An invitation for one
Those words and thoughts are from The Valuable Time of Maturity, by Mário Raul de Morais Andrade, who lived his life in Brazil, from 1893 to 1945. His words have been translated into English, with various versions.
I have more past than future, and there are few candies left in my bowl of life. I am opting for one of those candies to be a day in Mishawaka with some people whom I would enjoy seeing one last time.
The year 2023 will be 55 years after our days at MHS.
I'll begin this rambling nonsense with
a smile for you:
I've reached my limit:
How does this relate to the fact that June 2023 will be 55 years after we had our last official act as the Mishawaka High Class of 1968? Well, I would be interested in gathering with some people whom I knew way back when -- but not with all.
It's 55 years after Mishawaka High's Class of 1968 was coming to its end of officialness. I would like to see people whom I knew way back when. Some I knew when we were little children at North Side, playing on the streets in Normain Heights. Some I first met in 5th grade at Battell, walking in those dark halls. Some I met at Main, where I was one of the kids sitting on the 3rd floor at lunch time, eating from a paper bag I'd carried from home, sometimes with a cupcake from Kuss'. And some folks I met at Mishawaka High. Admittedly, the ones whom I would most like to see are the ones whom I met before MHS, but there are several whom I first met at MHS whom I'd be happy to see one last time.
So, one of my oldest and dearest girlfriends and I will arrange the following:
Regarding the Who? in that above box, I've no wish to do volunteer work for anyone pushing the leftist agenda, and I've no wish to spend a dime entertaining anyone pushing the leftist agenda. My candies are running out, and I do not want to waste my candies on such people:
I'd like to see some folks from the old MHS '68 group, but not all.
My old girlfriend and I will rent a place for a day. I will "seed" the day with some roasted chickens and some pizzas and hope for the best. I will arrange for fireworks in the evening. No, we will not jump thru hoops so that the day can include beer or booze. Neither of us is a drinker or ever was a drinker. We don't care if someone else drinks, but anyone can survive a day without beer. Your liver will thank you.
I'd like to have one last time in my old hometown. Almost certainly, this will be my last time ever in Mishawaka, and there's a good chance that it will be my last time ever in all of Indiana. Since 1976, I have lived 600 miles from Mishawaka. I no longer have any connection to Mishawaka. Both my old girlfriend and I will have to travel many hundred miles to be able to spend a day in Mishawaka. We'd like it to be pleasant.
Do you recall Ronald Reagan's words in
1980: I am paying for this microphone!
Come as you are. No need to try to impress or to dress fancy. (I'll be wearing jeans and be plenty fat.) No one will be asking for donations for any "favorite charity." Show up as you might if you stopped in to visit your crazy cousin whom you've seen off and on since you were kids: She knows your ancestral tree better than you do, and she'll be happy to tell you about your great-grandfather.
Bring your harmonica and play a tune. Bring your knitting needles and spend the day sitting and knitting and hearing old familiar voices. Bring photos to share. Come with genealogy questions, and I'll try to help you find answers. Bring a deck of cards and find a foursome to play Euchre. Whatever. We encourage you to bring some food to share because a few roasted chickens and a few pizzas will stretch only so far. Come by yourself, or come with your significant other, or come with a friend. Bring your dog if you'd like. Bring your parrot. Don't bring your goldfish. ;-)
On March 25, 2022, I emailed 250+ folks from the MHS '68 group, sharing my idea to hostess such a gathering. I had just read one more anti-woman news story telling of the word "maternity" being removed from the name of a hospital because the word "maternity" was "offensive" to some people.
For me, it was the last straw, and my response was to write the following to those 250+ old MHS '68 folks:
Here are some of the responses:
Those last words are the best: "I just keep believing we have hit the wall and this ship is going to right itself soon."
Because of those responses, the possibility moved from an idea into an "arrange this" thing. I hope to see old friends on some not-yet-chosen day in the summer of 2023.
