"And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family."
-- Leviticus 25:8-10, KJV
Yesterday, June 22, 2016 marked a day of jubilee for members of the Morristown High Class of 1966 as we celebrate 50 years since our original graduation.
A few of us marked the occasion by joining with this year’s MHS graduates. We will be having our actual reunion in September.
It was very different than our graduation day. Ours’ was held at the MHS football field with 80-plus degree temperatures creating sweating people under our caps and gowns. Many of the girls, and even a few guys, wore shorts underneath,. But for the most part, we wore school clothes – dress shirts and slacks for the guys and dresses or skirt-blouse combos for the girls.
Members of the MHS Class of 2016 enjoyed the comfort of an air conditioned hockey arena, while we suffered in 80ยบ + temperatures in direct sunlight at our football field 50 years ago.
It was hot with many speeches droning on from people we didn’t know of or care about such as the school superintendent and board of education president. My late father said he was most impressed with Class President Dave Edwards as he noted the class had elected “four negroes” (this was 1966 after all) as our class officers. The fact was that race had little to do with it. We were just fed up with the “popular kids” not only running things, but also screwing up badly. In fact, the African-American population was only about 10 percent of our class. As we started our senior year, the class was broke and had to have several fund-raising events like dances, plays and bake sales. As it was, our senior prom tickets were higher than any previous class. We simply elected people we both respected and thought would do the job.
The class of 66 is a group of people who lived different lives but shared a common history. We experienced the Cuban Missile Crisis and JFK death in Dallas while we were in school. We learned to type on a manual machine and evolved into the digital age. We were torn apart by Vietnam and classmate Bob Moore’s death and several others who were wounded, both physically and mentally. We were the first to widely experiment with drugs, pioneering an epidemic and seeing several of our classmates die from them. One was a star basketball player. Another starred in our Spring musical. It was such a waste of wonderful people. Musically, we discovered the Beatles and were part of Woodstock, either in person or spiritually. We emerged into Disco and universally hate rap. Time flew by until suddenly it stood still on Sept. 11, 2001 and we thank God that this endless war is one we don't really have to fight.
Classmates from Morristown High Class of 1966. We walked with the current graduating class exactly 50 years to the date from our graduation. Members included Nancy Cacchio Prestige, Robert Cutter, Wendy Fleming Toye, Marcia Heiiden, Kenneth Heiden, Edmund Johnson, Arnie Lazaro, Patricia Mariano Mercurio, Pamela Meslar Tromans, Frank Saccamona, Carol Schoder Zamrok, Diane Trullo Ciatto, myself and Audry Zudick, who coordinated the event on our behalf. Top, in an adjacent room, getting ready; bottom: At Tiff's, a restaurant in Morris Plains after the graduation.
And so, a few of us took a walk with the class of 2016, but in an enclosed arena usually used for ice-skating. The building was quite cool, a welcome difference. I suppose we all did a lot of face watching as the graduates received their diplomas, in the same maroon frame that we did. I saw people who were ready for the future and others who didn’t have a clue – just like us.
All of us looked at each other when one last name was mentioned – Sapp. Michael Sapp of our class was well loved. The two of us spent our junior-year spring as track team managers. After issuing equipment, we would sit around solving the problems of the world. In the autumn of 1965, Michael, who was parking cars at the local hotel, took a sports car and smashed it into a tree, killing himself. We were shocked to discover he was married and a baby was on the way. The day of the funeral, we had previewed "Goodbye, My Fancy," our autumn class play, at an assembly. Many of us then skipped school to attend Mike's funeral. The play opened that night and at an after-play party, Edwards and I sat quietly in the dining room reminiscing about Mike and wondering 'why?'
I suppose each of us wondered if Mike's legacy somehow lived on. Michael probably could have been a grandfather, or even a great-grandfather of the new grad. I tried to find the young man to see if he was descended from our classmate, but was unable to do so in the mob following the ceremony.
So much of our history has been lost. At the 45th reunion, we had already lost more than 10 percent of our class, probably more since many of them are unaccounted for. I never liked the concept of class reunions because I despised the cliques in the school. I decided to go because there were some things I felt I needed to say to certain people. And I did. But what I enjoyed the most was that there were no more cliques. As I moved about greeting people, what drew us together was the common history we shared, not the need to cling to a small group.
And yesterday was the same. I wasn’t close to the people who joined me, but I was comfortable with them. We had played baseball together. We had a woeful freshman team, which won the state championship in out senior year. Alas, I blew my knee as a freshman. I tried to play football and baseball but my leg couldn’t hold up to it. I spent four years on the swim team, but throughout my leg was constantly popping as I tried to kick. And so I became involved in drama and debate. In our junior year, we started a fencing club but the next year it became a varsity sport and I couldn’t do two sports in one season.
At the end of September, we will have an actual class reunion. It is to be the last event in a year of jubilee. Last month, Bonnie Brae, a farm for boys where I spent four years held its 100th and I was honored to speak at the ceremonies. Of course, yesterday was the 50thanniversary of our high school graduation. But I am also thrilled to be attending the 50th year reunion of the Ridge High School class of 1966.
Our class at Ridge was much smaller than the Morristown class – about 100 compared to 400. In many ways, I consider this a more important reunion. I was with them from 6th to 9th grades while I was at Bonnie Brae. These classmates formed strong bonds with me. We played sports (including being on the worst freshman football team in New Jersey history), were in clubs together and my first girlfriend was there too. Ironically, most of the people I was close to transferred to other schools. But because the class was so small, everyone who had been a member at one time was invited.
Prior to attending Bonnie Brae, I was forced to be a vagabond. I went to six different schools in four years. I was always the ‘new’ kid and friendships rarely held. And I entered Morristown in the middle of my freshman year, once again the new kid. By then, just as at Ridge, friendships and cliques were firmly formed and I wasn’t really able to form more than a couple of lasting friendships.
So I am involved in four days of jubilee. I have been looking forward to these days ever since my wife and I separated and then divorced five years ago. Those who know me understand that I have been on a quest to understand these school years and how they have affected me. And so in the final months of this quest, I am forced to conclude it. I will, of course, write my book – more of a life history than a book and probably to be read by only my children and grandchild. I also am in the process of printing my photo book. It will contain 30 pages of landscapes I have photographed in my travels.
But after that?
I find myself in a relationship with, of all people, my senior prom date. I want to deepen this relationship. But what else will I do? I suppose it is part of the adventure we call life. And while this summer is a season dedicated to the past, it will soon be time to be back in the present. Yet one thing is different. I will do it with close friends, both past and present.
