As the second graduating class from a brand new high school - one that was created in a storm of controversy amidst nascent local politics in Williamson County and a burgeoning rivalry between Brentwood and Franklin communities - ours was a small and close knit group. The 150 or so of us that walked across the stage to receive our diploma had been there from the beginning.
We selected the school colors (blue and gold). We selected the school mascot (Bruin). Our parents laid the sod for the football field a week or two before school started. My mom and her friends used a stencil to paint paw prints down Murray Lane leading to Brentwood High School as they sat in the back of a pick-up truck, feet dangling, and drank frozen banana daffodils and pina coladas.
Our mothers started and staffed a bookstore that sold t-shirts, sweatshirts and other Bruin paraphernalia. It was the first bookstore of its kind in the Williamson County School system. Our moms also volunteered in the office, assisting with clerical duties and keeping attendance. It wasn't unusual on any given day to see my mom at the school or Patti Sparks, Jan Baker, Barbara Depp, or so many others.
Brentwood High School in those halcyon years of the mid-1980's was a community school. Full stop. For that reason and others, there was a pervasive sense of pride among the students and the parents. We really cared about Brentwood High School and in the class of '84, we cared about each other. Sure, there were smaller groups of people that hung together but, truly, as Aristotle said, "the whole was greater than than the sum of its parts."
The crew that I rolled with was special - Doug, Jay, David, Neil, Reber, Dean, Jabba, Jeroutek, Sid, Westfall, Darryl, Matteson, Buzzell, Rip, Corley, and Roger - all good students, all well rounded, and all good guys. If I am leaving anyone out, it's unintentional. Today, this is a highly successful group and includes several early retirees.
This weekend, some of us gathered together to celebrate, I guess, what we were, collectively, 40 years ago, and what we sill are, today.
Friday night, we met at the Skylight Bar at the Factory. Early on in the reunion planning process, I suggested to Doug that the Factory would be the perfect venue for a laid back, Friday night event before a bigger party on Saturday night. As luck would have it, I was right. Full marks, though, to Doug because he planned the entire reunion without much help from anyone else, including me. I simply suggested the Factory and the Skylight Bar, gave him a FaceTime tour one morning, and connected him with the manager of the bar. After that, Doug was off and running.
I arrived at the Factory between 6 and 7 p.m., shortly after receiving a text from my old and dear friend, Steve Ryan. On a whim, I had called Steve Wednesday night, told him about the reunion, and suggested he attend Friday night's event.
For our group, Steve was the biggest casualty of the zoning controversy surrounding the creation of Brentwood High School. Although he lived in the Grassland community and had gone to school with many of us since kindergarten, he wasn't allowed to attend Brentwood High School in the fall of 1982 because he was zoned to Franklin High School. Steve fit perfectly with out group - academically and socially - but we lost him to local politics that we didn't understand at the time.
Steve was one of my mom's early favorites. Tall - at least 6'3" - fair complected with bright red hair, Steve was always quiet and a bit awkward, but extremely kindhearted. He looks exactly the same today as he did in college at UT in the mid-1980's, when we last saw each other regularly. Reconnecting with Steve was one of the highlights of my weekend. I am going to make a real effort to rekindle our friendship by reaching out more regularly in the future.
Kristin, the bar manager, kindly roped off a large area of space for us and arranged for a mobile bar and two dedicated bartenders. We had plenty of room to mingle, which is what I did the entire evening. It was hard to spend too long with any one person or group because I constantly saw someone else I wanted to talk to nearby. The whole night was a blur, not unlike a wedding reception. So many people to talk to and over before you know it.
A highlight for me was talking with Ms. Rau, my French teacher in my junior and senior years at Brentwood High School. Somehow, she had convinced herself, supposedly, that I was mad at her - 40 years later, mind you - for kicking Neil, Angie, and me off the annual staff our senior year when we got caught skipping school during lunch when we were supposed to be selling ads for the annual. Laughing, I told her I had always knows that we got exactly what we deserved. Seeing her was special.
Chris Reber's mother, Martha, was there, as was Christie Remaly's mother. Talking to them and many of my friends reminded me how much I miss my mom. She was so popular among my classmates. We built the senior float at our house under the carport. In those days and later, when I was in college, it wasn't unusual for friends of mine to stop by to see my mom when I was at work or away at school. Everyone loved Jane.
Saturday morning, I got the text from Doug that I knew, in my heart, was coming. David Easterling died late Friday night. A day or two earlier, when I learned the hospice nurse had indicated he didn't have long to live, I had a strong feeling that David would die while we were all together and he did. I am going to write about David in more detail later but suffice to say our reunion celebration was muted for obvious reasons.
Doug, Jay, Neil, Mike, and I arrived at Mike's house early, so we could share a bourbon, toast David, and tell a few stories before the party started. It felt strange and a little surreal, to say the least, to be at our 40th high school reunion having just lost someone who was an integral part of our group.
Mike's house is amazing, particularly the back yard. Swimming pool, fire pit, covered outdoor kitchen, and three televisions all showing different college football games on the first Saturday of the college football season. His wife, Cathy, was the consummate host, as she always is, and those of us in attendance had a drink or two, talked, laughed, and reminisced about our youth and times long since past.
Debbie Billings graciously shared her photo album, which was full of photos from high school and our early years of college at UT. She also had preserved some photos digitally, which she set up on her iPad to play on Mike's living room televisions throughout the evening. Watching the photos on television from more than 40 years ago was like traveling back in time to visit our younger, mostly innocent selves. Wow.
It was a night to remember. For me, nothing wild or crazy, but an opportunity to reconnect with old friends.
A smaller group of us will convene in Louisville, Kentucky, weekend after next to say goodbye to David at his memorial service.
40 years. Gone in a flash.
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