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.

Visiting with Dave

Dave Spae and I were born to different worlds. We were raised differently. We lived differently. We approached the question of the Vietnam war differently. I believed the war was wrong and did my damndest to help end it. Beyond the insane possibility of being an Asian fighting an Asian war, military service was not in my vocabulary. On the other hand, Dave was a marine. A lance corporal who earned a Purple Heart. He never questioned the war. He just fought it. He knew in his gut that without the threat of war there can be no peace. I have come to learn it more intellectually over the years. So in a roundabout way we end in the same place even as we did in school so many years ago. More than anything about our last reunion, I wanted to see Dave again. It never happened because he passed away several months before the event

So when going to visit my folks who recently moved to  McLean VA, there was never any question but that I would visit Dave in his final rest surrounded by other brave men who like Dave, fought their wars to preserve their peace. I went to honor him and to tell him in person how much I regretted that we never got to see each other again. And as I looked across that ocean of white marble, I was reminded to let Dave know that he had been right and that I had been wrong so many years ago, not about the war but about national service. Too soon old, too late smart.

So good bye my friend. I can still see you towering over me in your black leather jacket with your DA hanging over your brow with that big grin across your face. We'll laugh together about life's ironies someday. Till then, I'll make sure to stop by to see you when I'm in DC visiting the folks.

On another matter, I got an email from Gordon Albro who went to that cemetery in Totowa to find Joe Brophy. Gordon reported that he could not find the memorial. He did find several Joe Brophys, just not Our Joe Brophy. So just when I half thought I was done, I'm not. If anyone knows where Joe is interred let me know.

Another Milestone

I know, I know, it's been a shamefully long time since I've plopped myself in front of the computer to dedicate the time to write to you all. Time passes far too quickly anymore.

Nonetheless, I am enduring my surgical recovery from foot surgery (congenital flat feet, age and gravity) which had me off my feet for two months and doing the Walter Brennan impression for a few more weeks yet. I've enjoyed seeing class birthdays, and relocations and kids' marriages and new grandchildren over the past few months on FB. Milestones passing, almost day by day, most happy, some sad. In particular, I'm thinking about Carol Vanderway who recently moved to Tennessee but lost her beloved horse of 32 years.

Now that I'm about ready to bust out of the house like a real boy instead of Long John Silver, (aaargh, Matey), I note a milestone of my own.

In mid 1959, my dad piled us into the car in Stamford, CT for a long drive to the wilds of Wayne NJ. He drove us to a wooded site off Berdan Avenue and stood outside the car with his arms extended and announced that this was where his new office was going to be. American Cyanamid was relocating from rented offices in the Time-Life building in Manhattan to a new headquarters in Wayne. That was my introduction to Wayne. By fall of 1960, I was sitting in a classroom in Anthony Wayne JHS being the new kid.

This winter, after 55 years, my folks are finally moving from our Brandon Avenue home in the old Wedgewood Development up the hill from Mountain View. They have a condo in McClean VA,where my sister and niece reside, that will be their new headquarters. The old Wayne house, the family center for so many years, will probably go on the market in February or March depending on what the realtor can convince my folks to do to the house to make it "market ready".

As they pack and discard ( Unbelievably, they have accumulated more stuff than I have, so you can imagine the sheer volume of stuff contained by that house), memories flow freely. Flexible Flyer sleds, family photos from China, my grandfather's pastels, my mothers Chinese paintings, books books books. Keepsakes from 10 years in Taiwan; all memories from the march of time. Good memories but the same kind of sadness I felt when I saw Anthony Wayne JHS become a senior facility, a gentle feeling of loss to which I am really barely entitled.

On the one hand, I am happy that my folks came to the conclusion on their own that they could no longer keep up with the demands of the big house and yard; that we didn't have to go through that potential struggle. They have arrived at that conclusion with a magnanimity that I don't think I will be able to muster when that same time comes for me. (I've already told Linda I'm not moving again regardless!). On the other, almost ineffably, the torch is being passed to my sister and me. Don't get me wrong. I am fortunate to be born into a long lived family (3 grandparents who were centenarians), and my parents, in their late eightys and early nineties, are cogent, alert and healthy. Like the Beatles refrain: Everyday they got a little bit older, a little bit slower.

