In the heartland

About a half mile as the crow flies from my front door,
The trail where the trains once rode the rails.
With a city in the distance and fog draping the horizon,
Morning comes to a lone runner.
Bales of hay along the creek, 
Reminding me of where I live.
In the heartland.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow........

We haven't any rain here in Omaha since the first of July. There was the possibility of a storm today but by 6pm, it looked as though it had passed us by. Seemingly out of nowhere, the sky started to turn dark and the clouds began the swirl. In a matter of minutes we were in the midst of a hot summer downpour, complete with a dash of light hail. I was sitting on our deck which looks over the horizon to the southeast when the rain began. There is an alcove near our kitchen deck doors that is covered by the roof and it is a good place to sit during a storm. I had a couple of brats on the grill (also under cover) when I noticed the rainbow.  I summoned Georgette and we both grabbed cameras, or shall I say iPhones,  and captured some photos.

I don"t remember the last time I saw a rainbow this big. It was an incredible sight. A sigh of optimism. A sign of hope. I felt like a little child who sees the rainbow for the first time. I felt encouraged and I don't much care about the scientific explanation for how the rainbow comes to be. I would rather just be in awe of  it.

We needed the rain and it was a wonderful surprise. That the rain came with a giant rainbow was a blessing.

Faith and Not Being Afraid

When I started this blog, I said that some of what I write may be funny and some might be sad and that it might get personal. So far it has been mostly funny. This one will be sad and personal.

I'm heading to San Diego, a city I have traveled to many times over the years. Know it well enough to drive around without a map most of the time. I've always looked forward to the visits there-mostly with family enjoying the great weather and the cool downtown that overlooks the harbor. However, this trip is different. I'm going there to spend some important time with my brother, Tony, who has incurable cancer. Those were the words he used in an e-mail he sent to family members back in January.

Tony was diagnosed with esophagus cancer in the fall of 2011. He immediately started treatment at MD Anderson in Houston and eventually had a resection of his esophagus in June of 2012, but not before he took his family to a long-planned trip to Florence,Italy, a place he dearly loves. He came through it clean and without complications and returned to work as a pharmacist as soon as he could. In December of 2012, a routine scan detected that the cancer had moved to his liver and "was incurable". I remember reading those words for the first time, then many more times after that. As hard as they were to read, I wondered what it would be like to have to write those words. He went on to say that he was grateful for the time he had left so he could put things in order and spend as much time as he could with his family-- that many people die without the benefit of the time to prepare. And that he wasn't afraid because his faith was strong.  That tells you most of what you need to know about Tony.

Tony was my first "little brother", the 3rd child of 8, born after my older sister Shelley and me in Oskaloosa, Iowa. I have several charming pictures taken when it was just the 3 of us, taken when our parents could still afford to have pictures taken, or cared to have pictures taken. Eventually another brother, then a sister and soon there were 5 boys and 3 girls in an 11 year span of time. No wonder our mother was elated when the birth control pill was released.

Tony on my new cool Sting Ray.

I have fond memories of the two us doing what little boys do-riding bikes, exploring the neighborhood, building forts. Tony was the trumpet player in my junior combo called the "Burnished Brass" where we played Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass covers at school events. He tagged along on my paper route until he got one of his own. We walked home from school together and ditched our brother Joe just to be mean. When I won a brand new Sting Ray bike in a paper route contest, I gave Tony my nearly new 26" inch bike that I had bought with money I saved.

He followed behind me to junior high where he became his own person. A much better student and a sharp dresser, Tony was the " cute brother" and I was the one with the " good personality". He was named best dressed 7th grader in the school newspaper. He did not follow me or any of our other siblings to work at McDonalds, choosing instead to work at a neighborhood drug store, a job he kept all the way through college at Drake University where he received his pharmacy degree.  Conservative in his demeanor and behavior, conscientious  and studious, in many ways we were opposites. But we always remained brothers. There was rarely a cross word or difference that mattered. We've maintained a friendly, cordial relationship throughout our adult lives.

