Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Today, I am reeling. I have come to expect bad news in small doses, but this week alone I have had to report the loss of two classmates.

First, I received an obituary photo from Lynn Holland Cohen for Ronda Roby Ellin. Ronda was one of those classmates who I remember passing in the hall clutching a pile of books. I don't think I ever passed a single word with her and yet still feel her loss as the group of all of us gets incrementally smaller. I dutifully report to Facebook (actually, Linda did, after I forwarded the obit to her as I was subbing in the local Junior High School at the time. I sub to stay out of Linda's hair a couple days a week, and because I enjoy tormenting the kiddoes with knowledge, and because I hate subs who are just babysitters).

Just a few days later, I received an email from Peter Dunne of the class of '62 reporting the passing of Bill Altier out in Sheridan WY. When I first began the task of finding everyone in the class, I ferretted out Bill and with a phone number in hand, called him and had an interesting conversation with him about people we remembered in common. I filled him in as best I could, and asked him if I could get him to attend our 45th reunion. He declined, and we parted with his final words to me, "Talk to ya in 5". I guess I won't get that chance. I've had too many of those. I am so grateful to have had the chance to talk to these folks again, but it just makes their loss more intense and regretful.

So I went to the website to lengthen the memorial page by two entries and create the black border around their listing photos and gray out the backgrounds.

As I perform these internet duties, I wonder to myself why I am doing this at all, why maintaining this site is important to me. It is important. It is important not just because I believe in finishing what I started; not just because now I have the time to do it; but because it needs to be done. There has to be someplace on this earth to remember that in 1967, we all left a place that became part of who we were to become. There has to be a place to help us remember all those with whom we shared a common experience. I fully understand that there are some for whom it was not a great experience, but for the majority of us, it shaped us gently and kindly and provided memories that we still think back on fondly.

So as long as my faculties permit, I'll be here reporting on our class. I appreciate you all seeing fit to send me the news. Know that I will report it faithfully and as quickly as life permits.

BTW, don't worry about the glitches on the site. I'm working on it! It's just computer stuff. It never works right all the time. It's Entropy. If not maintained, things go wrong. Talk to you all soon.

Nothing Like a Move to Unearth Lost Memories

As I've mentioned, my folks have relocated from the old homestead in Wayne to McLean VA, and the inevitable downsizing leaves a trail of debris behind. Never one to throw anything away, I made sure that I ended up with a huge box of slides taken during family trips to Florida before the Interstate System (ah, the Boston Post Road and US 1 from Maine to the Florida Keys), their 10 year relocation to Taiwan in the late 60's at the behest of American Cyanamid, and numerous other little vacations to here and there.

So I sat myself down to take a look at the slides, many of which I actually took with my Kowa SLR purchased while a student at Anthony Wayne JHS from Two Guys, and the Nikkormat I got in Japan on my way to Taiwan (again on Cyanamid's dime). Obviously someone else took the photos of the adolescent me that appeared here and there among the other images. Yes, many memories were jogged out of that landfill I call a brain both good and not so good.  
Chris Van Denburgh at peace
with nature and himself
One slide in particular was a slice of reality I had forgotten completely.  It was a picture I took of Chris Van Denburgh. Chris and I hung out together a lot in high school, especially so after graduation that summer before we all headed off to school. We'd pack ourselves into that VW bug that Chris called transportation (his family was always a VW family), and he always managed to stow fishing gear somewhere. I wasn't much for fishing but he'd fish and I'd sit on the shore or bank or wherever we ended up and talk for hours. I think that the time he spent fishing were perhaps the only time he was really content. The summer ended and we went our separate ways, not to see each other for over a year. 

The Chris that showed up at my dorm room in New Haven was nearly unrecognizable. He'd lost an eye from a splinter that flew up during a solo camping expedition but he'd also lost himself as well. We talked for a long time that evening but by the time he finally left, I realized that he was in need of more professional help than a friend could offer. I didn't really know who to contact about his disturbing visit, and in the end, did nothing but worry about what might happen. And it did, and is something about which I will always feel guilty.

I wrote this in July and just realized that I never posted it. So here it belatedly is.