they are shorter, I guess...) and the fall semester at the university looms like a thundercloud.

I remember getting out of school in June (hot-as-hell, usually) and running for the buses in front of SWCS, riding home practically singing.

Summer! An endless vista of boating, sleeping out at night (actually roaming around all night getting into trouble), and best of all NO SCHOOL. No having to roll out to catch a bus, no homework (not that I did any) and no confinement for six or so hours per day.

Those couple of months seemed endless in June, nearly endless in July and a couple of Augusts during high school, I remember being surprised when we suddenly had to find the long pants again and trudge to the bus stop for another go around.

The weather helped though. Labor Day marked the end of summer as the lake temperature usually plummeted right about then. I don't remember ever water skiing in the fall, although I kept boating until early October. But because the summer weather disappeared, sitting in class listening to Pauline Cook, or Byron Windoft or Herr Pfaff seemed less of a shock.

In Sacramento, when I return to school, the weather will be still full-on summer. In fact, it will arguably be much better weather than what the city has had this July (over 100 degrees every day with little relief at night).

The first few days of school also used to mean Coach Flash Olsen catching me in a hallway and asking why I wasn't going out for cross-country to get in shape for wrestling. And when I said I was too busy - or whatever other lame excuse I could find - he would give me that Flash stare and a little shake of his head as he walked away, usually muttering under his breath.

I realize now that besides my general sloth and indolence, I didn't go out for cross-country because I was trying to preserve a little bit of summer during after-school hours. In September and early October it was possible to pretend that summer was still there.

In Sacramento, when I get done teaching, I'll be heading out in my kayak on the American River, trying to hang on to the endless vista the same way.

Today's song? What else would it be?

See You In September
by The Happenings
________

I'll be alone each and every night
While you're away, don't forget to write

Bye-bye, so long, farewell
Bye-bye, so long

See you in September
See you when the summer's through
Here we are (bye, baby, goodbye)
Saying goodbye at the station (bye, baby, goodbye)
Summer vacation (bye, baby bye, baby)
Is taking you away (bye, baby, goodbye)

Have a good time but remember
There is danger in the summer moon above
Will I see you in September
Or lose you to a summer love
(counting the days 'til I'll be with you)
(counting the hours and the minutes, too)

Bye, baby, goodbye
Bye, baby, goodbye
Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long)

Have a good time but remember
There is danger in the summer moon above
Will I see you in September
Or lose you to a summer love
(I'll be alone each and every night)
(While you're away, don't forget to write)

See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
I'm hopin' I'll
See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
Well, maybe I'll
See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)

When Chautauqua Lake was our playground

Just your basic water ski trick
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - The summer here in upstate New York is just like the summers I remember (or think I remember) from high school.

Every day is relatively hot. The water on the lake is calm for water skiing. The nights stay warm enough to go swimming sans bathing attire. And I have a boat to zoom all over the place in.

The only thing missing is my friends on their boats and the rendezvous in front of Maple Bay Marina, or Lakewood Beach, or the point where Mark Swanson lived. Sometimes we went to Bemus Point, especially in the evenings when we had hopes that some teenage girls would be sitting on docks there, vacationing with their parents and bored out of their skulls.

In those years we met some of those young ladies, who unfortunately tended to be even more bored out of their skulls after talking with us for 15 minutes. (Think about the guys from the Anthony Michael Hall movie, Weird Science.)

But our days were devoted to waterskiing, and some of things we did make my knee hurt just thinking about them. For one, we would start sitting on the edge of the dock, sliding off at the last instant as the rope on the boat became taut.

But the best was when you came back in and zipped over to the dock, sliding your skinny butt right back where you started. I used to be able to do it quite well. But last summer my wife nixed the idea when I wanted to try it for old times sake. Considering how racked up I was after skiing for maybe a half-hour, a dock landing might not have been in my best interest.

The other fun thing was to put the rope between your knees if you were on two skis - or to try to get so low on one ski that you were literally running on the edge, not the bottom, of the ski.

That seems to be what the fellow in the photo is doing, seconds before he learns what it feels like to hit the water at 60 mph.

OW!

