Reunion

It’s been a long day and will be a short night. There is a gentle summer rain that should be lulling me to sleep. But I am too filled with joy and contentment. I have just attended the 50^th year reunion of the Ridge High School (Basking Ridge, NJ) Class of 1966.

Reunion is a funny word. it is not just a gathering of people who once knew each other, but the union part of the word indicates a bonding that once was and, from my perspective, still is.

I only spent half of my freshman year with this group of people, but I also was part of the class during middle school – 6^th through 8^th grades. And these people are very dear to me, possibly much more than my classmates at Morristown High School (NJ) where I graduated. This RHS class, numbering just over 100, was small. But their beauty was immense.

In previous years, I had gone to five schools and lived in 11 apartments in the four years since my parents separated. I lived with my mother, an alcoholic drama queen. The best way I could explain it was I had a mental breakdown by the time I was 12 years old. I wound up at Bonnie Brae Farm for Boys in Millington, NJ. The stability of having an ordered life and consistent treatment helped me to settle down while I attended the in-house school there.

About nine months later, I returned to the public school system while living at Bonnie Brae. Even though I had to repeat 6^th grade, it was OK. I had learned little in the previous school year and realized it was best for me. And so I spent the last few months in school with the children who eventually became the class of ’66. Those first few months, I felt very much like an outsider, as usual, because I not only was the new kid in school, but also a Bonnie Brae Boy. I had no idea what the “townies” thought of me, or any Bonnie Brae Boy during that time. I pretty much kept to myself, but there was absolutely no way I wanted to go back to the in-house school.

The Friday evening meet and greet

The next year I returned to the same school, with the same classmates. We moved from class to class with new teachers, rather than staying with one teacher. And the transition was smooth. I was with the same group of classmates for the first time in my life.

Slowly, very slowly, I came out of my shell as seventh grade began. And I started to learn things. Mr. Whittaker, my English teacher, spent endless days on sentence structure and diagramming. With that instruction, I was able to become the professional writer that was the backbone of my career. I became comfortable with my classmates. Eventually we began supporting one another with both life and schoolwork.

Then suddenly we were in Oak Street JHS and in the 8^th grade, a different building with some new teachers. But by now, I was comfortable with my classmates. My grades improved and I became involved in sports and clubs. I learned a little about soccer and played on the school team. I also played football and baseball. Suddenly, I was something of a class leader. I was in Mr. Koza’s camera club, and guess who later became a professional photographer? The social studies teacher, Mr. Mitchell, refused to take my BS and inspired me to teach that subject after a middle-life career change was forced upon me due to injuries.

But the most important thing was that I felt I was an important part of this group. I felt accepted.

And that was the year I discovered girls. 

After a few false starts with girls with whom we laughed about during the reunion, along came Valerie. It was kind of weird, the way I had discovered her. I had asked a couple of girls to a dance at Bonnie Brae.

A midday bar-b-que at a classmate's home. It ended just before torrential rains began.

The first girl I asked was with her BFF and I couldn’t get them separate. So I finally asked the girl and the BFF burst into laughter while the other girl, the object of my two years of unknown, unbridled affection, politely declined. This incident turned out to be a major factor in my life as I became extremely fearful of rejection for some time. The next girl I asked said her father would not let her date until she was 16. I thought she was just brushing me off but later learned it was true. The third girl said she would ask her parents, who said “no.”

Now you have to understand, these three girls were some of the most attractive in the class. I spoke to Mr. Persico, Bonnie Brae’s director, about it. He suggested I ask a girl who was a friend, not necessarily a pretty one. And so I asked Valerie. And she said yes. I felt glad I had a date for the dance, but somewhat apathetic because she seemed to be so plain.

