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Comments From: Bill "W.G." Apgood (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Yes, I have aged from the 60’s, but in that process I've become much kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've even become my own best friend. I have lost loved ones who have passed and I have seen too many dear friends leave this world way too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on my computer until 4 AM, or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50’s & 60's, and perhaps at the same time, weep over my lost love. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is slightly stretched over my little midriff, and I will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose, even in spite of those pitying glances from those water drinking athletic jet setters. They too, will Age! I know, I am sometimes forgetful, but then again some of life is better forgotten, but I will always remember those special moments.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when you watch your children suffer? But broken hearts are what give us character, strength and an understanding of compassion. A heart never broken is just too pristine, too sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so BLESSED to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. As I age I find it much easier to be positive about life. You care less about what other people think, because I am the only one who has walked in my shoes. I don’t even question myself anymore, like I used to because I’ve earned the right to be wrong and not worry about trying to justify it.
So, the answer to the BIG question, Yes I like my AGE!! It has set me FREE. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste my time lamenting about what could have been, or worrying about what happened or even what will be, but I will live for the moment for so many didn’t get a chance to enjoy.
Comments From: Wayne Egan
One’s time in high school may be a penance. I know mine was. Although officially prohibited by Granite District, “exclusive” social clubs emerged at Olympus in 1961. I am aware of at least two such clubs—one seemed to me more elitist, admitting the likes of Steve Perkins, Tom Burton, John Durham, Wally Douglas, John Whitaker, Dave Child, et al., and the other group, The Tribithiens, comprised Rick Battison, Jack Adkins, Doug Wimmer, Bill Reed, Steve Chipman, Darrell Moench, Bob Willardsen, Hugh Coleman, et al. Because neither group was concerned with keeping the school flame burning, both refused to recruit Joey Frank and Lowell Baggeley, and neither group, as far as I could tell, accomplished anything memorable. After all, at age 17, self-publicity counts for more than mere achievement. I surmise the fellows in the more elite group seduced some actual coeds and boycotted sporting events while the Tribithiens mostly just talked about seduction and group-cheered at the games. I believe these dubious fraternities disagreed over the interpretation of human nature. The elite group, possibly unloved by their mothers, distrusted exuberance and sat poised between aggression and hesitation, in the belief that human encounters are about loss. By contrast, the Tribithiens illustrated the worthy life by fixating on humor, imagination, and willingness to risk exposure during fatuous acts of daring. The Tribithiens owned a black 1939 Cadilac limo, complete with red curtains on the back windows just behind the jump seat. One night I saw them dragging State Street in the limo from where they drew the curtains at red light stops and mooned unsuspecting students out on dates in convertibles. They had fun, but seldom expressed a substantial thought. I drew close to the elite fraternity in the Spring of 1962 on the night they hired me to play piano at their private party. They donned cashmere blazers, Harris Tweads, and dated all the cutest girls, some even from East High; and, they had liquor at the party. I thought at first I was lavishing on bereft humanity the gospel of jazz music, but then odd things happened. Wally Douglas approached me in confidence and said: “The gnawing worm is in man’s heart. It is there that we must look for it.” Later on, Tom Burton said: “Music will one day, as it has for you, save me from madness.” Finally, John Whitaker, a man of flat, undecorated honesty, remarked: “I will one day reach a quieter time, when the wild beast in me is tamer and I understand the trick of his claws.” Others voiced similar profundities throughout the night. I was amazed. These elitist guys were actually deeper than the Tribithiens. Truly, life is born out of force and denial at the hands of one’s intimates. I hope someone at the reunion can report on what became of these two rosters of promising young men.
Comments From: Josie Krause (Cox)
The Olympus High School 1962 social calendar climaxed not, as one might suppose, in the Junior Prom or Homecoming or at Graduation, but rather several weeks before graduation at a Roaring 20s party, of which I was the principal catalyst and impresario. I modestly admit to having been assisted in the event by an elite corps of debutantes, including Georgia McMillan, Penny Howells, Susan Hall, Eve Armstrong, Linda McMurty, Sherry Hardy, and a few others who will forgive my current lapse of memory. I and my coterie of imaginative classmates were not content in having the class of ’62 sponsor yet another Pooh Bah year on the Granite District timeline. To this day the police and the school administrators wonder about the events of that night. As far as I’m aware, this story is the only extant account of what went on. We rented the by then deserted Old Mill, hired a jazz band, lined a bath tub with foil, bought some booze, made flapper dresses, rented tuxedos, and decorated each table with a checkered table cloth and a candle. The event was by invitation, intended only for the washed and the worthy. I don’t recall the qualifications for being considered worthy to attend, but some classmates chose either not to attend or refused to raise the money. Regardless of status and popularity, each invitee had to pay $25 to attend. We invited the biggest names in school—the popular, the beautiful, the rich, the poor, the loud, and the brightest. Hardly anyone dared boycott the evening. When word of the event spread the next week at Olympus and beyond, we observed much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth among the disappointed few who chose not to attend. You know if you were there. No one forgets a Josie Krause party. On arrival, a greeter called out the names of each couple as they displayed their entrance tickets. The party provoked a kind of speakeasy, prohibition, silent-movie, Jazz-Age, art-deco, lost-generation atmosphere—apropos of the “Roaring 20s” theme. The evening went off without calamity and with just enough craziness and refined outré behavior that no one complained, despite modest amounts of booze consumed. In short, the party went off much like the garden party at Jay Gatsby’s mansion, as imagined by F. Scott Fitzgerald. By all reports no one fornicated on the premises, and many fell in love that night and married a couple of years later. A lookout posted in the Old Mill tower warned of approaching police squad cars by blowing a large ooga horn, which prompted several emergency measures, chief among which was the immediate concealment of the bathtub of gin and beer and all other traces of booze. Repeated inspections during the night led to no arrests and only humorous or good-natured encounters with sheriff deputies, who seemed reluctant to want to find fault—a compliment to my planning and sense of tasteful execution. I can’t substantiate this claim, but I think our party kicked of the 60s culture west of the Missouri River. Sooner or later, the chroniclers of the 60s revolution need to give our party the credit it deserves. That is my dream. I hope the reunion committee will allow me a 10-minute reminiscence to revive your memory of an event of singular verve and conviviality.
Comments From: Pat Harvey Rosvall
When I was a senior at Olympus, Richard (Dick) Smith was a first-year chemistry teacher. I took chemistry my senior year and he flunked me!! However, when I went to college, I got four A's in all four chemistry classes I took for my major, which was biology. Now that I am a biologist, I teach that subject in Granite School District. Here's the irony: Dick Smith and I both attend monthly meetings at the district because we are both science department chairpersons. We laugh at each other! --
Comments From: Alanah Matthews
“The Unhappy Princess “ Once upon a time there was a queen that lived in a very big house. And her daughter named Princess Bailey. And she was a very unhappy princess and at school she would always destroyed everything with her powers and she was very greedy about everything that she could be.