Reunion

Sonoma County with its rolling hills, quaint small towns, and multiple vineyards is an attractive place. My wife Vicki and I had flown to Oakland and then driven to Healdsburg, to attend my 45th boarding school reunion. There had been 45 people in my high school class, and 39 were left. Twenty classmates with their wives, most from the East Coast, were planning to attend. The setting for the festivities was dramatic. Lou Preston, a classmate, owned Preston Vineyards of Dry Creek, and he was hosting the party at his winery.

Friday night we met half the group at a Japanese restaurant and later everyone congregated at a local bar for drinks. The next day we went to the winery to talk, play Bocce Ball, and drink Lou’s fabulous wines. That evening Lou and his staff served an outdoor, sit down meal. We ate roasted pork, fresh vegetables from Lou’s garden, and his homemade bread. Of course, there was an unending supply of fine wines accompanied by live music.

I hadn’t been to many reunions of any sort in the past, a mistake on my part. Boarding school had been an intense experience. From age 14-18 I had lived with my classmates, who came from all parts of the country. I had had good relationships with many classmates and conflicts with others. My position as head of the student discipline system at times made relationships complicated and difficult.

One of my first interactions that weekend was with a person with whom I had experienced conflict. He approached me at the bar and said the school had been his family. His parents hadn’t been that interested in him, he said. Things instantly became clearer to me, and we began to form a new relationship. This experience wasn’t unusual. People seemed to want to undo past interpersonal roadblocks and move on. Another classmate took me aside and apologized profusely for making jokes about Italians 45 years ago. I told him it was not a problem and not to worry about it. He seemed to feel better.

Initially I saw the group with teen age eyes. I viewed the social structure like I did in high school. I looked at people as if they were 18! As we talked, new understandings presented themselves, and I was able to return to the present.

It wasn’t hard to relate to the people with whom I had been most friendly. The process was natural. However, what was most fun was seeing some of my other classmates with new vision. I spent much time with two people with whom I hadn’t been close. I found them and their wives warm and interesting. The wine, beautiful Sonoma setting, and the music made talk come easily.

My relationship with one classmate was complex. We had been ambivalent friends, competitors, and colleagues. He was passionate, feisty, and likeable. Throughout the weekend, we kept circling each other trying to get on new footing. We shook hands, embraced, and smiled at each other. He would bring up an incident, and we would talk about it. We were trying to work things out without acknowledging it.

There was a classmate I had greatly admired. He had excelled at everything and had been a wonderful friend. But life hadn’t been so good to him. He didn’t look healthy, and there had been problems in many areas of his life. It was hard to understand. Another classmate had been obsessed with railroads in high school, and now he was CEO of a small railroad in Pennsylvania!

On Sunday many of us came back to the winery to talk. Later we drove to lunch, and I joked that it was the never ending party as people didn’t seem to want to end the weekend. We talked of future reunions and meetings, and we were sad as we felt the moments slipping away. Finally it was over, and Vicki and I drove back to Geyersville.

I realized, as I drove through the vineyards, that the reunion had been important to me and my classmates. Individual and group loops had been closed. There were new beginnings and understandings. We felt more whole.

The sun was bright now, and the hills sparkled. The road was empty, as I drove swiftly through the countryside with thoughts of music, wine, and memories. I thought of green playing fields and the camaraderie of my classmates. I thought of the people who had died and those who were left. I remembered the brilliance of the New England autumn, the feel of creased leather, and the sounds of boys, all too soon to be men.