But then came the night of the dance. Valerie, who didn’t primp too much at school, suddenly was an incredibly beautiful woman, drop-dead gorgeous, and perfection beyond belief. A dash of makeup with a beautiful dress with a modest neckline and an incredible hairdo made her the belle of the ball, though she didn’t realize it. There was a song by The Lettermen, a popular group at that time, titled “The Way You Look Tonight,” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSsTguCePLk) that I considered “our” song, though I never told her that. But every time I hear it, I still remember that night when I discovered that girls were clearly the most wonderful things ever! When my son married his wife, I chose that song to play as I danced with her at the reception. 

And all my Bonnie Brae friends who saw Valerie agreed. A few days later we were hanging around the day room where we studied and played board games. They started an A cappella doo-wop song that began with: 

“Valerie, (Aaaaaaah)  oh my Valerie, (Oooooo)) Valerie, I love you so, so, so (so, oh, so)

And Valerie, (Oooooo) oh my little Valerie, (Aaaaaaah)  I just want you to know, (know, oh, know.)”

The lyrics continued with her being so fine and having kisses like wine; possessing eyes that sparkled in the night, etc.

It was, of course, what was then called “puppy love.” But the feelings, and hormones, were raging. But the thing was, when she said she loved me, I didn’t know how to respond. I really never had an example of it in my chaos-filled home life. I often wonder if I still don’t understand love. At that point, we hadn’t even kissed.

Through those elementary years, our music teacher was Paul Grossman. Several years after the class graduated, he had a sex change and became Paula Grossman. In recent years, trans people have become somewhat accepted. But at the time, even though she was tenured, the school board fired her. Sometime around 1973 I was working for the Dover Daily Advance newspaper and when I mentioned in the newsroom that she was my teacher in elementary school, I was sent to get an interview. After finding a 10-year-old Plainfield phone book (does anyone still use them?) I made contact and got an interview. Ms Grossman always had a great sense of humor in school and greeted me with “you’ve changed, but who am I to talk?”

And here we get serious. Bonnie Brae boys were accepted. Most of my classmates didn’t know we had juvenile records. For example, I was charged with B&E. I saw a baseball in the basement door where I lived and broke in to get it. Others ran with street gangs. Some were sexually abused and some, who never made it to public school, were sexual abusers. But the classmates treated us like equals. And it helped us incredibly. Mr. Grossman cast one of us, Jimmie Shields, as the lead of a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta  -- something most of us Bonnie Brae boys marveled at. While we were always part of athletic teams and clubs, we were rarely thought of as having that kind of talent. We were proud of Jimmie, a gentle giant, albeit it a lonely one. When my father visited me every other week on Sunday, he hung out with us like a puppy wanting to be included.

And then I was a freshman. The previous years had strengthened my mind, body and soul. No longer did I feel like an outlaw and outcast. There I was, playing football, even if we were the worst freshman team ever. We never even scored. We only had about 15 boys start the season. That meant most of us had to play both ways. By the second quarter, we were usually exhausted as the teams we played against sometimes had two to three times as many players.

Top: 1963 yearbook photo of the freshmen team, Bottom, the RHS football field today posted by Joy Monroe. 

We got close to scoring once. After being behind by at least 40 points, we got near the goal line and the opposing coach put his starters back in and they stopped us. A small squad, we wound up with only eight players after injuries and our season was cancelled. Those who were left played a little with the jayvee team. But it was something we owned, and it united us.

Dinner is served at the reunion

I joined the music appreciation club and we even heard a song by some British group called the Beatles. We breezed through French I, having had three years of it in elementary school, but the guys paid little attention as the teacher was very beautiful. Algebra I was a little tough as we were taught learning the “new math.” RHS was only in its second year of existence. But all the teachers, most of whom were quite young then, were great people who cared. It was an experience where we learned from each other.

And then it was time to leave. On the day we broke for Christmas vacation, the people at Bonnie Brae told me it was time for me to go home to my mother. They said she had been sober, had a good job and a much better apartment. Well, I suppose two out of three weren’t bad. 

