I have just returned from my 50th high school reunion and the memories of those days have washed over me like a perfect Nantasket wave.
I graduated Boston Latin School in 1964. I'm quite sure I was one of the least distinguished graduates in that proud institution's almost 400 year history. Still, I managed to survive six years of Latin which I suppose is saying something. My eighth grade English teacher, a legendary maniac known to all as Mad Frank Sullivan because he was, provided me with a grammar background that was so solid and airtight, it sustained me for my entire 31 year career as an English teacher. Thanks, Mad Frank.
I hadn't attended any of the previous reunions. I hadn't stayed close with any of my 300 or so classmates with one exception, dear old friend Vin Alabiso. I hadn't returned to the school to visit any particularly inspirational teachers even one time. While I am proud to be a graduate of the oldest school in America, I must acknowledge that I never really left my mark there. I was at best an average student. My only strength was singing which didn't garner me many points in Ancient History or French class. I was a solid member of the baritone section of the Glee Club. My only chance for high school glory came when I was chosen to be the featured solo singer with the Boston Latin School Stage Band. My big number was "Birth of the Blues." Well, it may have been the birth of the blues, but it was the death of music as we know it.
No one who heard that performance has ever been the same. I threw off their equilibrium.I may actually have injured some of the audience members. Lawsuits were threatened. Ada, who gamely attended the performance, couldn't hear anything in the higher frequencies for several years; as a result, she missed the entire Frankie Valli era.
Needless to say, I was not called back for an encore.
But I digress. I have to say the desire to attend my 50th high school reunion was strangely irresistible. For some reason I couldn't wait to be reunited with a bunch of guys I haven't had anything to do with for 50 years and had precious little to do with back in the day. I say guys because for most of Latin School's storied history, only males attended. When I was there, not only was the student body all male, the faculty and administration were as well. Of course that's no longer true today, thank goodness. Latin School has been well represented by women since the '70's. As a matter of fact, the Headmaster is now a Headmistress. That's probably why Alma Mater's reputation has stayed pristine all these years. I think it's safe to say that had Latin been a co-ed school in my day, I might have made it back for a few more reunions.
Just sayin'.
The reunion weekend also offered me a good opportunity to get in some long-awaited grandchildren time. Of course most of us know that when we make plans, God laughs. That valuable lesson was "taught" to me in October, 2006 and has been reinforced several times since. Originally, I was due to arrive the evening before grandson Sam's annual Special Olympics competition in Weymouth. I was lucky to have witnessed this magnificent event last year and couldn't wait to see Sam, one half of the "Greatest Grandchildren in the World" duo, go through his events. Unfortunately, over 20 inches of rain in a two-day period (that's right: 20 inches of freakin' rain!) and the subsequent flooding all over the Panhandle pushed me back a day and I was forced to miss the Special Olympics event. As luck would have it, I had obtained tickets to that night's Red Sox game for all of us, and I arrived just in time to meet this fine crew in section 32. (Although to be honest, so far this year that could be looked upon as more of a punishment than a treat.) Going to a Red Sox game with these guys would have some extra significance this time around. Almost two years ago I had arranged for Josh, Cindy, and the twins to attend a Sox game as part of Josh's birthday celebration. It was at that game that Josh became convinced that there was something seriously wrong with him, and shortly thereafter he received his stomach cancer diagnosis. Well, this time around there is no cancer, thank goodness. No stomach either, but you can't have everything.
These days, a simple trip to Fenway for a ballgame is a wallet-bustin', sensory-blastin', time-killin' event. The first parking lot I pulled into wanted $60 for a space. To me that's more amazing than 20 inches of rain.
"I'm sorry. Did you just say, '60 dollars' to park?"
"Yup."
"You realize that I just want to park here. I'm not interested in purchasing the parking lot."
"Yup."
"Are you insane?"
"Nope."
I'm not going to bore you with all the thoughts I had about what 60 dollars would have bought back when I first started going to Red Sox games, but one of those items was a season ticket to the Red Sox!
I jammed her in reverse and got out of there before anyone had a chance to box me in, and went searching for a more affordable parking spot in the greater Fenway area.
As one does.
Forty dollars and several mild to scorching curse words later I locked my car and headed over to my beloved shrine to meet up with the twins, Cindy and Josh.
