Last month I went to the 55th reunion of St. Bernard High School, class of 1968. Even though our school was in Playa Del Rey, for convenience sake we met at the Hilton Hotel in Irvine, California. It was mostly an informal gathering. There were about 25 of the alums and their spouses, which was a rather small number, but considering it was only five years after our 50th reunion it was a good response. Since most of us are 73 years old, give or take a year, it was not surprising that a few of our friends have passed on. Most of us were retired, but it was an interesting group.
Some had created their own businesses, some worked as engineers, some were coaches, a few were retired civil servants including a couple of retired cops, but no matter what they did, they worked and kept our country productive. Some had been married for decades and some had been divorced and remarried or stayed single. Most of us had kids and grandkids, and some had no children. All of those who attended had lived productive lives and looked happy. We sat around, had some wine, beer or drinks and talked about our high school years, our careers, our kids and grandkids and the sorry state of our country and the world.
I have to say that those alums who attended looked pretty good. None of them looked like they were in their 70s. We had our aches and pains, (not surprising after more than seven decades of wear and tear), We complained about those ailments, but no one dwelled on them. I would not be surprised if I see all of these former classmates at the 60th and 65th reunions. I am so grateful to Rich Cole, his wife Bonnie and Lonnie Dailey for arranging this reunion.
Driving back to Prescott, for some reason, I started thinking about the movie, Saving Private Ryan, one of the greatest war films ever made. Maybe it was because we were the sons and daughters of the WWII veterans. Most viewers of that movie recall the horrific and realistic D-Day scenes on the beach in Normandy, but there are two scenes that stand out to me for the emotions they evoke.
The first is the scene where Mrs. Ryan is standing at her kitchen sink at her home in the rural heartland. She sees an Army staff car coming up the road to her home. Having five sons in the service, she knows that car can only bring bad news of the death of one of her sons. Those watching the movie know that her grief will be quadrupled because four of her sons were killed in combat. As she opens her door, the Army officers are getting out of the car, she collapses on her front porch. Only a robot would have a dry eye after that scene.
The end of Saving Private Ryan is probably what got me thinking about my classmates. In the last scene, a senior citizen Private Ryan has returned to Normandy with his family. He rushes ahead of his family to the cemetery where many of the men who saved him are buried. The whole thrust of the film is that a bunch of American soldiers sacrificed their safety and their lives so that Ryan could return home to his mother, who had already lost four sons. Standing in front of the grave of the captain who headed the unit that saved him, Ryan recalls his captain’s dying words to him: “Earn this, earn it.”
As his wife comes along side of Ryan, he turns to her and asks, “Tell me I’ve led a good life. Tell me I’m a good man.” His wife responds, “You are”, and walks away as Ryan salutes the grave of his captain. Looking at my classmates and the lives they’ve lived, the work that they did, the children they’ve raised, I know that they have led good lives and are good men and women. I salute them.
