My 50th Kokomo High School Reunion

My Dad went to his 50th high School Reunion in 1980. His was a small class compared to mine and their newspaper group-photo showed a gang of thirty old people looking into the camera eye - a bunch of gray, wrinkled, heavy-set fossils. That was my impression at the time, and my own 50th was so far in the future that I did not much think about it. I remember him saying that it had been a lot of fun, and he said it had been interesting. I could understand the fun part, but I had to wait till my own reunion to discover what it was that he found to be so interesting.

I graduated from Kokomo High School in 1958. The ceremony was in the school Gym, and about 450 of us occupied folding chairs on the main floor. The bleachers were filled with proud families. Mom, Dad, brother Don, and Grandma Frank were there, and Uncle Joe and Aunt Gail had driven north from Connersville to help commemorate the happy occasion. I can’t recall much other than some guy droned on for an extraordinary time giving a commencement address that missed the connection between my ears and brain.

Fast forward 50 years and I’m landing at O’Hare Airport on a pilgrimage to meet those with whom I had spent my formative years. The first night we stayed with Ed Raab, a fellow graduate living in Michigan City, and then completed the hundred miles to Kokomo the following day.

After checking in with our motel we immediately headed down the By-Pass to the corner of Markland Avenue to feast on a large number of White Castle hamburgers. We have a steel plate advertizing White Castles on our kitchen wall at home. Its an antique - "Hamburgers 5 cents". That is the closest we get to them in Alaska, and the supermarket frozen ones are no substitute. After satiating that particular hunger we proceeded to the town square.

There was an informal gathering of classmates at a place called Sondy’s Martini Bar. We entered, found a table with blank name tags and pens, and then turned to see a crowd of people I’d never seen before - very interesting. Everybody I met bent over to read my name tag, and I did the same. Why! Dick DeWitt. The last time I saw you, you were skinny, thin faced and had hair. Ramona Wilson, you use to be a voluptuous blond.

About an hour later someone walked in that I could recognize from afar. Dick Chegar was tall and thin, and still wore the face I remembered. I experienced the same pattern the next evening at our formal reunion. Only about one in ten could I recognize - Dick Campbell, Barbara Ehrman, and Ralph Williams to name a few. I thought about taking a camera, but elected not to, as it would be futile to match old names with new faces …that were old.

One woman repeatedly hid her name tag by placing her hand over it as I repeatly tried to see with whom I was talking. When I finally discovered it to be Sandy Beck I accused her of sticking a pin in my leg when we were in eighth grade math and causing a blood stain on my pants. She denied the incident, but I could tell...

The host announced that 170 of the original class attended the reunion. I was able to identify four or five without cheating. We were all given a copy of The Kat Kaller, the name of our school phone book (We were the Kokomo WildKats). It gave all our names and present addresses. Sixty-seven were listed as deceased. That’s about 15 percent of the total. It was interesting.

I remembered a scene from thirty years before - one of my Mom sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her. I was home for a visit and we were talking about things past. Her age came up. She was about 65 then. A look of awe came over her as she stared into a distant past, and wondered aloud, “How did I get here so fast?” Yes, its interesting, for that was the thought that often came to mind during my 50th reunion pilgrimage.