West By Northwest: Day Two

It rained throughout the night. The morning in Cincinnati is cloudy. Steve and Peg took Jake, the youngest, with them to Steve's college reunion for the day. I'm catching up on my light reading...

I first met Sean O'Malley about ten years ago, at a private gathering at the bishops' conference in DC. As the newly-installed Archbishop of Boston, he is the right man in the right place at the right time. "Francis, rebuild my house, which you can see has fallen into ruin." When the young man from Assisi heard those words from the Image on the cross, it began the revolution that has continued to this day. It reverberates in the back-alley slums, the mission houses, the churches, the schools -- everywhere that the Franciscan presence is felt. And now, in the great cathedral of a troubled city. Archbishop O'Malley is the right man, in the right place, at the right time...

Speaking of the right time...

That's when I got to the banquet for the Main Event. Everybody was great. Talk about walls breaking down. You would never have thought there were cliques in our class. I know what you're gonna ask. Truth is, only three people from Milford showed up this year. So we didn't have our own table. A guy whose initials are "M.C." was the, uh, MC. Get it? He did great. Must be the initials. It didn't hurt that he addressed me as "Doctor Alexander" when I walked into the room. Must be because some of them always thought I was some kind of a genius. The great ones are known to test rather low: Edison, Einstein, all the bigs, you know?

There were only three people from my little town of Milford. But it didn't matter, because it was as if there were never any cliques. At least not until I looked through tons of photos of the city kids all partying together thirty years ago, and I was reminded of what I missed. One thing

There were people with married children, even grandchildren. One gal had five grandkids. Talk about being behind on the biological curve, huh? She wrote in the memory book: "Face it, gals, we all turn into our mothers." Nice.

I was talking to a very stunning woman whom I couldn't remember at all, but who kept looking at me as if she knew me, when another one came up behind me and rubbed my head with her hands: "I just think bald men are SOOOO sexy." (I still have no idea who the second one was.)

There was a guy there who told me of losing his oldest son in an ATV accident some years ago. Shortly thereafter, the son's wife gave birth to a baby girl. As he looked at the face of his new granddaughter, he saw the image of his son. I never remembered this guy as the sentimental type, but he was bustingat the seams at the thought of a sign of wonder in all of this. If you live long enough, God can close a door and open a window, even when it hurts us most of all.

One of the ladies there was in my sister's class, the year behind us, but had married one of my classmates. I remembered her from our doing the musicals together. Even today, she teaches creative movement, ballet and tap. But I remember how beautiful and completely happy she looked when she danced.

I saw a side of "Sherry" I never knew before, the perennial party girl. She bought me a drink. She bought herself several. I told the others I'd offer to take her back with me. She'd fit right in with the zydeco crowd. I just have to teach her to dance.

The "O'Malleys" were there -- "Tom" and "Cathy." Cathy was one of the Milford people, and met Tom in Ireland. They have a Celtic band together. When their second son was growing up, he reminded Cathy so much of me, that Tom couldn't wait to meet me. He finally did at the twenty-year. Tom loves to talk politics, and he's also a great musician. We've kept in touch over the years since then. Cathy and I were "bread and buttered" in Milford, and I've known her since we were five. And even though she went on to the "popular crowd" as a cheerleader at McNick, she remembers most fondly her pals from dear old St Andrew School. God love that woman.

In fact, there was a lot of talk about politics. And the church. (Well, it was a Catholic high school.) Both at the reunion, and the post-reunion hangout at the Embassy Suites across the Ohio River over in Covington.

John (who has evidently has no problem with his real name being used here, or with any noteriety at all, as this link to cnn dot com would suggest) had rented two of the rooms there, and we went from one to the other, making entirely too much noise, and resulting in police officers standing nearby, presumedly in case one of us decided to throw somebody over the railing into the interior plaza below. Now what fun would that be anyway? I was there until two in the morning, getting caught up even more.

One of my boyhood pals, "Ron," lived in Milford, in the grand house on the hill next to the watertower. After college, he took over his father's architectural firm. Shortly thereafter, his parents sold the house, which dated to just after the Civil War, and the foundation of which was starting to settle. The new owners had put a lot of work into shoring it up. (More on this item in the next entry.)

There was also "Hannah," the biker girl. She was at the twenty-year, but confessed at the time to not being sure why. Yet there she was at the thirty-year, still pondering.

But (Hannah, if you're listening, dear) I think I know. Someone asked me if I would want to go back. No, I wouldn't. In retrospect, I was chronically depressed through most of the four years, was the object of frequent bullying, and lived too far away from the school to stay around much and really shine. But on that night, as I explained to my inquirer, we got to see one another, without the superficialities or insecurities that plagued adolescent life for most if not all of us.

We got to see one another as we really were. It is worth it for some, to wait every ten years for that experience. For some it is healing; for others, the beginning of wisdom, and the broadening of horizons. The stranger in our midst is the friend we never knew we had.

But the fun's not over yet. Stay tuned...