The Alumnus Among Us

First, here's a little number sung by the wonderful UC Santa Cruz A Cappella Group called 'Cloud 9'. I've seen them sing several times in downtown SC here on the left coast and they are a lot of fun. This little diddy is dedicated to all my homies. You know who you be. We grew up together and now I just want you to know that I really hope we grow old together...

"Grow Old With You"



In June 2004 I went back to my hometown of Springfield, Vermont to attend my 25th High School Reunion and the annual alumni weekend. It's a truly unique and wonderful small hometown tradition where we get to walk the parade route right through the center of a town that never seems to change. I brought a small album of pictures to show off my family. I showed anyone who would look. I had a blast spending some great times reconnecting with some lifelong buddies and renewing some old but not forgotten friendships. My brother was there and impressed some folks playing his guitar and singing better than his idol, Neil Young himself. It was great and I was so glad to meet up with happy folks who had both stayed in town and left. I was very proud of where I am from, and was very proud of my family and where my life had taken me at that point. Too proud, perhaps.

In June 2007 I went back to alumni weekend with much trepidation. Honestly I didn't really want to go, but felt I needed to - I needed to make this step and start to live life again. A new life that had been changed forever. It was a very hard thing for me to do because I was wary of meeting up with so many people I haven't seen in 20+ years. There's always that initial uncomfortable meeting where I recognize the person (but can't remember their name!) or can't recognize them at all (and definitely should!). But that's no big deal. It's the ensuing conversation that follows. "How have you been?" "Do you have a family and how old are your kids?" How do I answer these questions honestly? And then there's the folks I had seen three years earlier. They may expect the same person, but it wasn't me anymore. What to say to them? I was terrified of these conversations and allowing people to see the new me, the heartbroken one who was crushed and prone to tears at any moment.

"Once in a while you get shown the light
In the strangest of places if you look at it right."

- Quoted lyrics from Scarlet Begonias by Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia.

Well, I went at the urging of my lifelong buddies and the support I got from my old (and renewed) friends in Vermont was simply overwhelming. They hugged me and wouldn't let go. They said they were happy to see me, and they meant it. They looked me in the eye and I let them see inside. They let me 'talk about it' - or not. They got me to play frisbee again, to feel the joy of companionship and communication. To belong and feel unconditional love again. They accepted me and didn't judge me or pretend I was someone else I wasn't anymore. It was a kind of healing that I could never do alone. Sure it was hard, but it was so good to know I'll always have not just a place, but a real community, to call "home". There's a Porch off of Park Street that is the essence of hometown hospitality. I was offered a place to sleep on the floor or couch a few feet off the porch. I felt safe there. I know I can never possibly repay this kindness. But I can try.

A year later, I had to go back again in June 2008, and it was even better.

(e)pic - The four horsemen of the mountain bike apocalypse.

June 23, 2009
After a long, rewarding June of watching Simon graduate from 8th grade ("Sudent of the Year"!) and watching his wonderful dance performances with my extended family (as Simon's age group likes to say - Epic!) it is once again Vermont vacation time. I get up at 5am excited and anxious and can't sleep anyway. One more 6am phone call with Dublin provides some luck o' th' Irish in my system, I pack in a panic, drive over the hill and park at work and take five different trains before reaching the San Francisco Airport. Public transport isn't what it could be.

The direct flight to Boston is completely full. So is my mind and my stomach. Both hurt and feel like they are overflowing. On the plane, I sit next to a young guy who can't help but tell me about his great job. He's a salesman for a wine wholesaler and he flies around the world to wine countries and schmoozes with the vintners. He gets high. He meets beautiful women. He misses his wife and young children, but someone has to make the cake he says. I tell him I'm impressed. But my head is pounding. He asks me about my family. I hesitate, feeling trapped on the plane, but then tell him, including the loss of Charlie. He bows his head and says "that's horrible". Then he tells me of the four hard years he spent in the marines. Everyone has a story of heartbreak, it seems. My head is ready to explode as the plane lands in the rain in Boston.