Tony married his college sweetheart, Patti and they moved to San Diego to pursue dual pharmacy careers, raise two daughters and live their strong Catholic faith. Their daughter Maggie, is a special needs child and the love and sacrifices they both made for her were selfless . It seems like we just  gradually saw less and less of each other over the years, as was the case with mostly of our siblings, separated by long distances. When our father was living in San Diego, Tony assumed the responsibility of looking after him and when he died, took care of managing his affairs. Always responsible, always considerate, always dependable.

Tony was the one, of all my siblings including me,  you never had to worry about, who just seemed to always do the right thing. He's lived a good life, taken care of his business and loved his family.  He won't get to enjoy his retirement that he has earned.  He won't get to grow old with his wife.  He most likely won't be able to walk his daughter, Laura, down the aisle. He won't get to know his grandchildren. And it is not fair. And it makes me angry. And it makes me sad.

So my business in San Diego, along with my sister Shelley, is to spend time with him while we still have some. To just be together while he is still able to walk around and enjoy the day. Before the chemo gets too rough and before his liver stops working.  This is not a trip I ever thought I would make but it is an opportunity for me to be a big brother once again.

In talking with him early this week about our trip out, he mentioned that he and Patti go to Mass on Saturday afternoon. That was the only thing he had planned. I can't remember the last time I went to mass, but I think I will ask  if I can join him. He says he is not afraid and think I know why.

  

Tony, me, and Shelley around 1955

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

I love music. I don’t just like music, I love music. Can’t imagine a world without it. Music has been a significant part of my life for as long as I remember.  Music never gets old and it always does it's magic. Last week, I had the chance to hear my favorite band live in Kansas City for the about the 40^th time. I’m not exactly sure of the count, but I’m guessing about 40 times.

"Down on my knees, whole heart in hand"

Tower of Power is the band and they are in their 45^th year of performing. Yes, you read that correct….45^th year! That would make me about 16 the first time I heard them. The song was “You're Still a Young Man” and I remember that moment as if it happened yesterday. Down the basement in my room, listening on the radio and Bam!, "what was that sound?" A slow soulful ballad that opens to a chorus of screaming  trumpets then settles into a lush, laid back groove accompanied by fat horns. “You’re still a young man, baby, woo –ooo, don’t waste your time” is delivered by the chorus of background singers, before the lead singer enters with “down on my knees, whole heart in hand”. I was hooked at first listen. TOP became my favorite band at that moment. That was 1970.

In 1985, I saw them for the first time live at the Maintenance Shop on the campus of Iowa State University, where Iowa Public TV recorded the show for public broadcast. I sat right next to the stage and can see myself when I watch the recording of that night. I was blown away. A 5 piece horn section, funky rhythm section, soulful lead singer, intense, almost non-stop music. By then I had every recording TOP had made, but had failed to see them live. I remember feeling as if a “bucket list-once in a lifetime moment” had finally arrived. Imagine my delight when they returned the following year, 1986, and I made it to both shows they performed. Double my luck.

 Like so many groups that came out the late 60's, and in TOP's case, the San Francisco scene, the band was not alone in battling their personal demons. Several key members had left or  been removed due to substance abuse.  Looking back on that night in March of 1985, it is clear that several members, including the leader, Emilio, were still battling those demons. The music was great but they looked rough. I didn’t hear much about the band after those shows and they didn’t release any new music until around 1990 when a CD called “Monster on a Leash” appeared. Keep in mind that this was before the days of the internet so news and updates were not easy to find. I had no idea about what they had been through,but one thing was clear, they were still together or at the least, back together again.

Tickets from the first 3 TOP shows I saw.

