50+1

  Back in 2020, some plans started to come to life for our 50th high school reunion that was to be held in 2021.  I am not really enthusiastic about reunions.  I am not a big fan of family reunions, because I feel like I have to impress my relatives.  The same holds true with high school and college reunions.  One thing that really scares me is not remembering people, because I don't want to be embarrassed.

 I went to the 30th high school reunion on a dare.  It was okay.  The 50th seemed different.  I was thinking about going, because I may never see these people again (except for Facebook), and many of them I had known since kindergarten. During the plans, they sent out a form as to what liquor you wanted there.  I took offense at the question.  I knew many of my friends drank, but I didn't.  I have an alcohol problem.  I didn't want that temptation.  Some other people questioned the timing of the reunion because of Covid.  So, the 50th reunion of the AC Flora class of 1971 was postponed.

 The planners were insistent on having it at some point, so it was decided that we would have it in the Fall of 2022.  It would be called the 50+1 reunion.  It would be at the Forest Lake Country Club in Forest Acres and the cost would be $75 per person.  I thought that the price was a little too much for me, and I was having second thoughts about going.  Out of the blue, a friend from those days contacted me and said he would pay for me to go.  He wasn't going to be able to go, because he lived far away, but he wanted me to go as a birthday present to me from him.  Gratefulness doesn't begin to describe how I felt about this huge gesture.

 They said that there wouldn't be any substantial food and suggested we eat before we went.  I looked at restaurants nearby, but most were too expensive.  One looked good, but they said their dining room wasn't open.  You would have to eat outside, so I ate downtown before taking the bus out there.  When I got to that restaurant, I found that the dining room was open.  Thanks for nothing.  I also looked on a map to see how far the country club was from the nearest bus stop.  It didn't seem too far.  It was.  On my walk there, many Lexus cars passed me.  It was hot, and I was sweating a lot.  By the time I got to the club, I was very wet.  I went into a restroom at the club to dry off.  They had the best paper napkins I had ever seen.  Very plush.  I stole five of them.

 We had over 500 people in our graduating class.  A little over 100 of them have died or moved very far away.  They said we had around 250 show up.  There was an area of drinking in the ballroom, and they had tables for those of us who would rather not mingle.  I hooked up with my old friend Tommy and his wife along with another friend named Dixie and her husband.  We had a table.  As it turned out, they did have food at the event. Chicken wings and hors d'oveurs.  I had several people who came up to me to say they were glad I was there.  One of my oldest friends there named Hank told his wife about how we were related.  I had never put that together before, even though I had known him since we were 5.  

 I had planned to leave the reunion after they took our group picture, but I was enjoying it too much.  One of my classmates had said she wanted to talk with me.  She pulled me aside and told me how proud she was of me being sober.  She told me about her experiences in getting sober.  I was touched.  Another classmate told me how glad she was that I had come.  I told her that I felt some classmates might be surprised that I was still alive.  She sort of stepped back from me and then hugged me.  My life has not been a bed of roses, and I think some were surprised I was there.  

 Tommy said he would take me home, as my plan was to get an Uber.  One wish that I had about the evening was that each person would have thirty seconds to a minute to get in front of the group and tell what they did or had done in their lives.  We have some people who are well-known in the community, but others are not.  It would have been nice for folks to brag about themselves.  Maybe at the next reunion.  I think they are planning a 55th in 2026.  Hopefully, most of us will still be around.  And, maybe I'll go to that one.  I'm kind of looking forward to my college reunion next. I'll have to rent a car.

Glaucoma

  About two years after my eye surgery that gave me back my vision, I was seeing things kind of blurry out of one eye.  I went back to the doctor, and they found some fluid was building up in that eye.  They recommended laser surgery to take care of it.  The doctor who had performed the original surgery had died, so I had a new team.  My original doctor had done my surgery for free, but the new one said he couldn't do that.  I didn't have any insurance, so I had to find the money.  A friend from church said that he and some others would take care of it for me.  There are good people in this world.

