Class Reunion Reminders Stir Memories

Throughout Merced County and the nation, school has either started or is about to begin.  

This is the last year for the senior class, the final lap in the relay known as high school.

My high school class is in the early stages of planning a fiftieth reunion next summer.

I hope it can be successfulf.

The last effort from ten years ago stopped when very few former classmates committed to coming.  

With three thousand miles between where I live now and where I went to high school, I could not commit ten years ago. Once the details come out, I’ll make an effort to try. It’s a long shot, but I will try.

I can recall at least one memory every month, from returning to class in September to graduation in June.

As I wrote in my first memoir, Grown Up, Upstate, I skipped my senior year's first day of school. Over Labor Day weekend, I had a chance to earn some decent money helping my uncle clear out a couple of big box stores. He was in the construction business, and his company needed to clear out the store fixtures so that the buildings could be renovated.  

Our classes started the day after Labor Day, but with more work to do, my cousin, a friend, and I opted out of that first day of school to make money. My parents reasoned that only a little learning goes on that first day, so they let me do the job and skip school.

By October, my parents and I planned a road trip to visit two colleges that had broadcasting programs.

Deciding to go to college was a big one, as I was the first in my family to take that step. The first college we looked at was Herkimer College in central New York. We liked what we saw, so we canceled the appointment for the second school, and I turned my attention to the college application.

In November, the local radio station invited me to audition for an unpaid job as a school news reporter. Getting the job was a win for both sides: the radio station got a fresh report from the school weekly, and I got radio news experience.  

Three things stood out for me in December. First, I got my acceptance letter for college, so I knew where my life path would lead after graduation.

Second, I donated my first-ever pint of blood. The senior class was invited to begin blood donations, and steady donations have been part of my life for about four decades.

Third, I recall doing my school news report the day after comedian Jack Benny died. As he set up the tape machine to record my report, the morning radio announcer talked to me about Benny.

In January, our high school English teacher let the class experiment with the school’s video equipment as we produced an episode of The Match Game. The whole class was involved, whether operating the camera, writing the questions or appearing as one of the pseudo-celebrities who played the game on the air. I was the host. 

My family took our annual trip by car from New York State to Florida to visit my grandparents in February. Knowing I was heading to college in the fall, the thought that this might be the last trip I would take with my family to Florida crossed my mind.

I celebrated my eighteenth birthday in March.

I was now legal to buy and drink alcohol. My dad and brother took me out for a few beers. Dad reasoned it was better that I be supervised while enjoying my first legal beverages. I just liked the idea of my brother, father, and me sitting around with a brew in hand, talking.

I had my first date in April. We went bowling and had a good time. In the back of my mind, it was beginning to hit me that this was the final lap of my senior year.

By May, I was trying to make each day count. I would stay after school a lot to be around my friends. Fully aware that my time in high school would soon be over, I did not want to miss a moment. I also took my date to dinner and the prom, with a stop in between at my home for pictures.

In early June, tragedy struck our class when one of our classmates was killed in a car accident. I remember going to the funeral home for calling hours and speaking briefly with Eric’s mom.  

The whole class attended the funeral, and while the school did not have those so-called grief counselors you hear about now when tragedy strikes, the principal did let us take the day to sit in the cafeteria or go outside without worrying about missing classes.  

The yearbooks arrived about a week after that. We spent at least two weeks getting classmates to sign one another’s yearbooks.

By month’s end, one hundred students had graduated. Several of us would soon be off to college.

Many had enlisted in the armed services, while others would go straight to the workforce.

With our final lap completed, it was now on to the next race.

Steve Newvine lives in Merced.

His memoirs Growing Up, Upstate and Grown Up, Going Home have been combined in a specially priced edition called A Bundle of Memories. It is available at A BUNDLE OF MEMORIES (lulu.com)

This column is dedicated to the memory of Eric Planck.