Ode to GHS Class of 1978 –

Ode to GHS Class of 1978 – 

“Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” - Richard Bach

As the Class of 1978 moves closer to a 40th anniversary, all of us that remain have some fondness for those days in the past. Life has happened for each of us and in various ways. But for those that shared years in a classroom, on a sports team, in a theatre or music group or just as friends, reconnecting offers a brief and short time when memories will flow like the beverages in the glasses to be drunk.

Whether celebration of the 40th occurs in our hometown of Gettysburg or some other locale, say in the Black Hills, the gathering will be ripe with joy. Friends drawn together with memories and moments stored in their thoughts and sharing those days gone by and utter hope for the future.

Perhaps not everyone remembers high school fondly. There are always those circumstances where too much said or done without consideration of others and what they may have been experiencing. Yet, there were many shared moments of fun and life, filtered with reality, whether personally, among cliques or as part of a group.

For me, so many memories.

Mrs. Hart’s typing class when a water balloon burst a desk ahead of mine, and a classmate looked back with a surprised look on her face that turned to a smirk and into a smile – priceless.

Thinking back, that ruler of Mrs. Hart’s kind of hurt my fingers when my eyes focused too long on the typewriter keys and a little swat happened – yes typewriter, the only computer in the school was a commodore in the library.

There was that time in business law class when a certain someone – me – was reading from a textbook and a bad word (sh--) came from the mouth as the class erupted in laughter. There, Mrs. Hart said, “quiet, quiet, he can't help it if he can’t read.”

The school is gone now, replaced with something fancy and new. The multiple floor building replaced by one on all the same level.

I remember the walk up the sidewalk, past the bell and into that first floor where a little smoke emerged time to time from the teacher’s lounge.

Onto the second floor where some of us had lockers, which clanked and never closed right whether from too much junk or mishandled textbooks and notebooks, coats and hats.

There was heading downtown during lunch to Gordon’s or the Bakery. Nut rolls and bismarcks pretty tasty right?

Drinking three or four Pepsi with sunflower seeds after football practice while playing pinball as older guys played their cards, soaking in beer and Coke amidst cigar smoke and old guy chatter.

Growing up in Gettysburg meant few (I don’t remember) if any days off for snow.

It meant football practice on fields that one day would be part of a Gettysburg Football/Track complex. Remember those 4x4 and gut busters?

It meant lying in bed with flu while watching classmates, on TV no less, walked out protesting the firing of a basketball coach.

It meant cruising on icy roads with the head basketball coach and getting sideswiped as metal met metal just outside a church.

It meant getting up for fall practice early in the AM and then wearing that same old stinky t-shirt until it was so stiff it had to be washed or throw away. It was towel fights and the snaps causing pain in the buttocks region.

It was wrestling practice upstairs as basketballers made their noise in the lower gym. It was running the hallways in timed reps and wondering why this was at all fun.

It was wrestling as a senior and winning a doozy of a match 10-9 at the Battler Invitational at the Gettysburg Gym before competing at Districts and regions where one false move cost a trip to state, where a couple of teammates advanced.

It was watching proudly how the drill team performed with class and at a high-performance level.

It was hearing the band noise in the music room and Mr. Jensen spouting on about government. It was taking an accounting class from Mr. Eich, wondering why anyone would want to do that ciphering for a living. It was trying to stay awake during class. It was biology and figuring out genetic tables and realizing science was not my bag. It was geometry and those theorems and being told they'd have application in my future (By the way I made it through college without another geometry class though Algebra and biology would be required and tax me to the limit). It was daydreaming in English composition. It was working on the school newspaper with visions of being a great writer one day.

It was the ringing of the bell, the shuttering feet, the bumps in the hallways with an occasional “I’m sorry.” It was sneaking down to the weightroom or out of the school without a pass.

During track season, it was heading out to run miles on gravel roads south or east of town. It was feeling a sense of pride as the track team tied for a state title.

It was watching the theatrical plays and working on the annuals.

It was heading to the district tournament in hopes of going to regions and state in hoops.

Friday or Saturday nights meant cruising the loop, sneaking sips or chugs of beer and/or coke while munching on seeds and pistachios while maintaining an unswerving car. It was out to the movie drive-in theatre where socializing and, yes, beer drinking, was more important than the movie on the big screen. It was traversing to the Pitcher House or the river for a little fun, sometimes even involving fishing.

It was sitting in the hallway with your mind focused on the football game ahead, heading out the door and into the Gettysburg Park as the school band’s version of “On Wisconsin” rang into the cool fall evening.

It was the cheerleaders and fans braving the cold in those ugly green stands and cars parked around the park the night before to ensure a seat while indulging in various tailgate treats. It was the "Burning of the G" and homecoming.

It was playing baseball in that same park in summers with best friends.

It was Prom where fancy met grungy and –

“If a picture paints a thousand words that why can’t I paint you? The words will never show the you I’ve come to know. If a face could launch a thousand ships then where am I to go…If the world should top revolving, spinning slowly down to die, I spend the end with you and when the world was through…then one by one the stars would all go out then out and I would simply fly away.”

It was graduation rehearsal where school administrators tried to little avail to get things to flow seamlessly. It was gearing up for commencement where everybody played their part and things went off with nary a hitch. It was there where the first of the goodbyes and good lucks were offered to each other, family, friends, teachers, administrators and younger classmates.

Few will remember the speaker but we remember those tacky red gowns and caps. The long line outside of the gym with some tears flowing, smiles and goodbyes. After a quick hello to mom and dad and relatives at home, a trip to the river finished the night.

It was saying thank you to the teachers who really meant a lot and taught us much.

It was remembering those who started school with us but moved due to family circumstance.

Lest not forget Pam Fransen, David Bieber and Dennis Spicer – Craig Frost too, gone too soon.

You are all missed. Bieb I will never forget those trips down the back way to the River and basketball at your house during open study halls. Dennis, you were always a good friend and boy we had some fun. Pam your smile still radiates around us all. Craig, I still miss you pal.

For some college followed, and other ventured elsewhere, farming and ranching and more. Each of our lives has been different but special.

From there, an 11-year reunion celebration was met by 20-year and 30-year reunions. Now it is No. 40. Doesn’t seem feasible that many years have passed although Facebook has helped us share images and stories and how life has happened.

Before I go, lest not forget Pam Fransen, David Bieber and Dennis Spicer – Craig Frost too. Gone too soon.

You are all missed. Bieb I will never forget those trips down the back way to the River and basketball at your house during open study halls. Dennis, you were always a good friend and boy we had some fun. Pam your smile still radiates around us all. Craig, I still miss you pal.

I think Alexandre Dumas, the author of “The Count of Monte Cristo” captured the reality of reunions and trips back home.

“I was delighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all happiness is fleeting.”