The Class of 1962 Reunion

Across the Fence #410

The 50^th reunion of the Westby High School class of 1962 is now history. In five years those of us who are still above ground will gather again and visit together. From here on out, our reunions will be more of a celebration of life. If I’m still kickin’, rockin’, and writin’ when the next reunion rolls around, I’ll be 73, the same age as my mother when she died. The average age of my four grandparents was 69. Uff da!

We found that confronting your mortality is part of reaching a 50^th class reunion. Ten of our 79 classmates didn’t make it. We remembered them at the beginning of the evening by lighting a candle for each of them as their name was read.

38 of us did show up out of the remaining 69 class members. It was nice to see everyone and there were only a couple of people that I wouldn’t have recognized if we had met on the street. Let’s face it; we all change physically after 50 years. As anyone who has attended a 50^th reunion knows, it’s nice to reach this stage of life because no one tries to put on airs or tries to be something they aren’t. We are who we are. As one classmate said, “Maybe because we are all older and basically in the same boat, we are pretty much at peace with who we are and where we are, so we can let down and just appreciate each other more.” 

That sentiment was very evident during the evening as we talked, laughed, and enjoyed catching up on what everyone was doing. At this stage, that included telling about grandchildren and, in several cases, great grandchildren.

I had only attended three other reunions. Lets just say that high school was not the high point of my life. I never felt like I belonged. Looking back, it was my own fault. I was very shy and lacked confidence at that point in my life. The thought of getting up in front of a class and speaking shot fear into my heart and weakened my knees. I envied those classmates who seemed to have all the qualities I felt I lacked. The wisdom of years has taught me that I was not alone. 

I’ve discovered over the years that many of my fellow students had the same insecurities that I had at that age. Now that we’re older, we even dare to admit that high school was a difficult time. Several of us talked about that during the reunion.

When some of my classmates found out that I write a weekly newspaper column and have several books, one said, “You must have been paying attention in English class.” I said that I thought I had until I came across an old report card one day. Miss Schoville gave me a C in English. I wonder if that had anything to do with that unflattering picture of a teacher that she always accused me of drawing? Probably not. Looking back, my high school years are like a photo that’s out of focus or underdeveloped. I know it’s there but nothing stands out. 

I mentioned that while going through my senior annual to refresh my memory before the reunion, I came across a picture of the student council. I was surprised to see myself in the photo. I don’t even remember being on the council. If there was an election, I couldn’t imagine anyone voting for me back then. Its no wonder so many people never attend a high school reunion. They felt like they were on the outside looking in during high school, and those feelings are hard to shake.

But now it’s been 50 years and a lot of water has tumbled over the rocks and traveled on down the stream. Many of us have even managed to break out of the shell we were trapped in during our high school years. What a different experience we could have had if we had been able to crack that shell open while we were still in school. This guy who used to be terrified to speak in front of his high school class, now enjoys public speaking and has given numerous speeches and presentations over the years. If you’ve had the same fear, take heart, it can be confronted and conquered. 

Several of us marveled that we’re still alive when looking back on some of the foolhardy things teenagers do when they think they’re immortal. We remembered the time when four of us were heading back to Westby on a country road one evening. The driver admitted that he was doing close to 90 miles an hour when we came over the crest of a hill with a slight curve at the bottom. The car went airborne and began fishtailing when it landed. My friend managed to bring the car under control. If he had lost control we’d have rolled and flipped several times. There were no seatbelts in that car in ’62. I think four more candles would have been lit at the reunion if we had crashed.

That was the summer of ’62. We had survived high school and were ready to take the next step on the ladder of life. Some of us wouldn’t see each other again for 50 years. It was nice to renew those old friendships. We’ll keep climbing that ladder together. 

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The Ghosts of Summer

Across the Fence #409

The ghosts of summer glide slowly past my window, as I sit in the comfort of our home and look out upon the darkness of the night. I can’t see them, but I know they linger out there in the dark, before they take flight, leaving only the full September moon, suspended in a cloudless sky, to light their way as they journey south.

