Reunion II

I spent five full days, then, (Wednesday August 25-Sunday August 29) in the Menlo Park area. I actually watched the movie The Ghostwriter when I arrived on Tuesday evening, but since it featured one ghostwriter who had been bumped off and another who died at the end, I didn't take too much comfort in it (even though I haven't ever "ghosted" any significant amount of work). Yet, it was just the kind of rather mindless thriller that I needed after so many hours of pain. I knew that the Cape Cod scenes were not really Cape Cod/Nantucket scenes, since there really isn't a straight road that is empty and goes for so many miles over there... Indeed, the flora seemed quite different from Cape flora, too. My suspicions were confirmed when I looked it up and discovered that most of the movie was filmed on the island of Usenow, between Germany and Poland, and on the island of Sylt in the Baltic. Yes, the foliage of the movie looked a little more "tundra-like" than comparable Massachusetts foliage. Then, I realized that it couldn't have been filmed in the states, since director Roman Polanski can't show his face in this country without being arrested.

The Rest of the Week

On Wednesday I spoke to the Menlo Park Rotary Club on one of my new books (Word Wealth: 300 Words for Pleasure and Profit--2010) and was warmly received. My invitation was due to a long-standing acquaintance, now developing into a friendship, with Mark Flegel of Flegel's Home Furnishings in Menlo Park. Mark and I first met in the early 1970s when he was a doctoral student in philosophy, studying with Dallas Willard, at USC. His thoughtful demeanor and desire to have an ethical grounding for action impressed me at the time--and still impresses me.

I attribute my warm reception at the club not only to Mark's kind words about me but to something I call the "creativity factor." Here is what I mean. I am realizing that I have spent the last 20 years in places that don't really "fit" me or, alternatively said, in places I don't really "fit." Why? I am a generative and creative intellect, and the places I have lived are not very affirming of creativity or invention in thought. For example, out of 10 people in my current environment, I would say that one or two are creative, though another two or three appreciate creativity. The other half just wonder what the hell you are doing; they can't really "get" it. But my perception of the Bay Area, where I graduated from high school in 1970, is very different. There I imagine that four to five out of ten people are creative and the rest appreciate it. So, I didn't have to explain myself or defend myself on why it might be a good idea to improve your vocabulary as you present yourself to the world. People laughed at my humor, asked me questions about words, were genuinely interested in picking up a book and wanted me to autograph them. Wow. I think I need to move back to the Bay Area--at least that is what I was thinking through most of the weekend.

I enjoyed a pleasant dinner and wide-ranging conversation that night with Mark at a local restaurant that had been featured in the Wall Street Journal. Before I forget it, I also reconnected with Mark's father, Art, while in Menlo Park. Art is still active and spry at 93. He led us in a rousing chorus of "It's A Grand Old Flag" at Rotary. I didn't know it previously but Art, of good North Dakota stock (wasn't everyone in this country born between 1900 and 1920 born in the Dakotas?), helped found the society which I first discovered in Kansas in the 1990s: The American Historical Society of Germans from Russia. There are lots of 'em on the Plains, let me tell you....

Oh Yes, The Reunion

The next few days saw me renewing old friendships and making new acquaintances. Then, there were the reunion celebrations. I attended three things: a Friday-night get together (6-9) at a home on Middle Avenue; the Saturday night dinner/dance/great conversation at the Crowne Plaza Cabana in Palo Alto (6-midnight) and then a Sunday (10-2) time with Ginny and Ron, special friends from those years, whom I hadn't seen in 40 years....maybe I saw Ron once in college. I remember not being apprehensive in the least about rejoining people I hadn't seen in 40 years.

Many things happened, however, which I didn't anticipate and those things I anticipated generally didn't happen. The major realization I had over the weekend was that I was only in Menlo Park/Atherton for three years in my growing up (1967-70; graduating from HS in 1970), and that most of the people there probably had known each other for many of the 15 years prior to 1967. Thus, it was as if I was coming into a situation I had only partially known, even though I was "visible" in high school--an athlete, student body treasurer, good student, student council, etc. In fact, after I returned from the reunion, I looked up what would have been my graduating HS class had I remained in Darien CT (where I grew up from 1952-67). I realized they, too, just had a 40th reunion, though earlier in August than my Menlo-Atherton reunion. I scanned the list of Darien attendees, and I realized that I personally knew and had delicious and interesting stories of at least 1/2 of the people on the list...while I only recognized the names of probably about 20 percent of those on my own high school reunion list. That was a new learning for me.

