March 29, 2024

Nifty 50 class reunion

Fifty of anything is worthy of pause, celebration and reminiscence. So it was with my 50th high school class reunion. We met, we talked, we ate, all of us looking so old, except for me, of course. We even got together for a float (hay rack) ride in Monroe’s Old Settlers Parade. Absent, of course, were the classmates who passed away. But their memory lives on.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 50 years since I walked the hallowed halls of that two-story brick building that isn’t there anymore, signed an annual, or spent another hour in detention. But 50 years have slipped away, like an old friend leaving a party. Where have the years gone? The corn fields surrounding Monroe still smell the same as they did 50 years ago, heat rising off them in waves, concealing kids parking, or looking for gravel pits to skinny-dip in.

We were a small class at Monroe Community High School, but close knit. After graduation, we spread out to all corners of the planet, some never to return. It was a different world back then. The Vietnam War was raging, and military service for the guys was a matter of when, not if. It was a confusing time. Should we support the war or protest it? Should we go to work, college or the military? Gasoline was cheap, cars were big, and our ambitions grandiose. Now, in some state of retirement or semi-retirement, we look back in wonder. But that closeness we felt in 1966, and took for granted, is still there.

Two former teachers were present for the reunion. That was nice. Their recall of students and events was just as sharp or sharper than ours. Considering the age difference between them and us, that’s amazing. I was relieved that they didn’t hold a grudge for some of the pranks we used to pull, like climbing the water tower to write graffiti, or worse. But all seemed forgiven, like dust and flies wiped from a windowsill.

Like most Midwestern small towns that are a shell of what they used to be, Monroe has become a bedroom town. A fire in the new high school caused an overnight consolidation with nearby Prairie City, forming Prairie City Monroe (PCM). It doesn’t seem right, considering Monroe and Prairie City were such rivals. The PCM Mustangs just doesn’t have the same ring as the Monroe Wildcats. But that’s life. Nothing stays the same, even the houses and streets of Monroe seemed smaller.

A nice touch to our 50th class reunion was that it was also the 50th wedding anniversary for a couple from our class. Fifty years of marriage, plus 50 years of survival for us all, equals grounds for celebration and story telling.

An even nicer touch, in addition to the Monroe Wildcat T-shirts we were able to purchase, was that one of our more creative and talented classmates and his wife came up with the idea of making fans out of our high school graduation pictures. No kidding. I’ve never seen anything more hilarious than all of us running around waving fans with our high school graduation pictures on them. We were so young. Some of us looked like babies, which we were, really.

The grand finale of the reunion, the crossing of the Rubicon, so to speak, for us, was the float ride in the Old Settlers Parade. We all sat on hay bales, and all had our fans of our 17-year-old faces. We waved them at the crowds. The people loved it. Going by the reviewing stand, we sang our high school fight song, in much weaker voices than we did 50 years ago. “We are the Wildcats, mighty, mighty Wildcats. Everywhere we go, people wanna know. Who we are, so we tell’m. We are the Wildcats, mighty, mighty Wildcats.”

On the back of the hay rack were the picture/fans of our classmates who have died. Together, we have all passed the point of no return.

Contact Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant
at 319-217-0526 or curtswarm@yahoo.com