Hi-Ho, FoHi
There were a lot of happy people. Occasional shrieks of delight cut through the crowd re-uning for the 40th anniversary of their graduation from high school. For some, it was the first time in four decades that they'd seen their classmates. You could see on the faces how so many of them had enjoyed that time so long ago, when life made a lot more sense.
The event was kinda pricey -- $75 a head for dinner at an airport hotel in southern California, near where The Lovely Linda and her classmates enjoyed their glory years at FoHi, Fontana High School. The city today is not what it was though it tries to be, which explains why some refer to it as Fontucky, alluding to the parochial-to-static thinking that is neither aggressive nor progressive. Many there, and many others of us, would certainly welcome the stability and security of those times, but even there such feelings are not recapturable.
Almost 500 people were in the class. A photo board by the front door listed 30 who had not made it the 40 years. They were again remembered with a short minute of silence. Once they could get the room quiet, and except for the music which came through the hotel audio system, not loud but a little distracting. These sorta events are the bread-'n-butter of the hotel biz. At least three other similar functions were underway, just along the hallway to ours. The music likely played in all the rooms. Probably no one thought to object, in part because almost all life today is contaminated with extraneous noise, and music is not the worst of it. Also, I doubt if they could have found someone in the hotel who would know where to turn it off, unless they killed the whole system.
Coerced into looking at yearbooks from that era, I saw that none of the people in the room looked remotely like their pictures. Of course, few people ever looked like their yearbook photos; they must use a special kind of lens. Necessarily, the 40 years had taken their toll; teenagers never look like people pushing 60. Many had made an effort to stay fit, but others had succumbed to gravity and the years.
After dinner, there was dancing, to some of the music from the era. A bunch of folks trooped to the dance floor; many who had come alone would pair for the evening, or just a dance. Some had obviously lacked rhythm since prom days, but it mattered less this night.
Some of the folks had traveled thousands of miles to see their now-old chums. Few seemed disappointed, unless it was to note an absence. With less than a third of their classmates in attendance, twice as many were missing. Would they be there next time, for the 45th , or in ten years, when they would all be nearing 70? How many would still be alive?
Some people attend reunions religiously, probably to remember the earlier time and the people of it as the best of their lives. Others come seeking completion of some kind; perhaps to show that they have been successful in their work or marriage. Some show up to rekindle relationships. There are also those who want to know if they've missed something, just plain curiosity.
Most of the folks at this reunion didn't recognize Linda until they read her name tag. What happened to your red hair, they invariably asked, surprised but pleased to see her. It went grey so I had to make it blond, Linda inevitably responded. Since Linda is still 5'1" and within shouting distance of her high school weight, I thought she would have been more recognizable for more than her hair. Still, she had a wonderful time, mostly because it was another opportunity to get together with a handful of friends who had remained close over the years. Of course, she was also charming as she briefly engaged others who hadn't been important to her then, either.
I sat in my corner while Linda and her girlfriends circulated, standing politely, smiling politely, for the frequent husbandly introductions, hearing names without registering them. I'm reported to have been a good sport. All on one glass of wine. In truth, I was pleased to accessorize Linda, but I have no thoughts that she should reciprocate. I didn't have close relationships at prep school; when the school posted a listing of e-addresses for my classmates, I didn't find any to whom I felt compelled to write. Re college, there were three serious friends, and I'm still in touch with all of them. Since Linda has seen Exeter, which looks nice in the fall and from the outside, and I haven't heard from New York University since they mailed my diploma to me back in the year of the Watergate break-in, it looks like we'll have some free time on my end.
And that's SetonnoteS...I'm Tony Seton.
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