I was born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin. I attended grade school there.  I graduated from high school there (Robert M. LaFollette Sr. Junior/Senior High School – say it a few times). I played Little League there.  I attended church there.  I ran around the neighborhood, unfettered by rules (but with the knowledge that I would get my butt reddened by my father’s firm hand if I got into trouble) there. It was a great place to grow up. Little crime, lots of white collar and blue collar jobs, clean lakes for recreation, a zoo and lots of heat in the summer and snow in the winter.

I thought it was the most boring place on earth.

I dreamed of African safaris, arctic expeditions, long road trips (yup, I am finally realizing my dream), ocean beaches.  Anything, anywhere.  Just not Madison, Wisconsin.  Boring.

How things change!  In the 45 years since leaving Madison I have grown to fully appreciate it.  I now view it as one of the most interesting places on the planet.  Sure, the Left Bank of the Seine is great and who wouldn’t want to see the Alps or partake in all that Manhattan has to offer?  But State Street in Madison is a kick and holds its own against world-class competition.  Have a beer and a brat on the patio at the Brathaus and watch the wacky world wander by.  It is a fine way to spend an hour or two in the summer.

I mention this not because it is a destination on our current RV itinerary but because I just returned from a weekend there.  The occasion was my 45th high school reunion and both the city and the class were looking good.  It was our biggest reunion ever, thanks to the tireless efforts of Nancy Tyler-Albers and her dedicated cohorts.  I was a little skeptical when I first received the invitation that informed me that the Friday night meet-and-greet would be held at a bowling alley.  But in retrospect, what says “Wisconsin” better than a bowling alley? Complement the location with some fine local microbrew beer (Spotted Cow) and all that is missing is some cheesehead hats, the Packers on the telly and some brats on the grille.

When I first walked into the function room I didn’t recognize anyone other than Nancy, who was manning the name badge station.  The planning committee had thoughtfully affixed our high school yearbook photo to our badge, to give a visual aid in case we no longer could place the face.  After walking around the room a bit, I was convinced that there were a bunch of interlopers in attendance as I recognized nearly no face or name.  But then some people started arriving that I actually remembered.  Margaret Rortvedt and her husband Jim Boerke, both looking like they did in high school. Paul Kendall and Steve Rounds, who both seemingly hadn’t aged a day, Reverend Gary Black (yes, the Reverend Mr. Black), the senior class president, who was also looking very well-maintained.  George Kamperschroer (I hope I got that right – it is a hell of a name to spell) who was looking very much like the successful lawyer that he is (and, I believe, the only lawyer in our class of 350+, which is a credit to the class, I think). Linda Thielke who was looking as lovely as ever, despite having lost her mother just a few weeks before. Jim Tomlin and Bob Blumerich, two buddies that I chummed around with in 7th and 8th grade and with whom I engaged in some memorable incendiary pursuits – most notably constructing a cannon which we used to fire a cats-eye marble through the side of my garage. Finally, my best high school friend David Benjamin (Benjie or Benj to his friends), who is no longer the skinny kid he was in high school, but was looking very distinguished with his slightly portly frame and full white beard.  He looked a bit like Ernest Hemingway, which is appropriate as both are published authors. He brought his lovely wife, Junko, who is far and away my favorite spouse in the group.

It was a fine evening.

On Saturday morning I had to forgo an opportunity to see my high school sweetheart, Jill Ramsfield, to carry through on my commitment to a round of golf.  I didn’t know she would be in Madison that weekend. After all she lives in Hawaii and it wasn’t her reunion – she Class of ’68.  But she was in town and was having brunch with Benj – an event which he invited me to on Friday night.  I was tempted, for sure, but a commitment is a commitment, so I played golf instead.  Besides, I hadn’t played a round of golf in over two years, so it had its own appeal.

I shared a cart with Craig Howard, another guy that I little or no contact with in high school.  But he turned out to be a fine golfing companion and it was a beautiful day to hack up a course, so it was a lot of fun.  Our foursome was completed by Patty Jacobson – a woman who I believe I first met in kindergarten – and her husband Gene.  Patty had worked in a golf pro shop for 9 years, so she smoked our asses by shooting an 82.  I don’t know what I shot as I let Craig keep score, but I had 3 pars in the round (including two back-to-back – something I haven’t done in 10 years, I think), so it wasn’t completely embarrassing.  But I will never make a living on the Senior Tour.

Midway through the round Patty told Craig and me that Gene – who I thought was about the same age as the rest of us – was 17 years older than she, which would put him north of 80.  I just about fell over.  I sure hope I look as good as he does at that age.  And maybe play golf as well?  Please, God?

The Saturday night buffet was at the same golf course, in keeping with the sports theme of the weekend.  The food was great, the music – provided by Kathy Parisi and her husband – was age-appropriate and many people who hadn’t been in attendance Friday night made an appearance.  Some highlights were seeing Nancy Myer and Cathy Oliver – two of the nicest high school cheerleaders you could ever hope to meet, Patty Brill and her husband Oren, who are always fun, Jeri Mather who I don’t think I have seen in over 40 years.

Kathy Parisi sang “Those Were the Days, My Friend” which she claims was the most popular song of 1967 and was a great song to resurrect for the reunion. Kathy could sing?  Who knew? She has a beautiful voice, which, to the best of my knowledge, she did not reveal in high school.

At the end of the evening Junko handed me her cell phone and invited me to speak to Alice Twombly, my freshman year civics teacher and, as it turns out, the best teacher I had in those high school years.  I had not seen her since she attended our tenth year class reunion back in 1977, despite the fact that Benj saw her frequently (they both live in the New York area).  It was great to talk to her again.  She wanted to meet with Jett and me when she came up to Boston this month, but unfortunately we will have vacated MA by the time she arrives.

All in all, another fine evening.

The weekend ended with a small brunch at Benj and Junko’s condo very near The Square, the elevated couple of acres that marks the center of Madison and on which the state capitol – arguably the most beautiful state capitol building anywhere – is situated.  I had a little extra time that morning and it was a beautiful day, so I wandered around the city taking some photos.  The Square was closed to traffic – for some kind of street fair it appeared – but as I was returning from my photo walkabout I ran smack dab into the middle of a Gay Pride parade.  As I said, Madison is never dull.  I can’t imagine why I found it boring when I was a kid.

I only had an hour at the brunch as I had to hotfoot it back to Chicago for my flight home.  But I got to catch up just a bit with Benj’s sister Peg (Class of ’65), Oren and Patty and Ann Skowronek, the class kook who is currently waging war against electronic emissions from electric meters.

Some of my Sunday morning photos:

The Tenney Park Lagoon

Lake Mendota

The Capitol

The Brathaus on State St

Gay Pride