The next date I had with Valerie was at a youth nightclub run by a local Morristown church. My mother drove us between Morristown and Basking Ridge. It was a chance to simply talk and on the ride home, we were in the back seat and finally kissed well over a year since that incredible first date. But I discovered mom was driving drunk after letting Valerie off. I never wanted to risk Valarie, or any other person, again. From then on, I paid for taxis but I was so ashamed about my mother I didn't contact Valerie for nearly 50 years. 

Morristown High was very different. A class of more than 400 to start with, those from Morristown came in from several different elementary schools. Then there was another group from nearby Morris Plains, and yet another from Harding Township. When we were sophomores, yet another larger group from Morris Township joined us. These diverse groups formed all kinds of cliques even before entering high school. There were also groups based on religion and color. There were greasers and preppies. And I was the new kid. At Ridge, we were far more homogenous.

At Morristown, I never really fit into a niche. I did some sports, drama and debate. I never played football again because I blew my knee playing baseball and it wouldn’t hold up. The only sport I was any good at, swimming, was worse after the injury as my knee actually rattled when I was kicking.

I once visited a juvenile court judge and begged to go back to Bonnie Brae. But since I wasn’t committing any crimes, I couldn’t. My mother’s drinking prevented me from inviting friends into my house. I spent most of my evenings working to avoid her rantings; lifeguarding at the Y, ushering at the movies and delivering Chicken Delight instead of doing homework. I did not attend activities such as parties that I might have made friends in. I survived several courses simply by getting top grades only on final exams. In junior year history, I had the top grade in the entire school in the final and the teacher, who only lasted one year, wanted to give me a F for the year. Somehow, after screaming at the guidance department, I wound up with the only A I had in the three plus years I was at Morristown. I had made the honor roll several times in the Bernards Township system.

Despite having a recorded IQ of 132, I graduated 380^th out of 400 students. In the past five years or so, I have become much closer to my classmates than I was in those high school years.

I do not look back at the Morristown years with nearly the affection of my friends of my Bonnie Brae years, but the lessons they helped me learn then, and the support they gave me, probably meant the difference between a productive life and a life sentence.

I have been a professional writer, photographer, advertising executive, marketing manager and social studies teacher. I am the first in my family to graduate from college (with honors no less) and I even obtained a masters degree (magna cum laude).

I throughly enjoyed talking to many people and exchanging life stories. I didn't know many of the students because I left before they arrived at Ridge. I spent time talking to a Bonnie Brae Boy whom I knew only briefly even though we shared the same cottage. I simply came home late from school every day after practice and crashed into bed after dinner and homework. But talking to team mates and others was wonderful. Some of the people who were in my class had incredible lives.

I think my reunion experience was highlighted by a single moment that shows how much friendship means. One of the women, Joy, was best friends with Carol during 8th grade. But they had separated. Carol happens to be a dear friend and so I dialed her on my cell phone and handed Joy the phone. The two talked until the battery was nearly dead, and while I didn't listen to the conversation, Joy's joy went into orbit and I came home to a thank you note from Carol. Within a brief time, the two became Facebook friends.

I was saddened to learn of several friend's deaths.  Greg Noll, Donald Tucker, Jim Knox and Ross Bloom were team mates. Vicky Welch and Christine Jeffers were always very nice to me and died way too young.  I admired Tom Shoudy and Azlyade Mitchell, expecting them to be wildly successful. Suzanne Thomas and I became fast friends after an 8th grade co-ed basketball game after we both went for a rebound and became entangled with one another as we crashed to the floor. We were both teased about it after our hands wound up where they really shouldn't have been. 

Speech time. I had the honor to say a few words about how Bonnie Brae boys were welcomed

Friendship. I once heard a saying that real friends are the ones you don't see for years and are there the minute you need them. And so, to the Ridge High ’66 classmates I met at the reunion, and others from those days, thank you and I guess I finally learned how, and why, to say: “I love you.”