So life is change and nothing stays the same, and as my parents prepare for their next chapter, I sit here recovering from an age surgery hoping that I will approach my next chapters with as much grace and poise as my parents. That it may be so for all of my classmates as well.

A Really Busy Summer

It's been a really busy summer. Between travel (Glacier National Park) and a short trip to Arkansas (a delightful surprise), normal honey-do's (or don'ts), my niece's wedding in DC and my step daughters new house (this event means providing a lot of help), there haven't been too many moments to catch my breath.

But I've been able to lurk on FB and see that everyone seems to be in the same boat. Travel and family. That's what retirement is supposed to be about, eh?

Speaking of grand summertime adventures, (sorry Schuyler Colfax kids), those of you lucky enough to have had Dorothy Tunis and Al Piaget (now the Piagets) for 7th or 8th grade block should now that they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary yesterday. A few weeks ago, I got a call from Darth explaining that since none of us could make the event, would I care to write some words to be read at the celebration on behalf of 7-3/8-4. Never short on words, I agreed immediately, and want to share it with you hoping that you all feel the same way:

In 1961, a Chinese American 7^th grade student walked into Anthony Wayne Junior High School with what he smugly believed was a solid academic foundation. He believed that his world view was complete and that he understood the world that he would have to face. He was so wrong. Over the next two years he learned he had been deliberately blindered and was not at all prepared for our tumultuous future.

51 years later, that same student now understands that the world is full of wonder waiting to be discovered; full of joys and sorrows to be experienced, without limits. I probably would have come to this conclusion eventually, but it would have taken infinitely longer for that smug 7^th grader had he not experienced the educational epiphany that is Darth Tunis and Al Piaget. And I say the same student because I also learned from them that life is an ongoing continuous educational experience.

I am only one of thousands of lucky ones who had the good fortune to cross paths with the Piagets as part of their schooling. I know 25 or so who thought so much of Darth and Doc that they came together after 47 years from every corner of the country to celebrate with their favorite teachers. The Piagets were OUR teachers, because they care about us and we care about them. I have always known that they cared about each other and that has always made me happiest of all. I couldn’t be more pleased to help celebrate their grand anniversary in this humble fashion. I could go on and on but it would only serve to further embarrass these two wonderful people since they never thought it was all about them; to the Piagets, it was always about us.

To my mentors and friends, may the way always be clear for the journeys to come…….

If you share my sentiments, please feel free to go to the Piagets FB pages to send felicitations. That's Alfred Piaget or Dorothy Piaget on FB.

On far sadder matters, I note the passing of Tom Smith, Tim Henneman and Ed Sorock.

I Found It with Google

In a time of so many online activities that are a total waste of time, there are certain investments I've made in time and effort that continue to pay dividends.

The Wayne Valley High School Directory website has proven that time and again. Over and over, in conjunction with the magic that is Google, the website has been found again and again by our classmates who Linda and I have been too dull-witted to find. I know it's not as though any of us took any great pains to hide from each other (with the exception of a few of us who ended up in law enforcement for personal security reasons). For those of us who have lived in the same place for a long long time, it is hard to imagine not being totally transparent and reachable in this information age where privacy is the exception rather than the rule.

This was especially true for those who still live in Wayne. I can't count how many of you expressed total surprise at not having been located before the Class Directory website. Today, the exact opposite happened. By posting and updating the Class Directory website, we've been found by Bill Segal (in Embers, right above Doug Senchak). Bill called me today, explaining who he was and I have to honestly admit that I didn't know who he was until I looked in the yearbook.

I then realized something else and Bill concurred. In my entire time in Wayne Valley, he and I never exchanged a single word. It's not as though we were hostile or avoiding each other; we were just a little self absorbed and between that and lack of opportunity, we just never crossed paths. In such a large class, I think of how many of us were separated from each other like that. After talking to so many of you, and a little uncomfortably realizing that, I long ago came to the conclusion that there was no fault about which to feel guilty and it's never to start new friendships. I've made many since making my investment in time and effort and I have been spiritually rewarded many times over.