 I went for the procedure which was quick and painless.  I could see great again out of both eyes.  When I went back for a checkup, they found that I had early onset glaucoma.  It was not uncommon for this to be a side effect of the two surgeries.  They told me that I would need to take eye drops every night before going to bed.  More eyedrops?!?!  I hated putting eyedrops in before and after my surgery, but at least I had experience.  These drops had to be refrigerated before opening the bottle.  Then, it didn't matter.

 At first, I had a hard time remembering to put them in.  Later on, it became a habit.  Now, I do it religiously before going to sleep.  Every six months, I would go for a checkup.  The doctors found that my eyes had not gotten better nor worse.  There is a spot in the lower right quadrant of both eyes that is dark from the glaucoma.  Everything else is great!  I see 20/20 now.  Not since the 4th grade, when I got my first pair of glasses, has my vision been so good.  I will probably have to do the drops the rest of my life, or until the doctor feels I don't need them anymore. 

 One irony about all of this is about the Theatre.  When I was acting, one of my drama mentors told me that I would have to get contacts to in order to see on stage.  I was blind as a bat without my glasses.  I would have to memorize where stuff was on stage in order not to bump into things.  I had to count steps from one spot to another on stage.  Sometimes, I could cheat and wear glasses on stage, if it fit my character.  Now, I can see without glasses, but my stamina is so bad after being homeless and having pneumonia for six months, I can't do an acting job that I would be proud of.  So, I can see but can't act, unless I do something I have written and know where to take a break in breathing.  And so it goes.

Pets

  I have had a variety of pets over my life.  The first one was Brownie the Cocker Spaniel.  He was our dog, when I was 5.  Brownie was just a puppy, but he enjoyed biting me and chewing on my teddy bear.  He and I just didn't get along.  When we moved from our rental house to a real house, we gave Brownie to our next-door neighbors.  I saw Brownie a couple of years later, and he had grown to a monster dog.  He didn't recognize me.  It was just as well.  I am not a dog person, even though the golden Labrador retriever that was owned by the Dean of Students at PC adopted me.  That was different.

 I have also had turtles, fish, rabbits and chicks.  Most of the turtles were small, and we could keep them inside in a water dish.  We had a patio grill in our backyard.  We didn't use it except for a couple of times.  Daddy wasn't a good griller.  There was charcoal residue in the grill.  I kept one larger turtle in the grill.  He ate some charcoal and died.  I had a white rabbit, and he suffered the same fate.  The chicks were from Easter.  They didn't live long.  I also had a parakeet and kept him in a cage inside the house.  One day, my Mother told me that I needed to clean the cage.  I didn't know you could just slide out the bottom of the cage.  I took the cage outside and opened the door of the cage.  The parakeet flew away.

 I had goldfish.  I fed them every day.  For some reason, some committed suicide by jumping out of the bowl.  Maybe they didn't like the food.  When I was in college, my roommate and I went to a store and bought two goldfish.  We named them Pablo and Bernie.  The water at PC had some impurities in it.  The store had these drops that would clean the water.  The directions said one drop per gallon of water, but we figured that they could use two drops, since the water was bad.  Pablo and Bernie died overnight due to lack of oxygen or were poisoned.  We had a funeral for them and flushed them down the toilet.

 It wasn't until I worked at Rich's in the early 2000's that I received another pet.  The store bought a bunch of Beta fishes as a contest for each department to take care of them.  The fish that lived the longest won a prize.  We all got small fish bowls and one fish per department.  I fed my fish every morning, when I came to work.  He seemed a little lazy, so I found a small Winnie the Pooh stuffed bear that was about two inches high, and I put the bear next to the bowl.  The fish fell in love with Winnie.  It would just stare at Winnie all day.  If I moved Winnie away from the bowl, the fish would get really upset and swim around the bowl.  When I put Winnie back, the fish would calm down and just stare at the bear.  When the contest was over, I took the fish home with me, but I had to leave Winnie.  I did find a plastic version of Winnie as a substitute.  It wasn't really the same, so I thought maybe I could put Winnie in the bowl with the fish to keep him company.  I fashioned a paperclip to hang onto Winnie and hung him on the inside of the bowl.  The fish ate the metal off of the paperclip and died.  I went to the pet store to get a couple of other Betas.  They ate each other, so I gave up.

