LouisBoston Meets 2001 Odyssey

Greetings:

When we last left our hero (“Where Were You In Your 60’s?”) the laudatory echoes of second graders were dopplering as he fled into the sunset. Memorable, but destined to be unique, it will be fondly remembered. However it will not have achieved all time top ten status regardless of the pride or bemusement.

“Saturday Night Fever” caught me reminiscing about an occurrence that would make the top ten.

Once again planted in front of the television, my retroment is stimulated by flashbacks. Tony Manero is doing his stuff….and lookin’ good.



As for the flashback…

It was ‘Carnival’ week at Newfound Regional High School. That meant it was the week before February vacation and class spirit would be ubiquitous during the multiple competitions. Each class would try to out-game, out-exuberate and out-energize the others. Bragging rights was the reward.

There was always a theme. The theme inspired hallway decorations and daily dressing. This particular year it was the movies. Hollywood and movie environs transformed the corridors. One of the daily themes was to come to school dressed as a favorite movie character. Well alright!

Now given the fact that I have 359 dvds in my Netflix queue and that I came within a phone call of trying to be a professional film editor instead of an educator, I felt that I had a vast reservoir of choices. Of course, costuming would be a key determinant.

This could be an opportunity to incorporate another satisfying moment in my life. While living with Gini before we were married my father had expressed concerns about my getting a job. (We are now into the second layer of flashbacks). Though exploring the role of a ‘kept man’ had its allure, I had to agree that I should be proactive. My father wanted to know how I dressed for interviews. I told him I wore nice slacks, a shirt and tie. “You don’t wear a suit?!”. (This from a man who prided himself on his professionalism as a pharmaceutical rep).

“Dad, I don’t even own a suit!”, I proclaimed defensively.

“Look, get a suit. I’ll pay for it!”, was his exasperated rejoinder. The wheels began turning. It was 1972, we aspired to being and looking like hippies. Our fashion consultation reciprocated the determination that the purchase had to be a three-piece suit. Several phone calls to the metropolitan Boston area revealed the fact that three-piece suits would not be casually found on the racks.

We escalated our criteria and headed for that hallowed haberdashery, LouisBoston. Its century plus existence begged our business. One can only imagine the look on the parking valet as we arrived in a Volkswagen Beetle and handed him the keys.

No sooner had we entered the store and asked for three piece suits when we were met with the response, “Someone must have told you about our new arrivals from Paris”. Yes, they must have…

After indicating that I wanted a suit just like the salesperson was wearing I was soon being custom fitted. Sure we will take the three silk, you-have-to-tie-it-yourself bowties and, by the way, how do you tie a bowtie? Dad was a bit speechless when he got the bill but to his credit barely complained.

My first trial run with the suit was when we had traveled to Long Island to present Gini to my Italian grandmother, the mystic. She was charmed by Gini (of course) and was appropriately impressed by the three piece suit:



Replace the shirt and bow tie with a wide-collared red silk shirt and a gold chain and I was an avatar for Tony Manero. With the aid of a paint can and a boom box I was ready for Newfound’s Carnival. (back to level 1 of flashbacks)

Each morning at the high school the students would gather in the main lobby since the hallway doors would not open for them until first bell. Teachers were sequestered with the day’s lesson plans in their classrooms appreciating the temporary isolation.

The computer lab, my classroom, was the first one on the left from the double doors to the lobby. When those doors opened with the bell I turned on the movie soundtrack and boldly strode towards the oncoming horde, swinging my paint can and struttin’ in my suit.

“Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!”…

Thankfully one of my cinephile students got the portrayal and chortled it aloud (chortled?!). Though the hall lights did not diversify and strobify I felt compelled to dance. Awe, incredulousness, antipathy…it is hard to describe the reactions. Most stayed in the vicinity to take it all in.

Somehow at the appropriate bell the boom box was silenced and “Tony” entered the computer lab for the day’s lesson. Of course there had to be an encore so at the end of first period the boom box was re-established in the hallway and “Stayin Alive” was played to its conclusion. “How Deep Is Your Love” faded quickly as second period began.

Feeling quite pleased with myself (and a bit out of breath) I assumed we were now back to a normal day. We had a bit of a laugh first about the dancing but settled into our routine.

As the period was about to end there was a knock at the door. It was the head of the food service from the cafeteria. We were good friends so even though I had no idea why she was there it was nice to see her.

“Are you coming out in the hall again? All the ladies want to see you dance.”

Cue “Night Fever” and call my agent.

It was a blast.

Where Were You In Your 60's?