After a few minutes of conversation, once again, it hit me over the head that here was another person who would have ended up a good friend over the years had our paths crossed just a little closer all those years ago. By coincidence, Bill has a ranch in Montana although he lives in Maryland, and we're leaving for Montana's Glacier National Park in less than a week. So, if you knew Bill in high school, don't be surprised if you open your inbox and find an email from him. Conversely, feel free to shoot him an email to renew an old acquaintance or friendship - it's a two way street, after all.

So as we RV across the country to enjoy the vistas in the West, I will let the Class Directory Website silently do its work, waiting to be discovered by a casual Google search, waiting for another one of our "not located yet" classmates. To those of you waiting to be rediscovered, we will wait patiently for you so we can catch up on old times.

Finally......

With the arrival of Spring (finally) in Southwestern Indiana, also comes the time for Senior Prom, which my granddaughter attended without a date but with girlfriends, which is now something common. Of course, these kinds of events immediately trigger my own prom experience of having to change a tire in my white dinner jacket and my date who had a horrible sunburn from too much time under an old style incandescent sun lamp (no sun tan beds back then). But despite setbacks, I also remember the empowerment of the event, feeling like the king of the world, master of our (albeit small) domain. We were seniors, our plans for the future set, our horizons unlimited. How little we knew then. I know that some of us became actually became the doctors lawyers and Indian Chiefs that was predicted for us. I suspect however, that most of us encountered something called real life and met a few zigs and zags along the way. At least it seems that way based on the conversations I've had with you all. We've all had those "Whoa, didn't see that one coming" moments.

I'm not the only nostalgic one during this season. I was delighted to receive an email from California from Kathy Friend (Rulon), who googled WVHS and found the website. I have asked her for a recent photo, asked if she was on Facebook and updated the website with contact information for those of you who were friends. I encourage you to reconnect if you want. Again, not knowing her married name made the search more than difficult. Apparently, there are Friends all over the country (pun intended) and who knew her new name or to what part of the country she migrated (she indicated that with no family living in Wayne any longer, she had never returned).

Here's a quick bio Kathy was kind enough to compose:

 I guess I'll begin the story of my life post WVHS with the fall of 1967, when I became a freshman at Ohio Wesleyan University, which had generously provided me with a scholarship for the next four years. I majored in science, and did well enough to go on to graduate school but not medical school, which I didn't have the money, interest, or gpa for. ( I got a C in organic chemistry. It was really, really hard.)

I decided on Northwestern University in Chicago, where I spent a the next four years getting a PH.D in microbiology. The good part of this was that the US government paid all expenses and provided a stipend for penniless grad students majoring in the life sciences. The not so good part was that I soon realized I didn't have a real passion for the solitary life of a laboratory scientist, and wasn't  going to excel at research.  (That C in organic chemistry should have been a red flag.) But, I was already committed, and I got my degree in 1975.

At Northwestern I met my future husband, Jon Rulon, who was in medical school until he also graduated in 1975. He went on to do a residency in psychiatry in Denver, Colorado, and I went off to Seattle for a year to do postdoctoral research.  (It rained there for twelve months straight, and I've never been back since.)  We got married in 1976 in Evanston, Illinois, where Jon's family lived and my parents had relocated so that my father could teach police science at Northwestern's Traffic Institute.

We spent the next three years in Denver so that Jon could finish his residency, and I did still more postdoctoral research, for want of a better idea.  When he finished his program, we went on a four month road trip around the US in a camper pickup truck, then set out for San Diego, CA, with high hopes that he would easily get a job (He did.), and I would find a position in something that was not research. We lasted a year there, then had to leave for the San Francisco Bay Area because I couldn't find another position in San Diego after the company I had been working for as the marketing services manager went out of business. We were to spend the next 31 years in the Bay Area.

In the fall of 1980, Jon took a job with Kaiser Permanente in Martinez, CA, as a staff psychiatrist, and I went to work as a self employed writer/consultant for pharmaceutical companies and small bio techs. I enjoyed that. A few years later, when we were in our mid thirties, we decided that maybe we should have some children, so we did. To my surprise, they didn't turn out to be much like me, personality-wise, and raising them was much more of a challenge than I expected. 