 Fast forward to 2018.  Being a HUD apartment, we aren't supposed to have pets inside.  Some feral cats started coming around the apartment.  My next-door neighbor and I began to feed them.  She named the black cat "Princess Charlotte" after a girl named Charlotte who lived at the complex.  I named the grey cat "Mittens", because he had white paws.  Charlotte died in her apartment, so the female cat just became "Princess".  The two cats were best friends.  Princess had been fixed by her previous owner.  Mittens was a tomcat.  He would get into fights but would never win.  He would come back with tears in his fur, but he was a good boy.  Princess adopted me, and I loved on her.  We would give them breakfast every morning and a treat in the afternoon.  We also had a third cat called "Little Bit", but she got sick and died.  One day, Mittens developed a respiratory infection.  He went into the woods and never returned.  Princess went through a grieving process with me over the loss of Mittens.  My neighbor let Princess come into her apartment to get warm.  Princess became confused and ran under my neighbor's bed.  She stayed under there for two days.  We finally got her out with some tuna, but she was really scared.   Then one day, some more cats showed up.  We named the orange tabby "Morris" who turned out to be a bully.  He and Princess didn't get along.  Morris liked to steal other cats' food.  We also had "Oreo" come around.  He liked to hiss at me.  And, there were some unnamed kittens from time to time.  A woman in our complex had a cat named "Mufasa".  He was a little shy, but would try to make friends with the others.  Princess became my number one cat.  It amazes me how much an animal can cheer me up, as I would do the same for her.  I finally figured out how to care for an animal in a good way, and how much they can sense love.

Clint

  Clint Bryson was a friend of mine.  We met at church back in 1980 in the Singles Sunday School Department.  He worked for ETV as a camerman. He also would be on one of our TV cameras during the service.  If you saw a pretty girl in the congregation, you knew Clint was on that camera.  Clint usually stood next to me in the choir, as we both sang bass.  We sort of looked alike, as we both were thin and wore glasses.  One day, he and I were standing around in a hallway, and a woman came up to me.  She pointed at Clint and asked what my brother did for a living.  I knew she meant Clint, but I told her of my real brother's occupation was working in public relations and on political campaigns.  Her eyes got big.  I could tell she was thinking that Clint had a lucrative career, but he didn't dress like it.  I told Clint about what I had said, and we had a good laugh over it.  We never told that woman any differently.

 He and I helped coach the First Baptist girls' softball team along with another guy.  He would handle one of the bases.  My job was to heckle the opposing team.  It worked out well, except for the times that the umpire would tell me to shut up.  We also went on mission trips for the church.  One of our trips to Philadelphia, he described the town as "Fithydelphia".  It kind of was, but he took us to a mall downtown, where I was exposed to some cool music by Philly Cream and other groups.  When he and I went on a mission trip to Puerto Rico, we stayed in the same hotel room.  Clint was very protective of his age.  He never said how old he was.  One night, I just asked him how old he was.  He asked me how old I was, and I told him.  He replied that he was ten years older than me.  I was shocked.  He made me promise not to tell anyone of his secret.  I never did.

 As time will do, we drifted apart.  He and I started going to other churches.  I would see him taking pictures at events for the Irmo newspaper from time to time, but that was about it.  In May of 2022, I was invited to go out to eat with some friends, and Clint was there.  He looked frail.  I went up to say hello.  He was cordial, but I wasn't sure that he remembered me.  A week later, Clint died from pneumonia.  I went to his memorial service at the church that he had joined many years before.  They talked about his love for baseball and softball.  The service was outside next to the ballfield.  They were talking about naming first base for Clint.  I suggested that they name the whole field for him, and they thought that was a great idea.  They were also talking about having him buried at the Fort Jackson National Cemetery, as Clint was a veteran, but there was a lot of red tape involved to do so.  He didn't have any family left.