There’s a chill in the air. Overnight I’ve gone from t-shirt and shorts to sweatshirt and long pants. The early chill is the point man, reminding us that the main force will soon be arriving. Where did summer go? Did the early chill drive summer out, leaving only the ghostly memories behind? I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, streaks of yellow and gold had replaced the deep shades of green among the trees. The brilliance of wildflowers had faded and left behind withered remnants of what had been. The countryside is in a state of transition from summer to fall. All this happened in the blink of an eye. How did summer disappear so fast? It seems like it just arrived yesterday. But I blinked and it was gone.

Now I see only the ghostly images of the summer that was. Before I blinked, birds of all kinds descended on our bird feeders. They drank and bathed in the water of our birdbath on a daily basis. There was always activity. Now all is quiet. The birds have been flocking together, preparing for the long journey south. The feeder hangs unused, waiting for the winter birds to arrive.  

Once again I’ve heard the wonderful honking of the geese as they pass overhead. I’ll never tire of that sound. Each year, that haunting sound ignites a restlessness, deep within my being. Apparitions from my evolutionary past rise to the surface and I want to take wing and follow them. Maybe we’re meant to head south for the winter, instead of burrowing into our northern shelters and riding out the long winter that awaits us. That chill in the air reminds me that summer is lying on it’s deathbed and very soon, only the ghosts of summer will linger in our memory. 

The summers seem to pass so quickly, leaving only ghostly images behind: The countryside turning many shades of green and filling out; the smell of new-mown hay; the sound of water gurgling over the rocks in a stream as you try to outsmart a trout; corn fields turning green and reaching more than knee-high by the 4^th of July; fireworks filling the air; the sound of a bat making contact with a baseball; the feel of the cool grass as you stretch out on it in the cool shade of a maple tree; the wonderful sound of a windmill pumping water on a hot day, if you can find one to listen to; the soothing sound of the breeze as it ripples through the leaves of the trees; the sight of cows as they make their way along a cow path, heading toward the pasture; a field of oats waving in the breeze like waves on an ocean; driving along a country road with a canopy of green over you, soothing you with welcome shade on a hot, humid day; bugs that envelop and “bug” you the minute you step outside; smearing yourself with Absorbine Jr. so you can venture outside; the sound of crickets and tree frogs serenading you with their nightly concerts; fireflies lighting up the dark country nights; watching the glowing embers in the bottom of the firepit on a quiet evening; watching dark thunderclouds coming across the prairie; watching lightning dance across the sky in the distance and light up a dark night; sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee, listening to the sounds of silence, the wind gently moving the leaves of the trees, and birds announcing the beginning of a new day; the sound of rain gently beating on the roof; the sound of a thunderstorm as the lightning flashes, thunder crashes, and the rain beats against the windows; and the sound of birds singing in the trees after the storm has passed, as they celebrate the many moods of summer.

We all have our own ghostly images of summer, etched in our memories. Just as we all grow older and eventually leave this life, summer has moved on, making way for a new season in our lives. The chill of fall has arrived and now the ghosts of summer are all we are left with. They are not to be feared, but ones we can embrace as we remember the summer that was. It just seems to me that the summers disappear faster the older I get. It’s gone in that blink of an eye that I mentioned. 

Now we begin the days of fall; that all too brief period of time, when the countryside is alive with color, and we love to spend the days outside. I wish fall could last as long as winter seems to be with us, but it passes much too quickly. We barely have time to say our goodbyes to the ghosts of summer before the ghosts of fall arrive.

Take some time to sit back, reflect on the summer that was, and enjoy the ghosts of summer that you encounter.  

