Deployed Marines need care packages from back home

 

Class of 1972 makes it 50 years, and counting

Fifty years seems like a long time when you’re in high school. For my senior class, 50 years earlier was the time of flappers, speakeasys, and silent movies, a whole different world from ours. It was hard for us to imagine what life would be like in the next 50 years since it was so far into the distant future. Well, the future arrived for the Class of 1972.

This past weekend, many of us from the DeKalb High School 1972 senior class gathered to share memories and catch up as we celebrated the 50^th year since we graduated. I doubt any of us envisioned then where we’d find ourselves in five decades. That was a long time away and the immediate future was our concern when we set out on the adventure of life, full of spit and vinegar.

After all, we still were teenagers, ready to whip the world of 36 cent a gallon gasoline, 25 cent bread, $3,800 new cars, and $7,133 annual income. We were 10 feet tall and bulletproof, or so we thought, and most of us made it through the next 50 years. We followed lots of different roads to get here. My classmates include a pediatric surgeon, a retired epidemiologist nurse, a woman minister, a career Air Force veteran, and a still-active television director of professional wrestling and PGA events.

Many remained close to home, working at Red River Army Depot and other local companies like our parents. Some went into the service, others started their own businesses, farms, and ranches, such as our hosts, who also married in 1972. There were 95 of us who graduated. We’ve lost 45 of our classmates, and about 35 made it to our 50^th reunion.

You’d expect that we’ve gone through many changes in five decades, and you’d be right. But it’s amazing how many classmates we could instantly recognize without looking at name tags or having followed them on social media. Now that’s something none of us could have imagined 50 years ago A few of us were a little paunchier, our hair was a bit grayer (or gone in some instances) and it took a second look for positive identification. On the whole, however, we’d remained a pretty recognizable group.

It didn’t take long to mix with friends we’d sat beside in class, gone with to ballgames, dated or had crushes on, and with whom we’d come of age. We caught up on what we’ve been doing, where we are now, how many grandchildren we have (one classmate has 16), and how life in general treats us. It also was a chance to recall and share memories of our high school years together.

Cruising Highway 82 through DeKalb from the Highway 259 overpass to the east side of town and back again was a popular activity. My friends and I could pitch in a quarter or 50 cents apiece and pay for enough gas to cruise an entire weekend. The used cars and occasional new model we had now are classic and vintage cars worth more than they cost new.

Movies at the State Theater were the other big pastime. Many of us wrapped up Saturday nights activities with the midnight show, often a Hammer horror movie or a risqué contemporary teen comedy.

Among my favorite school memories is how we gathered in the mornings at the high school’s snack bar adjacent to the cafeteria. It was a coffee shop for students where we got coffee, hot chocolate, breakfast pastries and other goodies to start the day. It was full almost every morning as we enjoyed our treats, shared camaraderie, and often finished the previous night’s homework. I remember fall and winter days most when it felt so warm and comforting inside.

Study hall was in the library and, just as today, the top rule was silence. Mr. Jackson oversaw study hall, and during each session he sat behind his desk unconsciously making unique gestures, moves, and quirks. One of our classmates, Doug Brantley, usually sat at a table behind Mr. Jackson’s desk and from there he pantomimed a perfect impression of all the teacher’s moves even as he made them. Needless to say, it was quite a challenge to not laugh aloud.

Something today’s students can’t believe is that in 1972 our high school had a smoking area. It was a small pavilion between class buildings where students who smoked gathered between classes and during lunch break to get at least a few drags before resuming the learning process. Mostly boys hung out at the smoking area, and I never understood why girls who smoked didn’t do it there. They smoked covertly for some reason. Some teachers occasionally took breaks there, too, and even Mr. Pinkham, our principal, sometimes lit up a stogie there.

Those were the days. We knew there would be challenges ahead because we were in a time of change. The world was changing, society was changing. It still is because the universe constantly is in motion. What won’t change are the memories of the Class of 1972, the friendships we forged, the experiences we shared. It was so good to revisit them all, and I look forward to us getting together again, hopefully sooner than our 60^th reunion.