Vichy Water – Author's Blog Just another WordPress weblog

Going to ‘Scarborough Fair:’ Weequahic High (Newark) 1963 High School Reunion Weekend. A Blog.  October 11-13^th 2013    By Calvin Schwartz

 

 

For a week prior to our 50^th Weequahic High School(Newark) Reunion Weekend here in New Jersey, I prepared spiritually and journalistically by doing one of my marathon listening experiences to a particular song. Yes, a song for every occasion and mood. As of a week ago, Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Scarborough Fair’ accompanied me everywhere. If I squinted and closed my eyes, I was standing on Chancellor Avenue under a cloudless autumn sky; not a person or car in sight. I was in the state of solitude. A war was quietly beginning in Southeast Asia. Where have all the people gone on Chancellor Avenue?  Suddenly a Number 14 Public Service bus rambled by; there was no driver or passengers. The bus disappeared. In its wake, aromatic exhaust and a windblown Bamberger’s shopping bag which slowly settled into the street. I watched the last moments of its flight; like sky writing, it hinted at the message that it’s a gift to be going to a 50^th Reunion.

 

 

 

 

 

This was the emotional repository that ‘Scarborough Fair’ leaves me in. What I’m doing here is re-creating the bitter sweetness of this song that makes me think of those sixties years at Weequahic; a certain loneliness and yearning; an unrequited love and all the things I never got a chance to say or do.  A few hours ago, I spoke to Jordan, a mystic and composer from San Francisco. I told him what this song does to me. He told me that music is a heavenly gift for our species; the ability to transport our cerebral energies into memories. Without parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme sprinkled, I would’ve been less anticipatory and in awe of our reunion. I’ve been excited for weeks. ‘Scarborough Fair’ helped it along. Perhaps while reading further, you all should retrieve it and listen.

 

 

Driving up Route Nine to the Friday night get together at the Renaissance Hotel bar, one recurring theme settled sub and consciously; it was indeed a gift to be going to my 50^th Weequahic Reunion. Two weeks prior, we had our last Reunion committee meeting where the ‘In Memoriam’ plaques with pictures of our classmates was sitting in the back of the conference room. I’m sure none of the committee “kids” (we’ll always be kids having spent four formative years together) noticed I was tilted around in my seat staring at the 87 pictures of our classmates now departed. The bulk of the meeting was tilted backwards for me. Nothing was said; maybe I blended in; maybe my face was saddened grey and they let me be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In an instant, I was with 30 or so kids from high school. Effervescent smiles, hugs, handshakes of remembrance tore down the small walls that up to fifty years distance can erect. A few faces escaped me; it was easier for them I surmised, after all, I was the tallest kid in the class. As we all laughed, sipped mostly pale alcoholic spirits and asked perfunctory questions like what we’ve been doing lately, something hit me; another theme for the weekend. My class of Weequahic High School 1963 had deconstructed pretense and there was a genuineness, warmth and affability that was communicable and viral; everyone was real and thrilled with each other’s presence. A few classmates even expounded on the gift of just being here; I wasn’t the only one possessed. I had met Bea McCloud a couple of committee meetings ago for the first time. We didn’t know each other back then with 540 classmates; things do get lost in a crowd. When I saw her now, we hugged joyously; all special tender caring moments; another theme of our weekend.

 

 

 

 

Cameras and cell phones recorded posterity; I remembered a Kodak used to. Then I stumbled upon a kid (Len B.) who graduated in January, 1963 so I didn’t really know him and we drifted intently through each other’s lives, passages and avoidances like rice fields in Asia. I could’ve listened all night to the stories and musings of all the kid’s last five decades but we had a bus trip back to Newark in the morning. Good night moon and Weequahic.

Thanks to Marc Tarabour for organizing and detailing a bus trip back to hallowed halls and tree-lined Newark streets of our youth and high school. Since most of the 28 bus trippers met the night before, there was camaraderie of comfort with each other. I’d be working the microphone as a guide until we reached Marc and four others at the Newark Museum. On our way to Weequahic Park, we passed streets with houses of early Newark opulence; one with the posh center island. A hush then a salvo of how well the houses looked; nothing had ostensibly changed.  Apartment buildings facing the park were just as stately. I heard a few “that was my house.” Undercurrents of thought about Newark’s riots and decline since 1967 were there. But for me it was back to the future. I was fighting Thomas Wolfe internally because I was home again. We all were; ebullient smiles evident on both sides of the bus aisle. This part of Newark, our Weequahic section, was enduring and everlasting. It had to be for our molecular being came from here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our bus driver (it said limousine service on the outside) pulled into Weequahic Park near the old Tavern Restaurant and Millman’s hot dogs. I depressed the microphone; The Tavern was so iconic, even in the early sixties, it was doing millions in business. The park and lake were pristine and the group lined the shore line for a photo-op. In the distance was the bluish apartment building notorious for boarding stewardesses (someone yelled flight attendant) and nearby a few ducks and Saturday morning joggers were in motion. More specialized photo-ops and hugs before we re-boarded. Indeed, pretense was long gone.

