THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 19, 1995 TAG: 9511170889
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 08 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ronald L. Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
If you want to find out who you are and whether you've made any kind of a mark in life, don't look for the answers at a spouse's high school reunion.
That was one of the painful lessions I learned in an otherwise uplifting vacation with people I'd never met and places I'd never seen.
My wife graduated from good old Aldrich High School in Warwick, R.I., 40 years ago but had never been back. So when classmate Carol Marble sent word that the Rhode Islanders were gathering, Joanne decided to head for home. (Actually, Aldrich's nickname was the Indians, but ever since we raised Rhode Island Red chickens on our Nebraska ranch, I've thought of people from the tiny state as Rhode Island Reds. And I've always liked the Rhode Island University fight song: ``Oh, I'm Rhode Island born and I'm Rhode Island bred, and when I die I'll be Rhode Island dead . . . '' But I digress.)
I was excited about being a part of a reunion in New England, where I'd never been.
So when we walked into the Carriage House where the Warwickian graduates were gathered, I had my hand out.
``Howdy,'' I said scores of times. ``My name is Ron Speer.''
They walked past, blind as moles, until they spotted my wife.
``It's great to see you, Joanne,'' they shouted, hugging and kissing.
The women were gorgeous. None of them hugged or kissed me.
I got a drink, stood in a corner, and pouted.
``Don't feel bad,'' said a fellow pouter. ``If you didn't go to school at Nelson W. Aldrich High School, you're automatically unclean.''
She was right. As the Warwickians passed by, nodding but not stopping, we moved farther back into the corner, ordering more drinks.
I talked to Texans who despite driving 2,000 miles were aliens, Californians who knew nobody, Floridians whose husbands were having a ball. We didn't have a lot to talk about.
The Warwickians couldn't have been happier. I moved into a group of the graduates and one turned to me and said, ``Remember when we were sophomores and double dated at the drive-in movie and . . . ''
She stopped when she realized she had never seen me before. I never found out what happened at the drive-in. I bet it was fun.
One of the other outsiders found a way to pass the night. He went up to Warwickians whenever they were alone and said, ``Hey, you look better than you did when we dated,'' and then walked off.
To be fair, many of the graduates of the Class of '55 tried to make us outsiders feel at home. One came up to me and said, ``You must be married to a fifty-fiver. What's your wife's name?''
``Joanne,'' I replied. ``You've got a marvelous wife, we all love her,'' she said.
Five minutes later, she drifted past again, and when I said hello she asked who I knew in the Class of '55.
``Joyce,'' I said. ``You've got a marvelous wife, we all love her,'' she said.
After I changed from a wine glass to a shot glass filled to the brim with another concoction, she came by again, looked blankly at me and asked if I were a graduate.
``No, I'm with Jerome,'' I said. ``You've got a marvelous . . . ah, friend, we all love him,'' she said, stepping briskly back into the crowd.
The second day was better. We had brunch at a hotel where the food was superb, the Warwickians were giving us outsiders the benefit of the doubt even though we had never taken a class at Nelson W. Aldrich High School, and everybody agreed with Carol Marble that the next reunion should be held in five years.
Driving back to North Carolina, my wife said the only thing wrong with a high school reunion was that you couldn't lie about your age.
I didn't say a word. by CNB