By Tom Wilbur

As I gaze upon the calendar at my desk, my eyes gravitate towards the year “2012”— and it’s hard to believe how quickly time has passed. This weekend, the class of 1972 from Salina Central and Salina South will gather together to celebrate 40 years since we graduated from high school. We were one of those ‘tweeners—pulled apart in the middle of our high school experience by “progress”—the construction of a new high school in South Salina. And while our schools were separated by a couple of miles, and a lot of brick and mortar— we were closer than one would think—following years of friendships in elementary school and briefly, at Salina High School.

It’s an interesting pause in the daily routine—these reunion things. Some folks show up full of excitement to re-kindle old friendships— others come as spectators, or just see what’s up. Still others will search to find connections with a past that will never return (for example, my hair ain’t coming back). Many won’t come—challenged by health, finances, distance or personal circumstance, and that’s a shame.

In the earlier class reunions, people are anxious to find out who has been the most successful—but these “ego missions” tend to wane and mellow at reunions as the years march on. Now it’s more about just being together. We come as we are.

When you’re 18 and the world is ahead of you—you are filled with expectations of the possibilities for what might lie ahead. Our class graduated near the end of the Vietnam War, and young men were often displaced to war arenas that I guarantee they didn’t believe they’d ever see. I was not one of those, but I had friends who served in the military, and am so appreciative of their defense of our freedoms and liberties. Some gave their lives in the ultimate sacrifice for us. May God bless them.

We were children of the Sixties, a somewhat confusing period for our nation. We entered grade school at a time when the United States was involved in an international stand-off with the prospect of Russian nuclear weapons literally in our own backyard . . . missiles in Cuba. Our parents were advised to build bomb shelters in our homes to protect us from nuclear attack. My house, here in Salina, actually had a bomb shelter, but no bombs ever fell, thank God. (The bomb shelter made a very cool area to conduct secret experiments with my chemistry set, though).

We all watched in horror as images appeared on TV of President Kennedy’s assassination, and the days following with the funeral processional through the streets of Washington, D.C. As young people, we didn’t understand it all, but we knew we were sad. Then came The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show, the Chiefs winning “Super Bowl IV”, brutal assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Sen. Bobby Kennedy. The protests at the 1968 Presidential elections in Chicago, and ongoing questions about our involvement in a war on distant shores, bounded by bubble gum (Yummy Yummy Yummy I Got Love in My Tummy) and then psychedelic music (Sgt. Peppers, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and Hendrix, and all) of the late Sixties. We actually had some hippies in our class. Can’t remember who they were now. Oh yeah, and mankind stepped foot on the moon as we exited the decade.

The early 1970’s brought the separation of our high schools, and a State Championship to a Salina basketball team, as well as the Salina Community Theatre, some kind of twister in South Central Salina, Watergate and more Nixon, and Led Zeppelin—full-on. And someone named Carole King whose life had apparently been a tapestry.

We attended our sophomore year together, on East Crawford at Salina High School. But starting in our junior year, the school board tore our class in half with kids living South of Republic Avenue assigned to the brand new high school out in the sticks on East Magnolia Street. It was the “new advanced and modern” school of the future with air conditioning and no windows. It had “pods” to promote a higher level of discourse and learning, and was obviously designed by someone from outer space. You wouldn’t want a kid to look out the window and see the gently falling snow in winter, or be distracted by robin nesting in a tree now, would you? Pods.

Things have changed a little since those days . . . in 1972, gas averaged 55 cents a gallon, but during high school many of us bought gas below 25 cents a gallon, when there was a “gas war” on. The average home in America was valued at $27,550 and the Dow Jones Industrial Average finally exploded to over 1000, ending 1972 at 1030. A pair of Wrangler jeans cost about $12. The average household income was $11,880, and average rent on an apartment was $165.

One of the hottest things you could buy for your car in 1972 was an 8 track tape player with two speakers, and that would set you back $49.95. My first 8 track cartridge was purchased at The House of Sight and Sound—an 8 track tape by a new young artist, Rod Stewart. The album was titled, “Every Picture Tells A Story” and it had a cool song called “Maggie Mae” on it.

People in Salina shopped at Weeks, Ashton’s, and the Gibson Discount Center– and at Lamer’s Market. There weren’t any malls—don’t think we had ever heard of them. We had St. John’s and Asbury hospitals, and two drive-in movie theaters– The Rocket and The 81 Drive-in. The Fox theatre was active, as well as the Vogue in downtown Salina (I can’t remember when The Strand closed, but it used to be down there, too). Tony’s wasn’t an international frozen pizza manufacturer, it was a little Italian restaurant downtown, run by the Barlows. We consumed a lot of onion rings and pizza there after ball games—and Panjo’s was popular, as well. There was Sandy’s. Griff’s. The Cozy Inn—still standing today. Marymount and Kansas Wesleyan were rocking, and we even had a Big Slide until the wind blew it away one night.

