Out of Left Field: Reunions: their thrills and their traumas

Michael Dinnocenzo

Have you gone to any of your school or college reunions?

I have been to several of mine.  Last week I took the train from Penn Station to go to Schenectady for my 60th Union College graduation reunion.

Prior to every reunion, I think about a book written decades ago by former Long Islander Ralph Keyes, “Is There Life After High School.”

His provocative views continue to stir queries for reunions at all levels.

Did the “young” who were “Innies” or “Outies” while in school continue in those modes? Did they actually reverse power and status positions? How much did their sense of self change?

Keyes gave special attention to considering who attends reunions, and who doesn’t.

It is not shocking that reunions (for those who choose to attend) are likely to present mixtures of delight, distress — and even trauma.

For me, there was much ambivalence even in deciding whether to rendezvous again with my graduating class of 1957.

Especially dramatic was receiving an email notification of classmates who were dead.

For my 50th reunion, they were listed as “The Deceased.”

In 2017, for our 60th , they were designated as “The Departed.”

Both categories were reminders that those of us who entered college in 1953 already exceeded life expectancy for our cohort group.

How sad — yes, even traumatic — to think about those classmates who never aged in one’s mind (and in the year book), and who would never again share our college days’ memories.

The number of “The Departed,” not surprisingly, greatly outnumbered the reunion returnees.

Yet, we were all grateful (as Malachy McCourt was fond of noting) “to still be above the grass.”

Was that a sign of “survival of the fittest?”

I would not make that conclusion.  There are so many elements of chance, luck, and so many twists and turns in every life.

All of us had a sense of relief still to be around (while nearly everyone had a condition of “spinal stenosis”).

As Keyes pointed out when he was on Long Island, those who attend reunions tend to feel pretty good about their school and themselves — sometimes finding vindications in later life successes while stars from early school days have not gone as far or done as well, personally or socially.

Because the Barbra Streisand/Robert Redford movie “The Way We Were” was filmed on our Union campus, we had an even keener sense of doing “life reviews.” [Indeed, for our 50th we chose that film’s theme for our role in the alumni parade, each of us carrying a placard with our graduation photo and the accompanying caption: “The Way He Was.”]

In addition to the challenges of abbreviating health discussions, aging is immediately visible, no matter how well you have done.

Is there trauma being in a room with men who are declining physically – as well as in height?

You bet — especially when you are one of them.

One could apply some of Keyes’ categories to assess kinds of memories and the most treasured of the recollections.

All of us were proud to have attended Union.  It is the second oldest college in New York (1795). It is distinguished with Phi Beta Kappa academics (as only 10 percent of the nation’s colleges are), and it has a beautiful campus.

Every one of us spent time in the college’s expansive and charming Jackson’s Gardens, revisiting “the brook that bounds old Union’s grounds.”

Doing that was a thrilling connection of the past and the present.

However, like most physical presences over time, the campus has changed dramatically.

There are new, large, beautiful, modern buildings, but we missed the charm of the old “Rathskellar” where we had many “café society” days (we fondly recalled the jollity of being young guys in discourse).

We missed the red-stone (almost medieval) Washburn Hall, and we also missed our big fraternity houses — most had been torn down (the space of mine is now used for new tennis courts) — or they were converted into large administrative buildings.

For those still standing with new “use” designations, the old frat house architecture spurred another sense of “future shock.”

I will be assessing this reunion for some time to come.  I began to think of it as a “Last Hurrah” for me and my surviving classmates.

Several colleges end five-year reunions after the 60th.

With those expanding lists of “The Departed,” one can see why.  For subsequent reunions, old alums are all lumped together (we noticed the few post 60th riding in cars at the head of the parade).

Chance has a way of prompting unanticipated considerations.  My North-bound Amtrak train was crowded.

At Poughkeepsie, a young college sophomore took the seat next to me.

[To be continued: Thrills, traumas and a teen on the train]

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