That meant that a lot of the weekend was spent checking name tags and saying to people, "I don't think we met in high school, but I am Bill Long." The people I seemed to know or remember best were my football buddies, since they were the first people I really encountered when I arrived early in September 1967. But, as luck would have it, we seemed to have little in common these days, while the people I tended to resonate with were those that I hadn't met in high school. For example, I had good conversations with several of the "AP English girl-type," though I wasn't in AP English. Why? I think it was because we arrived late and that the classes were "full." So, it worked out that those I connected with best at the reunion were, in general, people I hadn't met previously. A few of the guys, who had gone on to some sterling successes, were known to me, but even though we exchanged friendly greetings and had intelligent conversations, I could tell that there was little chance we would end up in each other's "orbits" in the future.

One of the interesting experiences shared independently by several people (I know because I talked to several about this), was that people didn't sleep especially well on Friday evening, as a series of jumbled reminiscences competed for attention in the brain. People were thrown back to the late 1960s and then whipsawed back to the present in their dreams. I, too, had some of those dreams, though I don't recall the content of them right now.

Which left me with my two Sunday-morning friends. I had gone to the Junior Prom with Ginny 41 years ago, and we still remember the occasion fondly. She and I speak easily and enjoy each other's presence and, indeed, I think she is a special person (teaching middle school math for 28 years is a rather stunning achievement!). Ron and I also had a great reunion. He had a high "nerd factor" in high school, but that was perhaps the reason I liked him. He was Christian and earnest and energetic and humble. He still has all those traits in 2010, though he has jettisoned his simplistic Evangelical view of the world and has adopted a much more nuanced spirituality.

Returning Home

My return trip to Oregon was a memorable one, because I decided to do it in two days. The first day I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge (thank you, it was less than 60 degrees when I crossed it at about 8:45 a.m. on Monday, August 30), continued up 101 to Eureka and then, just after Arcata, took 299 East towards Redding. My plan was to take state route 96 from Willow Creek (about 38 miles East of Eureka) North, winding through the Six Rivers National Forest and the Southern Siskiyous until it dumped me out on I-5 just North of Yreka CA. The people in that part of the world say that they are from the "State of Jefferson," but I will still call it California. I also wanted to take route 96 because it would help me relive a mission trip of which I was a part in, if I recall properly, Spring 1968. The youth group of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church decided, on Spring Break, to help a little church with some work on the Hoopa Indian Reservation in Hoopa, CA. Since I had already experienced one great culture shock upon moving from CT to CA during the "Summer of Love" in 1967, I figured that another culture shock to an Indian Reservation would be just what the doctor ordered. I had only the vaguest recollection of my trip to the Hoopa Reservation; indeed, the only thing fixed firmly in my mind was the Klamath River and, interestingly, the names of some of the surrounding towns (Orleans, Weitchpec, Somes Bar, Happy Camp, etc.). I drove through the area, heading North, amazed at the beauty and remoteness of the surroundings.

On to Oregon

When I arrived in Happy Camp (and I chose to do some reading on the area after I returned, learning all sorts of interesting facts about the history of the area), I saw a little sign about the size of a man's hand that said "O'Brien 38." Most would ignore it and continue on route 96, but I realized that the sign was pointing to a little-traveled road, closed in the winter, that wended its way through the mountains to come out to O'Brien OR, in the vicinity of the Oregon caves. All of a sudden, I realized that if I took this route, I not only would have a window into the "backside" of the Siskiyous, but I would also shave about two hours off my trip to Grants Pass, where I spent the night. So, on I went towards O'Brien, taking a right, however, before that town and getting over to Cave Junction, which is just a short distance from Grants Pass (the moniker/nickname of the Grants Pass high school teams is still he "Cavemen.."). My evening in Grants Pass was uneventful but, after all, I expected it to be so and would have been quite surprised had it turned out to be anything but uneventful.

I finished my trip with a lunch in Eugene and a meeting with my son. Thus, my times with my son sandwiched a week-long trip--life can't get much better than that. I returned to my old digs here in Salem, happy to be back in a predictable schedule (for about three weeks), but a bit restless in my life. Chinese is good, indeed very good; Tibetan is also good; and I will begin Sanskrit late in September. Writing on words is engaging; studying autism is interesting and challenging; but something seems to be missing here in river city.

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