REUNION

REUNION

Where has Cranky been these last several days?  What, no Stupid Headline Sunday? No Cranky Opinion Saturday?  Is everything all right you wonder?

Do not despair, I have been away with Mrs. C to my annual college fraternity reunion, this year in Daytona Beach Florida, hosted by Fast Freddie and the lovely Jazzy Janet.

Fast Freddie got his name because he drove 8 “brothers” home one night from the local watering hole in his fastback Corvette at about 70 MPH which, when half-in-the-bag on a country road, felt like 110 mph, all the while several fools under a pile of frightened fools kept yelling “Faster, Faster!”

Not our finest hour or Freddie’s most intelligent moment.  We only celebrate it today because we lived to meet every year, and not become an unfortunate statistic of exuberant college ignorance.  Freddie later became a dentist, where I assume he was “Steady Freddie” as his practice did quite well.

This is, I believe the 21^st annual event, missing only 2001 because of the terrorist attack.  The first few events were mostly getting to know the other “Brother’s” wives and reliving those crazy days of college. Memories, which have become extra crazy, after fermenting in our brains for almost fifty years.* 

The early reunions had cases of beer to accommodate our college day preference.  Those cases went mostly untouched and reunions since have concentrated on various varieties of wine and soft drinks.

The crazy stories of old college days have slowly been replaced by crazy stories of past reunions.  These crazy stories are a bit more mellow than the college stories.

“Remember when Wally almost got drunk?  I swear I saw him stumble coming out of the restaurant after dinner at six o’clock.  He claims to this day he is just not used to having dinner at such a late hour.”

“Joe B went on a mud slide binge one year.  Frog gave a twenty-minute dissertation on the importance of the medieval plow, and Marty fell asleep during the Miami-Virginia Tech game.”

“How about when Gawk thought his wallet was in his back pocket when it was really in his front pocket?”

“What about when Squeak got pulled over by a cop for driving too slow in the left-hand lane?  He beat the ticket by showing the officer his Medicare card and asking, ‘Does this mean anything’?  Cop said. ‘It means go home old man and stay off my road!’”

Oh, those crazy times.  Well, one-time Catfish lost a keeper bass, and Obner spilled wine on someone’s wife and did not even know it, or Buddy forgot his cell phone for five minutes, Vinnie almost raised his voice or…I could go on and on.  All these stories are pretty bland, but give them a few years and they will be outrageous legends.

Perhaps the best was being pulled over by the Coast Guard on Balla’s 26-foot craft on one of Pittsburg’s three rivers.  We had twelve people on board and only ten life jackets.   Balla hid Stanly behind a seat cushion and somehow managed to have the Coasties count one jacket twice.

One way or another these events are always great fun, even if they become a bit bland compared to the fermented stories of old.

Who knows what will become legan…wait for it…dary this year.  I heard a rumor that someone’s wife put butter in her coffee. 

Now, there is a story!

Next year, look out Virginia.

*Any story that starts, “We used to” maybe happened once.