Paradise Discovered

I served in the United States Peace Corps in a Poultry Husbandry Project in Kerala and Mysore States, in South India from 1966 to 1968. Most of my training for that assignment took place at a Peace Corps training facility in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands. Near the end of that training, the events described in the following letter took place. These events took place during personal, free time and do not represent typical training experiences nor do they represent typical Peace Corps service experiences.

Letter to Family from Camp Croix, Peace Corps Training Site, St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, September 22, 1966

Dear Mom and Dad,

This past weekend was unforgettable and exciting. Forgive me if I wax poetic. I told you my pals and I were planning a sailing trip for this weekend. By Friday afternoon we still hadn't heard whether the boat would be available. We had about given up. Then at 3:00 PM Friday, the fellow who was arranging the charter popped into camp and said we could leave as soon as we could get to the boat. Surprised, we told him we would have six guys at the boat ready to leave at 7:00 PM. He said he would inform the skipper and everything would be ready. No problem, Mon.

We got food together to last from Saturday to Monday on the boat. Each of us packed a few things in a bag and we arrived at the boat by seven o’clock. When we got there, there were no signs of life and the boat did not appear to be ready to depart. The owner lived nearby so we went to his house. He said neither he nor the skipper had been informed that the boat had been chartered. We were puzzled. The owner said it would be impossible to leave that night but if we wanted to sleep on the boat we could leave at daybreak. That evening, one of the guys supplemented our provisions with a five-gallon jug of Italian red wine purchased from a local wine smuggler. The last essential ingredient had fallen into place.

At 6:00 AM Saturday we set sail on the 30 ft. sloop, "Stormy Weather," for two of the British Virgin Islands, Tortola and Virgin Gorda, forty miles north through open seas. Our skipper, Flavien Richardson, alias "No No,” was the very same wiry little Negro sailor from the island of St. Martin who had been our skipper on another charter a few weeks ago. He had taken us for our snorkeling outing to Buck Island. The rest of the crew consisted of Bryan, Mike, Paul, Dan, Larry and me; all of us fellow trainees headed for Kerala, India and new but already close friends. We wanted to visit the other islands to see Peace Corps trainees from the Gujarat-bound group who were doing field training there.

At about 9:00 AM we ate a big breakfast of ham and eggs, which we prepared in the ship's galley. All day Saturday we spent sailing in calm seas, the gently rolling waves rocking and swaying us as we slowly gained our sea legs. No No sat at the helm controlling the tiller with his bare foot while he strummed his guitar and sang French Calypso songs that told of the sea and youth and love.

By late afternoon we reached the cluster of islands that includes St. John and St. Thomas, the other two American Virgin Islands, the British Virgin Islands and other small West Indian islands.

As the beautiful red sun set behind the islands and night began to fall we put in at Tortola Harbor, twelve hours after we had left St Croix. (It takes twenty minutes by plane but I would rather sail any day.)

There on the dock in Roadtown, the capital of Tortola, with a population of eight thousand, the local taxis were waiting for us. Our cabbie knew where the Peace Corps people were living so we commenced to surprise them one by one. As we drove, we gathered them up and took them back with us to a Roadtown bar to party and swap stories. We had a joyful reunion. Though our friendships were all in their infancy, and though we had only been separated for a very short time, we were most happy to see each other. The fact that the group on Tortola included all of the single females may have been a factor. We drank and sang and talked past midnight. Part of our little crew then returned to the boat where some spent the night. Others of us stayed with friends on the island.

Tortola was a much smaller island than St. Croix, and had been much less spoiled by tourists. The British influence was reflected in the conservative style of dress and in the school system and local government. The only street in Roadtown was very narrow and was lined by little open-air shops of every description. There were no sidewalks so vehicles, people, cows, pigs, goats, chickens and donkeys shared the road. The countryside was green, lush and hilly and there were many coconut-palm-fringed beaches. A service offered for passersby on the roadsides by local islanders along the coconut groves was to climb the trees, pick coconuts fresh and slice them open with a sharp machete. The sweet coconut milk was a cool and refreshing thirst quencher and was offered at a very reasonable price.