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Our Grandson's Journey Has Begun

Across the Fence #408

During the Labor Day weekend, our grandson, Sean, became the fifth generation of our family to spend time on this farm near Westby. His mother, Amy, visited her grandparents here, his grandfather, Howard (that’s me), grew up here and now lives on a small corner of the farm, his great grandparents, Hans and Anna Sherpe, lived here, and his great, great grandmother, Inga Sherpe lived here. 

While they were visiting, Amy sat and rocked Sean in the same old rocking chair that my Grandma Inga rocked me in. I suspect she also rocked my father in that same rocker when he was young. My mother and Linda rocked Erik and Amy in it when they were young. There’s a lot of history in that old rocker. It was made by the Wisconsin Chair Company in Port Washington, Wisconsin between 1888 and 1910. It has a lot of creaks and groans but it can still rock and roll. Not bad for being over 100 years old.

While they were here, Sean got to experience some good country air here in Sherpeland. I carried him outside and we walked along the cornfield. He was very attentive to the sound and motion of the corn leaves blowing in the wind. Walking along the edge of the grove of trees next to our house also kept his attention. His head was going back and forth like a booblehead doll, as he seemed mesmerized by all the flittering leaves. 

When he gets older we’ll take him on hikes around the back forty. Tim, Sweeney – our Grand dog, and I took a hike down by the pond behind our house. As we approached the brush and trees near the pond, two deer took flight with their white tails waving goodbye to us, as they bounded across the hay field before disappearing into the safety of the corn. I hope Sean will have the thrill of seeing a similar sight when he gets older.

I’m glad that Tim and Amy are already taking him on walks on the nature trails near their home. An appreciation of nature should be an important part of everyone’s education, especially now, when urban living provides less opportunity for many people to experience the natural world. We still have plenty of wild areas here in the Driftless Area to explore. I hope development doesn’t destroy the unspoiled beauty of this place so Sean will have the fun of exploring it as he grows older.

The Saturday after Labor Day, Sean will be three months old. Those first three months sure went fast. He’s experienced his first summer, although most of it was spent inside. It was the first of many firsts for him. Today, while older kids went back to school, he spent his first day in Day Care. Amy had to return to work after three months maternity leave and I’m sure it was a hard day for her as she experienced what all parents do as their child goes on to the next stage in their life. It’s hard, whether it’s the first day of Day Care, the first day of school, or leaving home for college. It’s not easy being a parent, but raising a child is one of the most important things you’ll ever do. 

As I looked at our little grandchild, saw his smile, watched his hands always moving and his feet kicking, and thought of how dependent he is now for everything, I hoped that I would be around to see him grow into an independent young man. I also wondered what kind of world we are going to leave for him. 

As I looked at him I wondered, ‘How could anyone harm or beat a child?’ You hear about it all the time on the news. I have no tolerance for that. I suspect alcohol or drugs are often involved when a child is harmed. 

Parenting is a big job and yet there are no schools where a person can go to study and come out four or five years later with a bachelor’s degree in parenting. You need a degree for most jobs these days, but any fool can become a parent. That’s a scary thought when you consider what an important job it is. 

When we watch how Amy cares for and interacts with Sean, we see someone who has already become a wonderful mother. I like to think she learned that from how her mother raised and treated her and Erik. Sean is in good hands. His whole life is before him and anything is possible. 

In a recent column I mentioned a classmate who said, “Don’t forget to take some time for what’s TRULY important.” My friend Tom in Madison wrote back and said, “So what is Truly important? I’d say it’s how a person values other people and other creatures.” Tom hit the nail on the head with that statement. 

Everything boils down to how we treat other people and all creatures around us. I hope our grandson can grow up with those words as the core of his values. If he does, he will be a success in life no matter what he does for a living.

Isn’t it interesting what thoughts go through your mind when holding a grandchild and wanting the best world possible for them? I wish him all the best on his journey through life.

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Where Has the Time Gone?

Across the Fence #407

Two recent deaths and an upcoming reunion have made me reflect on the passing of time. Where has it gone?

