Back in the fifties down in Milford on the Connecticut shore, we rode fat tired Schwinns, marched in scout uniforms in the Memorial Day parade, skated on the Town Hall pond and rocked out to Buddy Holly and the Crickets. The “fifties” came to signify a time of prosperity and ease and when I polled a bunch of experts at my recent 46th Milford High reunion, they gushingly agreed. It would be hard to encapsulate in a sound bite any decade where you go from 7 to 17. Ours was a period that began shortly after WWII. It ushered in the Korean “conflict,” sputnik, and had a lot of history and a certain magic that was oddly iconicised by enormous tail fins, d.a.s and turned-up collars.
1950 was only five years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the first and only nuclear attacks. The first part of that decade is synonymous with bomb shelters, hiding under your desk, “pinkos” and McCarthyism. Those who already owned a TV, got to see the new Queen (Lilybet Windsor) get her crown. Polio was a plague that left kids crippled and struck fear in every parent. Though the vaccine was discovered in ’52 our schools hallways bore the messengers of this dreaded virus. You don’t see this stuff on Happy Days and it is usually left out of sight and mind in our convenient memories. The rest of the decade was pretty much Elvis movies, the Mickey Mouse Club and the Dodgers and Giants fleeing for the left coast.
At the end of the decate Castro came to power, John Kennedy ran for president and I made it through my freshman year. It was surprising this past weekend to see so many people at our shindig that I remember from that time. And it is somewhat of a shock to the sensibilities to be amongst all these old people. It shouldn’t be as I go every five years to catch up with them and I find pretty much the same group. This year we had 92, more than a third of the class. Twenty-five were in the “In Memoriam” book which was a bit creepy as I looked at their year book pictures trying to imagine them older than 18.
When I first met my final wife I told her that I would never invite her to my reunions. I wanted to flit around the room, the perennial social butterfly, remembering the trouble that we got into or the cute girl in home room who moved by Halloween. In past meetings I had seen spouses who didn’t get the whole experience or were jealous of ancient relationships, and they came between us and the good time it was meant to be. But this time I brought wifey so she could put a face to the people of my past who remained a part of my present if only every five years. She got a kick out of hearing stories of back in the day and finally meeting the gray haired old lady who I had always remembered in a cheerleader outfit.
Richie and I remembered that we always won the window painting contest at Halloween when every store in town was decorated with paintings of goblins and ghoulies. Wayne brought up falling through the ice while seeing who could skate closest to the open water and Jonpy told her about me getting seasick while sailboat racing in the sound which we did every summer weekend. But this time my favorite story was my friend Jean telling my wife, “I had a real crush on him even though I was a head taller. Of course, that was before I knew I was gay.”
As always the management had to keep blinking the lights to get rid of us. Even the ones who still live in Milford and get to see each other all the time were lingering for a last air kiss and a drunken promise to keep in touch. I did manage to collect some business cards and said that I would send the blog. I’ve already emailed Paul who is a hot-glass blower in Seattle and I have been on line to check out Jonny Dio’s swing band based in Paris that plays weddings all over the continent.
One last great story. I knew George since we were in the fourth grade He lived on the block behind us. I always remember his birthday and as we were walking into the joint I wished him a happy sixteenth. He laughed that someone as old as I had such recall. His new wife told me they had a “Sweet Sixteen” party on Feb 29 and his son had said, “Dad you bought me a car for my sixteenth birthday and now I’ve bought you one for yours.” It was a new Jag.
I don’t think most reunions are as meaningful as I find mine, but I wish they were.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
Ah yes, Milford. I remember Milford sometime during the 60s. Your youngest sister, Jimmy Thompson and me all arrived from being elsewhere for a year or so. We figured bartenders would have lost track of our ages during that time and we might get served at one of the few N. Conway night spots. We made our way from the village all the way down the strip, swaggering into each watering hole, then chickening out and ordering coffee. Kept driving south and ended up at P.Kelly's in Milford, where we stayed for a week. Bought all the cough syrup in town containing renalgrin (sp?) which, when mixed with Coca Cola, would keep you up and gabbing all night. Brian Smith came down, some other people, can't remember. Also A. Ray and his then-wife (whose dad was da judge) came over which prompted the theft of a little boat to row out and rob a lobster trap. Alex was going to, I think, Yale Culinary School so of course we had a wonderful feast without getting shot. Lenny might have been there, too. The renalgren, perhaps. We also visited your older sister and listened to pirate tapes of FILTHY Jonathan Winters that Bob Ducharme had. Anygate, I was never in Milford again until two weeks ago when we spent a night before continuing on to NYC for a trade show. I remembered absolutely nothing about it.
ReplyDelete