The next morning at sun-up five of our friends from Tortola joined our crew as we again set sail, this time for Virgin Gorda to see the sights and visit more Peace Corps friends. This island was twelve miles away and was clearly visible the whole trip. Now islands surrounded us. We had a good wind. The sails were full. The warm sun was shining down and spirits were high. It was good to be with these people to whom I had become so attached in so short a time.

As we neared Virgin Gorda I saw the most beautiful of the Caribbean islands I had seen so far. Her shore was lined with enormous boulders thirty to forty feet in diameter. The water was the bluest and the most transparent I had ever seen. Her beaches had the purest, whitest sand you could imagine. They were thickly fringed with tall coconut palms. We put into the dock at Virgin Gorda at 11:00 AM, five hours after we departed Tortola. Again, every taxi driver on the island must have seen us coming because they were all lined up at the dock waiting for us as we tied up. This time we couldn’t oblige them however, since the house we were going to was just a couple hundred yards from the dock.

First, we wanted to visit Don and Katy Peek. We knew where they lived because one of the guys in the Tortola group had been to visit them once, already. When we got to their house they were not there. The neighbors told us they had gone to the Harvest Festival on the other side of the island, which was accessible only by boat. It would have taken much too long for us to sail, but since the neighbors said they expected the Peeks back in the early afternoon, we decided to see a little of the island and come back to their house later.

We had been told that the one thing we should not miss while on Virgin Gorda was “The Baths.” We first went back to the boat and got our swimming and snorkeling gear, hailed a taxi, (thirty cents took you anywhere a road went on the island,) and asked him to take us to The Baths. The cabbie drove us to the end of the road and from there we walked about one hundred yards down a narrow, winding, rocky path to reach our destination. If Heaven exists on earth it is at the end of that path! Those gigantic rocks, gouged and sculptured by the sea over thousands of years, the pure white sand, the shade from the coconut palms and tropical vines, combined to provide a setting that can only by described as idyllic.

We explored the crevasses and passageways and the secluded pools for which the site was named. We waded in the pleasantly warm, thigh and waste-deep pools with the soft sand under our feet, protected on all sides and above by the large boulders. We climbed to the top of the rocks where we could look out on the sea and down that magnificent rocky shore. We followed local tradition and wrote our names on the broad leaves of a large tree where hundreds of visitors before us had done likewise, the significance being that whoever wrote his name on one of those leaves would surely return to The Baths on another day.

We donned our snorkeling gear and explored the gorgeously colored coral reefs and the underwater passageways. We swam along with spectacular tropical fish of every size, color, shape and pattern. Then we lay on that white sand and soaked in the sun’s warm rays. When we grew too hot we sat in the shade of a big rock and feasted on an exquisite banquet of visual pleasure all around us. My words could not begin to describe the beauty of that place. Part of its mystique was its seclusion. On that day, nobody was there in that earthly paradise but us.

Hours flew by like minutes and soon it was time to return to Don and Katy’s. This time they were home. They were surprised and pleased to see us and it was great to see them. They joined us for dinner at a nearby restaurant and we continued our visit.

It was getting late and we wanted to get started on our way home before sunset so we could still catch a good breeze to help us out of the harbor. The Tortola bunch left first, flying back to their island, a six-minute, three-dollar flight, but with none of the romance of the sail.

Don and Katy walked us to the dock and we set sail for St. Croix at 6:00 PM. They stood on the dock waving as we sailed off into the setting sun. The mountainous islands to the west were silhouetted by the red sun sinking into the ocean beyond, and were framed by the powder puff clouds above which were transformed into giant billows of flame by the sun’s reflection. As darkness fell I lay on the deck gazing up at the crescent moon and a million twinkling stars, a vision framed by the mainsail and the jib. The warm Caribbean tried gently, and sometimes not so gently, to rock me to sleep. As the moonlight shone on luminous specs in the crystal clear water at each side of the boat it seemed as though we were stirring up diamonds as we cut our homeward path. No No beckoned Suzie, the south wind, to come down and get her face wet, “Wake up Suzie, you gotta blow us on home now.”

