I’ve always said I wouldn’t attend my 50-year high school reunion when the time came. I have not kept in touch with one person from my high school days in Buffalo. And although I did have some great times in high school, I wouldn’t say it was a “great time.”
But when the invitation arrived and the time grew closer, I began to waver. A lot of my classmates might have said the same thing as I did: there were great times, but it wasn’t necessarily a great time. It was a challenging period of self-discovery, finding one’s place, and transitioning into adulthood—of course, the ride would be bumpy.
The online registration page maintained a running list of those who had registered to attend, and I kept an eye on it. This guy I didn’t know well, that person I don’t remember at all, this one I had a run-in with. But then Marty’s name appeared on the list. He was one of three close friends I had in high school. I hadn’t seen him in almost 40 years. Of the other two friends, Don had passed away, and no one knew what became of Brian. There was only Marty remaining for me.
I decided to go, at least to the opening cocktail and hors d’oeuvres reception. This was to be followed by an honorary bestowing of Golden Jubilee certificates, attendance at the graduation of the class of 2026, and a second reception with the school’s board of trustees. That was just the first night! The next day was a Mass, campus tour, and lunch. Then a golf outing.
The opening reception exceeded my expectations. I spoke to guys, swapped stories, and memories surfaced. Among us was an air of celebration and good fortune simply because we had made it this far in life, and things had worked out for us to this point. Nearby was a table with the senior portraits of those who hadn’t made it this far—and there were too many of them.
I had a meaningful conversation with John, who I’d gone to both elementary and high school with, but we were never close friends. I got a sense we had a lot in common and could be friends now if we lived near each other. There was Tom from the Italian neighborhoods on the west side of Buffalo. We had all called him Vito. A football star and a tough guy in those days. We weren’t close then, but our friend circles intersected. He was a lot nicer this time around, and I swear he resembled Vito Corrleone, even down to the moustache and mannerisms.
Steve, who was on the rowing team with me. Jim, who went with me to a Monday night Bills game. Michael, who said he was currently reading one of my books. I was surprised that several guys knew of me as an author.
I was also surprised by how good everyone looked. At this type of event, you can’t help but compare yourself to others. My classmates impressed me. We were graying and balding and wrinkly, but overall an in-shape and well-groomed bunch of dudes. I’m sure that has a lot to do with demographics: we all came from Buffalo families who could afford to send their sons to St. Joseph’s Collegiate Institute.
Mostly, there was my friend Marty, who attended with his wife, Debra. Somehow 50 years disappeared and we were those same two guys from high school. I told him how much his friendship meant to me back then. We conjured the memories: the ski outings, the camping trip, the time we got suspended for driving to the girls’ high school, Mount St. Joseph Academy, and mooning the girls there in response to them doing it to us, working at the vineyard of a family friend, working cutting down trees, sneaking into bars with our fake IDs.
Debra had to remind me that I’d been a groomsman at her and Marty’s wedding. I wasn’t sure. But Marty hadn’t been sure either, so I didn’t feel too bad. I was fully aware I may never see Marty again, who flew in from California to attend.
Only a handful of the guys from our all-boys school brought their wives. Harriet didn’t come with me. I gave her the option, and she smartly declined. Although if she had come, I would have looked a lot better. Who would have guessed that Klein could land such a woman?
I managed to hold my own without her. But only for the cocktail reception. That was enough for me, simply acknowledging I was a part of this community of old guys, looking back on the arc of our lives, appreciating those moments and the one we were in now.