Greetings All:

You would think that this man has reached a significant milestone, some kind of stone any way. He looks hale and healthy. This was from visits, salutations and exhortations of many friends and relatives during August and September. The Baron and the Baroness both turned 60 while celebrating 37th wedding anniversary. Feasting was the daily fare.



Nostalgic music inspired Sex Pistols air guitar and body surfing at the dining table:



Well then let us settle in and recount the early days of the current experience of the 60’s.

Atrial fibrillation, staggering back/hip pain, substitute teaching 7 year olds and submission to pyramid kharma schemes on the internet. Is there no end to the refulgence of the Golden Years?

Well, let me set up my newest piece of writing as a segue.

Chip gave us a call and said that we had to see Spike Lee’s “Passing Strange”. Described by the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB) as: “A young black artist leaves his Los Angeles digs and travels to Europe to find himself. A theatrical stage production of the original Broadway musical.”

There is a strand that ties the protagonist to his relationship with his mother. Art rapidly emerges as one of the primary themes of the musical. Chip said he cried for twenty minutes after seeing the movie the first time.

He then proceeded to call us for the next two days asking us if we had seen the movie. Meanwhile he had seen it five times. With this kind of pressure we had to watch it. We loved it and I felt particularly inspired to write about my own perception of art in my life.

Chip said he really liked my response and I was pleased that our artist son found pleasure in it.

Scene: Bridgewater Hebron Village School, Fall 2010


Context: Written response to Chip

Greetings:

“…You know it’s really weird when you wake up that morning and realize that your entire adult life has been based on a decision made by a teenager!...” (quote from “Passing Strtange”)

Let me pass this ‘strange’ anecdote by you.

“Greetings Mr. Duggan, I was wondering if your name had been placed back on the sub list.”.

This was the opening line of a phone call I received on Monday. Somehow she convinced me that I would appear the next day to look after ten second graders. This despite my decision to not volunteer for subbing because of the stress associated with teaching and going back to work and having to earn money and recently having atrial fibriulation and..and… there I was on Tuesday morning at 7:45. What am I…stupid?

I knew the teacher and she was there to greet me.

“You know I don’t think you are going to like this but thank you for doing this.” She then proceeded to point to piles of paper, indicate lesson plans, gesture towards various texts, explain the nuances of the options I could exercise with each one. The spinning of my head was quite quiet. There was barely a breeze. I am sure she felt that she had explained all the necessary instructions and that ‘Mr. Duggan’ had absorbed it all. Yikes! I felt like Arlo Guthrie going through his draft physical from Alice’s Restaurant.

The official starting pistol was the Pledge of Allegiance. I silently but respectfully weathered it. And then began the process of surrendering a pedestrian view of the day and becoming immersed in Gwen, Alaric, Corie, Christian, Skyler, Jack, Levi, Hunter, Adele and . Collin was absent.

Levi, self-appointed, came over and shook my hand and welcomed me to the class. He was careless of whether he had an audience. He thought this was the right thing to do.

As the day unfolded I realized I could write ‘Q.E.D.’ on the day like it was a math proof: ‘Quod Erat Demonstratum’ – ‘What was meant to be shown was shown’. And that was subbing at the elementary level took too much energy.

My immersion was complete, however. I, too, became careless of an audience. I referenced my craft to accomplish the assigned material. But my immersion was complete. Craft led to the release of my soul. No matter how close chaos crept no matter how dynamic the traffic became, my soul led the way.

They sat, listened and questioned as they were benedicted with Roman numbers, the Greek alphabet and the mobius strip crescendo. Lessons were accomplished; learning was celebrated and demonstrated.

This is my art.

And it was about to become too real.

“Mr. Duggan…He’s awesome!”

Tully Zuma Reunion 2010

(Click on any picture to enlarge)

Greetings:

Well, whether you were there or not, AEKDB has been given another wonderful boost of momentum. We may not be the subject of 60 Minutes or MTV but we have carved a significant niche in the annals (that wouldn’t be anals would it?) of the human condition.

Our illustrious hosts:




They had just refinished their wonderful kitchen so that Zuma could descend and celebrate. On Friday it would be a New York theme. Cheeses, wines and beers were carefully chosen to create a New York State of Mind. I, myself, succumbed to the Wailing Wench:


Shamelessly, Rick and I managed to partake of her charms several times during the evening.

Gini and I had arrived Thursday but after a rousing golf game with Tim Haley and Larry the neighbor, (you might remember from the emails that Larry’s basement was nominated to be the refuse reservoir for the RV’s that would descend) on Friday our work was cut out for us. Rick had purchased a cavernous canopy that came in one of those eight foot long boxes that was only eight inches square. Assembly was required. Using the skills honed by Tom Sawyer, Rick quickly had the early arrivals deep in construction of the challenging structure.. Somehow he was loading ice in the coolers and checking on the refreshments (which included the Wench).

