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RIP Class Mates from GHS 1977
Posted 14Sept17: I return home to Blighty on the Redeye after a long weekend in Greenwich, Connecticut, USA, attending the 40th Reunion of my High School Class of 1977 and share three notable personal learnings from the experience.
First, I hate to say it but stats really do rule my world. In fact, I only seem to get emotional when I see stats. I felt tired and emotional when the Class President (who was also the High School star running back so at least we got that vote right!) started the evening speaking on the stage going through a list of people from the Class who had died. I've got to say that upon reflection while this was the right thing to do it definitely put a downer on the night, especially when one of the people I was hoping to catch up with appeared on the list. Ernie Mannetti you were The Man mate, and I will never forget you.
So 53 people out of 900+ died in the last 40 years. I know there is some statistical work here to discover just how deviant from the norm we all are. On the happy side of the feely balance sheet (see, I do know ‘emotional terms’) it was a delightful revelation to me that in 1977 the size of GHS graduating class was the biggest that year in the whole of the United States of America! All 50 states. Howz about that? I appreciated my high school was huge but really, 953 (?) graduates. No wonder the Class Yearbook is such a weighty tome. Yo! That’s cool. Someone later said that we are also the biggest US graduating class ever. Baby Boomers Rule!
First, I hate to say it but stats really do rule my world. In fact, I only seem to get emotional when I see stats. I felt tired and emotional when the Class President (who was also the High School star running back so at least we got that vote right!) started the evening speaking on the stage going through a list of people from the Class who had died. I've got to say that upon reflection while this was the right thing to do it definitely put a downer on the night, especially when one of the people I was hoping to catch up with appeared on the list. Ernie Mannetti you were The Man mate, and I will never forget you.
So 53 people out of 900+ died in the last 40 years. I know there is some statistical work here to discover just how deviant from the norm we all are. On the happy side of the feely balance sheet (see, I do know ‘emotional terms’) it was a delightful revelation to me that in 1977 the size of GHS graduating class was the biggest that year in the whole of the United States of America! All 50 states. Howz about that? I appreciated my high school was huge but really, 953 (?) graduates. No wonder the Class Yearbook is such a weighty tome. Yo! That’s cool. Someone later said that we are also the biggest US graduating class ever. Baby Boomers Rule!
Greenwich High School was a game changing experience for me. I made
life long friends with lots of great people with a sense of humour.
Second, I learned that I need to either binge drink more or not drink at all. My night at the prestigious Greenwich Country Club revealed that my army days of drinking copious amounts and then playing rugby with the regimental silver in the officers’ mess and appearing on the Parade Ground, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a 0700hrs reveille in front of my platoon are nothing more than a distant memory. Although to be fair, I can’t remember being offered a never-ending supply of Mojitos in the Officers Mess. I did some Pochine (think Kentucky Moonshine) a few times when serving in Northern Ireland which ranks up there somewhere I suppose. But it was as if the bar lady at this uber institution took pity on me in my droopy bow tie and had an already mixed one on standby every time I went for a refill.
No harm done overall, although when I was speaking to one pulchritudinous woman about the old days (goodness knows if we really remembered each other from back then) the binge drinking did present a problem. It was all going swimmingly until for some reason she started dumping on the Trumpster. How he’d opened the door to “bigotry and racism” and so on. This lady was clearly classy, wealthy, dressed immaculately, a very confident, intelligent, board director of some kind and now lived in the other ‘Greenwich’, the Village one at the end of the metro line into the Big City. I thought we had a lot in common (a part from the ‘pulchritudinous’ bit). On any normal day, this would be a challenge for me to grasp. To lead my interlocuter through quality discussion in a convivial environment onto the path of light and reason. But tonight…
My mind said, “Oh Lord, another bi-coastal member of the rich urban elite, who doesn’t understand the pain of the rest of America. Much as I love debate, time to move on.”
My brain said: “Tell her you love her passion and exit graciously.”
Then my Mr Mo-hee-toe afflicted gob spoke thus: “I love you with a passion.” I handed her my business card as I scurried off and never looked back!
Third, it was clear to me early on that I remembered very few of the 250-odd people who turned up to the Reunion. Thankfully, I'd planned ahead. The High School Yearbook photo of me which I had printed on a badge pinned to one of my ever-present colourful iPhone cases around my neck turned out to be a stroke of marketing genius as quite a few people looked at it and said that they remembered me as a result. Even if this was bollocks, the badge proved to be a conversation ice-breaker on the evening. The real eye-opener though, was the realisation that here I was with group of people, each of whom was my age give or take 6 months. This was a statistically significant occurance that needed further investigation. I could do a Mark One eyeball analysis of this group and determine where I stand in the genetic and social pecking order for my generational peer group of mainly white Christian men and women. After taking sometime doing this, here is my fair and balanced (thanks Fox News) assessment:
I still have a reasonable amount of my own hair, am pretty healthy (but obese), aren’t taking medication, have a strong jaw, am sociable and politically ‘sound’, reasonably affluent, well travelled, hard working, digitally astute, think rationally, plan ahead and am able to dance. In my expert opinion that puts me in the 10th percentile. Hell, it was worth nipping over to the east coast of America for the weekend just to assimilate this. Though I’m still coping with that Mojitos-induced hangover!
No harm done overall, although when I was speaking to one pulchritudinous woman about the old days (goodness knows if we really remembered each other from back then) the binge drinking did present a problem. It was all going swimmingly until for some reason she started dumping on the Trumpster. How he’d opened the door to “bigotry and racism” and so on. This lady was clearly classy, wealthy, dressed immaculately, a very confident, intelligent, board director of some kind and now lived in the other ‘Greenwich’, the Village one at the end of the metro line into the Big City. I thought we had a lot in common (a part from the ‘pulchritudinous’ bit). On any normal day, this would be a challenge for me to grasp. To lead my interlocuter through quality discussion in a convivial environment onto the path of light and reason. But tonight…
My mind said, “Oh Lord, another bi-coastal member of the rich urban elite, who doesn’t understand the pain of the rest of America. Much as I love debate, time to move on.”
My brain said: “Tell her you love her passion and exit graciously.”
Then my Mr Mo-hee-toe afflicted gob spoke thus: “I love you with a passion.” I handed her my business card as I scurried off and never looked back!
Third, it was clear to me early on that I remembered very few of the 250-odd people who turned up to the Reunion. Thankfully, I'd planned ahead. The High School Yearbook photo of me which I had printed on a badge pinned to one of my ever-present colourful iPhone cases around my neck turned out to be a stroke of marketing genius as quite a few people looked at it and said that they remembered me as a result. Even if this was bollocks, the badge proved to be a conversation ice-breaker on the evening. The real eye-opener though, was the realisation that here I was with group of people, each of whom was my age give or take 6 months. This was a statistically significant occurance that needed further investigation. I could do a Mark One eyeball analysis of this group and determine where I stand in the genetic and social pecking order for my generational peer group of mainly white Christian men and women. After taking sometime doing this, here is my fair and balanced (thanks Fox News) assessment:
I still have a reasonable amount of my own hair, am pretty healthy (but obese), aren’t taking medication, have a strong jaw, am sociable and politically ‘sound’, reasonably affluent, well travelled, hard working, digitally astute, think rationally, plan ahead and am able to dance. In my expert opinion that puts me in the 10th percentile. Hell, it was worth nipping over to the east coast of America for the weekend just to assimilate this. Though I’m still coping with that Mojitos-induced hangover!
