Summer usually marks the start of the reunion
season. I attended High School in a
small southeastern Colorado farming community of about 3000 people. Our graduating class was about 75. Today's graduating classes are about half that. Many years back the tradition was established
that Memorial Day Weekend would be an “all-class” reunion at which the 50th
Reunion Class would be recognized at a big pot luck dinner on Saturday
night. On Friday nights or Saturday
mornings other individual classes might hold smaller gatherings; but everyone
would attend the Saturday night event.
It is held at the largest gathering place in town—the high school gym, because
there aren’t any other places in town that would accommodate approximately 250
attendees. The alumni who live in the
local area have to go to almost every church, school and social organization in
town borrowing tables and chairs to accommodate all the attendees. Participants are encouraged to bring salads,
desserts, vegetables, casseroles, etc. or to donate money. The main dish, usually beef, is either
donated or paid for from the cash donations.
Every time I attend the pot luck, I am reminded of the story of Jesus at
the edge of the Sea of Galilee feeding 5000 people with five barley loaves and
two fish and then having 12 baskets left over.
It always appears to me that when all attendees have finished going
through the long buffet line there is still enough food left to feed them all
again. This is good old "Middle America."
There is where that great little bakery café used to be—next door to Tinker Tim’s. Mrs. Onoretti (sp), I think, ran it with help from her girls. My grandma and grandma used to live there next door and just a block down was the Post Office. Looks the same today as it did 50 years ago. Two houses down that street is where my mom, my brother, sister and I lived with my grandparents from the 8th through the 12th grade.
I remember those “folks” who used to live in that big
house; but can’t recall their names.
There is the Presbyterian Church.
It was very popular with the city’s youth because of Reverend Wintermuth
(sp). Not sure how the town supported
all the churches we had—must have been at least 10. Even if 50% (which is high) of the population
supported a church, that was only about 150 people (40 families) per
church. Today, many of those churches
have had to combine in order to support a pastor. There is the big house Richard Richards lived
in. His dad ran the biggest car
dealership in town—Plymouth-Chrysler (or was it just GM?).
Who would name their child Richard Richards? Don’t believe I have seen him since I
graduated. There is where the old
Columbian School used to be. I went to 6th
through 8th grades there. Our
Junior High Football team played on the ball field, which was hard packed
dirt. Getting tackled and hitting the
ground was almost like playing on concrete!
We loved to scrimmage the High School Freshmen because we played on
grass. Even though they were bigger than
we were and hit a little harder, it was more than compensated for by the grass!
There is the old Bent County High School, lots of great
memories there, including multiple trophies in the trophy case that had my
mother, her sister and her brother’s names on them.
I recall once having the opening of school delayed in the
morning while the janitors scraped the hard putty out of a door lock so they
could unlock the door. One of our more
enterprising students had filled all the outside door locks with putty the
night before. When it hardened it
provided a bit of a challenge for the janitors (I should probably be politically correct and identify them as some sort of
engineer).
Well, those thoughts are just a small percentage of those
I experienced in a short six block ride that took about 3 minutes. Multiply
that by several more hours and my estimate of 200 for the weekend is probably
very low. Maybe my title should be
“Weekend of a Million Memories”.
Most of the townspeople and reunion attendees will
probably go out to the cemetery on either Sunday or Monday to take flowers and
spend some time in thought about their family and ancestors interred
there. My mother, sister, paternal
grandmother and grandfather and my grandfather’s parents are there. Additionally, buried there are two aunts, two
uncles, a niece and several more distant relatives.
My Maternal Grandparents
In the cemetery of the town just 18 miles up the road are
my father, his parents and several others from the Ritchhart and Bush
families. Not only does viewing of those
grave sites bring back a lot of memories about family, but as one sees the names
of the parents of classmates and other people from the community, additional
memories are evoked.
As
we gather together at individual class functions or at the Saturday night
dinner, we will reminisce with many classmates—perhaps embellishing a little on
some of those past memories! We will
glance across the room at classmates and say to ourselves “I can’t believe I
look that old—life hasn’t been very good to them!” Meanwhile, they are looking back at you
thinking the same thing. You will spot a
couple classmates across the room you haven't seen in many years and would like to talk with. However, you are currently being
engaged by someone three classes behind you whom you hardly know; but you don’t
want to be impolite and leave them standing alone. Some of the conversations at these events
will probably mention the state basketball championships in 1955, 1958 and another year I can’t recall.
State Champs--Years Ago!
Others will mention
that the town seem to have lost a lot of the vitality that it had in the 50s
and 60s; however, local alumni, as they well should, will be quick to point out
the many recent positive developments.
This blog is supposed to be about genealogy and some of
you may be saying (if you even make it this far) “What does all of this have
to do with genealogy?” It has everything
in the world to do with genealogy.
Genealogy isn’t just dates of birth, marriage, and death; lists of
occupations and residences and other facts; it is about stories of our past,
memories of our family and ancestors, and recollections of growing up in your
home town. Reunions such as my
classmates are experiencing this weekend epitomize all of this. I am sorry I can’t make it this year—hopefully
next year.
As the weekend comes to a close and you head out of town,
you will invariably have regrets about a few classmates you saw; but didn’t get
a chance to talk with, about not getting over to the Courthouse to explore some
land records or not having gotten out to Boggsville to see what has been
accomplished there. Well, one will always
have the opportunity next reunion—hopefully!
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