Bravely Rick Schug and Kathy, Mike and Anne Foley weighed in upon arrival to erect the requisite structure. It became subtly apparent that subsequent arrivals were surreptitiously waiting down the street for completion in anxious observation of the mastering of the structural diagram and ensuing flurry of engineering activity. As was later apparent, something must have come together:



The mini-Woodstock continued to amass participants. Cheeses were sampled, beers were quaffed and wines were guzz…uh, sipped. The social inertia was overwhelming. This party could never be gauged for a beginning or an end. Whatever had coalesced in the late sixties and early seventies had permanently affixed itself to the fabric of the universe. It was seamless in execution. These people really liked each other.

Chez Nye is such a wonderful venue:


If one were now to turn and experience what is across the street:


You might begin to get an ides of what a wonderful location this is.

Now of course there had to be lake tours:


However, the Rivier contingent decided they would take a more leisurely approach (a RivierBoat?):

Highly suspicious of course that Anne did not have to paddle. Jackie claims that Anne provided the nautical experience that saved them time and again (‘Turn into the wave!’).

Friday night saw a migration to the dock under the care of the Lord of the Manor:

Much was bandied about as to the gender related expertise of tending a fire (Was Mrs. O’Leary really to blame for her cow?)

Saturday heard the conch shell sound, beckoning shoppers to gather and descend upon the area. Gini exercised incredible restraint as she remained behind to prepare her incomparable strata breakfast. Many were pleased.

The agenda was somewhat repetitious…laughter, brotherhood, nostalgia, reveling and the occasional frolic. However the afternoon menu would be launched with steamers:


Our heroes were expert in their grasping of the fundamollusks of steaming but were still awed by their accomplishments:


So let us now give way to the participants. Let it be said that the universe exercised its whimsy by preventing Carl, Lucy, Mark, Jane, Skipper, Valerie, Dick and Judy from attending for formidable reasons. Dave Seaward’s vicarious participation was vital to much of the group picture-taking. The following picture was autographed by all and hopefully delivered to the former Grand Master:


Also included was a brother montage of the twelve, quite biblical in nature:



Then there were the Kappa Significant Others who have enabled those smiles:



Among those who impressed through time and distance by congregating with the group for the first time in over thirty five years were:

Rich Schug and Kathy (seated at left):


Their arrival was perhaps the most dramatic as they arrived in a 45 foot vehicle that would divulge three dogs and a motorcycle Indian. Let’s just call it the Schug express:



The Keagys ventured north from Virginia bearing two accomplished sons, a PhD candidate and a current manager of a Panera’s. Cindy still looked great and Al still generated those wry, quiet comments that were anecdotally celebrated during the weekend:




And hailing from Franklin, Tennessee were Terry and Sue Dunham. One of the highlights of the storytelling was Terry’s rendition of being one of the charming chauffeurs for the female party participants at the fraternity. He vividly recalled Kenny Diegel’s surprise as Kenny’s derriere was being mooningly proffered at 60 mph on I495 and then being given a resounding slap from Terry while he was driving the vehicle subjugated to viewing this nocturnal phenomenon. Sue took it all in stride and offered her own unique Lowell memories which included working at a stereo production factory and witnessing employees dropping stereo components out the window…ah Lowell!


And the wonderful DunhamMobile:



A pleasant surprise, but no strangers to the winter Kappa Sig get-together were Dan and Annie Busby. Their daughter Catherine was about to enter college in South Carolina and portended empty-nesting while their son Tom was running a camp for kids and soon to be headed cross country before entering the Peace Corps. And, oh yeah, by the way, he has an acceptance to Harvard Law School awaiting him when he returns. F. Lee Busby, Inc is quite proud:



Some of the festivities was dedicated to the picturesque and provocative nicknames many of us have acquired; for instance, ‘C-Man’. Now, granted we did not put Paula through the actual etymology, none-the-less, one’s curiosity is piqued.

They had traveled from New Hampshire and have become familiar faces at these gatherings. During the nighttime festivities we thought we detected a subtle cobalt glow, or perhaps it was a singular combination of trace elements producing a post-nuclear aura.



Other nicknames were quite innocuous, say, for example, ‘GB’. As a premonition of future celebrity, the two letter nickname would indicate fan familiarity and meteoric ascension. Ecce Gary Blomquist:

This mild mannered mathematician is a survivor of the pallet-like bedding of a previous Tully reunion sojourn at the Best Western. He seems no worse for wear. That could be because of the complementary karma of his partner Caroline:



At this point I find myself having grouped the participants subconsciously. I realize that all the succeeding personas are highly suspect.