I hope some boat/boating is part of reunion next summer. It wouldn't seem the same without it.

And (provided I can get someone to distract the Admiral) I want to start - and end up - on a nice dry dock, just one more time.

===================
Today's song was an easy one to pick out:

Come On Down To My Boat

(Every Mothers' Son lyrics)

She sits on the dock
A fishin' in the water uh, huh
I don't know her name
She's the fisherman's daughter uh, huh

Come on down to my boat baby
Come on down where we can play
Come on down to my boat baby
Come on down we'll sail away

She smiled so nice
Like she wants to come with me uh, huh
But she's tied to the dock and she can't get free

Come on down to my boat baby
Fish all day sleep all night

Father never lets her out of his sight
Soon I'm gonna have to get my knife
And cut that rope, cut that rope
Then we can go fishin' in my little red boat
Make you happy in my little red boat
So come on down to my boat baby

Those 1965 Mustangs and the Class of '66

1965 Mustang burnin' some rubber
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

STOW, New York - It was somewhere between Stow and a joint called Snug Harbor that John Rupp's red '65 Mustang went off the road and into the ditch, flipping upside down in the process, which then involved state troopers, insurance companies and all kinds of raining hell from parents.

That car could fly and in that memorable incident, apparently did, even if briefly.

It turns out that the Class of '66 had at least three Mustangs to its credit: John's which ended its useful days after hitting that ditch; a 65 maroon Mustang I owned for about year before I traded it in for a blue Volkswagen bus formerly owned by the Arrison family of Lakewood; and a third, a blue '65 owned by Cheryl Towers. Both Cheryl's and mine were owned post-graduation, but still, they were 1965 Mustangs. And Cheryl has a great story about her car which I will let her tell you herself at the reunion next year. (It did involve an Englishman, an airport and an art gallery, but that's I can say.)

Cheryl, you are going, right? July 15? Mayville?

My Mustang was picked out by my girlfriend at the time (later the first Mrs. Fitz) who hated my Triumph Spitfire with an intensity that was scary. Perhaps it was because it only ran about half the time and when it rained, there wasn't much reason to put the top up, it leaked so badly. But the Mustang had one incredible fault that I didn't understand fully at first - white upholstery. Bright white. White as in 'I dare you to keep me clean, bubba.'

And so in the first test of our relationship, I said "No Way!" But, of course, I did buy the car, after a promise, a solemn promise, practically a blood vow taken at midnight under a full moon that my girlfriend would keep that upholstery shiny as long as we had that car.

The day I sold the Mustang, I reeked of vinyl cleaner and made my own promise.

The Mustang was a great car, however, so simple that even I could work on it.

And now, every once in awhile in California, I'll see some 16-year-old sweetheart driving down the road in a beautiful, restored '65 Mustang (usually a convertible) that her dad no doubt spends weekends polishing and worry about almost as much as how fast his daughter is tooling around in the machine.

When my daughter turned 16, I bought her an old practically bulletproof Chevy Nova that she drove for years. (Being bulletproof in parts of California is very important.) That Nova was the envy of some of her friends whose dads wouldn't let them take their cars on certain types of high school expeditions - such as fording local streams or using them to go off-road.

I figured, 'Why not?' We did it all the time.

Now, here in Valois, New York, this summer I'm bombing around in my late mother-in-law's wheels, a 1992 Buick Century, which, of course is a four-door sedan and white, literally owned formerly by a little old lady schoolteacher.

Where is that Mustang when I need it?

Some money going to a good cause - SWCS

Whitey Lindquist and Tom Priester
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, New York - If the guys in this photo look familar, well, they should, just add a few years.

On the left is Tom Priester and the right Whitey Lindquist (SWCS Class of '60).

Tom we all remember from his days of being a P.E. teacher and coach at SWCS (the butt of many jokes, as he taught girls P.E. in a time when women taught women and men taught men).

Whitey, I believe, ran a Mobil station at the four corners in Lakewood, getting a good share of the money I earned when I was about 18-20 because my cars (first a Triumph Spitfire, then a Ford Mustang) were perpetually in need of repair.

And Whitey had the best - nearly only - place to go. At least it was a place close enough to push my car(s) when they wouldn't run.