In 1991, I saw them for the 3^rd time in Minneapolis at a club called the Fine Line Music Cafe. 4 members of the original group were still in the band and they were hot! Emilio Castillo, the leader of the group had refocused the band on what they did best and they were "back on the streets again". They looked good and sounded great. They played the old classics such as “What is Hip”,  “Soul Vaccination” and “Squib Cakes” as well as some of their new tunes off the recent CD.  When they came our for their encore and played  “You’re Still a Young Man”,  some of the mystery of where they had been and what was different was revealed. Emilio dedicated that song by saying that  “this goes out to the Friends of Bill W” which was immediately followed by the screaming trumpet fanfare intro that defines that song.  And at every TOP  performance I've seen since then, he has repeated that same dedication to that same song. You see, in October of 1990, I became a “friend of Bill W” and as corny as this may sound, it saved my life. I could see that night that while it may have saved at least one of band member's life, it probably saved Tower of Powers' life as well. We know had that in common.

From that night in 1991, up until last week, I kept listening and going to see TOP whenever I could. I introduced TOP to Georgette by taking her to Minnesota in 1997 where we saw them at a casino and had front row seats. She got her first “Soul Vaccination” up close and personal. I’ve seen them in Iowa,  Colorado, California and Virginia. I’ve hung out backstage and chatted with some of the guys and I’ve shared an elevator with some without saying a word. Maybe one of the best moments came when my brother Joe and I did a road trip back to the casino in Minnesota  in 1997 for a two-night performance and we found our way into their Saturday afternoon rehearsal where we got to witness the band working some new arrangements into some of their signature numbers. How cool was that?

“The more things change, the more they stay the same”

That lyric is from a TOP tune called, “Diggin on James Brown”.   Last Wednesday evening, at a funky blues club called Knuckleheads Saloon,  tucked away in an industrial area northeast of downtown Kansas City, the TOP reminded me once again that “the more things change, the more they stay the same.”  I invited my son-in-law Chan, who lives in KC,  since it was a work night and GK didn’t want to make the early morning road trip back up I-29. We had reserved seats that were set back away from the stage, but this was the kind of place where you are meant to stand most of the night. A perfect venue to see and hear live music up close and personal.  A small, intimate room where the stage extends and you can get up close from three different vantage points. It wasn’t long after the show began that I wandered up close for a song or two. Then back to my seat for a bit. Then back up for a few more, then back to my seat. Finally, with 4 songs left in the rotation, I told Chan I would see him at the end and worked my way right back up to the edge of the stage, where I spent the rest of the show.

I was in musical heaven. The intensity and energy was off the charts. It could have gone on forever.  "James Brown Medley", "So Very Hard to Go"," What is Hip?"- the band was on fire. At times, I just closed my eyes and took it all in. This began so many years ago and here we are again today, 2013. When the time came for the last encore,  once again Emilio dedicated  “You’re Still a Young Man” to "the the friends of Bill W”. Blessed.  Grateful.  Lucky.  At home.  A million emotions and a million musical moments merged to one groove.

The set list from the TOP gig on March 20, 2013

After the last note was played, Chan and I reunited and found our way to the parking lot and in the morning I headed back to Omaha at 5am.  45 years of TOP making music.  43 years for me listening to their music. They do what they do best. I love what they do best.  Some day they will play no more as TOP, I thought.   Someday I will have my last live TOP experience.  Who would ever thought it would last this long? So grateful it happened. Until then, I’m left with these 2 lyrics:

“The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same”.

“You’re Still a Young Man, Baby, Don’t Waste Your Time”.

Words to live by.

This is where I stood for the last 40 minutes of the show.

Tower of Power Horns

Spring is just around the corner....

I was supposed to play in a band concert today. It was postponed because of the snow. Snow is still continuing to blanket everything in white while I sit inside dreaming of spring. You see, besides being a band nerd, I am also a garden nerd. We garden nerds wait all winter for the first sign of spring  and then spring ( pardon the pun) into action as early and  often as we can.

Yesterday, I took the lawn mower into the shop to get serviced. I know it was only March 8th but we like to beat the rush here at 4705. The guys at the  lawn mower shop probably take bets or have an office pool to see who can guess the exact date we show up with  the mower.  Taking your lawn mower in to be serviced early is not only good planning, but I think it helps spring to get here sooner. You skeptics out there should try it.