The first death was that of Phyllis Diller on August 20th. It surprised me when I heard she was 95. In my mind I still pictured her as the wise-cracking comedian, trading one-liners with Bob Hope during his USO Christmas show when they stopped at Pleiku, Vietnam in 1966. Then I realized it was 46 years ago, but sometimes it seems like yesterday. 46 years! No wonder she was 95 years old when she died.

The second death was astronaut Neil Armstrong on August 25th. Again it surprised me to hear that he was 82 years old. I hadn’t seen any recent photos of him or heard much about him for a long time. In my mind he was still that image of an Apollo 11 astronaut climbing down the ladder and becoming the first man to set foot on the moon, and announcing to the world, “That was one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

I remember being glued to the small black and white TV screen in our apartment in Madison. It was July 20, 1969. The Vietnam War was dominating the news and this gave the world something positive to think about. I remember thinking that it was nice to know the human race was capable of doing more than just trying to kill each other. That moon landing doesn’t seem that long ago either, but it’s been 43 years. No wonder Neil Armstong was 82 years old when he died.

The third event that makes me wonder where the time has gone is my upcoming high school reunion in a few days. It will mark 50 years since the class of 1962 graduated from Westby High School. It can’t be? Where did the time go? I remember when my parents had their 50^th class reunions. I remember thinking, ‘They won’t be having much of a class reunion. They can’t have that many classmates who are still alive!’

Well, hello to the reality of life. Here we are, the class of 1962, ready to celebrate our 50^th reunion. Where did the time go? I don’t feel old enough to be staring down the barrel of my 50^th reunion, at least not mentally. Physically, it’s a different story. Arthritic joints make it hard to move the old body like it used to. I’m hoping I’m not the only balding, overweight, arthritic, old geezer at our reunion. I haven’t seen some of my classmates since we graduated. In my mind I still see them as 18-years old. In reality, I’ll walk into the room, looking for all the old familiar faces, and to my surprise, I’ll see nothing but old people.  Where are my classmates? I’ll tell Linda, “We must be in the wrong Legion building. I’ve never seen these people before.” They’ll be looking at me too and trying to figure out who the old duffer is. They’ll be thinking ‘Maybe he’s an old vet who wandered into the Legion, not realizing there’s a reunion going on.’

It reminds me of a true story that happened to one of my classmates. A friend of his from work died and he went to the visitation in La Crosse. When he arrived there was a long line waiting to go into the funeral home. He didn’t see anyone he knew, but this was a man he had worked with, so he didn’t know any of his family. After standing in line for over half an hour he finally got up to the casket to pay his respects and didn’t recognize the person in the casket. That’s when he realized he was at the wrong funeral home. He did the only thing a person could do under the circumstances. He offered his condolences to the family and then quickly left the building. Class reunions are a little like that. There will be a lot of strangers in the place.

Out of our graduating class of 79 people we’ve lost 10 classmates. Their deaths didn’t make the national news, like Phyllis Diller and Neil Armstrong, but they were all important to those of us who knew them. We never know when the roll will be called that has our name on it.

Last year, we lost our classmate, Ardy Sloane. It’s always shocking to lose someone your age. It’s even more shocking when it comes suddenly and unexpectedly. Our upcoming reunion made me think of her this week. She was looking forward to this 50^th reunion. We said the two of us would probably be the only ones who weren’t retired. Now I might be the only person still working full-time.

  

Ardy was an English and Journalism teacher in Central City, Iowa. She stayed in touch by sending e-mail comments about things I’d written in my columns. I enjoyed receiving them and miss her many observations about life. After reading a story about taking time, she wrote: “You are so right...taking time for what’s important is TRULY important. This old world seems to be spinning too fast... where has all the time gone since we graduated?”

I don’t know. I guess we left it between 1962 and 2012. As we continue our journey, don’t forget to take some time for what’s TRULY important.

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