The check being passed from Whitey to Tom is not hush money or a payoff from some bet they had on the 1966 World Series. It's from an alumni golf tournament. Tom says the money is slated to go for a wireless computer lab for the middle school, with the funds routed through the Southwestern School Education Foundation project.

Tom is very involved - in fact maybe he's the Big Kahuna - with the foundation and will likely be at our reunion next year, in part to let us have more fun at his expense (remember the shower scene in the Senior Days skit with Chris Henderson playing Tom, with a blindfold on ONE eye). But he will also be there to put the arm on us for the SWCS Foundation which is just getting underway and needs support.

In case you can't wait to make a donation, you can email Tom now at:
tpriester@stny.rr.com.

I've already agreed to buy one of the bricks saved from demolition of Lakewood Elementary School, bricks Tom mentioned in an earlier email that the foundation is somehow going to use to raise money.

Now I'll have two bricks, thanks to Bud Hooper going by and bagging me one, too, when the school was tumbling. I am now officially relieved of the label my mother frequently attached to me when I did something particularly stupid or dangerous. (How often was that, well...?)

Can you see the joke I'm setting up here? Maybe the expression grew out of her Brooklyn years? She had so many.

OK. If my mom were still alive, I would tell, her, "See, 'I'm no longer two bricks short of full load...'"

She would laugh - she loved a good pun - then probably tell me I needed a lot more than two bricks to get even with the kind of crap I pulled. She would love that I am still limping around on a injured knee - hurt while doing the Twist.

Damned knee brace worked for two days, then it hurt more. Enough about ailments.

Steve Sewell sends along the following special request as our song of the day for the Class of '66.

Sounds like a slow dance to me:

What's Your Name
Don & Juan

What's your name
I have seen you before
What's your name
May I walk you to your door
It's so hard to find a personality
With charms like yours for me
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ee

What's your name
Is it Mary or Sue
What's your name
Do I stand a chance with you
It's so hard to find a personality
With charms like yours for me
Ooh-ee, ooh-ee, ooh-ee

I stood on this corner
Waiting for you to come along
So my heart could feel satisf-i-ied
So please let me be your Number One
Under the moon, under the stars
And under the sun

Oh-oh, what's your name
(What's your name)
Is it Mary or Sue
What's your name
Do I stand a chance with you
It's so hard to find a personality
With charms like yours for me
Ooh-ee, ooh-ee, ooh-ee

What's your name
What's your name

Shooby-doo-bop-bah-dah

Mark your calendars - reunion July 15, 2006

Webb's Resort - SWCS Reunion site
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

MAYVILLE, New York - In the news business, we call it a 'bulletin' or sometimes borrow the military term: 'flash traffic.'

Today's Class of '66 bulletin/flash traffic comes from Big R - Randy Carlson - who says that the reunion date has been set for Saturday, July 15, 2006 at Webb's Resort in Mayville.

Cocktails at 6 p.m. dinner at 7, dancing until we drop. (I am resisting all kinds of smart ass comments here... Let's see if I can get all the way through this without making references to the movie Cocoon.)

You can check Webb's out at:

Webb's Resort

Jim Lindell has rented a pavillon at Midway Park for Sunday (July 16) for a family picnic and there are also some ongoing discussions about maybe meeting in Bemus Point Friday night (July 14, Bastille Day).

Here are some other links to activities the group putting the reunion together is thinking about:

Summer Wind

Bemus Bay Pops

So a couple of months after Cathy Lindstrom Prince starts this madness, there's a date, a time and a place for the 40th reunion of the SWCS Class of '66. Nice going Cathy. Nice going Randy, Jim, Lee Johnson and whoever else has already put so much time into this.

See you next July - if not before.

Cocoon - the movie

Sorry. I couldn't resist...

How many of the Class of '66 went to JCC?

JCC pool table
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

FALCONER, N.Y. - When my mother encouraged me (as did my draft status) to continue my studies, the only real option in the winter of 1968 was Jamestown Community College, a bit of culture shock after Villanova.

But I managed to screw up fairly well there, too.