I'll arrange a day for friends, and I'll have one last time in Mishawaka.
You are welcome to share this information with others from the MHS Class of '68 who would fit the welcome-list. I will send emails, but please understand that I do not have email addresses for everyone. I have attempted not to send emails about this to any known leftists who would be offended. I don't want to offend them; I just don't want to see them. They are not welcome.
And, should you feel the need to tell me how wrong I am to plan such a day, I refer you to President Reagan's words: I am paying for this microphone!
On June 5, 1968, most of us walked across the football field in maroon robes, sat on the bleachers, and listened to Phil Eskew babble. Eskew headed the Indiana High School Athletic Association from 1962 to 1976. The man had zero connection to Mishawaka, did not know a darned thing about us, and it's likely that his words connected with no one on that day. But we sat patiently and politely. [An F.Y.I.: Eskew was born in 1906 and died in 1991.]
We also listened to Randy Marks ask for a silent prayer for Robert Kennedy, who had been shot in the wee hours of that morning. Four-and-a-half years earlier, most of us had been at school in 8th grade when we learned that Bobby Kennedy's brother had been shot -- a nightmare day that all recall. Those two assassinations became the bookends of our teen years in Mishawaka.
I have only a few memories of graduation day: I remember the wind blowing against our robes as we walked across the field to the bleachers. I remember smiles and happy words after the graduation ceremony as we were again inside the high school, returning our rented graduation gowns, exchanging little name cards, telling one another that we'd stay in touch. Why, of course we would! Some of us had seen each other almost every day since we began kindergarten, or since we met in 7th grade. Together, we had learned to decode squiggles on pages, and we had learned to write our own words, and we had learned to divide fractions. Of course we would stay in touch!
And then life happened. We made plans, but life happened. Few of us maintained contact over the many decades. Fewer of us saw one another with any frequency over the many decades. When we would make contact, usually we would paste on a smile with each trying to convince the other that, Everything's fine! We all know that not everything was fine for all those decades. There have been successes and happinesses, but there have been enormous losses and sadnesses and agonies. Remember: I've worked the genealogies for almost every one of you. I've seen the records of some of those agonies. Some had suffered major agonies even before graduation day.
At least 84 from that old group have
Back to that graduation day: I was one
of 10 people who gathered a few times in advance of
graduation to plan the graduation events. The others were
class officers Randy Marks, Joe Jasiewicz, Cosimo Natali,
and Penny Reynolds; student council president Dave Nevel;
M-Men president Randy Shayler; and the other honor
society presidents, Carol Nix, Becky Smith, and Dan
Nicolini. Our faculty class sponsor, Jeanette
Davis, was in charge, but she was not always able to push
us where she wanted us to go: She was not in favor of an
outdoor ceremony, but we insisted. She did not like the
idea of the Symphonies in White tradition,
with two girls from the junior class leading us into the
commencement ceremony, dressed in white full-length
gowns, carrying red roses, but we insisted. It was a
beautiful tradition, and Cheryl Tagliaferri and Cindy
Theilking lead us, even as Jeanette Davis did not like
I recall the graduation committee
meetings back in spring of 1968. I was tasked with
designing the cover of the program for what was called
Class Day. The 1st design I offered was not
liked. I'd spent a few hours on it, but my efforts were
bluntly rejected. That 1st design is lost and forgotten.
The 2nd design would not have been my choice, but it's
what others on that graduation committee wanted:
There was a song popular back then,
But that was yesterday, and yesterday's gone.
That song seemed fitting for the day: Yesterday's gone. I had begun kindergarten at North Side with Lois, Randy, Bob, Eve, Christina, Marsha, Glenda, Tom, Billy H., Bill B., and Tim Farr. In the photo below, top row, from left are Bob H., me, and Tim Farr. Next to Tim is an unknown girl, then Randy. Directly in front of Tim is Lois. To the right of Lois is Tom. Then two unknowns. Then Marsha. Then an unknown. Then Christina. In the front row, Eve is 2nd from the left, then Bill B. Then two unknowns. Then Glenda. Our teacher? That was Mrs. Russell Uhrenholdt, born Ruth Frances Blanchard, in 1933.