At 7:30 AM Monday six weary, bedraggled and sunburned “brothers of the sea” landed back on St. Croix. I felt so very happy, but so totally inadequate to describe that magic forty-eight hours from Saturday to Monday. And, I felt that this was only the beginning of an adventure so grand and so exciting. My heart was full.

Love,
Don

Excerpts from The Immoralist by Andre' Gide

Excerpts from The Immoralist by Andre' Gide

"To know how to free oneself is nothing; the arduous thing is to know what to do with one's freedom."

Speaking of his marriage, "I pledged my life before I knew what the possibilities of life were."

Of his mother's teaching, "I did not then suspect how great a hold the early moral lessons of our childhood take on one, nor what marks they leave upon the mind."

In first realizing a fear of death, "What was the reason for my fear, my horror now? Alas! It was because I had begun to love life."

"He it was whom I thenceforward set out to discover - that authentic creature, 'the old Adam,' whom the Gospel had repudiated, whom everything about me - books, masters, parents, and I myself - had begun by attempting to suppress. And he was already coming into view, still in the rough and difficult of discovery, thanks to all that overlay him, but so much more worthy to be discovered, so much the more valorous. Thenceforward I despised the secondary creature, the creature who was due to teaching, whom education had painted on the surface. These overlays had to be shaken off."

"And yet I should not have been able to say what I meant by 'living,' nor whether the very simple secret of my trouble was not that I had acquired a taste for a more spacious, breezier life, one that was less hemmed in, less regardful of others; . . . It was rather, for the first time, the consciousness of my own worth. What separated me - distinguished me - from other people was crucial; what no one said, what no one could say but myself, that it was my task to say."

His friend Me'nalque is speaking, "But most of them believe that it is only by constraint they can get any good out of themselves, and so they live in a state of psychological distortion. It is his own self that each of them is most afraid of resembling. Each of them sets up a pattern and imitates it; he doesn't even choose the pattern he imitates; he accepts a pattern that has been chosen for him . . .. The part in each of us that we feel is different from other people is just the part that is rare, the part that makes our special value - and that is the very thing people try to suppress."

Me'nalque continues, "Of the thousand forms of life, each of us can know but one. It is madness to envy other people's happiness; one would not know what to do with it. Happiness won't come to one ready-made; it has to be made to measure."

And, " . . . I do not want to recollect; I should be afraid of preventing the future and of allowing the past to encroach on me. It is out of the utter forgetfulness of yesterday that I create every new hour's freshness. It is never enough for me to have been happy. I do not believe in dead things and cannot distinguish between being no more and never having been."

Michel speaking, "What Marceline gave me, what she stood for in my eyes, was like rest to a man who is not tired."

"The smiling harmony once mine is mine no longer . . .. No longer do I know what dark mysterious God I serve. O great new God! Grant me the knowledge of other newer races, unimagined types of beauty."

At the end, "This objectless liberty is a burden to me . . .. It is not, believe me, that I am tired of my crime - if you choose to call it that - but I must prove to myself that I have not overstepped my rights."

