Time flies…I have been spending some time on this humongous class history project that I thought would be pretty straightforward. Individual write ups are straggling in slowly. So many have whined that they have done nothing significant these past sixty years. Just last week, I was speaking with (nameless person). She swore she has led a most mundane life; but the more we chatted, the more I was impressed with what she has done, and I finally told her to playback in her head all she had told me and then write it up. Trust me, it is rewarding to read about the many different paths taken in our collective lives.
By the way—if you do not have a recent picture and were at the reunion, we can use one of those.
That history project is expanding just a bit more. With so much information available via the Internet these days, I am going to try and include as many obituaries as we can dredge up. We probably have around 25 so far, provided by classmates who clipped them as they came across them in the recent years. If you happen to have saved any or a date of death, please send along the names and I will advise if we have them or not.
Photos! Here are a couple from our senior class play.
Do you recognize these photogenic people?
Well, the one in the dress is photogenic. That is Sarah Belcia Yates and yours truly. The one below is of Nancy Grauer, Bobby Rios, and again, yours truly.
What I especially like about this photo are the two pictures hanging on the walls, left and right. The left photo is my mother’s first cousin and the one on the right is my great aunt. I think Mrs. Mac designated them Sarah Bernhard and Isadora Duncan.
One sad thing: IF you notice in both photos, there is a mike on the floor to pick up and amplify the sound. However, it was only an aid for thespians in those days. Mrs. Mac taught us to project, using our diaphragms to expel the sound out the body to the back of the auditorium. If you have been to any theater presentation recently, everyone has a battery pack and body mike, usually looking like some facial disfiguration. And the sound is amplified to overload the ear drums.
The same is true at any music venue—major over amplification to assault the senses. Somewhere along the line, people began to equate loudness with quality. We were recently invited along to hear the Irish Tenors at the Majestic. I could have stood across the street at the Gunter Hotel and heard them.
Does anyone remember these?