Last year, Jon retired from Kaiser,  and we decided to downsize and buy a little house in Lincoln, CA, which is 30 miles north of Sacramento. We like to drive down the coast to Monterey every so often to visit our son, or to LA to see our daughter. We're both in pretty good health, at the moment, if you don't count the broken leg my husband got last month at softball practice, or my current aches and pains from over zealous exercise, so we hope to travel more in the future. We went to Alaska a year and a half ago, the Mediterranean last fall, and think we might like to see the Panama Canal in the next year or two.

Looking back, I'd have to say it's been a pretty good life, though we've certainly had our share of tough times. Going forward, I hope the future will be brimming with the peace and contentment that has eluded some of us from the class of 1967 in the past.

I think with a few notable exceptions we've encountered, most of us think back. It is part of that process of establishing self, looking back as a guide to what should or might come in the future. We all do it; some of us do it consciously, others just do it. However it happens, we all look back. I have more photos to post and also the Packanack school 5th grade yearbook to post (a gift from Nancy Sliker Gillingham).  I'm glad that there is still activity in our little corner of the high school world. Keep it coming folks.

I Got the News Today.........

The impact of death is measured by its distance from your doorstep. As we age, gracefully or otherwise, death is on the march, hopefully using as circuitous a path as possible; but come it will. How we rationalize its approach, how we prepare ourselves for it is as varied as there are individuals. Some avoid the subject, hoping that the ostrich approach will somehow save us, or at least lengthen the time before we must embrace it. Others try to fill their lives with activity and bustle to distract themselves from death's inevitability.

Having lost a wife fifteen years ago, I have long realized that aside from assiduously avoiding activities that held high probability of personal injury, like skydiving or motorcycle riding (thank you again, Ned Soleau), there is not much you can do but put one foot in front of the other. I have done nothing in the dodgeball game of life to avoid getting hit by death either. But in that game, death hits closer and closer and the ranks thin out little by little. Maybe that is why some of us have chosen to isolate ourselves from the class.

Why dwell on death? I got a call today from Doug Senchak. I last spoke to Doug almost a year before the 45th Reunion as part of my quest to find all of us. I was looking for Doug, but I was also looking for Peter Isaza, and I had heard from Andy Savulich that Doug was helping to look after Peter, who had had more than his share of troubles in his adult life.

When I finally successfully contacted Doug, he was in the middle of a move and it wasn't the greatest moment what with phone changes and the indignities of moving. We spoke at length nonetheless and yet once again, I regretted not having spent more time with Doug than I had when we were in school. We shared many sensibilities.

So I was surprised when I got a call from him sort of out of the blue. Yes, the move was complete, and yes he was completely retired; and yes, Peter Isaza passed away last Saturday. Doug knew that I would want to know. Peter and I had spent a fair amount of time together during my Wayne Valley days. We shared a lot of classes. We did stuff together outside of school. I remember the first time I went to his house. He had a tennis court. I never knew anyone with a tennis court before. To Peter, it was a matter of fact, like running water and inside plumbing. To me it was extravagance. That not withstanding, (and yes, I did get over it) I enjoyed Peter's off beat sense of humor - something that Peter and Paul Wagner and Chris VanDenburgh and I all appreciated and we just cracked each other up. It's probably a good thing that we didn't always have the opportunity to spend time together. We would have gotten in a lot more trouble if that had been so. We never realized that there was an edge to that humor that spoke of madness in the future.

On graduation, we all went our separate ways. News of each other became anecdotal, a word here or there, and then became infrequent and finally nothing until Linda's success with her own graduating class inspired me to do the same with our "little" group of 600 plus. Would more contact have changed things over the years? Probably not, but it is hard to think that it might not have made a positive difference to all of us.

It's one thing to hear that death has visited someone halfway around the world. Maybe a little worse to hear that it visited across the country. It's another when it invades your circle of friends. And it's so much sadder. Goodbye Peter, may you find the peace you were unable to find in this life.