Exhibit A:

These two have never met a mechanical component they could not repurpose. Jack continues to arrive in vehicles that have light speed capability while Gary continues to project the quiet guy who in reality makes McGiver look like a piker. If the words ‘DeVilbiss’ or ‘Air Force One’ have any relevance to you then you know what I mean. They have complicated the disguise by marrying beautiful self-motivated women who could carry the household themselves:



But then again, wasn’t Jackie a RivierBoat Queen?


This only gets more insidious. Email readers will have been subjected to the vicious expose´ of the Tully area as invectively hurled by Monsieur Foley. This just resonates with the allegorical basis of ‘Big Pink’. At first one might be sympathetic to Anne but she was able to get up the lake without paddling.



One must express gratitude and appreciation for the musical abilities of Fole. Saturday’s campfire was splendiferous with fireworks:



and folk revival:



Then there is the Bon Vivant Boola. This brother circumvented ritual muster while establishing a cardioid connection of significant longevity. He has inspired many to outburst and few to boredom. He has come a long way to stashing Kraft’s Macaroni and Cheese for emergency rations:


Lady Luck has also been kind to Mr. Peculiar in the personage of Pam:

Her caprese was one of the many superior treats provided by the attendees and always reminds us of the aesthetics of southern charm.


As for ‘Captain’, Gini firmly informed all, that there would be no divulgence of its origins.

This woman almost single-handedly rescued the aforementioned Captain from the psychiatric rubbish heap.

My enjoyment of the celebration may be visually summarized thusly:

Love that Jameson’s.

Now Rick and Hanna have not just settled for a past filled with fond memories of friends and Cumnock Hall. They have been instinctively developing further connections with newer friends who understand trust and brother/sisterhood. Some such as Tim and Mary bonded with Zuma in Italy and the Foley reunion. Others just form the Tully support group:


They are quite talented as demonstrated by the fascinating feeding of the bass in the lake:



Rick and Hanna also are successful nurturers as attested to by their lovely daughters and faithfully providing for the 21 year old Frisky:



So let it be known that this crowd can still party properly:



What a fabulous feast enabled by the pas de deux:



So long may it wave:

Homeward Ho!

Now that you have had a few minutes…Is your pulse/heart rate a little quicker? Sweat subtly appearing?…upper lip?...slight moistening…on the forehead? My, my, my, how the mind and eye dance in strange ways…

**********************************************************************



We bid a fond farewell to South Beach on the last day of February. The Flamingo now just a fading memory like the image of a tree in the Louisiana Bayou.

The Honda Element was spatially challenged as we loaded all our stuff plus Jan and Bill’s suitcases with a month’s worth of articles and, lest we forget, Jan and Bill! Through the use of cell phones we were able to keep in touch with the back seat as we rode to Winter Park to visit Mary.

Alas Mary was suffering the loss of Sophie, her sweet companion (see picture in Blog Archive, Jan. 2010, “Ah…The Women”). Our arrival was fortunate for her to provide and share an emotional visit to the site in the backyard where Sophie now remains. Latest news is that there is a new Sophie and we shall see if the newer incarnation lives up to the sprightly standard of her predecessor.

After a quick stop for lunch we bid farewell to our Flamingo mates and Mary to head for Tallahassee. Gini had booked a night to give us a travel break for the long haul to Lousiana. The Florida capital proved to be more interesting than anticipated but we had to make progress.

In our endless quest for Five Guys we were further surprised by the charm and beauty of Mobile, Alabama. It even has a French Quarter with a fascinating history to match. This city deserves its own destination visit.

Now, fully nourished by Five Guys cuisine we made our run to Lafayette… in a pouring rainstorm that lasted through Mississippi and just about to Katy and Chris’ house in Lafayette. Our arrival was celebrated in grand fashion. When the debris was organized we realized we had drunk several martinis and the equivalent of a bottle of wine apiece. Late morning prayers were seriously offered in thanks for our survival.

Zach did get his GED and also was able to put together a scholarship application with the help of our ad hoc Von D’Lucci village. Now, Zach, about those dishes…

Taco Sisters was of course our daily agenda for lunch. The ladies are doin’ fine and are now open on Saturday. Y’all come on down now!

The small town of Breaux Bridge is a must for anyone fortunate enough to be in this area. Its charm is exquisite and offers Zydeco, antiques and great food. In fact we have officially decided that inside the continental US this is the best region for its food.