Also on the list of things to do yesterday was to haul out most of our patio furniture just in case an early 70 degree day might come along in mid-March. Heck, it can sit out on the deck and patio just as easy as it sits in the basement. Besides, the  early putting out of patio furniture, combined with the early servicing of one's lawn mower, increases the odds that spring will arrive sooner.  Again,  try it yourself and see.

Pots of bulbs who want sunshine.

And if that wasn't enough, I was also planning on hauling the 20 pots planted with spring bulbs from the garage put  to our deck. Every December, I plant  pots with tulips, daffodils, crocus and grape hyacinth and leave them in the garage to cook, I mean cool. By the first of March, they are crying to get out into the sunshine and spring  to life, gracing our deck with a splash of spring color. But alas, they too are still in the garage, not because of the snow, but because the temperature is supposed to drop into the teens tonight.

Waiting for Spring

Yesterday, when it was about 50 degrees outside, I did manage to tear down 5 trash cans full of  Sweet Autumn vine that covers our fence. It's one of the tasks on my spring clean-up list.  The 5 cans will go out on the curb this Wednesday for the garbage guys to haul away. I put out  3 cans of garden waste last week after I just had to go out and start cleaning up the flower garden. You see, putting out your yard waste early also helps spring get here sooner. I can hear the garbage guys muttering under their breath wondering what would possess someone to put out garden waste on March 3rd.

To top it off,  we were planning on cooking steaks on the grill for supper tonight, in celebration of the first night of daylight savings time. That too, my friends, has been postponed due to the snow. Dinner will be prepared and consumed indoors where it is warm. At least I will be able to snow blow the driveway after dinner while it is still light outside.

No, this is not an illegal plant.

All was not lost however. I got my seeds started and put under the grow lights in the basement as I am custom to doing this time every year. Zinnias, salvia, rudbeckia, coleus and sweet pea vine that will be transplanted mid-May if all goes to plan.

Spring will get here soon enough, this I have learned. Being a gardener teaches you that Mother Nature runs on her own time.  And on her own terms. Like so  many things in life, the more you try to control it, the less control you realize you have. Mother Nature wins this round. She is undefeated. I keep trying to out wit her. But to no avail.

In the meantime, the lawn mower should be ready by weeks end and the forecast for next Friday shows 60 degrees. Spring is just around the corner.

Just One More Teacher Story

The following story, coming on the heels of the Betty Hyde story,  may appear to be but a mere coincidence to many. However, I do believe that things happen for a reason, even if I don't know for sure what the reason is.

In August 2012, about the time that plans for the Betty Hyde luncheon were in full gear, I got an e-mail  from an old college friend,  roommate and music school classmate from Drake University. Seems there was going to be a "1st ever" Drake Marching Band Reunion held in October.  Thompson was on the committee organizing the event and he wanted my support. He also wanted to know if I would attend so we could hang out, get caught up with each other and reminisce about our days together at good ole DU.  One of the focal points of the reunion was to pay tribute to Don Marcouiller, who led the band program at Drake from 1956-1987 and who had yet to be honored in a distinct way."Chief",  as he was affectionately called, was still in good health, but at 80,  the clock was ticking. The event would feature a Friday night reception, breakfast planning meeting on Saturday followed by alumni band rehearsal. From there, it would be off to the stadium to sit in the end zone with the Drake Marching Band and play along throughout the first half.  We would watch the halftime performance where Don Marcouiller would be honored, then back to the music building for  a 3 hour reception/social event where more formal presentations and socializing would occur. 

A couple of weeks later, the event registration information showed up in an e-mail and I wasted no time in getting registered and placed it on my calendar. As fate would have it, the reunion was at the end of the same week Georgette and I were booked for our annual week at a condo in  Estes Park, CO. However, we were scheduled to return to Omaha on Friday which meant I would skip the Friday night reception, but would drive over early Saturday morning in time for the breakfast. With a full day of activities on Saturday, it would still be worth the trip. Sounded like a good plan to me.