Peace Corps India-33 37th Year Reunion

Florence & Bryan McFadden, our hosts

Lobsterfest: Michal, Paul, Mike, Ruth, Bryan's Mom (Guest of Honor)

Lynn Brown & Mike Thorburn







Kerala PCV's, only
Paul, Bryan, Tom --Bob H., Don, Ken, Mike --Wally, Larry

Mike Berry, Ken French & Paul Stefanacci

Mike Thorburn & Will Guazzaloca

Ladies, only
Those in traditional Indian garb, only
PCV's, only

Bob Hanson, Don Clement & Tom McGarry

Bryan McFadden, Ruth (Kister) Berry & Hugh Brown

Alpheen (Thekaekara) Menachery & Paul Stefanacci
Paul Stefanacci & Hugh Brown

Paul Stefanacci, Diane Clement, Bob Alexander & Will Guazzaloca

Merlyn (Thekaekara) Fernandez, Don Clement & Will Guazzaloca
Will, Merlyn, Larry, Florence & Alpheen
Bryan McFadden

Alpheen, Paul, Merlyn & Don

JoAnn (Vogel) Skutch & Alpheen (Thekaekara) Menachery
Bryan McFadden & Wally Tyner

Mike Berry, JoAnn (Vogel) Skutch & Larry Evans

Alpheen (Thekaekara) Menachery, Bryan McFadden & Paul Stefanacci

Candee Evans, Diane Clement, Paul & Michal Stefanacci
Tom McGarry & Larry Evans

INDIA-33 37TH YEAR REUNION
September 9-11, 2005
(Diane’s observations in blue)

Independence Air is a great discount airline. There are no frills to be sure. But their fleet consists of small planes that deplane in about 15 minutes. If your carry-on baggage doesn't fit in the overhead, they just throw it in the back of the plane in the cargo area. Since they aren't a huge airline, they only have a few gates, so there’s no need to be in what is usually the busiest part of most big airports. They are really not bad for short flights. It took us one hour from Charleston to Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C. Then it took forty-five minutes from D.C. to Newark. It was just super. And, they hire women with big butts. I felt at home.

I made a most ungraceful arrival at Newark Airport. I decided, when confronted with descending the escalator to the baggage claim area, to roll my luggage before rather than behind me. Upon reaching the bottom, my luggage wheels became stuck in the escalator grate. With my bags at my feet blocking my way and the escalator continuing to move me forward, (ala, “What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?”) I started to tumble forward over my bags. Diane was close behind me and stepped around me, unhurt. Somehow I then fell backwards coming down hard on my right pelvic bone. Immediately people rushed to rescue me. I managed to get back up on my feet quickly, gathered up my bags, and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. I ended up with a bruise on my bottom and one on my ego. Ruth and Mike, who were to pick us up, were outside and saw none of this. I would have been embarrassed had they witnessed my fall. (Like, “Wow! He’s not aging well. Is he?”)

The India-33 people have to be the nicest, kindest people I have ever met. Don and I didn't even need to rent a car. Outside, we found the Berry’s and climbed into their rental car. Ruth and Mike drove an hour each way from Bryan’s house to deliver us to the event. They had flown in the day before from California.

Trying to find our way out of the airport and onto the Garden State Parkway became another comedy of errors. The highway signs might just as well have been written in Sanskrit. They were so confusing! After circling the airport three times and taking numerous wrong turns we got on the right road and proceeded to Bay Head.

We arrived at the McFadden’s at about 1:30 PM on that perfect Friday afternoon. Bryan greeted us with hugs as we stepped onto the back yard deck. I spied Paul and Michal Stefanacci seated at the patio table and soon there was another round of hugs. Hugs abounded throughout the weekend. Soon Florence appeared, then Alpheen Thekaekara Menachery and her husband, Prem. And, on and on. Throughout the day and into the evening people kept arriving: Larry and Candee Evans, Mike Thorburn and his partner Will, JoAnn and RickVogel-Skutch, Merlyn Thekaekara Fernandez, Carol Reichert and her partner Susan, Lark Stevens, Tom Carter, Tom McGarry, Wally Tyner, Bob Hanson, Neal and Judy Barille, Hugh and Lynn Brown, Richard and Linda Schaye, Ken and Yvonne French and Bob Alexander and his wife, Julie.