Katy’s great friends Margaret and Walter decided that the yankees should be treated to a proper crawfish boil. We meandered to their house just a few blocks away to a gorgeous cottage:




As evening fell it became the perfect milieu for crawfish:



Laissez les bon temps rouler! And so they did. Walter steeped and swirled the crawfish as a labor of love. Corn, mushrooms, potatoes, onions and delicious artichokes were first cast into the boil. Then four pots worth of crawfish made it to the cooler:



Grab your tray, some beer and try to remember to breathe.

The next morning saw us having to bid farewell to Katy, Chris and Zach. Hopefully we will see them here in New Hampshire this year.

It was then on to the Huntsville, Alabama area to meet with Helen Keniston Oney and her family. Helen graduated from Newfound in 1986 and had become a close friend of the family after initially being in Chris’s classes and taking a turn at baby sitting Chip. Now she has three children of her own. The oldest is just starting his 20’s. The youngest gives the impression of being ten years old but has been categorized as a Force of Nature. We will hear from her again without a doubt.

We chose a Japanese steak house and were entertained by the flashy show of the cook as he made dinner right in front of us. Helen kept us entertained with her stories and engaging take on life. Bill and Chris exchanged family stories and discussed the history of rocketry in the Huntsville area.

Helen is looking forward to her trip to India later in the spring. She has always kept it interesting.

The next morning we continued our driving odyssey with a stop in Franklin, Tennessee. It had been over thirty years since the roommates had seen each other. Terry Dunham and Chris had been roommates for three years in college. One of the years included Mike Foley (remember he married Gini’s roommate Ann). In senior year Terry lived with his wife Sue in a Lowell apartment. Terry, as you might remember, was the instigator for the Ouija Board incident (Everything You Know Is Wrong – Blog Archive, Nov 2009).

There are many things in life that exist and are not easily described in science but are readily known when experienced. Reuniting with Terry without missing a beat in comfort, intimacy or emotion qualifies. Though our lives have been physically separated for over three decades there is a continuity to the feelings that had linked us together so long ago.

We were able to meet Gretchen, their 34 year old daughter (34-Yikes!) and enjoy her company. Unfortunately, their oldest, Chris’s namesake, lives in the Pacific Northwest and was not currently visiting. He’s 37 (Yikes squared!).

Sue has faithfully maintained communication with the fraternity and is an ardent follower of the blog. Gini regrets that she had not known much about her back in college and is so glad to have had this opportunity to reconnect.

I like this quote:
“Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart”



The journey continued as we were to meet someone in Nashville that night.

In many ways we have a “second son” in Luke Elliott. He graduated from Newfound in 2000 and was a member of the track team that finished third in the state (“Coach, we left nothing on the track, we gave it all for you” …and they did).

He had been living in San Francisco for several years and had decided to start anew in Nashville. He has a couple of roommates but one was in Australia. The other, Christine, has a great relationship with Luke and we had a great time together. Delicious pizza was the dinner choice followed by a panoramic walk across the Cumberland River. There was a casual cruising of downtown Nashville. Not too crazy on a Monday night but were impressed by the number of musical venues. We were without our cowboy hats and boots and needs must return.

Luke guided us to a great breakfast place the next morning and we were off once again. This day was the long haul since it involved over eleven hours of driving and a time change that was not in our favor. However waiting at the other end were Chris’ cousins Kitty and Phil. In fact they almost wound up waiting a lot longer than planned when it was discovered that they were in their new home and our GPS instructions were for their old house. We would have knocked on some strangers’ door late at night with a struggle for an explanation.

Kitty figured it out and provided a great family welcome. Phil (“Oh no! Not those guys!”) eventually came around and we managed to enjoy a couple of bottles of wine while exchanging family news and old stories. Their house is enormous! We had to pack a light snack to take in all three floors. The basement is a paradise for their grandchildren and their rollerskates.

We were treated the next morning to a monster breakfast as we headed out for Rich and Val’s in Mass. Kitty and Phil promise to visit New England – we shall see, it would be great to have them.

So the home stretch brings us back to familiar territory. Instead of the last day of our trip we decided to think of this as the first day of being back and doing what we like to do. Val, still missing Miami Beach after her one week stay, cooked up a delicious meal. Richie had some great pictures to show us and stories of New York City and adventures with Simone, their daughter, at her poetry events.

Chris made it back to Newfound the next day in time to attend a couple of track meetings. Damage to the house seemed minimal until we tried to turn on the dishwasher and it would not fill with water. Hopefully someone will figure it out.

So 5800 miles later Gini could only exclaim, “Auto Train next year!”.