Just now, having recently stumbled across Burl Burlingame from my high school class, I wondered to him what happened to the rest of us. There were 600 of us, after all — a whole battalion (being military brats, many of us, we think in those terms). A whole battalion doesn’t just disappear like that. Not normally.
Burl stoically, philosophically, just said, “Military kids — they scatter to the winds.”
But I wasn’t satisfied, so I said:
It’s like we all went through some sort of Special Forces training so we know how to go to ground, blend, and disappear.
We could make a fortune marketing this skill to terrorists. Not that we would, of course. That would be wrong. I’m almost certain of that. Of course, if you got laid off a couple of months back, could people really blame you if… No, it would be wrong.
Anyway, it’s a rare skill, and one that Napoleon Dynamite would probably envy.
I’ve often wondered at this. Once or twice, I’ve run across people. Back in the mid-70s, Jeff Boyle popped up in Middle Tennessee, and we saw each other a few times. Then Steve Clark emerged running for one of those new gerrymandered GOP congressional seats in Texas that caused such a stir awhile back — then, after dropping out, disappeared like magic.
The thing is, if I found these people, we wouldn’t have much to talk about. Our lives have taken very different paths (Burl’s comes closer than most, his being a newspaperman). And we didn’t know each other that long. If we were suddenly brought face-to-face, the conversation would probably get pretty awkward after about five minutes, and we’d be looking for excuses to get away — and fade into the landscape again. I’m sure I would; I’m not the most sociable creature anyway.
But I do wonder about it sometimes. Although it’s been this way my whole life, I recognize that, compared to most people, it’s weird.
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No, it isn’t weird. That’s just how it is, most of the time, after decades go by.
Indeed. I’ve completely lost touch with everyone in my graduating class. Funny, I never really thought about it.
This post explains a great deal about Brad’s misguided view of the world. He thinks in terms that allow only for military solutions to all our problems. That’s why we can have hundreds of thousands killed in a completely useless war and the war mongers will continue to support it as a success. And these folks can still claim to be pro-life. I guess one’s life experience can cloud reality to the point where up is down, black is white and war is peace.
Times change, people I was childhood friends with in school I don’t even talk to anymore. I went home to my 25th class reunion and sure it was nice to see people I hadn’t seen in decades, but I found that my interests were no longer in step with some of the people I hung out on a regular basis 25-30 years ago. Five minutes with some of these people was enough and I’ll probably be ready for anther 5 minute discussion 25 years from now.
Bud, are you sure they didn’t lose touch with you… on purpose?
Y’all are awfully snarky.
Brad–I reckon your perceived difficulty in speaking with your classmates has to do with your introversion and your lack of actually having had a chance to do so. First, you actually aren’t a bad conversationalist–you’re a reporter, right? Second, I have had a chance, since returning to SC and since becoming a Facebooker to catch up with my Aiken High classmates and I have a lot more in common with them than I ever thought I would. You might give it a try if you get a chance.
Dang, just left a long response, and it crashed on me. Never mind; I’m not typing it again…
I should disclose that after complaining about how hard it is to find these folks, I made a brief, sketchy effort and found two of them right away.
So let’s see — Burl, these other two, and me. That’s four out of 600. That’s something, anyway.
About a decade ago, whilst visiting my high-school friend Kathy, I was browsing through her yearbook. I mentioned that the Internet has made it easier to track people down, but they also need a nodal point to connect to. Kathy challenged me to put our senior class online. I did, and it didn’t take that long, and created a kind of virtual yearbook. The school helped by provided an actual list of graduates, so the online version is actually more accurate than the printed version.
Here’s the link:http://www.starbulletin.com/business/20090609_Waterfront_Plaza_theater_will_shut_down_in_August.html
I should mention that I’m fascinated by the time-capsule quality of yearbooks. Also by the psychological quirks of military dependents. (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Edwards_Wertsch)
In the last decade, only about a hundred of the 600-plus Radford grads have contacted me about the site, even though its the top Google hit for “Radford 1971.”
And the site needs updating! Brad’s email address is a “former” one.
Whoa, that’s not the yearbook link! Try
http://www.pacifichistory.net/RHS71FILE/RHS71.HTML