DATE: Thursday, July 3, 1997                TAG: 9707030891

SECTION: NORFOLK COMPASS         PAGE: 14   EDITION: FINAL 

COLUMN: GUEST COLUMN 

TYPE: Opinion 

SOURCE: BY IDA HARDIN CHIPMAN 

                                            LENGTH:   88 lines

NOTICE FOR 50TH CLASS REUNION COMES A YEAR AHEAD OF TIME

Suddenly, 50 years . . .

I have been in shock since the mail included an invitation for May 8-9, 1998.

It's for my 50th high school class reunion.

I imagine that the year's advance notice was prompted by an act of mercy.

It gives us old gals a chance to go on a diet, have the bridgework repaired, consider lipo-suction, tucks and lifts. We have time to experiment with changing (or in most cases adding to) our hair color and makeup and finding the perfect gown for the dinner.

Aside from all of that . . . it gives us an opportunity to remember the 12 years we spent in school in Norfolk, Va.

I remember grammar school when prayers in the classroom were a part of our lives.

In junior high, I remember those awful gymsuits and how we had to embroider our names on the pocket. Mine was almost illegible.

I remember the eerie wail of air raid sirens splitting the air with the sounds like an animal in pain.

We grew up in a prime target area of the war years, home of the largest naval base in the world. German subs prowled off the Virginia coast.

I remember the daily drills, when we would march in an orderly line into the hallways and lie down on our bellies on the cold marble floor. I remember the feel of that marble. We lay there, not speaking, with our arms folded under our heads to cushion concussions that would be caused by exploding Nazi bombs.

I remember the collective sighs of relief at the all-clear sirens.

I remember nights on our front lawn watching the spectacle of searchlights, criss-crossing the skies, searching for the enemy. And oh, how I remember, when at the beach, the tide brought in pieces of German bodies, submariners whose submarines had been blown up in the mine fields at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. I remember the feel of flesh under toes as I waded in the warm water in front of my grandmother's house.

I can hear my own screams of terror.

I remember the music of the '40s, the Andrews Sister, Frank Sinatra, Glenn Miller. ``Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me.'' ``I'll Be Seeing You In All the Old Familiar Places.'' ``Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.''

I remember my first fumbling kiss.

(I wonder if he remembers too.)

I remember the ration cards for gas, butter, meat; the blackouts that became routine.

Every night.

I remember air raid wardens, endless convoys of men and materiel and posters: ``Loose Lips Sink Ships.''

We wore funky clothes. Long plaid skirts, Peter Pan dickeys and sweaters that came down almost to our knees, saddle shoes and bobby socks. Guys wore button-down shirts, corduroys and dirty bucks, with big baggy sweaters. Blue jeans were just for farmers and sailors.

Our conversation was full of boys and movie stars and what we wanted to be when we grew up. Mostly it was to get married and raise a whole crop of what we now call Baby Boomers.

By the time we got to high school the war was just over. Young veterans began coming home, many of them to finish high school. One day, at lunch outside, some unthinking jokester put fire crackers in an empty garbage can. When they blew, half of the male student body hit the ground. One young man had to go home for the day, he was so shaken by flashbacks that most of us could only imagine.

I remember these things with a sense of wonder.

We grew up.

Never before in the history of the world has one generation contributed more to enrich the lives of the next than my generation of Americans who are now 65 and older.

We spent our childhood years during the Great Depression. The unemployment rate never dropped below 48 percent. My daddy remembered when steak was a nickel . . . and he didn't have the nickel.

We spent our teen-age years during World War II, many of us as soldiers.

Not all of us lived through that war.

Through their sacrifice, we won.

We went on to build jet airplanes, superhighways, bridges, dams, schools, hospitals and, in our spare time, we wiped out virtually every childhood disease, and shared our knowledge with the world.

We put a man on the moon, developed the MRI, brought the great Red Russian Bear to his knees and invented television, hair spray, heart transplants, computers, frozen food, laser surgery, the Internet and Big Macs.

I am proud to be in the Class of 1948.

And I have just decided, I'm going to be there for our 50th reunion. MEMO: Reprinted from The South Bend Tribune, South Bend, Ind.

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