An Old Friend Gone

In the fall of 1964, we gained a new classmate in Mr. Onufer's homeroom (and subsequent Latin classes across the street). He hailed from up North, and his accent was thick of New Hampshire and Vermont and in his leisure, he wore a Bates College sweatshirt. He was bashful, and like all shy people, he tended to overcompensate a little when given the opportunity. I think as a result he was often either overlooked or bullied. He nonetheless persisted. He ended up as our Smoke Signals photographer, and over our high school years, he and I ended up as friends, despite our differences.

This afternoon, I received an email from Rick Sasse, who couldn't exactly remember if Doug Fowler was part of our 7-3/8-4 Anthony Wayne experience, but I was pretty certain that Doug missed out on all that but did share much of what followed. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Rick is right. This is the sort of thing that happens more frequently nowadays. I remember something from back then, and then self doubt asks me if I actually remember that or am I simply remembering the fantasy that I constructed for myself the last time I tried to remember the same series of events.

I do remember speaking to Doug in Nashua NH, as he related the highlights of his life, in which service stations played a major part. In view of my checkered past, I remember listening without judgement, as Doug tried to justify his history and I do distinctly remember telling him that I long ago gave up all judgement about roads not taken, and opportunities missed or life choices that didn't quite work out as we hoped they would. At our way point on the crooked road of life, it long ago stopped mattering; with that ice broken, he regaled me with memories of silly things that we did in gym together and other better times we had. In short, it was another chapter of my search for classmates 5 years ago and another checkmark on my master list of WV grads. It engendered another afternoon of serious soul searching and nostalgic wonderment about how things turned out for another friend with whom I had lost touch.

Here is Doug Fowler's obit for those of you who read this type of thing and think of all that we have done and what we will leave behind:

Douglas H. Fowler, 64, longtime resident of Nashua, died at the Community Hospice House in Merrimack on April 12, 2014, surrounded by members of his loving and devoted family.

Mr. Fowler was born on October 21, 1949, in Massachusetts. He was a son of Patricia (Smith) Fowler of St. Petersburg, FL and the late Donald H. Fowler.

He was the husband of Rosa (Gomes) Fowler, they shared over 12 years of marriage.

Most recently, he had been working with tech support for Comcast. For many years, he was a regional manager for several service stations including Circle K and Shell.

He is remembered as a gentleman who worked hard all his life. He also enjoyed reading. Mr. Fowler loved to challenge his mind with brain games and teasers such as Sudoku. He enjoyed music and dancing.

Mr. Fowler was a veteran of the United States Air Force, having entered after graduating high school, had achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant during his enlistment. His Air Force career brought him all around the world and gave him many life experiences, including a chance to run with the bulls in Spain.

Mr. Fowler cared deeply for his community and was a Master Mason of Lee Lodge No. 30 in Castleton, VT. He was a member of the Scottish Rite Bodies in the Valley of Burlington and the Vermont Consistory 32nd Degree and the Cairo Shriners of Rutland, VT. He was also a member of The American Legion of West Rutland, VT.

SERVICES: A Masonic Funeral Service in his honor will be conducted by the Officers and Members of Ancient York Lodge #89, Nashua at the Masonic Temple, 200 A Main St. (elevator entrance) Nashua on Thursday evening, April 17, 2014 at 6:30 PM. His interment prayers and burial service will be held at a later date in Barre, Vermont at the request of the family.

So farewell, Doug. I'll remember you sitting in the corner of the Smoke Signals office cracking inappropriate jokes and trying to get someone to play chess with you. I'm glad I got a chance to catch up with him before the end.

Full of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing, Again.

Maybe it is Reunions that get our digestive juices flowing. I know that many of us believe that reunions allow us to relive our high school glory days, if just for a day. Then again, it also reveals that some of us never really stopped living those days.

For our part, we saw a need and moved to satisfy it: Find our classmates, contact them, and in some unfortunate cases, record their passing. We were led to believe that could be our contribution to the class. To some, it has become an uncomfortable reminder of lost opportunity, to others a reminder of their mortality. To yet others, it is taken in the spirit in which it was offered: cause for celebration and commemoration.