 About a week later, I went to the James Taylor concert in Columbia.  He was very good, although he didn't sing "You've Got a Friend".  This was the second time I had seen JT.  It was his first show on his tour, and they said he had spent several days in Columbia rehearsing for the show.  I really wished that I had known that ahead of time.  A high school friend from years ago knew I was going, and she offered to take me home afterwards.  As we were heading home, she asked how I knew Clint.  She had seen my tribute to him on Facebook.  As it turned out, she knew him from working with him at ETV.  I told her about us wanting to have him buried at Ft. Jackson.  As it also turned out, she was involved in getting unclaimed veterans to be buried there.  She had no idea what the plan was.  It was fortuitous that the subject even came up in the car.  

 You just never know how a contact will lead to something else.  I believe God puts people in our paths, but we have to listen and be receptive.  I could have taken an Uber home from that show.  I didn't, and it worked out for the good.  Thanks, Jean.

Chats

  So, I thought I would do some more name-dropping in this story.  When I got my first computer in the late 90's, I was psyched.  I found that I could talk to people all over the world in real-time without having to pay long distance phone charges.  It was a blast.  I also found out that between email and chat rooms, I had a whole new group of friends that I didn't know I had.  Plus, celebrities were out there to talk to.

 I have already written about chatting with Hugh Hefner one night.  You can find that story further back called "Hef".  One thing I have learned about chatting with celebrities is don't tell them how great they are.  They are there for a reason, and that reason is to answer some concrete questions about their lives.  Treating them like people, and not like idols, makes for a better conversation.  To chat with Hef about Marilyn Monroe and old movies was much more interesting that asking him about how to get invited to the Playboy mansion.  One side note though, I was invited to the mansion in Los Angeles many moons ago.  I was a winner in a contest.  I couldn't go, because I had to pay for my own airfare.  Oh well.

 One night, I came upon Max Gail.  He had played on the TV show "Barney Miller".  We talked about acting and the joys of stage versus film.  We chatted on more than one occasion.  We swapped stories about people that we had worked with, and he gave me some tips on acting on television.  He was a nice guy.

 Another night, I ran across Fess Parker who played on the TV show "Daniel Boone".  He was great to talk to.  Fess wanted to talk about his winery in California, so I humored him with that.  Then, I moved the conversation to his acting.  I told him about something that my 8th grade Science teacher had said about seeing jet contrails in the sky during a Daniel Boone episode.  Fess said that the show was filmed fast, and they didn't have time to wait for jets flying by to do a scene.  We laughed about that.  His acting tip to me was to be real.  Well, yeah.  I told him that I was sad that his wine wasn't sold near me.  I didn't drink alcohol at that time, but I was trying to be nice.  He said that they sold it at Morganelli's off Forest Drive.  I thanked him, but I never bought a bottle.  I guess they would be worth something now.  Fess died in 2010.  

 April 2022 provided me with a shocking chat.  It was Bob Dylan.  I had been to his concert in Columbia a couple of weeks before.  I had seen him in concert four times, which ties the most with Paul McCartney of the number of concerts I had been to by a single artist.  Bob contacted me on Facebook.  He told me that he had seen a post of mine about the show and wanted to reach out to me as a fan.  He said he wasn't on tour and had some time to chat with the fans.  I checked his tour schedule, and he actually had time to talk with us.  Being skeptical, I asked him a couple of questions that only he would know, and he answered them correctly.  It WAS Bob Dylan.  I told him that I had seen him four times, but this last show was probably the most meaningful.  He sang a new song called "Crossing the Rubicon", and I just cried.  It was like he was saying goodbye.  It was quite emotional.  We chatted a few times that week about various things.  I told him about my songwriting, and we talked about the mechanics of writing a good song.  He was very approachable.  We still keep in touch.

 I have had a few other chats on the computer including my friend Ginger Lynn Allen and a few authors.  Incidentally, the authors generally want you to complement their work, more than getting into the weeds of their writing styles.  I guess everyone needs some praise once in a while.