Every five years we have an all-school class reunion in my little town of Sauk Centre, Minn. Last weekend was reunion weekend, but I was unable to be there (family issues) – the first one I’ve missed since we graduated in 1950.
I’ll get the blow-by-blow account from my sister, but still I missed seeing the few of us still with it and able to keep trucking. My class of 1950 graduated 57 people, and the last time we broke bread together — five years ago — only 16 were left.
My dearest friend, Donna, is in a nursing home back in Harrisburg, Penn., and I’ve heard of a few more either gone or in retirement homes.
It makes me very sad to know our generation is dying off at a fast rate and getting together won’t happen anymore.
My sister did send me a little poem about class reunions. Here it is:
Every ten years, as summertime nears, An announcement arrives in the mail. A reunion is planned; It’ll be really grand; Make plans to attend without fail.
I’ll never forget the first time we met; we tried so hard to impress. We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars, and wore our most elegant dress. It was quite an affair; the whole class was there.
It was held at a fancy hotel. We wined, and we dined and we acted refined, And everyone thought it was swell. The men all conversed about who had been first to achieve great fortune and fame.
Meanwhile, their spouses described their fine houses and how beautiful their children became.
The homecoming queen, who once had been lean, now weighed in at one-ninety-six. The jocks who were there had all lost their hair, and the cheerleaders could no longer do kicks.
No one had heard about the class nerd who’d guided a spacecraft to the moon; Or poor little Jane, who’d always been plain; She married a shipping tycoon.
The boy we’d decreed “most apt to succeed” was serving 10 years in the pen, while the one voted “least” was now a priest; just shows you can be wrong now and then.
They awarded a prize to one of the guys who seemed to have aged the least. Another was given to the grad who had driven the farthest to attend the feast.
They took a class picture, a curious mixture of beehives, crew cuts and wide ties Tall, short or skinny, the style was the mini; you never saw so many thighs.
At our next get-together, no one cared whether they impressed their classmates or not. The mood was informal, a lot more normal; By this time we’d all gone to pot.
It was held out-of-doors, at the lake shores; We ate hamburgers, coleslaw and beans. Then most of us lay around in the shade, In our comfortable T-shirts and jeans.
By the fiftieth year, it was abundantly clear, We were definitely over the hill. Those who weren’t dead had to crawl out of bed, And be home in time for their pill.
And now I can’t wait; they’ve set the date; Our 55th is coming, I’m told. It should be a ball, they’ve rented a hall at the Shady Rest Home for the old.
Repairs have been made on my hearing aid; My pacemaker’s been turned up high.My wheelchair is oiled and my teeth have been boiled; And I’ve bought a new wig and glass eye.
I’m feeling quite hearty, and I’m ready to party. I’m gonna dance ‘til dawn’s early light. It’ll be lots of fun; But I just hope that there’s one other person who can make it that night.
Stay well, stay involved and stay tuned.
Vi June is past Democratic state representative for House District 35. She is a former mayor of Westminster and a former newspaper publisher. A Westminster resident for more than four decades, she and her husband, Bob, have five grown children and eight grandchildren.