The
Sox lost to Tampa 6-5, leaving men on third in both the 8th and 9th
innings. What the game lacked in performance, it made up for in freezing
temperatures and snack consumption. Despite all these headaches, it was
a great grandkid time for sure!
While I'm at it, just a word about the Fenway experience these days.
It sucks.
Sorry
to be so blunt, but who thought it was a good idea to blare the sound
system volume at 11 during every spare minute of the game? Maybe it
would be a good idea to build in some quiet time so that people can
converse with their neighbors in the time-honored baseball tradition.
After the game we said our goodbyes and I was off the next day for my 50th reunion festivities.
Boston
Latin School has been located in the same Fenway location since 1922.
The school is surrounded by some of Boston's most prestigious
institutions, including Simmons College, Harvard Medical School, and The
Brigham and Women's Hospital. This may explain why so many Latin grads
go on to become doctors. The rest of us become their patients.
I
found the changes that have been made to both the physical plant and
curriculum at Boston Latin School to be breathtaking. Accompanied by two
delightful student guides, we toured the new wing housing a state of
the art library, a new gymnasium to replace the leaky, warped one we
endured, and a number of classrooms dedicated to the arts. Fifty years
ago the curriculum was old, dry, classic, and unyielding. It was either
science and math or languages. Your choice. There was no attempt to
find out what you were "good" at.
Now,
the school has found a way to maintain traditional high standards and
expectations while offering students many different ways to demonstrate
their talents and gifts. One of my 50-year colleagues said it best: "I
would have gladly traded one year of Latin for one year of shop."
I
could sense a humane, kind vibe in the place this time around. Fifty
years ago the vibe was Dickensian at best. You know, kind of like this:
"Please, Sir, might I have some more verbs to conjugate?"
This
new approach became quite apparent when our reunion class was invited
to attend Prize Declamation, a Boston Latin School tradition. Several
times a year, students from all classes volunteer to "declaim" or orate
famous speeches or dramatic soliloquies or noteworthy letters of
historic importance. They recite their selection from memory before
their peers in the beautiful Latin School assembly hall.
The
best of these declaimers are then invited to compete for Prize
Declamation in May. I was thrilled to serve as one of nine judges for
this year's event. Listening to these 13 students from grades eight to
12 was a thrill. The audience of students was mesmerized and completely
respectful. The recitations were dramatic and moving. It was almost
impossible to select the best of them, but we did the best we could. I
spent 31 years in education; this event will rank among the best student
experiences I have ever witnessed, and I've seen a bunch of good ones
over the years.
Later that afternoon we received our "Golden Diplomas" and 50-year pins. I shall wear that pin proudly.
The remainder of the reunion weekend was dedicated to drinking and eating. I managed to hold my own in both departments.
At the big banquet, held in Boston's fabulous Marriott Long Wharf
Hotel, I was honored to have been asked by the organizing committee to
deliver my poem for the occasion:
50 Years
Those
waxy, plastic book covers from Harvard, Brown, and Yale;
That
grumpy bulldog, Doyle, predicting that we’d fail;
The
tickets sixies bought to the fourth floor swimming pool;
Thus
began our journey through the Boston Latin School.
We
conjugated and declaimed, played football on the tar,
We
boarded old T trolleys, crowding ev’ry car.
With
15 books and notebooks tucked beneath our arms,
We
learned three hours of homework had its own sweet charms.
We
marched with rifles held at port, the Colonel in command,
Except
me and the goon squad, from marching we were banned.
Thursday
it was franks and beans, the Hoodsies were sublime.
Floor
hockey with a milk carton, somehow we found the time.
Fifty
years have passed us by since those Latin days.
Loved
ones found and loved ones lost, families that we raised.
Colleges,
careers, classmates sadly gone,
But
our Dear Mother Latin School proudly marches on
Preparing
Boston students from ev’ry social sphere,
Challenging
and pushing them, no shortcuts taken here.
So
raise your glass to 50 years, to purple and to white,
To
Mad Frank, Desmond, and dear Mac, long may this torch burn bright.
The
poem was well-received, but not so well-received that anyone bought me a
drink. Still, at $8.00 for a beer and $11.00 for a gin and tonic, I
guess I understand.
After all, most of us are on fixed incomes.
After two
more alumni events (another Red Sox loss and a small golf outing) it
was back on Southwest for my return to dear Nancy and my now-soggy
Panhandle.
What a school...
What a weekend...
What a grand life...
Much love,
J