Major news items in 1972 included that Watergate break-in, 11 Israeli athletes murdered at the Munich Olympic Games, Bobby Fisher beating Boris Spassky in chess, the Equal Rights Amendment passing Congress, and Richard Nixon pummeling George McGovern in the Presidential election. (Spiro Agnew watches were in there somewhere.) Movies that came out that year included The Godfather, Fiddler on the Roof, A Clockwork Orange, Dirty Harry and The Last Picture Show—a rather eclectic group. (And Fritz the Cat?? Not sure.)

The first HP Calculator, the HP-35, was priced at $395—and as I remember it added, subtracted, multiplied and could actually do division. Most of us did not have one, for many years to come—I certainly couldn’t afford that. Besides, Mr. Lundy promised us all that once we learned the slide rule, we’d be good to go, baby (even though I never saw a slide rule again in my entire life). There were no personal computers, children. This was a long, long time ago when we walked to school, and all that.

There were the teachers and administrators who moved in and out of our lives, some more actively than others. Arnold Lehman and Harry Nuss. Mr. Thompson. Herr Mohr. Mr. and Mrs. Sackrider. Gary Duff and Keith Elder. Mr. Trickle. Mr. Melander. Wild Bill Lundy. Victor Klotz. Ken Miller. Mark Crowe. A very young Mr. Troutfetter–just out of college. Mr. Heath. Lewis Kollhoff. Our coaches—guys like Carroll Cyr and Kaye Pearce. And so many others.

There were the sports we competed in—although, as I remember, girls couldn’t play full court basketball (which seemed weird). The clubs we were involved with. The Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year Award. Theatre and debate. Raising money for charity. Voting on class officers. Chess club. The Vet squad. The pep band playing, “The Horse.” Singing in the choir. Friday night football games. Prom times—not so different from now, except then we actually danced with our dates. And was there anything better than checking out the girls in the school hall, before school?

Ah, yes, to all to the girls we loved—Mary, Patti, Tressie, Sally, Mary Laura, Karen, Sharon, Terri, Soni, Brenda, Susie, Becky, Marie, Helen, Jan, Peggy, Debbie, Cindy, Andy, Frances, Jodi, Bea, Kathi, Linda, Nancy, Vanessa, Jennifer, Deb, Frankie, Gail, Marilyn, Sandy, Cath, Angelika, Connie, Sue, Vicki, Diane, and Ann— did I miss anyone? Yeah, I’m sure I did. But, we loved them all. They were, and still are, beautiful.

On afternoons and weekends, we’d gather at The Village Gate, the Peacock, and the Body Shop, play pinball, and eat (yah, and stuff like that) well before we were of drinking age. If we had an “event involving some beer” and one of Salina’s finest pulled you over for somewhat erratic driving, he’d more than likely tell you to get your butt home, instead of taking you to jail, or suspending your license. We had Sadie Hawkins. Playland Park (will boat number 4 please come in, boat number 4?). TP’ing someone’s house was a popular adventure. The senior shack—now, that was a really bad idea. Occasionally we would drag Santa Fe, and just hang out. A fight nearly always involved a girl, and fists, and beer, but not weapons. And the wind cried Mary.

So now we gather– 40 years later. Older, some of us actually wiser from the trials and challenges of time and the whole danged experience. Some are empty nesters now, and others grandparents. We have classmates who have been involved with a literal carousel of former spouses, and others who never married. Some will travel a thousand miles to be here. Others will drive several blocks because many of us still live here. We are no better and no worse than any other class—we just are who we are—a part of the fabric of the history of Salina.

But when we look into the eyes of our classmates this weekend, and see their smiles, just past the changing hairlines and wrinkles on their faces, we will still see that spark—those things that make each one of us unique. And those things that connect us. The same personalities. That funny laugh of a friend. The way we interact. Stories that tower monumentally more interesting as the years’ numbers grow. The Mighty Mighty Mustangs. The South High Cougars. 1972. I’m proud of us.

On Sunday, we will have a memorial service for those who have passed, remembering them, as well. In our hearts, we will forever carry the memories of our moments together in a time of much greater innocence, the tribulations of young love lost, our best attempts to take on the world win-or-lose, challenging the established status quo, preparing to make a run for our dreams, and all of the fun experiences we shared together– in those high school days. These things will never change.

Welcome home, class of 1972.

Your hometown, Salina, Kansas, is waiting with open arms to see you again.

Blessings, and safe travels.

tw

 

Tom Wilbur is President/CEO of BANK VI in Salina. He is a lifelong resident of Salina, and a graduate of Salina Central and the University of Kansas. His kids, Brock and Brooke, went to Salina South High School, where they have pods. Tom has been a regular editorial contributor to newspapers and magazines across the nation. He can be contacted at [email protected]