Franklin High School
Franklin, Indiana
Class of 1961

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To: The Class of 1961
From: Ted Anderson
August 20, 2006
  • Well classmates, the 45th is history. Another small slice of a remembrance of things past is over. Or is it? I don't know, speaking only for myself, during our five-year reunion interval I am guilty of occasionally dragging out a story that includes some of your guys. And, when I happen upon one or another of us, there are the smiles, the "How-are-yous" and perhaps a couple of "Remember-whens" -- and then we would be off and gone to wherever we were going. And that's all right. I'm cool with that. I have always known, that in x number of years, or months, we would all have a reunion and have an official conglomeration.
  • And last night represented what I call “The Introduction of the 1961 Class of Franklin High School to Themselves”.  We have become pretty darn good at doing this – after all, we’ve done it 9 times now (I’m assuming my math is right, because my memory sure can't confirm the number!).  It is so very nice to see the familiar faces and be comfortable in knowing we are all going to take a set amount of time, and be able to talk, visit and reminisce.  The informality of the Friday night at the Willard blends in perfectly with the formality of the Saturday.  But this reunion I could sense (and again, I’m speaking just for me) a more determined attempt to connect, a little longer eye contact, a more subtle tilting of the head to hear what was being said, a slightly tighter hug when we met or were posing for a picture.  There seemed to be an unspoken under-scoring of relevance in who we are, and a deeper search for commonality among us.
  • I have tried to rationalize this thought by saying it’s because of my volunteering to take pictures for the class, or the fact that I was the emcee, or that I was, however insignificant, a one-time member of the (for lack of an official name) “Don & Donna Breakfast Club”.  And no doubt, those opportunities did allow me to draw a perception of “us” at a slightly different angle.
  • But by golly, classmates, none of those reasons have quieted this restlessness in my head (and heart?).  You know what I think?  I think I have been attacked by my mortality – or more appropriately, OUR mortality.  I have always recognized that “we are who we are”, but I haven’t ever moved to the next level, which is, “we are who we are, but not who we’ll be”.  Hey, let’s face it – we aren’t going to have 9 more reunions.  And I suspect (yeah, I know – I oughta been a brain surgeon!) that each reunion from here on out will see a sharp rise in “differences” in us, as a class and individually.
  • So what does all this mean?  For me, it means a clearer appreciation of who we are.  You know, we really ARE special!!  A small mid-western town bunch of kids who happen to be born at the same time and grew up together, inter-relating and sharing experiences together through our first 18 years of life.  We drifted apart after graduation, had families new friends, jobs, moved to other cities and states.  But to me, as our experiences have continued to expand, they have been diminished and diluted by time.  And as they have become less distinct, it has become easier to look back on our beginnings and see a recipe of what we are, based on what we were.  It’s a little scary to say that I’m me because I knew Jack Fentz 50 years ago – but perhaps you get my drift.  Which, by the way, I realize is starting to drift clear off the page – so I’ll settle back into the present.  I have sorted and edited my pictures from Don & Donna’s, the Willard and Valle Vista and have put them on a CD.  I will get with Sharon and we will figure how best to share them with all of you.  I would be happy to get pictures that any of you may have, and add them to mine.  I have this idea of putting them altogether for our 50th, and have them projected on a screen.  I’m sorry to get all sloppy and gooey in my philosophy in this letter – but I realize that I love you guys and all our memories and all that we had.  Talk at you all later!
Sentimentally yours,
Ted Anderson

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