I’ve
traversed another milestone of sorts. It’s been sixty years since I graduated
from high school. That thought came to mind when I gathered this summer, along
with former classmates, for our 60th class reunion. It was a quiet affair,
almost an afterthought, in its brevity and lack of formal proceedings. Yet a
glance at the list of those who had passed reminded all of us present that we
did make it to another one of life’s benchmarks.
Twenty
years earlier, our 40th class reunion was another quiet affair held in one of
the classrooms back on campus. Only a few of our classmates had died and the
rest of us were knee deep in work, raising kids, and just getting on with our
lives.
The
50th class reunion was much better organized with an initial meeting at the
school and then a gathering on the State Fairgrounds the next day. That second
day included spouses and partners which always made the conversations more
interesting.
Our
60th class reunion was held on a Saturday afternoon at a local ‘old school’
restaurant that was even older than my classmates. It was preceded by a golf
outing the day before for those of us who can still drive a golf cart and swing
hard at the little white ball. Even the invitation hinted at the fact that this
might have been our last class gathering.
Down
through the ages, say every ten years or so, I found it was fun to go back and
peruse my Class of ‘61 yearbook. Perhaps
it was my growing maturity that made the journey back in time so reflective. Those
sorties proved even more interesting for the budding writer in me. Oh, my, what
a life it was back then.
There
was a definite caste system in place at the school. We all knew who the elite
were among us. Since we were part of the ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corp)
program on campus, those gifted students were naturally the officers in our military
ranks.
A
glance at the two page spread of ‘most likely to succeed’ revealed an insider’s
guide to those in the know. For the rest
of us, perusing the yearbook proved a time capsule of moments and memories
which some of us shared and which left others feeling clueless. I was probably
wandering around in the middle of the pack.
Overall,
the yearbook has proven an invaluable tool to reconstruct moments out of my
past.
After
our 60th class reunion, several of my old classmates decided we needed a
physical memento of that milestone. They wanted to create a booklet entitled
‘Cretin Book of ’61.’ We all received a letter inviting us to write down our
memories of life at Cretin in a sentence or two. Recording my memories of high
school in a sentence or two seemed beyond impossible. So instead, I wrote the
following comments:
1.
My
best memories of Cretin have faded over time. They occurred in the classroom, hallways,
dining hall and home room. To summarize what Cretin meant to me I can only say:
2.
Extreme
introvert, raised in a single parent household, is given the chance of a
lifetime to attend Cretin High School. Although not on the college track, he graduated,
finished college, worked in television for many years before starting his own
business in video production and distribution.
3.
Finally
retired about twelve years ago, he started a new career as a writer of novels,
novellas, plays, screenplays, children’s books, and more than 600 blogs.
4.
Thank
you, Cretin.
They
probably won’t print my statement and that’s OK. It’s said and done and
complete. I’ve had a great life and my experiences at Cretin High School played
a large part of it.
Upon
reflection and exchanging war stories with a few of my classmates, I came to
realize that our class was really the end of an era for the school. Up until
that point, previous classes had all come out of the great depression, World
War Two, and the economic recovery of the fifties. But all of that was about to
change.
In
early 1957, more than six hundred eighth grade Catholic boys applied for only
325 spots in the 1957 freshman class of Cretin High School. As it turned out,
the senior class of 1961 was the last to choose from that large pool of
candidates
By
the mid-to-late fifties, Archbishop Brady had decided to expand the presence of
Catholic educational opportunities in the Twin Cities. This strategic decision,
along with the growth of first and second tier suburbs, effectively meant the
end to the availability of a large citywide pool of freshmen candidates for
Cretin.
Up
until that point, there were only a couple of Catholic High Schools in the Twin
Cities. St. Agnes, Delasalle, Cretin and St. Thomas Academy. Delasalle was in
Minneapolis. St. Agnes served the east side of town and was more conservative
than the others. That left Cretin and St. Thomas to dip into a large pool of
Catholic young men.
St.
Thomas Academy was located on the campus of the College of St. Thomas and
primarily served upper middle class and upper class families. Cretin drew from
a large pool of middle class, upper middle class families and those who filled
in the ranks of the non-college track as opposed to the college-bound track of
studies.
Unlike
a lot of my classmates, my school days were bookended by my twice-a-day paper
route, which for the most part, eliminated any afterschool activities or
sports. That didn’t mean I led a cloistered existence. I think I went through
all and even more than the normal calendar of emotions that are a part of any
high school experience.
Cretin
was a military school and that played a big part in the overall tough
discipline of the place. The fact that there were only male teachers and Christian
Brothers helped solidify that attitude and atmosphere.
Two
notable Christian Brothers highlighted the diversity on campus at that time.
Brother Wilfred and Brother K. Mark were both unique in their own way. Brother Wilfred, with his heavy German accent,
related to the average student. He openly smoked (strictly forbidden on campus)
in his uniform storage area and occasionally would let some errant student do
the same. He was approachable and understanding.
Brother
K. Mark, on the other hand, only associated with ‘the best and the brightest’.
He made no bones about the fact that he was one of the elite and would only
preen, prepared and indoctrinate those of his own social and intellectual
class. Needless to say, I didn’t qualify to be a part of that peeking order,
not even close.
At
the time, there were only two all-girl Catholic High Schools we thought to
mingle with; Our Lady of Peace and St. Joseph’s Academy. Both institutions
produced smart attractive young women and the sometimes object of our immature
lustful glances; at least from some of my classmates.
Coming
from a very dysfunctional background and a family structure devoid of love and
affection, I fell hard for my first girlfriend. Like so many high school
romances, it was a roller coaster of emotions best summarized by her poignant
comments in my yearbook just before the whole thing crashed and burned.
I
find it remarkable (although my wife doesn’t) that I never felt left out or
different even though I was never on the college-bound track of studies as
opposed to my friends and girlfriend. In my mind, I was going to college just
like all of my friends…and I did.
Fast
forward and I can look at a long list of doctors, lawyers, business executives,
military officers and industry leaders who were a part of the class of 1961. Those were the elite chosen ones and then there
was the rest of us like flotsam that followed in their wake. Most of us were
also very successful but in our own unique ways. Together we all learned under
the same tough discipline, structured routines, self-motivation, and pride of
being a member of the Cretin High School class of 1961.
