No More School Reunions for Me

School reunions can be nail-biting experiences. Apparently the 50th high school reunion is a time for making amends. At mine, as soon as dinner was over, a woman walked up to me.

“Hi. I’m Claudia. Do you remember the time you sat down after the Pledge of Allegiance in the first grade and you crashed to the floor instead of finding your chair?”

“Yes,” I said. “It still hurts,” I lied.

“Well, I pulled the chair out from under you.”

“Really? Why?”
 “I don’t know,” she said and left.

I guess that was an apology, though she didn’t say so.

We didn’t stay long afterward because my wife didn’t know anybody. A few days later, I got a phone message from probably the most popular guy in high school. I was puzzled because I barely knew him at all and didn’t mix in his circle.

I called him back. “I want to apologize for beating up on you in the 12th grade,” he said. Huh? I barely remembered. Well, yes, he and another guy in physics class bet each other on whether they could make this shy, reserved student mad.

While the teacher wasn’t looking, they slapped me on the back of the head. The guy who bet on making me mad won. Of course, the teacher raised hell. But I soon forgot about it, writing it off as a prank by stupid kids, which it was.

For apologizing, I guess Mr. Popular felt better about himself, but I didn’t really like it. I didn’t recall being a victim of bullying in school but now felt like one.

Then came my 50th college reunion at the University of California at Berkeley, an enormous university, which was a great place to learn about journalism in the 1960s but not that good for making friends. I knew no one at the quite small reunion. Not a soul!

Then I compared high schools with one stranger. When I told him I went to El Cerrito High, he said, “Oh, so did my wife. I’ll have you talk to her.” She walked up and I didn’t recognize her, but she told me her name. Amazed, I said, “Wow. I took you to the senior prom!”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “I went with the man who is now my husband.”

“Yes, you did,” I insisted. “How could I forget that!”

Then she said, “Oh, that must have been in my junior year. I went with my husband in my senior year.”

Her husband had been listening. Suddenly, the two left and had a heated conversation away from the crowd. Were they already a couple when I dated her?

He was furious because she never told him about me. I was steaming because she didn’t even remember me.

I skipped the next reunion.

 

You say this. You mean that!

 Do you avoid conflicts by saying just the right thing? They call it “condemning with faint praise.”  Here is what you are supposed to say, followed by what you really think:

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May I suggest a salad for you at this restaurant?

Man, you are fat as a house!

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What cute kids!

The way you raised them, they’ll probably become drug addicts or prostitutes.

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Maybe we have had enough beer.

Stop! You’re drunk as a skunk!

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Interesting! That is quite a song.

You sound like a screeching owl!

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I’ve never had a chicken casserole like that before.

This food is awful. While you’re not looking, I will dump it in the garbage.

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Thank you for participating today.

I am not going to comment on your song, which totally stunk!

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I’ll bet you get compliments on your new house.

What an eyesore!  You should take a match to it!

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I can understand why you don’t know the answer.

You haven’t the brains of a housefly.

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That’s some photo of you, I’m surprised it’s not hanging on a wall some place.

You look like one of the 10 most wanted. Even AI couldn’t fix that picture.

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That is an interesting perfume.

That smells like your last perfume that gave my cat asthma.

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Oh, you cut your hair short. Interesting.

The lice on your head must be starving now.

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Ooh, we are getting there faster than I expected.

I hope the cops come and take your driver’s  license away!

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What a dress! You are such a snappy dresser.

I can’t believe it! The health department should burn that thing!

 

 

 

 

Now you can bet on anything

I am fascinated with the online betting markets, where you can put your money on anything from politics to Taylor Swift’s love life.

Who will win a U.S. Senate race? How many times will the sports announcer say “triple double?” What will be the country’s No. 1 song next week? Will the U.S. confirm that aliens exist before 1967? These are some of the topics for gamblers on Kalshi and Polymarket.

More bets: Who will win “Survivor” in Season 50? Will Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce be married this year? (65% say yes.) What will announcers say in the Reds-Astros baseball game? (Grand slam and walk off are the favorites).

Even better are the scandals. An Army sergeant was arrested for betting on whether his squad would capture the president of Venezuela (he won $400,000). A low-level politician bet on whether he would run for office.  Both bets were considered insider trading, which is illegal. And Kalshi refused to pay someone who predicted that the supreme leader of Iran would be removed from power by a certain date. He was killed by U.S. air attacks, but Kalshi’s policy is not to pay for deaths, figuring such betting can led to murder. Critics were outraged.

I have read that knowledgeable, experienced bettors are “eating the lunch” of amateurs who just wager on their private hunches.

Well, I would like to open a betting market of my own. ---First one: How many times will the train come through South Boston tomorrow? And how many minutes and seconds will it take?

--How many people will attend Lakefest this summer?

--Will the Dan River flood up to U.S. 58?

--What local restaurants will open and close this year?

--What will be the high temperature in July?

--I could add some bets on local politics, but then I would get into trouble.

--How many times will Mike Doan use the word “old” in his Mike’s Mic column?

So who’d like to place a wager?

 

Today's Advice:Don't Stop!

The feeble old man needed lots of help getting up on the podium to begin conducting the Oregon Symphony in 1967.

As a reporter in the Portland bureau of AP, I wondered what I would write if he died on the spot.

What could you say about Igor Stravinsky, arguably the greatest composer of the 20th century? And why was he stooping to direct music in such a backwater town.

What a legacy he had built up in his 79 years! His “Rite of Spring” turned the classical music world upside down in 1913, drawing far more boos than applause in its premiere. His “Firebird” and “Petrushka” were big additions to the classical repertoire.

After his aide, Robert Kraft, guided him up the stairs, this legend took out his baton and vigorously led  an inspired group of symphony musicians for over an hour. 

Why was he doing this? Why wasn’t he basking in the sun somewhere in retirement before he died in 1971? My guess is: he couldn’t. When you are among the greatest of all time, you just don’t give up.

Another who won’t quit is singer Bob Dylan, 85, who was still touring last month in towns like Spartanburg, S.C., Asheville, NC., and Macon, Ga.

Would he instead sit in a rocking chair, entertaining grandchildren or sorting old photos of his concerts? If you asked him, he would probably sing, “It ain’t me babe.”

Then there’s Rickey Henderson, the fast-running baseball player who refused to end his career until the ripe old  age of 46 with the San Diego Dawgs of the Golden Baseball League.

I am no or Dylan, Henderson or Stravinskay, but I am not about to hang it up either. In a tour bus in Europe, I talked about writing to one of the tourists, and she told me, “Whatever you do, don’t stop!” So here I am.

Well, what about you? Is it gardening, quilting, singing, cooking, hang gliding, running or card-playing that keeps your engine running? Or maybe you would like to start something new.

Don’t stop! 

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Was this the Mormon tabernacle? No. It was Grace Baptist Church in Virgilina, with a chorus of 80 singers and an audience of 200-300 for “Concert of Hymns.”

Singers from dozens of local churches practiced two weeks for songs most of them knew already—staples like “Bringing In the Sheaves” and “I’ll Fly Away.”

I have rarely had so much fun at a concert, which was conducted on April 26 by Tim Duncan.  We weren’t staring at music sheets for the right notes. We were looking at the words on the screen, with our eyes also on the audience.

The highlight for me was a gospel-tinged version of “Blessed Assurance” and “I Trust the Lord” sung by Rita Hargrave with husband Andy on piano. With some arms waving and shouts of “Sing it!” it felt like a revival meeting or gospel concert.