Hello, New York and that sweet day in Princeton behind us, we left the Big Apple and headed upstate for Roy’s 50th college reunion.
I’m not a reunion kind of gal. I’m not even a graduation kind of gal. The last time I walked with my class was at the end of 8th grade on the way to high school. The ceremony was forgettable, but the occasion memorable. I crossed a major threshold by dancing my first slow-dance at the school after-party. With so-handsome Alexander. To the soulful strains of Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman.”
But I digress. Point is, I am seriously introverted, I feel awkward meeting people, I am uncomfortable in crowds, and though I’ve mostly been true to my studies, I’ve never been all that true to my school. Class reunions are not my jam.
My husband Roy, on the other hand, is extroverted to the max. Gregarious, convivial, he likes nothing better than socializing with interesting people, and he finds only a scant few people uninteresting. He loves his alma mater, his days at Union College were a big deal for him, and though he (thankfully) grew out of being a frat boy, he was a frat boy back when,
and he loves to reminisce about the good times with his pals from Sigma Chi (the “Animal House” of his campus, apparently).
Class reunions are right up Roy’s alley, but when the 10th, 25th, 30th, and 40th popped up on the radar, time, distance (Union College is way the heck out in Schenectady, NY) –
– work, family, and finances took turns getting in the way.
Not all reunions are created equal. ReUnion 2017 (their title, not mine) was the big 5-Oh, the Class of 1967’s Golden Anniversary. Roy and his mates were this year’s special honorees.
The way I saw it, it was now or never. The 50th of anything only comes around once, and (to be blunt) the alums of 1967 don’t have that many more big-number reunions left in them.
Roy was keen to attend. I wanted him to go. I just didn’t want to go with him.
I was in the midst of pushing him to go solo, see his much-missed Sigma Chi brothers, visit old haunts, and have a ball (while I stayed home for a healthy, restorative, much-needed dose of alone-time), when Ron and Linda came to visit.
Ron is one of the aforementioned Sigma Chis – another who (thankfully) managed to leave the more juvenile aspects of fraternity life behind him, and the only college friend Roy sees on a regular basis. Linda and Ron spend several months out of the year in San Diego with their kids and grandkids, and always do us the kindness of taking a week off from their grandparental duties to come up and see us in Sonoma.
When they heard my ReUnion plan, they would have none of it. We both must come, they insisted. We must stay with them at their home in Lee, Massachusetts – just a hop-skip from Schenectady, so they claimed. I could hang with Linda whilst Ron and Roy re-Union-ed together, we’d all rendezvous for the big events, and we’d even squeeze in some non-Union fun, take in a show or something.
They promised me a Linda-buffer to alleviate my social discomfort, a peaceful place to hole up if a hole was needed, and a home-away-from-home with friends in the famous, gorgeous Berkshires. My objections overruled, my qualms appeased, my arm twisted, I had no choice but to nix the one-man/one-weekend game plan. Once nixed, all bets were off – and that’s how we ended up with a gargantuan 2 flights out/12 trains home/33-day travel plan.
Ah, but the best laid plans . . .
The ReUnion leg of the journey began inauspiciously. With our first step out the door of sister Mona’s Brooklyn digs, in fact.
The night prior, we had reserved a car service to take us to Penn Station. The car was on time, the bags were in the trunk, and we were already in the back seat when it became appallingly clear that the driver had no idea how to get us where we were going. I’m not even sure he knew how to get out of Brooklyn. He made few plaintive noises about Manhattan and road construction, then attempted to resolve the issue by getting on the horn to his boss and requesting the service send another car and driver.
We had a train to catch, no time for this BS. We hopped out, grabbed our luggage, bustled our buns to the subway, and caught the Q. Yes, we are proud of our resilience and quick-thinking, but the whole point of the car was to spare us septa- and sexagenarians the stress of hauling heavy bags up and down NY subway stairs and hauling ass down crowded NY streets in the pouring rain. Insult to injury, the wind actually blew my umbrella inside out (classic) before we reached the station.
The weather cleared on the train ride up the Hudson River Valley. I’d taken this ride once before, ages ago. Beautiful then, beautiful now.
