If you live long enough, you can go to your 50th high school reunion. You don’t have to go. As rite of passages go, it’s not a big deal. But it’s nice to be around and have the option.
My wife, Carole, had her 50th high school reunion a few weeks ago. We both graduated from East Side High in East St. Louis, Illinois. I was a year ahead of her, so we have a “twofer.” She sees her friends at mine and I see my friends at hers. The only real draw back is you see so many old people. It kind of gets us thinking that we probably don’t look much better.
We drove from Virginia to Illinois. When I was practicing full time, I couldn’t afford to drive. We flew everywhere. I needed to be billing hours for the firm. Now, we can relax (and put my golf clubs in the trunk of the car). I got two rounds in. One was connected with the reunion and the other was with three East Side buddies from the Class of 56′. Jim Starr picked up Ben Burkett, Larry Hawks and me, and off we went to the Prairies of Cahokia
I went into the clubhouse, paid, picked up a cart and headed back to the car to load up my clubs. My clubs had already been removed from the trunk of the car and my putter was missing. I have my putter cover tied to my bag, so I won’t lose it, and it was just hanging there. If I had just thought who I was playing with, I would have immediately known that they were jerking me around. But, I am so used to forgetting things that I instantly assumed that I had left it at home. I must have looked pretty pathetic because Hawks quickly gave me back my putter. I was delighted that I hadn’t forgotten anything. A few trips back, it was my golf shoes. Once you get 100 miles from home, turning back is not an option.
At the big Saturday night dance, I bumped into a tall fellow with glasses whose name tag said Charles Waldo. We immediately shook hands and started reminiscing. Charlie was three years senior to me, so I never expected to see him at the reunion. He had married one of Carole’s classmates. I knew Charlie through baseball. He was a pitcher and my brother, Bill, and I were catchers (Bill and Charlie were in the same class). Charlie used to come over to our house and practice pitching. Bill would catch and my dad, who had caught professionally, would coach Charlie. I think my role was to chase balls that got past Bill. Seeing Charlie after all these years was a feel good experience. Plus, I now know the answer to that time honored question, Where’s Waldo?
Charlie wasn’t the only pitcher I ran into. Mel Roustio was in Carole’s class and I caught him in high school and American Legion ball. He was a good pitcher, but a better basketball player. He went on to play college basketball and then spent most of his adult life as a high school basketball coach. Our high school basketball coach was named Pick Dehner. I mention this because after Mel became a coach, he actually coached against Pick Dehner.
Pick was six foot five and best described as demonstrative and occasionally explosive. On reflecting back, the thing that frustrated me most about Pick was I never learned anything from him. It didn’t matter in baseball, because I had my dad watching my every move. But in basketball, I needed someone to teach me how to play defense. I have always considered myself trainable. But, it wasn’t until I attended Command and General Staff College that some of my classmates taught my how to play defense. I went to C&GSC and the Army War College on an athletic scholarship.
Mel told me that when he was coaching at Edwardsville, they were scheduled to play against East Side and Pick Dehner. One of his assistant coaches told him that they needed to do something to distract Pick. They decided on the following ploy: Mel sent Pick a telegram. It read, “Pick, Disregard the first telegram. Mel.” It drove Pick crazy trying to find out about the “first telegram.” That and a last second shot gave the victory to Edwardsville.
Reunions are for finding out where’s Waldo and reliving great stories. The Pick Dehner story made the trip worthwhile. It also gave me a chance to vent about how he never taught me defense. Maybe he decided that my position on the bench didn’t require much defense. I need to stop now – I have to prepare a telegram.