Many years later, at an admissions hearing to get into graduate school, the committee remarked on my early, disastrous academic career, but noted that by the time I obtained my B.A. in English in 1973 in California (after attending a total of four colleges) I was a 4.0 student.

"But Mr. Fitzgerald, we do have one question," asked a fellow who would later become my graduate adviser and who is still a good friend.

"How exactly did you fail a 1-unit class in fencing?"

A good question.

JCC could offer some serious academic speed bumps, despite all the jokes made about it because it wasn't a state school or a four-year program and because everyone pretty much lived at home and mooched off mom and dad while going there. My mother let me mooch, because she was sooooo happy I was going to college again and she was scared witless I would be drafted and sent to Vietnam.

JCC professors - especially the ones that found out I was a dropout from Villanova - put the coals to me big time, especially one philosophy professor (he was Norweigan, I think) and a biology prof whose first name was Ted and who was an ardent environmentalist long before it was fashionable.

It was at JCC that for the first time I ran across people routinely using marijuana. (At the dorms at Villanova, there was no drug use, too dangerous. Hell, we couldn't even sneak in a beer.) And it was at JCC that I discovered it was infinitely more fun to go to college in a coed setting than a school with classes of only 18-20 year old men.

It seemed that everyone I met, everywhere, had some JCC connection, even if I was in the Triangle restaurant swilling a fishbowl on a Sunday afternoon. Say "JCC" and someone's head would snap up.

And there were quite a few Class of '66 people moving in and out of enrollment there, too, though I confess I only remember Dave Carlson and Bud Hooper for sure. Art Johnson's girlfriend went there - the statuesque Ann Irvine from Jamestown High School.

I haven't looked at my transcript from JCC since those days 25 years ago when I was at California State University, Chico, applying for the master's degree program.

But I will never forget that F in fencing.

So how exactly did I fail a 1-unit class in fencing?

The class started at 7 a.m., in the gym on campus, three days a week. And you had to suit up in these ridiculous padded outfits before you even went out for roll call.

Need I explain further? Didn't think so.

En garde!

--------------------

Instead of a song today, I'm posting a link to a company that distributes all kinds of gag gifts, many of which were popular in 1966, like the dribbling glass, the whoopee cushion and a fake gun that puts out a flag that says 'bang,' when you fire it.

I used the site to find something called a 'clapper board,' used in making films. It's the thing they stick in front of the camera right before filming with the scene and take on it and then yell action.

Here's the link. (And hang onto your credit cards tight, some of this stuff is too funny.)

Need a Rubber Chicken?

Grab your Kleenex and watch 'Garden State'

From the movie, Garden State
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SOMEWHERE IN NEW JERSEY - Our classmate Gary Shenkle told me about this movie months ago. And though I shy away from 'coming of age' films, I relented tonight.

Gary, you are correct. It's a great film.

Although the parallels and sort of 'going home again' aspects might have been more on target for the Class of '66 when we were about 30, this movie still has lots of twists about trying to return to where you grew up.

The actors portray their characters in very understated ways that moves the film along very nicely. (Oh God, I'm slipping into that Movie Reviewer Voice. Forget what I just wrote.)

There all the elements: the friends who are still living at home, moms smoking cigarettes, the weird kid who did drugs and became a cop, the mysterious girl, the father-son divide.

But in the end, I came away very glad I watched the film and not only recommend it for our class, I have a couple of students - who fit the age group of the people in the movie - who may not like it exactly, but I think they will certainly understand it.

I won't give away anymore of the plot, but as the movie was ending I was reminded of something a friend of mine told me about five years ago, which I have taken to heart:

Life is not a dress rehearsal.

I doubt he thought that up, but it's true.

