Only 15 miles separates the upstate towns of Kingston and New Paltz. I am a passenger in my own car, being driven to my destination while sitting in the back seat. There are four other passengers in my group. One fellow rider is a former high school girlfriend, another is a young man to act as her security blanket, and two other young men are to act as mine. We are weaving our way along the backroads of Ulster County with the windows down and the music bouncing off the Catskill Mountains. I have lived in the Hudson Valley for all but five of my 55 years and obviously have been back to New Paltz, the town where I grew up, several times. So it was a surreal feeling on this July night to think that I was determined to find my way home. I had always believed that you can never go home, and I had not ever felt the urge. Mick Jagger was screaming at me “ You can’t always get what you want,” and I was finishing his sentence ,”but if you try sometime you might find, you get what you need.” It was the Friday evening before the big New Paltz High School Reunion Weekend. The alumni who went to high school there in the 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s were already filling the old joints sharing some version of their days in the sun. I have worked hard to move away from who I was , where I came from, and all of the people associated with New Paltz. For me, my high school years were filled with disappointment and not measuring up to my own expectations. I have spent the time between then and now trying to make up for all I wasn’t back in those days. As my vehicle roared across the Esopus bridge I stuck my head through the open window and felt the exhilarating breeze of the summer air. “I saw her today at the reception, glass of wine in her hand, I knew she would meet her connection,” The Stones continued. We were almost in New Paltz. I was finally ready to face the past straight on.
As my ride made its way up Main Street and closer to the section of the reunion gatherings all I had left behind was now in front of me. I had read the itinerary for the weekend put out by Ann Minadeo and Denise Shelton the reunion organizers. I was aware the classes of ‘70-‘74 would be mostly in McGillicuddy’s while the classes of ‘75-‘79 would be populating P&G’s. As we cruised up Main Street I was overwhelmed by the crowd in front of P&G’s. I still didn’t have my nerve up, so my small posse and I ducked into McGillicuddy’s. It turned out to be the perfect spot to get a few shots of courage before heading to the other side of the street and being more recognizable. Amongst the older crowd I attempted to be as inconspicuous as possible.
From out of nowhere I got a big slap on the back from one of my adolescent heroes. In the early 70’s Al Bonagura was larger than life to an up and coming 7th grade athlete. He was big, handsome, with a hot fastball and a hotter girlfriend in Ann Baker. “Rich I enjoyed your book, you are a great story teller,” he said with a smile. Al looked great and appeared at total ease with himself. I knew he had married a younger New Paltz high grad and was living the American dream. I had not sought out my childhood idol, and I have had very little contact with him over the years, yet his words of affirmation, along with two shots of Jameson, propelled me to move on.
My escorts and I made our way through the masses to Pat and George’s. Waiting there were my high school peers, now in their in mid-fifties. We had our youth in common, and by the mere fact that we had shown up was an indication we had left behind any of our old baggage. I kept my head down as I shuffled through the crowd mauling around outside the front door. Once inside Lisa Hoffman and I snuck into the direct left corner and ordered Stoli and tonics as if it were 1978 again. From that location, I was hard to spot, yet I had a good view of the faces from my youth as they came in and out. I saw Roger Plantier, Pete Sciascia, Tim Savago, Lucy Schaefer, Elaine Mackey and many others. All of the years of avoidance, and my personal insecurities seemed to dissipate as fast as I swallowed my first drink. I got a bear hug from Tim Lefevre.
I chatted for 20 minutes with Nancy Bigelow. The conversations were brief and pleasant. Instead of feeling inadequate about it I got a laugh when one of my former female classmates had no idea who I was. If for nothing else I was proud to have, for the moment, overcome any of my projected solipsistic tendencies. I knew the bigger test lay ahead tomorrow, but the anxiety and voices in my head were quiet.
Huguenot Street is the oldest street in America. New Paltz was an area settled by a religious sect of Frenchmen called Huguenots. It makes sense that the mascot of New Paltz High School is a Hugie. On Saturday July 11th approximately 30 Hugie alumni gathered in an art gallery on one of the most famous thorough fares in the country. They had convened to look at artwork and hear book readings from alumni. One of the writers on the agenda was the class of 1979’s Nora Raleigh. Nora is a renowned author of young adult books. She has established herself as a true professional attached to publishers, editors, and agents. Also on the bill was rookie and an unrepresented “hack” named Rich Siegel. Nora did her readings first and talked about her friendship with classmate Larry Hiller who died of AIDS in 1991. Larry was also in the class of ’79 and had gone on to have a short career with the New York City Ballet. She expressed how people like Larry along with growing up in New Paltz had influenced her writing. When it was my time for the stage I felt like Donny Osmond having to perform after the Beatles.