Drake Marching Band at Soldier Field, Chicago, 1971

As the weeks passed  and the Betty Hyde event came and went , I began to think about the upcoming band reunion at Drake. Growing up in Des Moines near the University, this was more than a marching band reunion, it was a Des Moines reunion. What a great time to be back in the old neighborhood where on Saturday afternoons in the fall, the smell of burning leaves  in our driveways would color the air. Where on Friday afternoons, my brothers and I would hike over to the stadium  and listen to the Drake marching band rehearse in the empty stadium and where I began to dream of playing  in that band someday. We  would walk up Forest Avenue to the McDonalds where I would have my first job and earn the infamous "employee of the month" award in August of 1969.  We'd walk down Forest to 34th and wander down fraternity/sorority row where the homecoming floats would be parked  in front of Greek houses,  adorned with whatever homecoming theme was "in" that year. It all seemed bigger than life back then, and although much has changed in the landscape on and around campus, much had stayed the same and I was looking forward to taking it all in, one more time.

One day, checking on the registration site to see who was attending that I might know, 2 names in particular caught my eye . One was Robert  Lake and the other was Tom Lee. Surely this was more than a coincidence. After all, I had just attended a reunion recognizing a teacher 45 years after my last class with her. But now it seemed that I would also be attending a reunion where 2 men who, as young Drake students some 48 or 49 years ago, introduced me to the world of music education. Obviously they were attending for similar reasons as was I-they had attended Drake and studied under "Chief", had performed in the Drake Band as undergrads, then gone on to long successful careers as music educators. Yet, here was another opportunity to come face-to-face with teachers who had influenced and shaped me, this time in the area of music, something that has given me so much joy and purpose throughout my lifetime.

When my Dad asked me back in 1963, if I wanted to play a band instrument, I gave him a rousing "yes, I want to play the trumpet" and he responded with, "Good, but you can't play the trumpet. Your teeth aren't straight enough. But you can play the saxophone". My response, if I remember correctly, was " OK, what's a saxophone?".  Dad  rented an old Conn alto saxophone from Leach Music in downtown Des Moines so  I could join the newly formed instrumental music program at St. Augustin School. I was to take lessons on Saturday mornings and my teacher was to be Mr. Bob Lake. Eventually, there would be a few organized band rehearsals and they would be led by  Tom Lee.  Mr. Lee,  then a graduate student working on his Master's at Drake, had taken the job of developing the instrumental music program for the Catholic Schools in the Archdiocese of Des Moines. He hired Drake undergrads to work in the various schools as private teachers with beginners like me. Lake and Lee were my first instrumental music teachers and they would be at the reunion.

I keep things. In an old trunk, in boxes, piles of stuff. Music stuff, programs, race numbers from road races I ran in the 80's, record albums, memorabilia, lots of stuff.  I keep it without a practical reason for keeping it. I keep it just because. You might be thinking that I just changed the subject of this story. I didn't. Sometime after discovering that Mr. Lake would be attending the reunion, I began to have an  inkling that there were some old saxophone lesson books down in my trunk of stuff. I wouldn't have bet on it, but I had a hunch. Yep, there were 2 to be exact. My first 2 lesson books, complete with all kinds of notes and markings from Mr. Lake as he patiently and skillfully attempted to teach me how to play the alto saxophone beginning back in 1963.  When I dug them out and thumbed through them, the memories began to came back-a memory of Mr. Lake picking me up outside our house on 35th Street in the winter, in his old 1943 Dodge parked out front with the heater on. He stopped by before 8 o'clock and gave me a ride to my lesson at St. Augustin School, then I walked home, about 2 miles. As I looked at the notes and markings on some of the exercises I must have struggled to master,  I never once thought of quitting or giving up. I was given a solid start at playing a musical instrument that would turn into a lifetime of experiences. I was lucky and blessed....again. The lesson books would make the trip to Des Moines as I anticipated the reaction they might induce.


My first 2 lesson books found in trunk o' stuff.

