Be sure to keep in touch!

I attended a function last Saturday at Cottey College, then the Community Choir performance of Christmas music Sunday afternoon down at the beautifully restored Fox Playhouse downtown. At both these functions, I saw people I think I've known half my lifetime, but people whom I haven't seen recently. Sometimes, such meetings can offer you a shock you hadn't quite prepared for For example, I grew up next door to the Bellamy family, in an era when the two parents always lived at the home, the father never departed in search of a young girl who could give him the endless sex he craved to make him feel younger and more sexually appealing. And because this was right after the end of World War II, there were a lot of kids; the Bellamys ended up raising five. My family lived in a circle, Normandy Lane, that contained nine separate houses, and nine children. On a bright, warm Saturday afternoon, our circle of houses was bursting with kids riding bikes, trikes, and scooters.

Neddy and Mikey Bellamy had been my friends for years. I knew Neddy first; we were both the same age, 6 or 7, liked the same sports (baseball and target shooting), and shot baskets together in the Littauers‚ backyard basketball courtyard. Mikey, being so close to Neddy in age, tended to hang around with his older brother. Being so much older than Mikey, I remember not playing together with him very much. When I started at New York University, he was just in high school, and when he came over to play, he began to show an interest in books, magazines, and any other reading material that happened to be lying around. Before moving with wife Ginny out to Minnesota to pursue a doctoral degree mandatory for college teaching in English, I remember giving Mikey a lot of the books he had chosen from my pile of duplicates. I wished him well and drove out of the driveway for the final time.

In the years we were living in Minnesota and then Nevada, Mo., I heard from my sister Beverly, who was living in Columbus, Ohio, looking after my mother, that Mikey was also pursuing a degree, in English, she didn't know where, and that he would soon be teaching in Saint Thomas College, in Saint Paul, Minn.

So, after more than 30 years, I found his Saint Paul address, wrote a long letter re-introducing myself, and got a long newsy letter in response. He had been teaching at this church-affiliated college since he officially began teaching there about 20 years ago, and was pretty well satisfied with it, except that he said his students were not exactly fired up by the literature he assigned them, which had fired him up when he first read it. Well, there's no English teacher who hasn't felt the same disappointment at some period in his career. He didn't let it depress him unduly, but was planning to stay there until he retired in some four years. This stunned me, because when I thought of him, I thought he must be a mere youngster. And here he was a mature man thinking about retirement already. I couldn't conceive of it.

But it was the truth, and I'd been fantasizing that I could pick up the thread I'd dropped three decades earlier, and go on with our relationship. What I learned, however, was that Mikey had married long ago, and that he and his wife had had two daughters, one of them nearly as old as our daughter Jessica, who was now 37 years old. Mikey said in his letter that his oldest daughter, too, was a world-wanderer, with an incurable wanderlust. I just hope that at some time in the future, the two of us can actually meet and have dinner and a couple of drinks together.

I'll bet if I were to meet Mikey Bellamy on the sidewalk outside my house this very moment, I'd not recognize him, even though I knew him for so many years of our childhood.

Ah, such is life!

Speaking of personal disconnects, this past Sunday afternoon Ginny and I attended the Community Choir Christmas program down at the Fox Playhouse in the afternoon. I'd been in that choir, and had a tremendous time of it every year at Christmas time for about the 15 years we were first in Nevada, from the directorship of Peggy Graves until that of Wes Morton, but the last few years I was reluctant to ask Ginny to drop me off and pick me up from weekly rehearsals, since she's so busy doing other things for me, including seeing after my meals and numerous medications.

As I sat in my seat, I looked up at the stage and caught sight of John Scarborough, Bob Ebert, Robert W. Palmer, their faces and looks were so gratifyingly familiar. But where was Wes Morton, whom I considered the best singing director under whom I ever sang? Well, I'd had to be introduced to him before the concert; he'd lost an exceptional amount of weight, and he looked to be in real "fighting shape." I thought, Why would I need to be introduced to a man I'd known for many years? Well, the fact was that I hadn't seen him for several years. And the interval of many years can make for significant differences in a person's appearance. As I was talking with him, remarking on his loss of weight, he was looking me over, before remarking that I'd gained a good deal of weight. And I had to agree: since quitting my cigarette habit, and since suffering a heart attack, I'd gained about 70 pounds. My face, once rather gaunt, had filled out nicely, my ribs were no longer showing, and I had a little paunch to display. I said to Wes that in our respective changes in weight I saw a kind of evening out: he'd shed a lot of weight, and I'd gained a little less, but still a considerable amount.

What's to be learned from the above musings? I think it's this: If you've lost sight of your friend(s) for more than a year, don't be surprised if you see a distinct difference. The best way to avoid the shock is to keep in better touch with the world around you.