by Dana Dalton
Hello…If you are anything like me then you have been looking forward to this reunion for decades. Our childhood friendships hold a place in our heart, or maybe our soul, that can never be held by anyone else. I subscribe to the theory that when young we were all a blank slate. Our character, our desires, our personalities were being formed as a consequence of the experiences we shared with each other.
For a number of years now, when I shave in the morning, I am often times startled by the image looking back at me in the mirror. Where did that other guy go … the one that lives on my inside. The one that many of you helped create.
Your being here means so much to me. John, and all the folks that enjoyed the experience of organizing this reunion are several months, maybe years, ahead of all the rest of us. They have been in touch with, or have learned the painful truths about those unable to be here. They have also enjoyed the laughs and stories we are anxious to share. I want to hear all of that and more. Where ever you have been, with whom, and doing what? This may be our last chance to share our stories and give one another a hug (hugging is optional depending on your sensitivity to this sort of thing)
I married a beautiful and brilliant Italian French teacher … Mary. Her Italian family insisted I shed my macho “don’t show emotions” predisposition. So when we great one another and I reach for you, or I’m coming in for the hug, you’ll know why.
Glacier High School circa 1965. Our graduation year was in the middle of a decade that has earned the reputation for being revolutionary! That’s right … the closest person I knew that could project this image in our class was Roger Fenton. In fact, that’s what he wrote in my yearbook, “Let the revolution begin” To my knowledge all the girls were wearing their brazieres. Once I drank an Olympia beer after a football game with Dave Labrum. Lonnie Nuss scandalized my yearbook by writing “to a fellow Winstoneer”. In this comment it was true that I had begun smoking a modest number of cigarettes … maybe a pack a week. So I believe the seeds of revolution were scant among us.
We loved Jerry Scarcella’s 1957 Chevy and we were pretty certain our class was considerably superior to the one just in front of us …1964. JFK’s assassination devastated us all. The earthquake scared us terribly … except for Mr. Chester. Airplanes taking off and interrupting our classes was a non-event, even though this reality eventually brought our alma mater to its graceful end.
Certainly each of us will recall different memories, high points and low that will add texture to our gathering…and I can’t wait to hear them all!