My buds have me covered. J.O'D meets me at the exit while DP is circling the airport avoiding the extortionist airport parking fee and waiting to pick us up. He's a Parker, after all. We head straight for the Boston Beer Works. It's Tuesday night, the Sox are on the road so the place is mostly empty. Time to get this party started! We order beer and food, and my mind says YES! but my body says NO! I go to the men's room and lose it. Purge everything in my system. I'm sweating and have the chills. We leave the bar early. I'm greeted at DP's house with a warm, smiling hug from his wife. It feels unreal. The guest room in the basement is ready and I fall into the hide-a-bed, shivering and shaking, feeling fragile. The newly refurbished house and DP's sleeping family looms over me. I feel like it's all going to crash, tumbling down on top of me. I want to get up and go for a walk, but I'm just too tired. Sleep comes this night, mercifully.

The next day we drive to southern NH to the home of my oldest friend, JM. JM treats me a much-needed ginger ale and introduces me to his two beautiful kids. It's still raining but I feel much better now. His daughter is about to go to Tanzania to work with AIDS orphans. Wow. I give her a Family Blessing ring (Near or apart, Always in the heart) and I want to talk with her for hours, but J.O'D arrives. I hand out small gifts, Spock and Kirk talking bobbleheads, signed UP book, beer drinking t-shirts. The road beckons.

We arrive in the White Mountains at a luxurious condo. Plushy carpet, dishwasher, jacuzzi, satellite TV, beds for everyone. We go shopping for the hike the next day. I would buy a power bar or two and be done with it, but we go nuts. JM makes a delicious dinner of BBQ marinated steak tips, salad, rice. I sit and eat and eat and eat, inhaling the food, finally fueling my body. We play cards and drink beer all night. For poker chips, we use colored beads from a little girl's red heart-shaped box. John comes back from all-in two or three times and wins. DP and I lose three straight in cribbage and can't f'n believe it. I retire to the top bunk of a bunkbed and, oblivious to the snoring and farting below me, sleep well all the same.

The four of us wake up and discover somehow that Spock has spent the night in the freezer and has gone silent. He can't tell us "You are, after all, essentially illogical." any more, but the night in the freezer proves it. We gear up, and head out to conquer three four-thousand peaks in the White Mountains. I've got a bad ankle but am not slowed by it. There's some huffing and puffing on the way up but we stick together and come out of the woods from our hike together and in one piece. We all agree. It was Epic!

pic - Mount Tom to Field to Willey. What relief!



(e)pic - hiking buds, towering head and shoulders over me at The End. I compensate with bigger socks.

It's time to reward ourselves so we go out to eat. As we're seated I get a text message from Simon. [Michael Jackson Died!] It is news to us. MJ is only a couple years older than us. He lived a hard life no doubt, and he probably never got to go on a quiet hike in the mountains. I think he could've used that. We toast to The Thriller giver. We drink and play cribbage again and revenge is sweet nectar when we leave them in the dead hole.

The next day we're on the road in the rain to a rendezvous at the Long Trail Brewery. As the reunion takes shape and folks show up from far and wide the rain stops, the sky clears, the sun shines on the back deck. Everyone's face is aglow. Yoga poses are struck...

pic - variations of the trout stream yoga pose.

Hugs are shared. The LTB souvenir shop does a brisk business, coolers are restocked with beer and we head for Springfield - Home of The Simpson's, Home of the Cosmos: State Champions in Football and Basketball, Home of the Springfield State Prison, or just Home.

pic - The family sitcom cartoon capital of the world?