The room was filled with two of my former English teachers Pat Masson, and Kathleen Evans, my father and a spattering of other familiar teachers and characters from back in the day. I read two stories. One was an excerpt from my book, “You Can’t Do Both”, I had written about my neighbor (Hank Schulte) who died in the Vietnam War. I also read from a story about my first day in high school. The people in the room had been there at my most vulnerable and awkward moments. We had all been in it together and now we were there for each other again. A high percentage of the reviews were good. There was one exception of a former graduate who sent me a wretched note backing up my own claim that I was still nothing more than a “hack writer.” I am closer to serenity in regards to my adolescence but still took the critique to heart.
The alumni golf tournament was right down the street from the book signing. I had decided to participate in the reunion and I was in all the way. I stood on the first tee at the New Paltz Golf Course for the first time in 25 years. My playing partners were my brother Gary ’75 and Tom Levin ’80. As we waited our turn I shared a beer and a laugh with Brian Roach, John Schulte, and Carrie Hardmeyer. The gap between the years and the distance we all had traveled was non-existent. I swung at the golf ball with zero tension or fear. It didn’t matter how far astray it went I would chuckle and say to Tom and Gary “O.K. guys pick me up”. It was the most fun and rewarding nine holes of golf I have ever played. Tom is now a real estate broker in Maryland who is at least double the size he was in high school. He also happens to be a hell of a golfer. Gary and Tom carried us to victory and some great bar talk. It took several hours to play the 19th hole. While John, Gary, Tom, Phil Burke, Carrie, Nancy and I told stories about the days round and of old legend, our classmates were streaming in for the Saturday barbecue dance. I had planned to go back to Kingston to freshen up for the night’s activities, but I could not lift myself off the bar stool. I was disheveled and not showered as I sauntered to the buffet line. I found a dining spot next to Cherie Kidd, Stacey Krieg, and my old neighbor Erich Spies. Back when we were kids Erich and I played every game imaginable together in the afternoons before settling in to watch “Dark Shadows.”
I know Erich has led an unconventional life and I am not sure he ever graduated from high school. At 56 years old he has recently become a father and looked as happy and content as anyone there. Erich lived hard in those younger years. At about 15 he decided to skip the years 16-30 and carried on like an adult. I wanted to ask him if he wished he had ran slower back than and saved some steam for his older years. Knowing my old friend and seeing his smile , I think I may have my answer.
The sun was setting behind the Mohonk Tower and the band was cranking out another oldie but goody. It was time for me to seek refuge up on the balcony close to the bar. There is nothing like the warm summer night air, familiar tunes in the background, a cold libation, and talking it all over with the friends you came of age with. We all had seen each other grow up in the most fragile times of our lives. In the half-light we tried hard not to see our comrades for who they were or what they looked like in our long ago memories.
The gab was not so much about the journey that had taken us to this night, but more about the present, and what was ahead. Some had physically come from far away. Roger Plantier had flown from across the pond, Jamie Rhein drove from Michigan, Ann Minadeo organized the event from her Colorado home. Susan Hiller came in from central New Jersey. Even the locals who still walked the same dirt we all grew up on were there. The old familiar faces of Joey DeMaria, Dave Tucker, and Barbara Buck felt as if like they had returned to a place they never left.
For one weekend we were all back. For me it is a place in time in which I still dream. A space in time that still makes me cry tears of happiness and tears of pain. No matter how many decades pass, I still see the images of those days vividly. I have harbored much regret about that time in my life. I have run as fast as I could to get away from all connected to it. Finally, I had found my way to turn around. We can never change what went before, we will never completely heal. Looking out over the golf course into the darkness I thought about how fast our lives keep moving. The band was covering Journey’s classic “Don’t Stop Believing “ I sang the words to myself “and the movie never ends it goes on and on and on ……..”
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