***Of This And That In The Old North Adamsville Neighborhood-In Search Of….. Class Sweethearts

 

A little something to set the mood for this sketch 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

For those who have been following this series about the old days in my old home town of North Adamsville, particularly the high school day as the 50^th anniversary of my graduation creeps up, will notice that recently I have been doing sketches based on my reaction to various e-mails sent to me by fellow classmates via the class website. Also classmates have placed messages on the Message Forum page when they have something they want to share generally like health issues, new family arrivals or trips down memory lane on any number of subjects from old time athletic prowess to reflections on growing up in the old home town. Thus I have been forced to take on the tough tasks of sending kisses to raging grandmothers, talking up old flames with guys I used to hang around the corners with, remembering those long ago searches for the heart of Saturday night, getting wistful about elementary school daydreams, taking up the cudgels for be-bop lost boys and the like. These responses are no accident as I have of late been avidly perusing the personal profiles of various members of the North Adamsville Class of 1964 website as fellow classmates have come on to the site and lost their shyness about telling their life stories (or have increased their computer technology capacities, not an unimportant consideration for the generation of ’68, a generation on the cusp of the computer revolution and so not necessarily as computer savvy as the average eight-year old today).

Some stuff is interesting to a point, you know, including those endless tales about the doings and not doings of the grandchildren, odd hobbies and other ventures taken up in retirement and so on although not worthy of me making a little off-hand commentary on. Some other stuff is either too sensitive or too risqué to publish on a family-friendly site. Some stuff, some stuff about the old days and what did, or did not, happened to, or between, fellow classmates, you know the boy-girl thing (other now acceptable relationships were below the radar then) has naturally perked my interest.

Other stuff defies simple classification as is the case here in dealing with a posting by a well-meaning classmate on the Message Forum page honoring those fifteen or so couples celebrating the 50^th anniversary (or more) who have been thus far identified as “class sweethearts.” In fact a whole section on the site is dedicated to the couples, when they met, and how long they have been married (there are no known, identified anyway, couples who “co-habitated” all this time which I think is probably about right for a generation, a time, and a town where such illegal/immoral/unseemly behavior would certainly have been frowned on. A not unlikely typical scenario then would have been to graduate high school, for males get a job, a skilled trade-type job if possible (women getting insurance clerk-type jobs reflecting their dominance in the school’s business courses of study), do military service if required, if not, get married by say twenty, get a little house, a little house a little better than your parents, raise a family and wait on the grandkids to come. Not a bad life for some and the stories of the 50^th year celebrants track that path.        

To qualify in the “class sweethearts” department the pair must have met in high school (or before, although in my mind that stretches credibility) and stayed together (although a sub-category exists of surviving partners of deceased partners an unfortunate necessary when one looks at the actuarial tables for 50^th reunion eligibles).That got me to thinking how really amazing the fact of fifty years of togetherness is. The classmate who posted the tribute eluded to that in her message. The amazing part, given the trend toward breakdown in modern marriages and my own experiences only re-enforces that idea. I have been through three divorces, count them, have paid out tons of cash in the process, have had countless affairs (I don’t have a number for them since they did not cost me dough, only dough affairs count) and a few trysts, one rather recently so the sheer ability, and love, that it must take a pair to stay together for “eternity” is well worthy of acknowledgement and I sincerely join that fellow classmate in homage. I could not do a better job myself so here is her take on the sweethearts:           

50 Years Of Togetherness -In Honor Of The Class of 1964 High School Sweethearts-“Written In The Stars”

Here is an early kiss-the details of this sketch are totally fictional-although honorees are welcome to give us their real stories. The sentiment however is real, very real.

…who knows when or where it started. Maybe it was that first fresh-eyed glance in Mr. Forrester’s dreary classroom looking at her until his eyes got sore, or she spying him while waiting, endlessly waiting, for the Eastern Mass bus walking down the street and went weak-kneed, or he sitting forlornly on the seawall old Adamsville Beach as she walked by took a second glance, or one of a hundred other possibilities but it happened. It happened with big bang hearts or with quietly growing on each other but it happened.

He, formerly full of boasts and bravados in that mandatory Monday morning before school boys’ “lav” talkfest about who did or did not do what with whom over the weekend fell silent, would not speak her name in such bluster. (She, she in that mandatory Monday morning before school girls’ “lav” talkfest about who did or did not do what with whom just smiled, a private smile, she had her man.) And they laughed, laughed one night down at Adamsville Beach watching the “submarine races,” saying they would stay together forever. Forever being, as such things went, maybe the next year, or until the next best thing came along            

As it turned out the next best thing was sitting right next to them, and so they, maybe a little fearful, maybe a little worried about whether they would last or not tied the knot (although truth to tell that knot had already been tied long before). He went off to war, school, or work and she waited and worried, worried about how they would provide for the coming children. And worry or not the children came and made their time a little easier (mostly).

But there were bumps in the road, he, getting a little thicker around the waist, looked off in the distance and she, well, she went on an exercise regime as they both wondered in the night what had happened. Both separately feverishly tossing in the night with thoughts about leaving, about what one would do without the other, about where they would they go and how when they were young they had loved each other so. That passed. Later he more interested in Sunday afternoon football point spreads and she in shopping, shopping until she dropped, for the newest grandchild had that recurring dream. But that too passed, remembering back to mist of time Adamsville Beach pledges.        

So they, maybe mocked in a modern world where everyone is supposed to change spouses, partners, lovers with the changing seasons, spent their time together. Out somewhere up in Maine on a cold December night a woman stood against a frosted window in a lonely dark room. Down in some Southern California town a man who had changed companions with the seasons, pensively looked out at the moonless night, the foam-flecked ocean waves swirling against the waiting shore his sole companion. They, we, I, stand in awe, stand in awe do you hear, of such steadfastness. And love, but you knew that already.