The remarkable thing, to use Mike Thorburn’s words, was that we all seemed to carry on where we had left off at mid-sentence thirty-seven years ago. It was as if someone had clicked the “pause” button on the remote control in 1968 and clicked “play” again in 2005. Everyone seemed so comfortable. There were no strangers among us, including spouses. Diane hit it off with everybody. They all loved her wit and humor.

Now, I’m not saying that if any of us had passed any other of us on the sidewalk we would even have done a double take. But, once the gray hair, turkey wattles, extra weight and other outward signs of “maturity” were conveniently incorporated into our perceptions, we would have known us anywhere.

The moments spent chatting with these friends from my youth were so special. I didn’t want to pull myself away even to use the bathroom. There was so much love that I’m sure the glow from the McFadden’s back yard must have been visible from Space.

When we arrived at the house, everyone came running to see Donald. I have never seen anything like it. The women kissed on him, the men hugged him. He was in his glory, happy as a clam.

Paul was once a physical therapist and is now doing massage. I had a terrible headache and he gave me a very good massage that ended my headache for the entire weekend. He and Michal flew in from Colorado.

Bryan truly loves Don. He told me several times that Don got him through the depression and homesickness that all of the volunteers experienced while away from their families for two years.

JoAnn was another one that truly loves Don. She had a wonderful wit. She remembered when they were in training and housed in huts; the single women would go into Don's hut every night and kiss him on his forehead and tuck him in. She and Rick live in New York City. Jo Ann could easily be my best friend; I thought she was a hoot.

Larry Evans wasn't there when we arrived, although he and Candy had arrived from Seattle the day before. He cried when he saw Don for the first time and when he said goodbye.

Both of Tom McGarry’s adult boys were born with Muscular Dystrophy. Chris just passed away and Matt is in the end stages. Tom’s wife didn't come because she stayed with Matt. Good old Tom, just another wonderful guy.

Only one volunteer has passed away of the group and all but three, John Anderson, Ed Collins and Paul Parker, came to New Jersey for the party. There were 34 of us. Many of the guys came alone but just as many brought their spouses.

Two of the neatest Indian women, Alpheen and Merlyn, were there. Their parents, George and Marian Thekaekara, were the volunteers' language instructors in St. Croix. In India, they opened their home to the group and comforted them when they needed family interaction. The women were 18 and 19 years old at the time and remembered every thing about the Peace Corps folks. George had planned to come from India, but he passed away a month ago at the age of 89. Merlyn and Alpheen loved their dad and were so proud of both of their parents. These two with the help of Alpheen’s husband, Prem, cooked South Indian food all weekend long, in great quantity. The food was wonderful and was eaten as fast as they could prepare it. Alpheen and Prem live in Boston. Both of them are very bright with wonderful personalities. Merlyn lives in Malaysia and is widowed; she is a doctor. I gave her the prize for coming the farthest. She kept telling me she loved my personality. Both of them remembered almost everything about Don; both told me how their parents loved him.

Carol Reichert and her partner Susan have bought a house in Gujarat and spend quite a bit of time there with Carol’s adopted family.

Mike Thorburn and his partner, Will, live in San Francisco. Will lost his leg in a terrible automobile accident and Mike hung in there with him.

After dining on mutton biriyani and tandoori barbequed chicken we cleared the table and assembled the entourage in the dining room. Ruth had solicited trivia questions prior to the reunion and prepared index cards, each with a question. John Anderson had contributed some of the question, some were from Ruth and some were mine. A competition ensued pitting one side of the room against the other. Larry and Alpheen quickly emerged as their team’s most valuable players. Hilarity followed when, jogged by the trivia questions, our memories flickered to life with related humorous events. I played “game-show host” and am told that my performance was superb. So, what did you expect?

Friday evening after everyone else had either gone to bed or back to their hotels, Diane and Bryan and I sat out on the deck in the cool night air talking and drinking wine until 2 AM. I think Diane felt nearly as close to Bryan as I did. She was welcome to sit and remember with me and my other best friend. This guy from my deep past is like no other friend I’ve ever had or will ever have.