The epicenter of our travels and being was the high school building. We toured with the dynamic, dedicated young principal Faheem Ellis and Alumni Association executives, Phil Yourish and Hal Braff. A glowing newness was the athletic center and gym with 2000 seats, not 400 in the old boy’s gym where state championship teams played. On my sixth attempt, I sank a 10 foot shot with a deflated basketball to match my extant ego. But hallowed halls and even the painted numbers on the rooms were the same; so were the wooden seats in the auditorium going back to 1933 and the tinny lockers. A kid yelled that even some etchings and carvings on the seats were vintage us.  Yes, Virginia, we were home and thrilled where we were. I clenched my fist tight; a clench for a freeze frame in time; it never works.  An amazing Weequahic High drum corps performed; they had a football game later. Of course an eerie silence as the bus pulled away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sundown hurried and it was the essence of the Reunion; the cocktail party and dinner with music. How elegant the room with centerpieces of Weequahic’s colors, orange and brown with dashes of detailed leaves of the same color on each table. The 150 or so people continued deconstruction of pretense. We’re all by-products of the sixties with flowers in our hair so I can say there was a special love and warmth in the room. Watching as the kids passed the ‘In Memoriam,’ I knew what was on the minds and in the hearts; gratitude to be here. Some pointed and shook heads; some took pictures and as tears went by, the kids hit the open bar for wine and cheese. We sat with mostly the same kids where we sat in the lunchroom during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Girls got up and danced the slide. We bought tee-shirts and hats from the Alumni table to take back to Paris, California, Florida, Texas, Chicago, Monmouth County and Newark and elsewhere. Then the song ‘Shout’ from ‘Animal House.’ I grabbed Bea McCloud and we danced and it was all magic and good and I almost hit the floor and gyrated like John Belushi (Bluto) in the movie but paused remembering my age.

 

 

 

 

Ever so gently and unobtrusively as the night waned, kids started to leave. The room was nearly empty; a few pockets of kids talked about staying in touch; a few small group pictures flashed across the room; a few promises to meet at breakfast; and a lot of questions and talk about shortening the reunion to every five years and even sooner. Why wait? Pretense was deconstructed and I loved the spirit and warmth; it was real. I remember the movie, ‘Norma Rae’ when Sally Field says to Ron Liebman, “Ruben, you really like me!”  Yes, Virginia, the Weequahic High 1963 class really likes each other. I’m always tempted to intellectualize the function of maturation and the leveling effect of the aging process.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I walked around polling the last few to see if anyone wanted to hang-out in the bar and reminisce. It was just past the other side of midnight. A few said yes. I ran to my car to drop off my new Weequahic tee-shirt which will never fit. Only Roz Weiss made it to the bar so we talked and sipped a complimentary seltzer until after 1 AM. I believe it was 1:11 AM when we hugged and said goodbye. I watched her disappear and smiled at my accomplishment; the last to leave the Reunion party. It was a 20 minute trip back home. The window was open and a warm breeze caressed and ‘Scarborough Fair’ played seven more times.

 

NOTE:  Kudos and praise must find a place here for Jac Toporek, the matrix, energy, spirit, love, and special bond which continually (last three reunions) brings us all together. There would be no reunions if not for him; we all know that; we all love and thank him.

For other locations of Calvin’s writings:   njdiscover.com       njtheshorething.com

http://vichywater.net

 

 

Also you can find me on Facebook as Cal Schwartz

and on Monday nights (every 2 weeks) from 8 to 9 pm check out my radio show:  NJ Discover Radio Show  (one hour of special talk and guests)

TUNE IN LIVE HERE!!!!!!!!!!! From 8 to 9 pm Monday September 9th (before Monday night football )

                                                                                 http://www.spreaker.com/show/the_nj_discover_radio_show