Progressing to the Intermediate Book

 

Lesson book dated 7-10-63

The day would begin with a leisurely drive across I-80 from Omaha to Des Moines on the crisp fall morning of October 6th. The first event of the day was a breakfast reception followed by a rehearsal of the alumni band. As I checked in to the event I was relieved to see that name tags were provided as I was not sure I would recognize Mr. Lake. After all, it had been 48 years and I was quite sure he wouldn't recognize me. To my good fortune, I spotted Tom Lee right away and scanned the room for anyone else I might recognize.  Eventually I located a man who looked like he could be Mr. Lake. Armed with the 2 lesson books,  I read his name tag and sure enough, there he was, chatting with some other alumni. A pause in the conversation gave me the opportunity to break the ice.  "Excuse me, I was just wondering if you would recognize your handwriting?"  Caught slightly off guard, I decided not to make this any more awkward than it needed to be.  " My name is Dan Kingkade, you were my first saxophone teacher at St. Augustin back in 1963, and I just wanted to thank you for helping me get off to a great start as a young musician."  I thought his wife, who was standing next to him, was going to cry. We talked for several minutes, sharing our memories of that time, and I offered the lesson books to him if he'd like them. He passed on my offer so they remain in my possession. Later on, I caught up with Tom Lee and thanked him for his service as the first band director I had the opportunity to play under.  Mr. Lee had just retired after long stints at the University of Texas and UCLA, most recently. Bob Lake is retired after serving as a band director in the Edina,  Minnesota school system. 

Bob Lake, Tom Lee with me at the Drake Marching Band Reunion

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't mention a word or two about Don Marcouiller, the man we were there to honor. I had the privilege of performing and learning under Don's direction during my 4 years at Drake. He built a terrific marching band program at Drake and we had the opportunity to travel and appear at 4 NFL halftime games, several of which were televised ( this was back in the day when marching bands were shown at halftime on TV). I also played in the wind ensemble and concert bands under Don's baton.

Time went by quickly and there were more conversations with these 3 men throughout the day as well as with many other old friends and classmates. I had gotten lucky again, I thought as I drive back to Omaha that evening. Lucky that someone had put a saxophone in my hands at an early age. Lucky that I had been blessed with great teachers who made me want to continue to play and perform. Lucky that music has been a central element of my life. Lucky that this opportunity presented itself out of the clear, blue sky. Lucky that our trip to Colorado ended just in time where I didn't have to pick one event over the other.

You still may not believe that things happen for a reason, and it is not my intention to convince you that this story, on top of the Betty Hyde story, is anything more than a mere coincidence. For me, however, it was no mere coincidence. In the year 2012, I was meant to cross paths with teachers who had shaped and contributed to my life in significant ways. Why? I'm not entirely sure yet, but I will be forever grateful that I took the opportunity to recognize them when the opportunity presented itself.

Is 45 Years Too Late?

In September of 2011, I attended the 40th reunion for Roosevelt High School class of 1971 in Des Moines, Iowa. At the previous class reunions I attended in '81 and '91, I gravitated to the classmates that I attended junior high school with at Callanan Jr. High for grades 7-9. Maybe it was because Roosevelt was a such large high school with over 1500 students while Callanan was much smaller with less than 500 students. Maybe it was the times we were living in-the civil rights movement, the  psychedelic scene, long hair, peace protests and mini-skirts.The mid-1960's was a time when we were still somewhat naive, but on the edge of turbulent and explosive social change. Or maybe it was the teachers and leaders of that stately brick building just 20 blocks west of downtown Des Moines, with the WPA murals in the stairwells and a student body made up of a wide swatch of economic and racial backgrounds. It was all those things for me and then some and when I look back, I remember it as a marvelous and exciting time to be a teenager.  



