Julia, Erica and Suzi

The Reunion: a collection of thoughts and pictures from our 40-year reunion


From Bill McIntyre:

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you personally and in front of everyone who may see your web site for this reunion and for giving my self the opportunity to behave exactly as I did. My friend Donn Johnson may feel embarrassed but I do not. I behaved exactly as I would have in high school only with slightly more experience and considerably lower expectations. Quite possibly, I should have attended your bash the night before but alas, I feel sufficiently spent with the one I did attend.

To the others that I have not thanked I thank you now and apologize only for not responding to you by name or in person. To those ladies I hugged and squeezed or kissed I do not apologize. Neither do I apologize for being profane, rude or indecent, arrogant or in any way down right offensive. I will only apologize to those of you whom I did not hug, squeeze, or kiss, Man or woman. I came ready for all, knock down drag out or just plain feel good so folks if you ever wanted to take a piece out of my hide in any fashion you had your chance, man or woman. Turns out to be all feel good. If you did not want to come, well that’s ok I will still try to see you if you let me. There were conversations I could not finish or begin but still wish to continue there were people I did not reach but still want to touch. What an emotional high.

I was happy to see how everyone grew up, especially Chuck Kelly and Ricky Lambretti, unfortunately as those of you in attendance can attest, I did not. For an 18 year old, to be trapped in this body is certainly frustrating along with the growing anxiety about the onset of incontinence. Charles took me all the way back to boy scouts and the camp on Mount Tam where we did not learn the craft of the woodsman or honor or loyalty but rather how to smoke bay leaves wrapped in toilet paper. Erica Atkinson told me of a fight I had with her in 6th grade that I don’t remember (selective memory tells me that if I did fight her she must have whomped me) the first or second in a long streak of forgettable incidents of the like, after all my friend Ray Riha could not protect me all the time. Jared Dreyfus reminded me of worse things, and Dave Cline can attest to more.

Sorry I could not reach you all, there just was not or is not enough time. Growing up is never as pleasant as we would make our selves believe, the experience of High school in particular. For many there are only a few moments of imagined glory in the entirety of their lives and for it to be totally wasted in high school may seem sad, but few in this country belong to a much different society. Few have an opportunity for greater dreams and they are most certainly not provided in high school. If you are lucky, you find something to build on. The truly fortunate are inspired by their parents, others that most rare of motivators, a teacher, even a friend, the rest must seek solace in mechanics, sports, music, even art and literature but generally with out help.

 There are those of us at Tam that were marked by an un-crowned season, our own small chance at hubris, that ended on a hot and muddy field in Kentfield Ca. on a day we should have been eating turkey instead of sod and ashes, a day that became a marker of departure. We were told by our coaches Davlin and Belden that we would never forget that day and I for one never have. The lessons to be learned on a slippery field of defeat are most bitter and not very pleasant. Repeated vision and imagination only make it worse, that 40 years after the fact I could weep on the shoulder of Warren Domino should come as no surprise nor that he could embrace and accept me like a friend he had not seen in 40 years. Perhaps that is what will help wipe the bitterness away. Just the fact that Warren remembered me and sought me out

I did not realize that others held such memories. Memories that I had been selectively trying to forget, not just those of us that participated on the field but it appears even the fans remember. Most of my teammates seemed to put it away but Warren opened the door again. We can never win that game we cannot make any excuse for its loss. We cannot make the legs of Bill Rice, Bill Gillingham, Greg Taylor whole again or fix Hewett's ankle, or mend our broken hearts and there are always plenty of excuses. To make them would lessen those who participated, those who stood and watched, and those who left the field victorious.

I know we brought everything we had to that day all the emotion, desire, need all the physical strength we could muster and we took none of it from that field. We left it the in memory. We gave as well as we got. I know that those who were there that day with Warren and the rest of us gave all we had and were the better for it. Today I can still look the victors in the eye, and see the blood upon their faces, theirs or mine it doesn’t matter, I can tell them yes you were victorious but I am not defeated.

All of this is of no importance for the world or the universe or even history. No great event unhinged a nation that day no poem has yet immortalized it. This was no battle of warriors no matter how desperate we may have felt at that specific hour. Young men, testosterone, and a physical game of organized aggression with rules and spectators, truly it must be at least great theater. A finite game proscribed with a definite winner and looser (especially one as noble as we are), and most of all an audience, surely there must be some great bard willing to immortalize us all.

There are those who realize that high school and puberty were not the best of times. For whatever reasons there are those who did not come, could not come, and those who would not come to this reunion. Perhaps we party too much. There are those I would dearly like to hear of or from again Jack Martin, Tracy Oldham, Steve Long, Skip Avasian, Carole McDaniel, Jim Durban and many, many more.

Tom O’Neil lives in Santa Rosa at 145 Neotomas and is not well. He has been incapacitated by diabetes but I am sure he would like to hear from those who care (707) 528-6674. For those of you who felt close to Gordon Carrier and wish to know how he died come and see me and look into my eyes and I will tell you the how of it.

As for myself, what I have done is not very interesting and extremely unimportant. I have been and am happy in the company of my family and the few friends that have made my life of value. I would enjoy seeing you all again under circumstances that are not as constricted by time and space to share your thoughts and the life that is left to us. I am in the phone book at 1 Geraldine Ct. in Napa Ca. on the Internet Williemc1@prodigy.net if you wish to contact me.

These 40 years have swiftly passed and many have not arrived with us. I am not what I was, I am only what I am becoming the choice is all mine as it is for the rest of you. What we were, is of no importance what interests me is what we are becoming.

Bill McIntyre