My late father once told me something about class reunions: For the 5-, 10- and even 20-year get-togethers, everyone will be bragging about their accomplishments and titles post-high school. But, by the 50th, he said, you’ll just be glad to see those classmates who are still with us.
I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, being young, brash, and never thinking about advancing age. 50 years, really? Didn’t Roger Daltrey of The Who in “My Generation” sing, “Hope I die before I get old?”
But at my own Laurel High School 50th reunion last fall, I understood. Fifty-five members of our class of ‘73 had passed, a sobering reminder to seize these reunion opportunities to meet with old friends while we still can.
Some of the deceased had been good personal friends. They had died of cancer, in car accidents, from heart attacks and COVID-19—even by their own hand. One fellow from my Boys Club pee-wee football team had been murdered by his teenage daughter and her boyfriend!
Overall, though, I was happy to have attended, albeit a bit reticent at first, as I’m sure many are. It’s a bit of an adventure. What if I ran into “frenemies,” or pompous sports jocks—or even jerks? But none of that materialized. We all got on despite past differences that, at the time, seemed big but now seemed like just kids squabbling in a sandbox.
My old high school band’s (Tram) lead guitarist, Bobby Jeschelnik, was there. No long hair as in the past, just a shiny head, of which he was demonstrably proud. When we got together with bass player Ricky Norris (still lots of hair) to jam old songs like “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” (Rolling Stones), “Sunshine Of Your Love” (Cream) and “Dear Mr. Fantasy” (Traffic), the old grooves clicked in pretty effortlessly once the rust had dissipated. It was my first time using electronic drums. Surprisingly, they sound as good as, or better than, the old Ludwig’s I used in the 70s.
And when our class president, Lori Grimes Horton, and her husband, Mark, both of whom I hadn’t seen for decades, and I chatted together, it was as if no years had passed in the half century that had. Both were retired, he from NSA, she from a long-time career with the phone company.
An important part of any multi-decade high school reunion is the nametag. Yes, we’ve all aged, and sometimes it’s hard to recognize immediately who comes up to greet you with a smile and warm handshake. But once you put the names to the faces, it’s pretty easy to identify them—and so much fun to compare life notes.
A few months ago, I was in Laurel again for a signing of my classic rock book, “Amplified,” as part of a bigger reunion event at Oliver’s, a local restaurant, sponsored by The Laurel History Boys. Many folks from different graduating classes attended. And, the night before, at the same restaurant, was a party for Sharon Sweet, a woman from the class of ‘75 who had traveled all the way from Scotland with her husband to be present.
What amazed me is that there is no longer any distinction between what class you may have graduated from. The years ‘71, ‘72, ’73, ’74, ’75, whatever, all blend together into one melting pot. Someone suggested that, for the next reunions in five or 10 years, maybe the various committees representing each class should get together and collectively decide upon one date where graduates from all of the 50-year-plus classes can attend.
Not a bad idea—and a great way to keep a critical mass going as it continues to wane.
Jim Clash immerses himself in extreme adventures for Forbes magazine. He graduated from Laurel High School in 1973. His latest book is Amplified: Interviews With Icons of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
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