Betty Hyde in her classroom, mid 1960's

At our 40th class reunion, the conversations were heartfelt and humorous, grateful and genuine. It seemed to me that those of us who attended knew how lucky we had were. We had survived the 60's and 70's intact. We had lived most our lives, achieved most of our successes, had experienced the highs and lows of love, careers, and health and were still standing. Time flew by and when the hour to part was upon us, we all said we needed to get together again, this time with just the Callanan group. With the advent of Facebook and e-mail, it was now possible to stay connected and plan an event in ways that we couldn't have dreamed possible back in 1967.



In March of 2012, a group of 12 of us met and held our mini-Callanan Jr. High Reunion, Class of 1967. On a Saturday afternoon in Des Moines we spent several hours together sharing stories and memories, past and present. As we reminisced about the teachers we had at Callanan, one name kept coming up-Betty Jean Hyde, our 8th grade English teacher.  Is she still alive? Does anyone know anything about her? Susan, one of our classmates,  said she had a connection. A friend of hers knew Mrs. Hyde from the hospital where she volunteered. Would she to meet with us? Would she remember us? The clock was ticking and we knew it, after all it had been 45 years and we weren't getting any younger, nor was Mrs. Hyde (who was 82 we later discovered). We parted that day with a commitment to locate and meet with Mrs.Hyde, if she was willing and able.

As spring grew to summer, the plans began to come together. Mrs. Hyde was located and was in good health. She was interested, albeit a bit surprised that this group of students from the late 60's was looking for her. Mrs. Hyde retired in 1997 after working for over 42 years as an educator and administrator and was living in west Des Moines. Facebook messages went back and forth, dates and locations were discussed and finally we had a concrete plan. On Saturday, September 23, at 2:00pm, at Mimi's Restaurant in West Des Moines, we would pay tribute to Betty Hyde.

Betty Hyde, 82 years young.

There were many thoughts running through my head that day as I drove across Iowa on I-80 towards West Des Moines.  Would she remember us? Would she still be as we remembered her? Memory can play tricks on you, I've found. Did I edit out the parts I didn't like, only recalling those that fit my current version? The one thing I was very clear on was my intention to thank the teacher after 45 years, hoping that 45 years wasn't too late.


There were several classmates at the restaurant when I arrived and we waited in a private room that was set for the occasion while others arrived. I put together a collage of pictures and other memorabilia  and had it framed as a keepsake for her. Among the photographs was a copy of the report card where she had she had stated that she had "moved my seat because of wisecracks and side comments and that I had a good mind, but was going through a silly period".

The Callanan group with Mrs. Hyde

You might imagine that if the rest of the day had turned out to be a disappointment I just might not be telling this story. So let me  cut to the chase-the rest of the day greatly exceeded any expectations I could have had. It was a wonderful, wonderful afternoon. Did I say it was wonderful?  Mrs. Hyde, upon arriving, had us in the palm of her hand just as she did those 45 years ago. She was charming, sharp, funny, poised, gracious (see the video below). One by one, she spent time asking about each of us, remembering things about each of us such as where we sat in her class, or we how walked, or how we participated. Two of our classmates called in from long distance and passed on their gratitude. And when the time came to present her with the framed collage keepsake , I took my opportunity to tell her about the report card she had written 45 years ago. How I rediscovered it a key juncture in my life and how it encouraged me. About how I used it make people laugh. That it reminded me a time in my life when I was growing the most it seemed. That it represented all the contributions of all the great teachers I was so fortunate to have as a teenager growing up in a turbulent world..

Betty Hyde, 45 years after moving my seat.

Time went by so quickly and soon it was nearing 5 o'clock and it was time to head for home. We said our goodbyes, took a few more pictures, and Mrs. Hyde left with every one's home addresses as she proclaimed, "I still do snail mail."  I later heard from all my classmates who attended and they all received a letter from Mrs. Hyde, typed on a typewriter, I suspect, and sent via snail mail. Mine is posted here for you to read to help you catch a glimpse of who she is and get a sense of why we all admired her so much.

                                                             

Is 45 years too late to thank a teacher for making a difference in your life? Not in this case, although we got lucky. I got lucky. Don't wait as long a I did. You won't regret it.