Four years before we began kindergarten, in 1951, our kindergarten teacher had graduated from Woodrow Wilson High School, in Washington, D.C. Just three months before we began kindergarten, she had graduated from University of Wisconsin, Madison, and married Mr. Uhrenholdt at a Methodist Church in Madison. At her wedding, whe wore a "white lace waltz-length gown with a scoop neckline trimmed with mother-of-pearl sequins. And, "her shoulder-length veil was fastened by a small crown of matching sequins and seed pearls." She had a bouquet of stephanotis with a white orchid. After the wedding, she and her new husband moved to South Bend. In September 1955, she begin teaching kindergartners at both North Side and Twin Branch, where she would play the piano for us and encourage us to be quiet by telling us to listen for a pin to drop. She was a nice lady. She and her husband now live in Rochester, New York.
Just three months before high-school graduation in 1968, I took a phone call from Tim Farr's mother. She asked that a thank-you message be printed in the school newspaper, to thank people who had offered kindnesses after Tim's death. Tim died March 3rd, our senior year. About 12 years before that phone call, I had been one of the little children in Mrs. Farr's house celebrating Tim's 6th birthday. ... In many ways, Tim's death was the statement to all: Yesterday's gone. Tim's death is a sadness that hangs over most from the MHS '68 group, even more than half-a-century later.
But back to our graduation day, it was unlike what would happen in 2023: The ceremony opened with a prayer by a Catholic priest (from St. Bavo's) and closed with a prayer by a Lutheran minister (Jeff Barcus' dad). Fifty-five years ago was a time when we prayed, a time when people believed in God, a time when most attempted to follow God's laws, a time when we felt guilty when we goofed. And we all goofed along the way. Well, perhaps not you, but I surely goofed over the years.
We left the Mishawaka school grounds that day, and there never again has been anything official about the Mishawaka High Class of 1968. After that moment in time, Dutch Thurston no longer could sentence any of us to detention or threaten to kick any of us out of school. ... Yes, I served detention a few times -- for getting to class late. And, yes, I was threatened with being ordered off school property, if I ran anything in that little weekly ALLTOLD that Dutch didn't like. I began our senior year with enough credits to graduate. In September 1967, the message was delivered to me bluntly: If you cause trouble, you will be given your diploma and ordered off school property. You have enough credits that we could hand you a diploma right now and tell you to leave.
Some won't like what I say next, but
you can't send me to detention or order me off school
Biden's disasters and harms against the USA are so numerous that one loses count: Afghanistan, highest inflation in 40 years (inflation = a tax), Ukraine, the southern border of the USA, totalitarian mandates in the name of COVID, sky-high gas prices, making it easier to kill unborn babies wherever he can (all while pretending he's a Catholic!), pushing the tranny-crap so that men-who-pretend-to-be-women have the right to intrude in women's private spaces -- complete with their ding-dongs swinging.
Biden is the worst USA President in our lifetimes and perhaps the worst USA President ever.
I'd like to see some folks from the old MHS '68 group, but not all.
|P.S. For a few folks
in the MHS '68 group, I really am your crazy cousin.
According to paper-trail genealogical research, these folks are my distant cousins: Sandy Young, Sandy Eberhardt (CRIPE line); Keith Smith (GRIMES line); Pat McGee (SANFORD line); Tammy Reed, Dawn Housand (KEIM line); Sharon Gill, Pat Semprini (SOULE line).
I stress "distant." The connections are beyond sixth cousins, and sometimes it's a half-cousin situation. And, of course, the info is based on the paper trail, and sometimes paper-trail genealogy is not what it seems.
I have lots of genealogical information that I'd be happy to share.