Even the most popular among us back in “the day” probably had a pretty good case of “high school fatigue” by the time graduation day came around.
I know I did. By the time I marched out of the St. John’s Prep Memorial Gymnasium 51 years ago, to the sounds of the Beatles’ “Hey, Jude,” all I wanted to do was get out of there and go home — even if, by then, I’d finally developed an appreciation for the place. The last person I saw was Shannon Broderick. Only because I’d practically bowled him over on my way to the parking lot. It was still poignant. Shannon was always a good guy.
But you spend four years in the same classrooms, with the same people, and you are naturally anxious to get on with your life. Northeastern University was my immediate future, and I was ready.
Backing out of a parking space behind Brother Benjamin Hall, I plowed right into Gary Gonsiorowski’s passenger-side door.
Sweet irony, that. “Gonzo,” (yes, that was his well-deserved nickname) was obviously as anxious as I was to bust out of there. We never really got along — not since the day in freshman English class when I stabbed him with my pen and drew blood. Somehow, it was he, and not I, who got into trouble, and I guess he never forgot it.
High school was full of those little episodes. John Suslak (who later became chief of police in Lynn) whipped a snowball at me. In one motion, I caught the snowball with my right hand and threw it back at him. As we used to say in baseball, I always had the good hands. But guess who got detention?
Four years of these petty little squabbles, rat tails in the locker room, crazy, brutally uncomplimentary nicknames, cafeteria beefs, conspired, by May of 1971, to leave me ready to go. And even graduation had its controversies. Some of the more radical members of the class did not want “Pomp and Circumstance” as the entrance song. They won. We entered the gym to “Carry On,” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.
Let me be clear. I didn’t hate everybody. I just needed a change of scenery.
The fifth reunion came and went — without me. Reunion No. 10 coincided with the 11th anniversary of the crowning achievement of our senior year — the football team’s improbable upset over Swampscott. I decided I’d go — and do a story on what some of these guys were doing a decade later.
It was a nice story, but a very poorly-attended reunion. One terrific thing about it, though, is that I rekindled friendships with two of the more prominent members of that team — Dana Hughes, who caught the game-winning pass; and Mark Occhipinti, who was one of the captains. We are still close friends today.
Actually, I’d seen Occhi a few years earlier than that at Schaefer Stadium (as it was called at the time) — as Super Patriot, the official team mascot.
I did not do any reunions between 1981 and 1996 — our 25th — though I attended a lot of football games and got caught up in the tail-gating thing with Dana and a few others. That effectively ended in 2000 when the man who helped organize the tail-gates, Jimmy Ranta, died suddenly.
I had to go to the 25th, though. And it was a fine time. After 25 years, people either sort out their differences, or they realize that whatever has set them apart becomes less and less significant over the years.
After that, I never missed a reunion. Our 30th was held not long after 9/11, and not long after I’d been in the hospital with a serious illness. I got it together to go, and was told by a classmate’s wife that I “cleaned up nice.” Gee, thanks. I think.
No. 35 saw all the New York gang come up, including Shannon, Rich Pena, and Lloyd Harris. Rich had been the editor of our school newspaper, simply called “the paper.” He went on to become one of the organizers of the New York Film Festival and even popped on CBS Sunday Morning. Lloyd, one of the nicest guys ever, sadly died in 2014.
Death is another reality that comes with the advancing years, and it has occurred with chilling regularity in the last five or six. It claimed “Gonzo,” and not too long ago, we lost “Biff” Lawrence, who might have been the first person I met up there my freshman year.
No. 40 took place on a raw autumn day that offered little except a bowl of chili. That’s when four of the class leaders from 1971 — Dana, Hank Healey, Bob Hogan, and Bob Attridge — miffed at coming all the way up here for a bowl of chili, organized a Class of ’71 41st reunion. It was a smashing success, with a lot of friendships rekindled. One of the best things that’s ever happened to me has been reconnecting with my Prep class.
COVID put a serious crimp in our 50th reunion. It was supposed to have been last year, but it was pushed off to this year. Finally, Last weekend’s 50+1 reunion came and I became a “Bald Eagle” at last. We got dressed up in the traditional straw hat, striped tie, navy blue blazer, and khaki pants. We got “Gold Eagle” diplomas and marched in, along with the classes of 1970 and 1972, with the Class of 2022 for graduation — to “Pomp and Circumstance.” It was one of the nicest feelings I’ve had in a long, long time.
And there’s irony for you. Fifty-one years ago, I was ready to put high school behind me and begin the rest of my life. What I’ve learned over the years is that these guys were a significant part of that life then, and they always will be.
