But he at least saved his cap and tassel — and his senior picture, too.
Life and death. Beginning and end. Love and sacrifice.
Originally this column was meant to run last week.
It was high school graduation week. I intended to take a tongue-in-cheek walk down my high school memory lane and tie the memories together with an Aesopian moral.
I found out, however, that after 40 years the recollections of graduation day have faded. But 12 years of school, well 13 including Mrs. Buzzard’s kindergarten, did leave some permanent marks.
So too have the last couple of weeks. They were very poignant for me.
They started with writing my eighth story about Blue Peak High School and Adult Education graduations. Then we received word that my wife’s oldest sister lost her battle with cancer.
Bruce Clegg’s sudden death came as a shock and another reminder of the fleeting nature of mortality.
I also went to Tooele Transcript Bulletin’s former star reporter Lisa Christensen’s wedding reception.
I spent Memorial Day morning at Tooele City’s Veteran’s Memorial Square and attended a wonderful service that honored those who gave the greatest sacrifice possible for their country and the people they loved.
Later that evening, I sat for two hours at Bruce Clegg’s viewing. I looked around at the people who came to honor his life — and I pondered my own.
The words of “The Quest” from “Man from La Mancha” came to my mind as I thought about Bruce.
“And I know if I’ll only be true to this glorious quest, that my heart will lie peaceful and calm when I’m laid to my rest.
“And the world will be better for this, That one man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable star.”
That star isn’t unreachable, and I think Bruce touched it.
Graduation ceremonies remind us life is full of moments of where the end of one path meets the beginning of another.
Every time I hear “Pomp and Circumstances,” at a graduation ceremony, my right thumb and index finger curl slightly towards each other. My other fingers on my right hand curl and line up in a row next to my index finger.
Then as if holding a violin bow, but with my arm down to my side, my hand begins to move from the wrist to the cadence of the marching music.
For four years, starting in the seventh grade, I played in the symphonic orchestra at graduations for two high schools in my community.
“Pomp and Circumstance,” “The Grand March” from Aida, and “The March of Toreadors” from Carmen, all bring back memories of warm spring afternoons watching people graduate in St. Martin’s College Pavilion in Lacey, Washington.
I dropped out of orchestra my junior year in high school to make room in my schedule for two years of French so I could get into the University of Washington. I never played at another graduation again.
My graduation ceremony was in June 1975. My last day at high school was June 4 on my 18th birthday. But that’s about where my memory ends.
I assume, after listening to several speakers. I walked across a stage and was handed an envelope holding an empty diploma case. That was graduation.
I have no memory of who my marching partner was, whom I sat next to, who spoke, or what they said. I don’t recall any events of that day, except that both of my grandmothers were there.
I had to go home afterwards to be with them. But that’s OK; I wasn’t invited to any graduation parties.
It’s hard to write about something you can’t remember. But I do remember the music.
Maybe because I used to play in the orchestra, or maybe because I was a member of the committee that planned the graduation ceremony.
I know we marched into the pavilion to the tune of the traditional “Pomp and Circumstance.” And somebody sang “The Way We Were,” a Barbra Streisand hit song.
We marched out to a recording of “The Long and Winding Road,” by Paul McCartney.
“The Way We Were” was Streisand’s first No. 1 single in the United States, and “The Long and Winding Road” was the Beatles’ last No. 1 single.
A first and a last hit seemed fitting for the day, the beginning meeting the end.
I remember one graduation card I received. It was from Don Johns, a friend of my mother. He was a psychologist for the state Department of Corrections.
It read, “Graduate, keep your dreams and someday they will come true.”
My dream was to study political science, attend law school, and then get involved in politics, maybe even run for office someday.
I would end “pain, misery, and hunger.” I would “beat the unbeatable foe … right the unrightable wrong … and fight for the right.” (More “Man for LaMancha” stuff.)
My life has been a long and winding road. And I’m happy with where it took me. After a year of studying politics following high school, I decided to be a teacher instead.
But I never got a job teaching. I worked 20 years for the Boy Scouts of America, furthering what I still believe to be a noble mission.
Then I landed here. I enjoy my work as a writer. With my job and family I’m living my dream.
Graduates, you may not remember your graduation ceremony years later, but do remember the good times from your past and keep your dreams in your heart as you embark on the journey known as life.
You know, I never even applied to the University of Washington and my violin sits in my living room closet, virtually untouched for 42 years.
I wonder if it still knows how to make music?