Saturday morning, I was up early and showered and then it was over to the house for coffee. Diane and I bunked in one room of the guest cottage, Mike and Will in the other. Alpheen and Prem were already busy preparing the dosa; authentic south Indian masala dosa. Is it possible for it to get any better than this? I don’t think so. We all picked up where we had left off the night before.

Don and his Peace Corps group raised over $10,000 to send to the fishing villages of South India that were totally wiped out in the Tsunami. Alpheen and Merlyn’s brother, Stan, who still lives in India and works to help the poor fishermen there, traveled down the coast to see what they needed the most. Alpheen brought pictures to show us where the money went. Not one dime went to administrative costs and what was accomplished was really cool.

These fishermen understand how to fish the waters to catch every type of fish that is in their diets. Some of the money bought wood. Big fishing boats were built and painted in bright colors to support those who do the fishing near the coast. Medium size boats were made for fishing closer to shore and a large boat was purchased for deep-sea fishing.

New houses were built for the fishermen and their families. These were made of wood and thatch and designed with the kitchen in a location convenient to both the inside and the outside. This is what the people wanted. They didn't need anything fancy.

Bolts of colorful cloth were purchased and the women made wonderful clothes from the fabric.

The sensitivity that was used to bring back these fishing villages was the best part. These people live simply and they like it that way. The fishing economy is a fragile one.

I say Kudos for Don and Bryan’s hard work in raising the money. This also began the hunting down of volunteers that lost touch over the years. Once Don, Ruth and Bryan found each of the volunteers, the idea of the reunion began.

At lunchtime Ruth herded us all to the deck for a roundtable discussion of the changes that have taken place in India since 1968. Several members of the group had been back for visits. It was very informative and enjoyable to hear the various accounts from different perspectives.

Alpheen and Prem were preparing an Indian feast assisted by several worker bees. The smells were of pungent Indian spices and exotic ingredients and were a portent of things to come.

As the group began to reconvene for dinner some of the guests appeared in traditional Indian garb: Exquisite saris, brightly colored Punjabi dresses and scarves. Paul was the only male to appear in a lungi, the typical wrap around garment worn by Malayalee men. Then it was group photo time; Gujaratis only, Keralites only, native garb only, women only, spouses only.

A feast fit for a maharajah was served buffet-style. It was a treat not only for the palette, but also for the eyes and nose. Large bowls and platters of rice dishes, dals, curried meats, pappadams, yogurt and mango salsa were spread before us. We scattered throughout the house to wherever there was sitting space to devour our meal and continue our fellowship.

Still stuffed from our sumptuous repast, once again we cleared the table and gathered around the edges of the dining room. Ruth made a few remarks, explaining the special photo albums we put together for the families of our deceased friends, Dan Foley and George Thekaekara. She went on to introduce Merlyn’s entertainment. Merlyn kept the audience in stitches as she performed a skit in which she played the parts of Indians from various states. For each character, she used the appropriate Indian-English dialect. Who knew she was so multi-talented?

And then the spotlight was on me, again. I spoke from notes I had prepared a few days before. I did a little reminiscing, a few jokes about our advanced age, remembered George and Dan and read my Top Ten Reasons You Know It’s Been 37 Years Since We’ve Been Together. Again, I am told, my performance was stunning. It’s amazing what being with a crowd of very old friends can do for one’s ego. Here’s my speech:

INDIA-33 REUNION GALA
September 9th through 11th, 2005
Don Clement – Master of Ceremonies

It is, in deed, my great honor to be the Master of Ceremonies on this auspicious occasion. As I look across the room I don’t see a single face that I recognize. Who are you people and what are you doing at my reunion? Who would have thought in 1968 that thirty-seven years later I would be here with all these senior citizens reminiscing about those wonderful two years we spent together in our youth?