We picked up our rental car in Albany (just a few minor hassles) and headed out to Ron and Linda’s. At the end of a pleasant hour or so on the New York Thruway and Massachusetts Turnpike (to each their own),
we drove out of the fast lane and into picturesque Lee.
I have no pictures of picturesque Lee. I didn’t even get a snap of the picture-perfect steepled church at the edge of Lee’s adorable 3-block downtown. My excuse at this juncture was we were still in navigation-mode, we had to find the house, and we had to have showers before attending the Class of ‘67’s opening event in Schenectady . . . about an hour and quarter back the way we’d just come.
After only a short additional delay to re-decipher the last few (surprisingly misleading) directions Ron had given us, we pulled up to a magnificent, magnificently appointed, and entirely unoccupied house.
Our friends would not be joining us for the weekend. Their daughter, her concussion, and parental love and concern had Ron and Linda pinned down in San Diego.
All the ramifications of this unfortunate circumstance were not immediately apparent. For the nonce, the evident downsides were that we had no Wi-Fi or cable, the fridge was empty, the house was cold and the downstairs apartment (where we’d originally intended to stay) was freezing, and there was no one to help us figure out the ons/offs, explain how the HVAC worked, or to reveal any of the other mysteries of this stunningly beautiful home.
The view out the front windows kind of made up for it.
Bags dropped, showers taken, fresh clothes on, time to go. ReUnion 2017 was about to begin.
I hear you on the reunion thing. I’ve avoided every reunion from every school I’ve ever attended.For example, why would I (I?) be attending a parochial school reunion?!? High school,also. Not my best years, and I’ve stayed in touch with the people who really mattered then, save one or two.That’s even better than a reunion. And then there’s college. The average age of people in my graduating class has got to be about twelve years younger than I. Is my life’s trajectory really that similar to theirs? Plus, I was the ONLY person to graduate in my major that year, so it’s not like I can hook up with my buds or anything.
Having said that, I congratulate Roy on having made it to his 50th reunion (in more ways than one,) and I hope he sees his 60th, even if it just from afar.
Thanks for the continuing chronicle, Risa!
I’m with you, kid. Union is known as the Mother of Fraternities (shouldn’t it be the Father of Fraternities?), and I think that close House business, plus the size of the school makes a big difference. We attended Cal as undergraduates; half the classes we took were giant lectures with 150 students we’d probably never see again. Also, it’s worth noting that not all of the Class of ’67 returned to ReUnite. Talking to Marna (coordinator of all reunion events) and hearing some of the stories about guys being tormented and ostracized, it’s clear not all alums look back fondly on their Union days. Some wouldn’t be caught dead at a ReUnion, fer reals.
I love the photo of ROY! and yes the best laid plans….
It was an all male school right?
That photo – oh, I know! It’s actually his graduation from HS photo, on the way to Union, but the closest I could get.
As for Union, yes. It opened its doors — to men — in 1795 and remained all male for the next 175 years. Always an innovative institution, it was the first of the Big 4 to offer a Bachelor’s degree and the first to offer Engineering; they are super-proud of being both classical humanities and practical science all in one school. Took them quite a while to innovate gender-wise, however. In 1970 they admitted their first women — 125 of them plus a few transfers.
Roy got the Class of ’67 invite because that was the year he should have graduated, if he’d done a straigh 4-year program. Much appreciated, because the ’67s are his real pals, but he didn’t actually graduate in ’67. He started as a Physics major, partied too hard and fell asleep in morning higher-maths class, took a Shakespeare course that changed his life, dropped out, did his stint in Vietnam, then returned to Union, and finally graduated with a BA in English. All boys when he dropped, but by the time he came back, the campus was coed.
I’m finding more & more familial traits as the years go by. I often find myself being pushed out of my comfort zone. Never went to high school reunions until my 30th. But somehow I took on the duties several years ago & now am in charge of our 50th next year. Still have the fear that all the planning will be for nothing because no one will show up. LOL Glad you’re enjoying yourself…you’re much braver than I.
Hi, JoJo! So nice to hear from you! About that comfort zone . . . I think it’s pretty clear who the brave one is around here. I should take a lesson from you and stretch my zone a bit more often, but the older I get, the more chicken I am. No worries on attendance for that upcoming 50th, though. Your fears are for naught. If they’re going to show up for anything, it’ll be this one — and it’s going to be brilliant!