But truth be told, for us, it has become a symbol of how a group of people from so many different backgrounds came together for their high school years to create a unique synergy. Think of the great things we did together; we had athletic teams which hold records still unbroken; we produced all school productions the equals of which I have yet to see in high school; our combined concert band chorale performances were magnificent; our academic achievements still shine in the award displays of the school. Even in classes, the unique collection of teachers we were blessed with provided a real education in spite of our silly selves.  And throughout and above it all, we had fun.

Building the alternative website was not fun. It was a lot of work. But it was necessary. It needed to exist and despite interference from surprising circles, it prevails and serves its purpose. It truly represents a continuing effort to locate living classmates whose whereabouts are unknown, a clearing house for such information; it is also a living dynamic memorial for classmates who have crossed
the veil as told by their families, through obituaries, so that their classmates may be informed about what remarkable lives they led and the loved ones left behind. We have taken great pains, even as we did to secure and encode your emails, to assure that the site cannot be used to steal identities for those of you who fret about such things.

Recently we began replicating our memorial page to expand our efforts to Facebook because of its convenience. Imagine our surprise at the hue and cry this engendered about identity theft and other security concerns ignoring the fact that while the SSDI database was used, social security numbers were deleted. Despite quite a bit of support from our FB classmates directory group, the stridency of the objections raised made us decide that simply providing links and news via this blog was going to have to be sufficient. Members of our class have had from the beginning, a heightened sense of insecurity regarding their cyber presence. Believe me when I say that this is definitely an East Coast phenomenon. So whenever there is something to note, Linda and I will get the news out on FB but the details will be available via links to our website. That way no one will be reminded of the uncomfortable truth that everyday, we get a little bit older and a little bit slower (apologies to the Fab Four) unnecessarily but inquiring minds will still be able to get their class news.

Remember, that we are but a humble clearing house. While we still do find out about classmates passing directly from Vandermay in Wayne and other local NJ funeral homes and other sources, we also rely upon your participation as you travel hither and thither. Again, belated thanks to Marlene Zachok Capraro for letting us know about Pat Schwartz, and Franny Minervini's brother Rick, on the passing of Suzi Loper Lawrence. We also recorded the relatively recent passing of Lynn Tonnesen White. Obits at (http://www.waynevalley67.net/html/inmemoriam.html).

And here's a strange one that highlights human fallibility (i.e., ours). We were under the mistaken impression that Bernice Alexander passed back in 1997. Turns out she lived another 20 years of what looks to have been a great life. Sometimes I'm happy to be wrong.

"So that's all I have to say about that." Forrest Gump

The Way It All Started

For those of you who follow this poor messenger, you all know that this all began as an effort to find everyone with whom we went to school. You also know that for a while, we were finding the so-called "lost" people left and right, and as a matter of course, finding out sadly that many of our number had passed away.

Over the years as we have been working at this, others of us who have had the time or inclination have lent a hand, making the increasingly more difficult search a little easier to take. There are only so many dead ends you explore before you get a little discouraged.

Marlene Zachok Capraro sent me a note the other day that she had found Pat Schwartz Mussen. Sadly it was through the following obituary:

Keeseville - Patricia E. Mussen, 65, of Highlands Road, Keeseville, passed away unexpectedly, Wednesday, August 13, 2014 at the Good Samaritan Hospital in Suffern, NY.

She was born in Passaic, NJ, July 14, 1949, the daughter of Albert G. and Patricia A. (Salmon) Schwartz.

Pat, who always carried a book, was a kind-hearted person that touched everyone she knew. Always putting her family's needs ahead of her own, she took joy in their happiness. Pat's hobby was showing her Great Danes, finishing several Champions and Grand Champions. Some of her closest friends were made through shows.

Pat is survived by her husband of 43 years, Frank Mussen; son Franklin; daughters Nanci (Smith) and Sarah (Case), along with their significant others; grandchildren Zachary, Emileigh, and Abbigail (Smith); mother Patricia A. Schwartz; sisters Pamela Mackey and Nancy DiMeo, and their families. 

