Journal of a Living Lady #182

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

We were a motley crew, bumping elbows and squinting to get a better look at the vaguely familiar faces.  It wasn't an easy task deciding who was the cook, the  M.D., the  railroad engineer, the ivy-league college professor, the flight attendant, the police major or the  IRS agent. If it weren't for name badges, complete with photographs copied from the high school yearbook, we might never have recognized our classmates from forty years ago. Cameras flashed left and right. Shrieks of gleeful recognition filled the air.

 

Though there had been other reunions of the 1962 Memphis South Side Scrappers, this was my first. I was determined to come one.

 

I heard that the number of our graduates was dwindling.  A look at the memorial board made me realize that life had whizzed by quickly for some ten percent of the class. There was a picture of Lynda, a brilliant young lady.  I wondered if she fulfilled her aspiration of being a  nuclear physicist. Then there was Grant, another intellect from a large family of oriental scholars.

 

William. James. Anita.  I remember them as average, quiet students. Their names were called daily in class, but I never knew them well. The memorial pictures, frozen in time, made me wish I had known them better. Whispered stories throughout the evening relayed accounts of  automobile accidents, sudden illnesses, suicide, and even murder..

 

Predictably, many of us are now in various stages of declining health, yet the vast majority of the 1962 graduating class have made it to near-retirement age.  The doctor retired from his medical practice after a vicious bout with cancer. The captain of the cheerleading squad, still spunky and vivacious in spirit, was confined to a wheel chair. Lupus was the culprit that had robbed her body of its sveltness and tainted her sunset dreams. Balding men, even women, shared their triumphs over heart attacks and by-pass surgeries. Most had lost parents. Some had buried children.

 

A few retained their good looks. The beautiful girl who lived one street behind me could pass for Ingrid Bergman's twin. Then there was Earl, the handsome, personable football star. Before the night was over, I admitted to him that I had a crush on the big guy all through high school. He smiled. Earl was the all-around nice guy. He could have married just about any senior girl in the class. Unfortunately, Earl hardly knew I existed. His female entourage consisted of popular "A" list girls, not the wishful, awkward, less than dainty likes of me.

 

Life might have forked into strange avenues had I made different choices regarding men and careers. There are a few things I might have done differently. Undoubtedly I would keep the guy who proposed to me on bended knee in 1964. Buddy throws a wobbly football, but for 37 years he has been a faithful, honest, witty, and compassionate husband.

 

It has been said often that the more life changes, the more it stays the same. How true. Those before us could share similar stories and those ahead probably will.

 

At their high school reunions, perhaps they will laugh as I did when re-reading the pithy, yearbook inscriptions. The most memorable attempted tribute, scribbled in my annual in typical airy adolescent script, stated bluntly, " Nancy, you are almost the greatest person I have ever known"

 

Hmm. I will go to my grave wondering about that one. But, in retrospect, I think I have the answer. Elvis attended South Side High School too.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net