So, in honor of the movie Garden State, here's today's song:

Poor Side Of Town
Johnny Rivers

How can you tell me how much you miss me
When the last time I saw you, you wouldn't even kiss me
That rich guy you've been seein'
Must have put you down
So welcome back baby
To the poor side of town

To him you were nothin' but a little plaything
Not much more than an overnight fling
To me you were the greatest thing this boy had ever found
And girl it's hard to find nice things
On the poor side of town

I can't blame you for tryin'
I'm tryin' to make it too
I've got one little hang up baby
I just can't make it without you

So tell me, are you gonna stay now
Will you stand by me girl all the way now
With you by my side
They can't keep us down
Together we can make it baby
From the poor side of town

(So tell me how much you love me)
(Come be near to me and say you need me now)

Oh, with you by my side
This world can't keep us down
Together we can make it baby
From the poor side of town

Do-doo-doo-wah shoo-be-doo-be
Do-doo-doo-wah shoo-be-doo-be
Do-doo-doo-wah shoo-be-doo-be

Another Californian from Jamestown, NY

Marianne Jim
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

IONE, Calif. - Marianne Jim lives a scant 50 miles or so from me here in California, up in the foothills in a town called Ione, which I have never visited, though I have threatened to head up the mountain a lot in recent months.

It's just far enough away that I'm afraid my little Miata (ailing with a leaking rear oil seal) might give it up. And I'm not sure how many good mechanics reside in Ione who can work on Miatas.

And I don't want to find out.

But Marianne has been emailing me, commenting most recently on the Robin Hood run and sent me this joke:

--------

Jamestown Girls:

Three men were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties.

The first man had married a woman from Texas and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning. He said it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were done.

The second man had married a woman from Florida. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes and the cooking. On that the first day he didn't see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man married a girl from Jamestown, NY. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house clean, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye; enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher and telephone a landscaper.

Gotta love those New York girls.

=====================

Nicely said Marianne.

We have two more soon-to-be Californians: Mick Olson and Linda Hansen-Olson who either have purchased - or are purchasing - a home in Santa Rosa, Calif., about 90 miles from Sacramento. Eventually, I supposed we will have to have some mini-reunions here at my casa, to which all of you, of course, will be invited. Jim and Pam Carr live in Phoenix, only a short Harley trip away.

Here's a song for today that's been ringing in my ears since hearing it on an oldies station:

A Hundred Pounds of Clay
performed by Gene McDaniels

(Written by Bob Elgin, Luther Dixon, and Kay Roger)

He took a hundred pounds of clay
And they He said "Hey, listen"
"I'm gonna fix this-a world today"
"Because I know what's missin' "
Then He rolled his big sleeves up
And a brand-new world began
He created a woman and-a lots of lovin' for a man
Whoa-oh-oh, yes he did

With just a hundred pounds of clay
He made my life worth livin'
And I will thank Him every day
For every kiss you're givin'
And I'll thank Him every night
For the arms that are holdin' me tight
And He did it all with just a hundred pounds of clay
Yes he did, whoa-oh, yes He did

Now can'tcha just see Him a-walkin' 'round and 'round
Pickin' the clay uppa off the ground?
Doin' just what He should do
To make a livin' dream like you

He rolled His big sleeves up
And a brand-new world began
He created a woman and-a lots of lovin' for a man
Whoa-oh-oh, yes he did
With just a hundred pounds of clay

The course was called 'The Robin Hood'

Errol Flynn as Robin Hood
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, New York - Several times each spring and fall, the SWCS gym classes (boys anyway) of the Class of '66 poured out the doors of the school and ran a cross-country track down around behind the bleachers and through some brush called The Robin Hood.

Why it was called The Robin Hood, I don't know. (Perhaps Tom Priester knows its origin.) I only remember that there was some broken field running involved and sometimes some serious mud in spots, depending on rainfall. And the humidity coming through the thicket! Kee-rist!

But what really sticks in my mind is how different that course was compared to bombing around the nice flat oval track. I ran short races, 100 and 220-yard dashes on the track team, but the 7/10 of a mile Robin Hood, which included some uphill work, just wore me out every time I ran it.

And, of course, Coach Flash Olsen would 'urge' me to move faster on the last half when I was gasping for air, pointing out that I should be in good condition, given my track team work, etc. Coach could be quite sarcastic when he wanted.

I learned on the Robin Hood that native ability and strength can overcome a lot, too. Bob Fulcher, who smoked about a half a pack of cigarettes a day, passed me on the Robin Hood one blustery spring day - running backwards. Yup, backwards, all the while taunting me to pass him.

I couldn't get by him and it damned near killed me trying.

