Reunion
Half a Century
Last Saturday evening I attended the 50th year reunion (class or ’56) of my high school, Milford Mill, in Baltimore County, Maryland (not to be confused with Baltimore city, which is its own entity and NOT part of the county of the same name [although it is surrounded by it {Where’s Tom Delay when you need him?}] )
I planned for a quick turnaround, arriving in Baltimore at 4:30 PM and returning at 8:30 AM the next morning. The flights were uneventful, the only thing different than most operations was that a shuttle bus took ALL rental car people to a huge garage and parking area about 10 minutes away – very efficient. The return was the same in reverse (order, not gear)
I got to my motel, a Ramada Inn on route 40 about 5:30. The festivities were to start at 7. I checked in with the man behind the bulletproof glass with a little difficulty since he appeared to be of foreign descent and had not completed his English classes yet. Upon entering my room the first thing I noticed was that the digital alarm clock was flashing. I carefully sat down on the bed so as not to trip over the four by eight hole in the carpet and tried to fix the clock – no go. I called the front desk and after a few tries got the message to him that the clock was not working. “Ah, I send somebody over!” Good.
Five minutes later my phone rings (at least it works) and get the news that there is no one to send but I will be transferred to another room and that a new key is on its way to me as we speak. Another 5 minutes and I answer the knock on the door and find not one, not two, but THREE women dressed in native garb (flowing headdresses, etc.) with my one key. I waited a few seconds to be sure no one pulled out a bottle of champagne and started chanting “party! party!” but no, it was all innocent so I moved to my new improved room. No holes in the carpet but major parts were missing from various pieces of furniture and the bathtub had 20 or so half inch cigarette burns where careless smokers had set them while answering natures call. Where the floor molding should have been there was simply a gap between the drywall and the floor. Once again a two star motel with (I thought) a reputable name at $80+ a night is a piece of crap.
I arrive at the Rolling Road Golf Club at about 6:30 and find a dozen or so others have arrived early. We are expecting about 140 folks (including guests) out of a class of 206. Guesses of “who’s who?” will continue thru the evening. I am some 100 pounds heavier than my graduation weight with full beard, yet I am spotted by some eagle eye (perhaps my height 6’4” helped with the ID). We were issued name tags with our picture from the yearbook to nail down your true identity. I managed (with the help of internet shopping) to wear the same type clothes I wore in the fifties – saddle oxford shoes, argyle socks, khaki pants and a pink button –down shirt. Not one person mentioned it and when I pointed it out to my best friend he said “oh, yeah…”
After an hour or so of mingling and cocktails the master of ceremonies clanks the glass and begins the welcome home speech. A list of deceased classmates (26) and teachers (11) were read and were honored by a brief period of silence. As if we didn’t realize how old we were, the MC stated that “in 1938 (when most of the class was born) the average life expectancy was 58 years – so we’re all living on borrowed time –ENJOY IT!”
The rest of the evening went as expected, dinner, more drinking and schmoozing, culminating with the taking of a class picture. Others stayed on but at that point I took my souvenir mug, pencil and biography booklet and headed back to the delightful Ramada Inn where I would await my 6AM wake-up call.
Hypnos was unkind to me that night so I got up at 5:30, showered, got dressed and went to the Double-T Diner for a hearty breakfast. Apparently “tips” are not what they used to be so 15% was automatically added to my bill. Not much traffic at 6 AM Sunday morning so I zipped back to the giant rent-a-car garage and still had time for a couple of “Crabby Marys” at Obrecki’s (probably Baltimores most famous historic crab house) airport bar.Fifty years is a long time. We would have had time to start first grade and graduate from high school 4 more times in that length of time. I missed many of the intervening reunions but I was afraid this might be the last chance to harass some of those people who pissed me off in high school. Just kidding. I had a great time and the only downside was that there were so many old people there.
Hoping for the 55th.
Last Saturday evening I attended the 50th year reunion (class or ’56) of my high school, Milford Mill, in Baltimore County, Maryland (not to be confused with Baltimore city, which is its own entity and NOT part of the county of the same name [although it is surrounded by it {Where’s Tom Delay when you need him?}] )
I planned for a quick turnaround, arriving in Baltimore at 4:30 PM and returning at 8:30 AM the next morning. The flights were uneventful, the only thing different than most operations was that a shuttle bus took ALL rental car people to a huge garage and parking area about 10 minutes away – very efficient. The return was the same in reverse (order, not gear)
I got to my motel, a Ramada Inn on route 40 about 5:30. The festivities were to start at 7. I checked in with the man behind the bulletproof glass with a little difficulty since he appeared to be of foreign descent and had not completed his English classes yet. Upon entering my room the first thing I noticed was that the digital alarm clock was flashing. I carefully sat down on the bed so as not to trip over the four by eight hole in the carpet and tried to fix the clock – no go. I called the front desk and after a few tries got the message to him that the clock was not working. “Ah, I send somebody over!” Good.
Five minutes later my phone rings (at least it works) and get the news that there is no one to send but I will be transferred to another room and that a new key is on its way to me as we speak. Another 5 minutes and I answer the knock on the door and find not one, not two, but THREE women dressed in native garb (flowing headdresses, etc.) with my one key. I waited a few seconds to be sure no one pulled out a bottle of champagne and started chanting “party! party!” but no, it was all innocent so I moved to my new improved room. No holes in the carpet but major parts were missing from various pieces of furniture and the bathtub had 20 or so half inch cigarette burns where careless smokers had set them while answering natures call. Where the floor molding should have been there was simply a gap between the drywall and the floor. Once again a two star motel with (I thought) a reputable name at $80+ a night is a piece of crap.
I arrive at the Rolling Road Golf Club at about 6:30 and find a dozen or so others have arrived early. We are expecting about 140 folks (including guests) out of a class of 206. Guesses of “who’s who?” will continue thru the evening. I am some 100 pounds heavier than my graduation weight with full beard, yet I am spotted by some eagle eye (perhaps my height 6’4” helped with the ID). We were issued name tags with our picture from the yearbook to nail down your true identity. I managed (with the help of internet shopping) to wear the same type clothes I wore in the fifties – saddle oxford shoes, argyle socks, khaki pants and a pink button –down shirt. Not one person mentioned it and when I pointed it out to my best friend he said “oh, yeah…”
After an hour or so of mingling and cocktails the master of ceremonies clanks the glass and begins the welcome home speech. A list of deceased classmates (26) and teachers (11) were read and were honored by a brief period of silence. As if we didn’t realize how old we were, the MC stated that “in 1938 (when most of the class was born) the average life expectancy was 58 years – so we’re all living on borrowed time –ENJOY IT!”
The rest of the evening went as expected, dinner, more drinking and schmoozing, culminating with the taking of a class picture. Others stayed on but at that point I took my souvenir mug, pencil and biography booklet and headed back to the delightful Ramada Inn where I would await my 6AM wake-up call.
Hypnos was unkind to me that night so I got up at 5:30, showered, got dressed and went to the Double-T Diner for a hearty breakfast. Apparently “tips” are not what they used to be so 15% was automatically added to my bill. Not much traffic at 6 AM Sunday morning so I zipped back to the giant rent-a-car garage and still had time for a couple of “Crabby Marys” at Obrecki’s (probably Baltimores most famous historic crab house) airport bar.Fifty years is a long time. We would have had time to start first grade and graduate from high school 4 more times in that length of time. I missed many of the intervening reunions but I was afraid this might be the last chance to harass some of those people who pissed me off in high school. Just kidding. I had a great time and the only downside was that there were so many old people there.
Hoping for the 55th.
posted by revsnodgrass | 7:43 AM
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