Precious Memories, How They Linger…

I went back home for my 60-year high school reunion. And I don’t know exactly how to gently, or politely, say this… But...uh…er...uh...I found myself completely surrounded by old people the entire weekend.

I thought I was at a Geritol convention!

Listen, there ain’t enough of that old-timey Niagara Starch that Mother used to iron into our Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes left on earth to cover the wrinkles in that crowd.

It was amazing how all the old guys’ hair had turned gray. Most of the girls had about the same color hair they had in high school. I could only figure it was just clean living on the girls’ part, or maybe there is some kind of aging hair genetical condition that only affects men.

I was so excited about seeing everyone I went a day early. Joel Washburn was kind enough to take a couple of hours to show me around town. He knows more about McKenzie, the people, the history than most anyone on the planet. It was a pleasure to be in his company. And you know how Joel talks, I couldn’t hardly get a word in edgewise….

But just to walk down Broadway Street, meander through the park, see the World War I cannon silently guarding Dr. Holmes old office, read the names on the plaques of McKenzie’s finest who had gone off to war, gaze once more on the Park Theatre where every Saturday we chased bad guys plumb off that silver screen….

The person who wrote “you can’t go home again” didn’t know his elbow from a hot rock!

Joel bought my lunch at the Ben Franklin Store. I ate a delicious Club sandwich sitting about where the building’s former owner, Mr. James Williams, had a huge rack of numerous colored spools of thread. I remembered where the candy section was, and where they displayed the cap pistols, BB’s, and the seasonal Valentine cards….

I’m telling you the gospel truth, every building in this town is a special place, with a special story all its own. You can change the name, repaint it, put in new windows, dress it up to a fare-the-well, repurpose it time after time…but you CANNOT erase the memories of what was, and is, and will always be….

Brad Camp put me in the parade the next day, I think, because his mother told him how she used to throw a baseball with me when I was a kid. Which Karen Webb did do. Mostly when no one else was available. Because she cared about everyone in our neighborhood.

It was the first parade I’d ridden in since I was a senior in high school here. I was on a flat bedded wagon with the football team on that cooler fall day 61 years ago.

Barbara Cozart, former Homecoming Queen and lifelong friend, and Molly Sue Hopper, who was once upon a time my babysitter, sat on either side of me to keep me from falling out of the car. When we turned on to Stonewall Street in front of Moore’s Service Station (a brown municipal building sits there today; but I could still smell the burning rubber from Mr. Harrison recapping tires in the back) memories galore flooded my soul.

At one time, I knew who lived in every house on both sides of Stonewall, from one end of it to the other. You can talk about the Appian Way, the Appalachian Trail, and the Yellow Brick Road…they don’t hold a candle to Stonewall Street! And don’t take my word for it, ask anyone who has ever driven up and down it, or chased lightning bugs under its streetlights, or raced their little brother right down the middle of it to the elementary school….

Becky Shooter stopped me after the parade, to say hello and catch me up on her family and her buddy from Camden, Jeff Winston.

There was a “Decades Reunion” for all classes before the football game. It was like “old home week.” I ran immediately into Wesley and Charles Beal. Wesley was in the class ahead of us. What a player he was in any sport you could name. I looked up to him and was lucky enough to also play alongside him.

Martin Paschall gave me a hug. What a special guy, from a special family. Ann Carol, Susie, and Joyce were older than me. I might have pointed that out to them, once or twice.

I was surprised Pete Joyner’s daughters remembered me. They were just skinny little kids when I worked at the swimming pool. But they lived next door to the pool, and I watched them swim every day for five years. Jimmy Collins and I shared our grief over the loss of his big sister, and he asked if I had any Pam stories….which I did in abundance!

Memories, as I tried to shake hands, hug, greet, share a moment with every single person there, were a dime a dozen. Many wonderful people made a point to stop and say hello. I am forever grateful for each one of them. I was so busy “catching up” I didn’t get one bite of food.

I did glance over to where the food trucks were set up and my legs went rubbery. My back started hurting, sweat stung my eyes, and I blinked hard a couple of times. I swear for a second, I saw the old 7-man sled we had to push back and forth across this very ground every day at football practice. That thing weighed four tons.

I’m two inches shorter today because of that darn contraption!

Good gosh, the memories are interrupting my story! I am supposed to be telling you about the reunion of the Class of 1965. Which, I haven’t even gotten to yet. That’s what happens when you start hanging out with old people….

Respectfully,
Kes
kesley45@aol.com