Bob didn't compete much athletically, except in gymnastics, where his incredible balance gave him a great edge. When we would water ski in the summer, he fell all the time because he was always seeing how high he could jump or pulling some weird trick like putting the ski rope between his knees.

When I pointed out to him that I never fell, he told me something that has stuck with me my whole life.

"You don't ever fall because you don't take any chances, asshole."

I've told that anecdote many times to my family, friends and generations of university students, minus the asshole comment, of course.

I haven't seen Bob in 20 years, though I occasionally received some emails from his sister Terrie until a year or so ago.

He'd be happy to know that I took his advice and I have fallen a lot in my life, but generally been a better - and happier - man for it.

Today's song is one of my favorites from the Beatles, though what it's connection is to The Robin Hood, water skiing, or taking chances, I 'm not sure. But here you go anyway.

Help
The Beatles

Help! I need somebody.
Help! Not just anybody.
Help! You know I need someone.
Help!

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way.
But now these days are gone I'm not so self assured,
Now I find
I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,
And I do appreciate you being 'round.
Help me get my feet back on the ground.
Won't you please, please help me?

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
my independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,
I know that I just need you like I've never done before.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,
And I do appreciate you being 'round.
Help me get my feet back on the ground.
Won't you please, please help me?

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way.
But now these days are gone I'm not so self assured,
Now I find
I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down,
And I do appreciate you being 'round.
Help me get my feet back on the ground.
Won't you please, please help me?
Help me. Help me, oooh.

Crossing the religious divide - in Jamestown

St. Joseph and child
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - On the Yahoo! discussion group, there has been some chatter about race and ethnicity, which living in California has special meaning.

Class of '66 Yahoo discussion

When I walk across my university campus - or even just look out at my students in class - it looks like a meeting of the United Nations.

I have about 50 percent students who are arguably Caucasian, but the rest are a mix of Latino, Asian, African-American and every subgroup imaginable.

Lately, I have had several Irish students in each class - Irish as in from Ireland, studying in the U.S. because it's actually cheap, given the state of the U.S. dollar versus the Euro.

Isn't that something.

But I posted a brief entry on the Yahoo site because I was part of the Catholic minority at SWCS, a small enough group, though I hardly felt any kind of discrimination. As a group, the Class of '66 was a pretty secular outfit when it came to our school and comings and goings.

I only remember getting extremely pissed off during the summer when my mother would drag me to church every Sunday about 10 a.m. while my Protestant buddies would be out waterskiing and getting all the flat water before the wind came up.

I learned about religious intolerance when I was dating my first wife, who was from Titusville, Penn. whose family had a strong dislike - no, make that hatred - of anyone of the Catholic faith.

To their credit, most of that family was up front about it, my now ex-father-in-law telling me early in that relationship that no Catholic would marry his daughter and if she were foolish enough to marry a Papist (Isn't that a term!), well, he would never walk her down the aisle.

He didn't have too, as I wasn't much of Papist and got married by a Justice of the Peace. Could his name have been Willard Ayres in Busti? Whoever he was, I had stood before him on other occasions for speeding tickets. Then the night I was married, I had three double Manhattans at The Pub which somehow convinced me he was the right guy to perform the ceremony that snowy December night in 1969. There was a blizzard but somehow my '65 Mustang made it there and back.

The one thing I do remember about the difference between being Catholic vs. Protestant in elementary school was Friday lunches.

Catholics, at the time, were forbidden to eat meat, so we had such sumptious choices as fish sticks or tuna noodle casserole.

To this day, the smell of a tuna noodle casserole makes me almost as ill as a whiff of Scotch whiskey.

This all reminds me that I haven't actually attended a Mass in at least, well, I can't even remember. In Mexico, though, I stop in at every church I visit, usually lighting a candle for my late mother who was very devoute.

Missing Mass means I've also missed out on the one part of being Catholic that I thought had a leg up on most other religions: going to confession.

If I understand my Catholic dogma correctly, you can go out all week, sin like crazy, go to confession and be absolved. Voila - goodbye sins!

A pretty good deal I suppose, even if you do miss the flat water early in the morning.