Another class reunion

The last time I heard somebody ask me to sign their high school yearbook was 57 years ago, but then, that's the kind of life I've lived. You know, the kind filled with oddball change-ups and unpredictable curves that you never really see coming. The kind that just kiss the corner of the plate and the ump cries out "Steee-rike!"

Linda Radle, myself, and Hannah Pennewell

 So here was Linda Radle. We weren't particularly close back in our high school days – basically just anonymous students passing each other in the hallways – but I think she somehow recognized me by my name tag. We struck up a friendly conversation, with me pointing out that I actually didn't graduate with her class because we moved away in my senior year.

Then, out of nowhere, it seemed, she whipped out her class of 1969 yearbook. "Will you sign this, please?"

I was taken aback. Then humbled.

"Just sign it in the space here on the page where your picture would have been," she suggested.

I don't know if it's because I've reached a certain age, or what, but it's moments like this that tend to make me misty eyed. All my hearts fall off my sleeve like autumn leaves.

So I wrote, as best as I can remember, "Linda, it only took me 57 years, but I finally got to sign your yearbook." I think I added another clever sentence or two, then signed it, "In renewed friendship, Bruce Wehrle." She seemed pleased.

Bruce Buratti and myself

 This reunion was going to be different than any I'd been to previously. This time, the organizers combined the Southern Lehigh classes of 1966, 1967, 1968 and 1969 because, you know, we're dying off now. It's not that easy to coax people to come to that little school that lies in the shadow of Allentown,  PA, especially as we get older and driving becomes a little more problematical. But I thought it was a brilliant move, since most of us also had friends in classes other than our own and whom we hadn't seen for years. Plus, the event was being held over two days, with a casual picnic lunch on Friday and a more formal catered luncheon at a local college on Saturday.

This gave me a chance to meet up with Bruce Buratti. He and I were teammates on the Solehi cross country team. He was a year ahead of me in school.

He recognized me immediately and we started reminiscing from the get-go. Here's an interesting tidbit: we're two guys named Bruce who ran for the same cross country team in high school, and then went on to spend their entire professional careers as sports writers. To top it off, both of us were inducted into our respective county sports halls of fame. What are the odds?

I spent so much of my Friday talking with Bruce that I actually missed having my group picture with the present members of the class of 1969. No matter. We could try again Saturday. Except that when the call came Saturday for another class picture, I was off somewhere talking with Bruce. Again.

Steee-rike!  

Morag, myself and Kim

Reunions can be hardest on spouses because they don't know anybody there and I kind of wondered how Kim would navigate her way through this – especially for two days, 500 miles from home. It's not as if she could hop in the car and drive off (Well, she could have, I guess. She has her own keys to the car. But that would have been a totally different story).

Anyway, in one of those moments when Kim was alone in a room full of strangers, a woman named Christie Davies (Class of '68) approached her and asked about her. Who was she? What class was she in? Kim explained that she was married to me, but Christie had no clue who I was. We never crossed paths in school.

A bit later, Kim told me about this nice woman who made her feel comfortable and she pointed her out to me. I went up to Christie, showed her my name tag, and thanked her for talking to my wife. Christie was friendly, outgoing and funny. We talked for a few more minutes. And just like that, I had made a new friend from out of the reunion ether.

And then there's Morag. You might remember that I've written about Morag Christie-Churm before. She and I met as teenagers in the summer of 1967 when we both had summer jobs at the community swimming pool and, well, the friendship that started then has now spanned seven decades. It's one of those tasty change-ups that you never expect. Whenever Kim and I head north, Morag (Class of '68) graciously offers us a place to stay for a couple of days, without fail.

Damn. There goes another heart off my sleeve.

Morag was more or less the ramrod behind this reunion, serving as coordinator, accountant, proofreader, ass kicker and whatever else it took to put something like a two-day reunion together. Plans are already in the works for another reunion in three years, which would make it my 60th. 

There were others I remembered: Hannah Pennewell, who represented the Class of '69 on the reunion committee; Tom Schaeffer, the class president; Duane Wetzel; Ed Alosi; Linda Yost; Arthur Urffer, and Glen High, to name a few. 

I have to say, for a bunch of septuagenarians, the folks in the four classes looked pretty good. Healthy. Sharp. Glad to be in each other's shared company. Humbled to be shaped, in part, by the high school that brought us together.

For sure. See you in three years. 

Modeling my new T-shirt