In 1968 we had never heard of HIV/AIDS, open-heart surgery, cholesterol and triglicerides, antioxidants and omega-3 oils, CT Scans and MRI’s, PC’s, laptops, scanners, iPods and xBoxes. Add to that list IMAX, surround sound, Dolby digital, VCR’s, CD’s, cell phones and DVD’s. Hell, we had just been introduced to 8-Tracks and cassette recorders. Technicolor and air conditioning hadn’t been around that long. It was a simpler time in a slightly safer world.

Who can forget the orange sun setting into the Arabian Sea from the rooftop terrace of the Sea Lord Hotel, the shrimp nets and fishing boats silhouetted in the foreground? Who remembers the feast of suckling pig at the Royal Hotel on the beach at Goa? The pig, moments earlier, had run, squealing, across our feet in the barroom. Another evening on that same beach we dined on freshly caught lobster. And then there was the girl who could uncap a beer bottle with her teeth. Who can forget? The Gujarat group, that’s who. Hopefully, they have their own whole set of romanticized memories to ponder.

Remember the bus ride on our arrival in India from the airport to our hotel in New Delhi? I remember the throngs of people and animals lining the road, and in the road; the sites, the smells the sounds; bicycles, rickshaws, bullock carts, cows, goats, chickens, horns blowing, bells clanging, beggars; culture shock; the hurried trip to Agra by car; the long train ride to Trivandrum; the whirlwind tour of Kerala; and finally, the arrival at our respective farms.

After weeks and months of preparations, visits and correspondence with the Junior Engineers, District Engineers and Panchayat Presidents, our first batch of baby White Leghorn chicks arrived and we felt that at last our mission had really begun. Names like Thomas, Menon and Nambiar became part of our daily vocabulary.

When we needed to recharge our batteries and have a home-cooked meal, our adoptive family, the Thekaekaras, was there in Banswadi with open arms. Their family was our family, George and Marian, their beautiful and brilliant daughters, Merlyn and Alpheen, their handsome and bright sons, Stan and Phillip. George planned on being here with us this weekend. Somehow, I think he is. We are all better people because we were fortunate enough to know him. Our buddy, Dan Foley, is also missed. But, I’d like to think that his spirit is here with us, as well.

So many memories. Bob Alexander kept us “connected” with his annual holiday newsletter up through 1986 and I thank him for it. Let’s find a way to stay in touch now. Maybe someone in our midst will carry the torch. I hope so.

In closing, (applause, applause), I leave you with the:

TOP TEN REASONS YOU KNOW IT’S BEEN NEARLY 40 YEARS SINCE WE WERE ALL TOGETHER
Ø 10. You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.
Ø 9. You buy a compass for the dash of your car/truck.
Ø 8. You are proud of your lawn mower.
Ø 7. Your best friend is dating someone half his or her age, and isn't breaking any laws.
Ø 6. People call at 9:00 PM and ask, "Did I wake you?"
Ø 5. Your ears are hairier than your head.
Ø 4. You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
Ø 3. You got cable for The Weather Channel.
Ø 2. You're asleep, but others worry that you're dead.
Ø 1. You talk about "good grass" and you're referring to someone's lawn.
Being here with you all this weekend has been like traveling back in time and it’s been grand. And, we owe Bryan and Florence a great debt of gratitude for making their home and hospitality available to us. Bryan and Florence, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
After supper and festivities, another round of one-on-one and small group conversations ensued; waxing nostalgic and catching up on thirty-seven years of living. Gradually the crowd grew smaller as the evening waned, and eventually Diane, Bryan and I found ourselves the last ones standing. Again, we talked and sipped wine until the wee hours of the morning before finally giving in to our heavy eyelids.

Sunday morning brought more hot coffee, fresh masala dosas, bagels, pastries and Bryan’s own creation, an egg, cheese and sausage dish. Everything was delicious. Slowly, people began to say their farewells, followed by more hugs and promises to stay in touch. Finally it was time for Diane and I and Ruth and Mike to head back to the Newark Airport.

Don & Zoey