Ahhhh. On The Porch, the usual suspects have climbed the little grassy slope and sit and rest and reunite. From the Porch you can see Riverside and the Plaza lights and the ambulances race to the hospital just around the corner. It is all there. I intend to go across town to our class of '79 BBQ but I never make it. A certain K2 character shows up and although we have not hugged in 30 years, this one is truly special. We share a common childhood, but more than that we now share a sense of loss and grief and survival that only we could know intimately. It is hard sometimes to put some things in words, but the look in the eyes tells it all. It is a reunion of the hardest kind for members of a club that no one, no one, would ever want to be a part of, but I am so glad he came. I give him a Family blessing ring - Near or apart, Always in the heart. K2 clutches it and I hope he doesn't cry, because I know I will. I want to.

pic - sacred ground, On The Porch.

The night bleeds on. It is a time warp in many ways. I hear the story of a 50th birthday hike up Mount Ascutney in the dead of winter. A hike that could very well have ended badly. But the hikers endure and survive and have a story to tell for the next 50 years. It is great to hear the stories that end well. For obvious reasons, those are the only stories that are told. The night bleeds on until everyone finally disperses. The parade is the next morning. My mind is racing as I sprawl on the floor just off the porch but can't possibly sleep. I sleepwalk into town and dream anyway about reuniting with an old friend. A friend in need who becomes a dear friend, indeed. The porch posse thinks I've gone AWOL like in the recent movie The Hangover, but I'm not hung over, and not locked out on the roof of the house. They're concerned and I think they checked the roof. I feel sheepish, but not too ba'aaaaad.

"As I was walkin' 'round Grosvenor Square
Not a chill to the winter but a nip to the air,
From the other direction, she was calling my eye,
It could be an illusion, but I might as well try, might as well try.


She had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes.
And I knew without askin' she was into the blues.
She wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls,
I knew right away she was not like other girls, other girls.
"

The Alumni Parade starts in the parking lot of an abandoned machine tool factory at the edge of town. The main streets are closed and the whole town will come out and line the streets to watch the spectacle. The locals from our class of '79 have outdone themselves again this 30th reunion by building a large colorful float with spinning masks depicting those twin tricksters of stage and life - Comedy and Tragedy. The "Mardi Gras" theme is perfect, because we get to dress in colorful beads, masks and crazy green wigs. Perhaps no one will recognize me. Perhaps that's not all bad. The parade will wind straight through the center of town. People recognize me anyway. The parade route is somewhat of a mess with bridge construction going on and a burned out shell of a large, historic building just off the town square. No one minds. The view of the Black River falls and rapids, and of the Congregational and Methodist churches is classic small town New England post card material. The empty brick factories just a reminder of the boom days that built this town and brought us together in a truly great place to grow up.

pic - Class of '79 remembers Gerry and Karen. Little do we know, in less than a week, sadly we'll be adding another classmate to the list in the purple heart.


pic - Mardi Gras in SpringVegas.

"Wind in the willows playing' tea for two;
The sky was yellow and the sun was blue,
Strangers stoppin' strangers just to shake their hand,
Everybody's playing in the heart of gold band, heart of gold band."

It still is a great place to grow up, though. Case in point: My sister did it again. She showed up and had her good friends arrange for me to meet with Grant White after the alumni parade. Grant is the the town sports hero and #22 for Cosmos I wrote about in March. Grant was riding on the lead float in the parade celebrating the State Championships one last time. He waited around for our float to cruise in to Riverside and was kind enough to come over and meet and talk with me and my classmates. We were old folks wearing our Mardi Gras costumes and I can only imagine what he was thinking... I guess I sort of expected a confident, maybe even cocky, testosterone-fueled teenager with the star lights shining out of his eyes. But his boyish charm and humble soft-spoken demeanor were genuine and he was patient as we circled him and took pictures with the local legend. Even though he was definitely taller than I expected, at 6'3" he sure looked like he was still growing. I heard Chops say what was on my mind - let's play a game of pickup over at the outdoor courts next to the river. We're still playing, we can play too! We talked about the possibility of a Christmas break alumni game. All the ex-Comos think it would be a hoot. I learned that Grant chose his jersey #22 because it was his older sister Katie's number. Apparently she was quite a Cosmo as well. However tangentially, I feel pride in being a small part of that little fraternity, if only in my mind. Grant said he will play both sports a local prep school and said he also likes to write. He was a writer for The Green Horn, the high school newspaper. I tell him I've started writing a lot lately, too. He smiles. He's seen my blog about him. He was really patient and relaxed with us and didn't rush off. We wished him luck and he ambled away, all long legs and arms and a heart of gold, to a future only time will tell. Even if he never throws another tight spiral or drains another three, I'm a fan for life of this #22.

pic - Grant is wearing a ball cap. I'm holding a green wig.

