Melancholy is the word that comes to mind. I felt melancholic the day after our graduation, and melancholic the day after our reunion. Glad, both days, to have spent so much time together, sad that it was over, and that life would move on with or without these people. Or perhaps it was just another hangover.
What started on a lonely windswept corner of Jones Beach,
with whales breaching in the background, and ended on an empty Jericho Turnpike
corner, waiting for an Uber under a halogen streetlight, our reunion was
nothing short of transplended, uplifting and transmogrifying. From Brother Tom,
Chis, Carla and John Westerman’s opening words of wisdoms to Fearsome Mike Fees
‘Fear Not” Bible statistics, correctly prophesied only by John Fucillo's
Jeopardy juxtaposition, the tone and the vibe were set. Then from Jim Rice's succinct and sincere
prayer at Meribah to Doctor Gerry's wise decision not to sing, the days and
nights were filled with nostalgia and recognition, revisionist history and amnesic
reconstruction. Stories at Meribah reflected courage and bacchanalia, physically
impaired and snow infringed driving, poor choices, capers and carrying on.
While the names have remained the same, the faces have changed from the years
of yearning, months of moderation, weeks of wisdom, days of diligence, hours of
honor, minutes of mediocrity, and seconds of sobriety.
Reunion MVP Steve Schneider surprised us all with his
health, presence and a bucket list as long as both arms. Bill Joyce was still
humble, courageous and curious, while Fitz is still hungry and ambulatory. Greg
O'Keefe is still the pleasure machine with his sweet grammar school wife, Janet
and Mike Corsello is the candy man that can still take to Willy Wonkas and back.
Jimmy Finn was the quiet flux-capacitor genius,
while Kleczk’s was still the class clown, effortlessly weaving stories,
extemporaneously, like George Carlin or Johnny Carson. Herc, for once, had Uni
in his shadow and Brian Rogan was unrecognizable to himself, except for his
infectious laugh and kind blue eyes. Quiet
Colin Carroll was the clear MIP with harrowing stories of submarines and nuking,
road trips and puking. Reardon supplied the outline of our times while Sampson offered
superior storyteller. Special guests
Louise and Maryann boiled our collective testosterone once more, which was
quickly quelled by our beautiful and beatific wives who, once again, endured
our old stories of false bravado and true grit.
In the end, it was an experience of brotherhood and fraternity,
returning us to the place and people who made us who we are. We have all iteratively
improved and excelled, through small and large decisions, shaping our
personality and character through discipline and effort, courage and calamities,
to build the people we are now, and form the legacy of our lives. We were all very
close for a short time, a very long time ago, but the ties that bind are strong
and resilient, from people and places forgiven but not forgotten. May the
promise to stay friends and keep in touch be kept, with miles to go before we
sleep. We will need each other now more than ever, now that we truly realize
that there is strength in our unity.
Matt Lindon