It is these discoveries that I hope can convince you to attend our 50th next year. Bob Shepherd and the committee and the suggestions of many classmates have resulted in what looks to be a very different reunion this time round.

For one, we are in a hotel so lodging and festivities are all in one location. We will no longer be subsidizing alcohol, and will be eating a meal. I hope that there is a program of some sort as well.

Not the least of my concerns is that we continue to lose friends to the ravages of time. So I heartily encourage friends in the Midwest and on the West Coast to consider coming to this one, the Big One. To be absolutely and harshly honest, this may be the last opportunity for you to see your friends and to renew old memories. Unfortunately, Father Time is unforgiving and unrelenting.

We buried a classmate of Linda's yesterday, a friend of 60 years, someone who attended every Reitz High School reunion. Her class lost 5 classmates this year. You only have to visit our Wayne Valley 67 Class Directory website and look at the In Memoriam page to realize the sad truth: Time cares not where you went to school, but only how long are spun the threads of Fate, a longer length for which mere mortals can only hope.

Well, on that cheery note, greetings from Southern Indiana. Till next time, it's Milton

School teaching; school reunions; school chums

It seems that the holidays have flown by, leaving behind a winter in which I received no further bad news and got to view class grand babies on FB in wonderful profusion. So now we look forward to a rather late Spring here in southern Indiana.

It's been a strange 2016 so far. Early in January, I got the call from the school district where I sub from time to time asking if I could do a two week hitch for a language arts teacher. Sure, I said. A few hours later, the hitch turned out to be for the entire semester. Well, how could I say no?

So back to school on a full time basis. Left to my own devices, I have been given a wide latitude as to subject matter as long as it fit into the most broad Common Core guidelines. I must admit I have given the kiddos a workout. It has been both gratifying and at the same time disturbing. It still gives me chills to see a light go on in a kid's eyes. It dismays me when I meet a kid for whom the educational process is already shut down in the 6th grade. I think of the remarkable junior high education I received and I am filled with regret that a kid will never experience that.

The district here is one of the most tech filled I have encountered and I have found it to be a powerfully mixed blessing. On the one hand, distribution of content has been made really easy; on the other the learning process is somehow dulled by passivity and what I have come to call the "feed me" syndrome, like little birds in the nest that sit there and wait to be fed. They don't have to think, they don't have to move, they just wait to have a morsel dropped down their craw. In some cases, the students have overcome this condition and are striving to see what else is out there. In the vast majority of cases, they just wait to be fed.

So while the school year winds down to one last big push, and standardized testing is almost finished, I hear rumblings from Wayne. This time, I regard Wayne as a visitor, and not a proxy resident. My folks are in McLean, VA. The only reason I have to return to Wayne area is the 50th Reunion. Bob Shepherd is chairing the effort this time and has set a date and some plans for the event already somewhat influenced to a spirited Facebook discussion this past October,

What I have been able to glean so far, and yes I have compared my notes to Linda's (she is definitely my FB presence as much as me) the event is set for May 7 at the Sheraton Tara in Parsippany. Tara compares favorably to the old HoJo (now LaQuinta, but always HoJo to me) like a Cadillac to a Rent-a-Wreck. Plus the prospect of $99 rooms is quite a deal that Shep has managed to wrangle for us too. Cash bar, so no one has to subsidize alcohol consumption without an absolute and unnecessary prohibition and the rooms on-site provide a non driving place to bunk down too.

A catered buffet meal is in the offing as well, although I am as yet unaware of the menu. We are, after all, still over a year off, but Shep is truly trying to change things up and I'm always up for change.

So start making your plans if you can. It's the big FIVE OH. As experience has shown us, time is fleeting. The Fates have been busy lately, and I for one am not about to tempt them. And, I will report any additional information as we find out about it.

Similarly, I am hoping that my Anthony Wayne group will be coming so we can get together sometime over the Reunion weekend and if everything works out right, break bread with the Piagets. Plenty of time to work all this out too.

Time to plan out my next teaching unit. I'll bet these kiddies have never had to make a speech..........Heh Heh Heh........

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.

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.