I am sleep deprived, but all the better for it. I crash and am mortified to completely miss the Dirty Burt pool side bash. Our class dinner is that night. At least I won't fall asleep or pass out in the corner. Not a bad thing.

We have our class dinner at the Elk's club. Our class organizers have done a great job for us all. They are the unsung heroes of this weekend. We sing their praises after dinner. They deserve it. THANKS! I socialize with more than a few people who are going through various stages of divorce - and others who or extremely happy, some in their second marriage. A lot can happen in thirty years, no matter who you are. Things change. Life goes on - or not. You got to wonder who will be around and it what shape in thirty years from now. Life is short. I'm 5'10" on a big hair day. Some folks look really great - dynamite in fact. Others I can hardly recognize. The little reunions that happen in the back room near the bar are fascinating, intoxicating at times. The energy level is really high. I think the whole evening is cathartic for many, for many reasons. We're all really taking it one day at a time, I believe. This point in time has many shades of gray and color for each of us. Each story is unique and I think of my classmates like one would of their own children - I just want them to be happy. There are people who have become elk ranchers, bank VPs, veterinarians, artists, paramedics, mothers, grandmothers(!), fathers, construction workers, truck drivers, agribusinessmen, computer geeks, salesmen, repairmen; people with open wallets for more and more drinks, people with open hearts, broken hearts, lonely hearts, warm hearts, hearts gone cold and hearts of gold. The band heats up and is actually pretty good. People are out on the dance floor, shaking it and letting go. I get to dance with a cheerleader I had a crush on in sixth grade. My bad ankle doesn't hurt a bit.

"Well there ain't nothing wrong with the way she moves,
Scarlet begonias or a touch of the blues.
And there's nothing wrong with the look that's in her eyes,
Had to learn the hard way to let her pass by, let her pass by"

The next morning I take DP and his mom and aunt to breakfast. I believe his mom is the biggest Carl Yastrzemski fan in the world. No exaggeration - she has an oil painting portrait of #8 in her living room. Her granddaughter is a waitress at our restaurant, and she is adorable. The older generation is still holding the fort, and the next generation is growing up.

Which leads me to one more A Cappella number by Cloud 9. This is my favorite Journey song of all time - someday I'll write about why... Dedicate to all those "small town girls" - and to the "city" boys born and raised in South Vermont.

"Don't Stop Believing"


"Some will win,
Some will lose,
Some are born,
to sing the blues"

The Black River Blues.

= = = = = =

Postscript:

This blog is dedicated to the memory of Martin Scott Jasinski, Class of '79. As kids during the summer months, he and his brothers and I would play whiffle ball in front of their house on Litchfield Street. After 30 years Scott and I connected on facebook just this year. In March he said he wasn't going to the reunion but he wanted me to tell him about it. I promised him I would. After the weekend I posted some pics on facebook, but it took time for me to collect my thoughts. Before I was able to publish this blog and share it with him, I learned, on facebook, that he had suddenly, tragically, passed away from a heart attack at his home in Las Vegas on July 1st. He was not yet 48 years old. I still owe him that email and feel terrible I did not reply sooner. I'm so sorry. If there is someone waiting to hear from you, I suggest you get in touch. Because life is precious, life is short, and you never know...

I hope this somehow reaches you, Scott, and that it helps you Rest In Peace.



pic - Scott Jasinski, 9/21/61 - 7/1/09. You are missed. (source - Scott's facebook profile pic)