More memories
Posted Thursday, September 4, 2014 09:36 PM

Since there is little participation in the Public Discussions section of this site, I will add another of my two-cents worth.

As the years slip away behind me, well counted, and I trudge along into the uncountable years before me, I find myself at peace with who I am and where I am. I trust that each of you can relate to that experience. I sincerely hope that you can.

The memories that linger in the dusty corners of my mind bring a sense of satisfaction, peace and pride. Satisfaction in who and where I am and satisfaction in being at peace with life. I am especially proud of being a part of the “Class of 57, PAHS.” We didn’t set the world on fire with our brilliance and wisdom nor did we drag it into the gutter. I think we left it better than we found it. It is no longer the peaceful place we knew, in our time. Perhaps I should say, ‘in our Prime.’

We have passed the torch to the next generation, which in turn has passed it to their next generation who will soon pass it along, once again. I really do think we left it better than we found it. I don’t think those who follow us can make that claim. This is my opinion, not a contention.

There are so many memories that surface when I think about my youth. Especially when I think about my teen years. Many of you are in those memories.

There is a memory of a conversation in the locker-room after P.E. class between Bob Dickinson and Jerry Fry that brings a smile to my face.

A memory of Tim McDonald telling a of a hunting experience he had over the weekend before, and Joel Niemeyer’s  stunned reaction to something Tim had said. Another smile generator.

A memory of an incident involving Terry Dickerson and myself, also in the locker-room after PE. At the time, I was aggravated over the incident. Today I find it amusing.

I remember Dan Gresli’s surprise one day when I arrived at his house steering my ‘42’ DeSoto with a Crescent wrench.

I remember two carloads of us driving on the abandoned railroad right-of-way along the north side of Lake Crescent, through the tunnels and having to turn the cars around within the width of the road when we could not proceed further. I was driving one car and Ray Kinlock was driving the other one. We honked the horns in the tunnels, terrified the tunnels would collapse on us. (No wonder, we didn’t set the world on fire.)

I remember the girl with no lower jaw who attended school with us in Roosevelt, for a brief time. That memory makes me want to cry. I believe that girl is the bravest Human Being that I have ever encountered.

I remember one classmate, a girl whose parents owned a business in PA, who reacted condescendingly when I mentioned that my Dad was a Logger.

I remember one winter when the school administrators allowed the girls to wear jeans/pants/slacks, due to the cold weather. “They must be worn for warmth, not for eye appeal”, was the directive. Have you seen what kids wear to school, these days? Our teachers would have to have defibrillator implants if they were to teach today’s students.

A few years back, actually, quite a few years back, I was going back to my home in Seattle, following a truck with a very high load, driven by one of our classmates, that was taking out every traffic light as it headed east. I won’t tell you who was driving that truck but Tim McDonald might.

I remember that some of the girls on one of our classes voted Bob Earl as the handsomest boy and Jimmy Singer as the cutest boy in the class. The rest of us boys were non-contenders.

I remember trying to get the engine in my ‘34’ chev running, in my dad’s shop one evening when Bill Webber and his dad stopped by for some reason. Bill’s dad got that car running in just a few minutes. To just say that I was impressed would be monumental understatement.

I remember the first time Bob Dickinson called Mr. Freeman, the band Director, “Pappy.” In my book, that took some gonads.

I remember when, as I remember it, Dan Gresli, Louie Spicer, Stuart Springer and myself were driving up on the Black Diamond Road one winter day. I was driving my ‘42’ DeSoto and there was snow on the road. On the way down from the Whiskey Creek summit, I lost control of the car and it went off the road, down a steep embankment. I don’t remember how we got back to town, but we did. I went to my dad and told I had run off the road and asked if I could use one of his logging trucks to pull the car back onto the road. He was NOT a happy camper but he did allow me to use a truck. We were just getting the car onto the road and my dad drove up. He couldn’t take the suspense any longer. If I had told him there was snow on the road, I think that car would still be there. But, we got it home and we all lived to do even dumber things before we finally got our acts together. Life as a teenager was awesome. Life as an old Dude, still curious and still adventurous, is even better.

How about some of you folks putting fingers to keyboards to share some of your memories. Might talk to you later. Right now, I want to see what’s around the bend in my path, up ahead.

Peace, my friends.