Nationwide, statistics show that 87% of high school classes have less than half of their class ever attend a reunion. Somewhere around 20% of a high school class attends a typical reunion. My own experience is a bit extreme – when the 20^th reunion committee set out to plan the reunion for the 645 students in the Gar-Field High School Class of 1976, they couldn’t find 45% of the class! They were in the wind, not to be found until the advent of social media. For the 40^th, the GFHS committee gave up and combined three classes (2,000 people!) and still couldn’t fill a small banquet room in a hotel.

And then there is the Soddy Daisy High School Class of 1973.

In 1988, four years into our marriage, Diana announced they were having a 15^th reunion. I said, “Who does that?” and she let me know that they do it every five years. I had to see it myself, so we traveled to her hometown of Soddy-Daisy, just outside Chattanooga, and I got to experience it firsthand. Since then I have been to the 25^th, 30^th, 40^th, and, last night, the 50^th. These folks are serious.

I signed on as the photographer, because someone had to do it, and that gave me the opportunity to watch and listen to these fine folks as I took the cute people-in-a-picture-frame photos, wandered the crowd for candids, listened and clicked as the speeches were given. In earlier days there was much carousing, and the bar was doing a booming business. This crowd, all in their late sixties, was a little more retrained than my previous experiences. And as I soaked it all in, here’s what I found, what I saw, what I heard, what I felt. Mostly, here is what I learned.

Small Town

Soddy-Daisy is not a big town. It was about 7,000 “friendly souls” fifty years ago, and not much above 12,000 today. It was actually two towns, Soddy and Daisy, until 1969 when they were “united for progress” and most of the people from this era still know the difference – my wife is a “Daisy Girl” and always will be. But no matter which end of Dayton Pike they come from, they are passionate about this little burg. Something like 70% of them still live in the 37379 ZIP code. Including us – we live less than 100 feet from Diana’s childhood home. While you may have heard stories about feuding hillbillies down here, the reality is they have each other’s back, and yours, and mine. They wave at everybody, and greet everyone, friend or stranger. And don’t go to Walmart without reserving a few minutes to talk to someone you know, because you will.

Big Memories

Some of these folks go back to elementary school together. They all know who everybody’s granny is, know who did what to who, and when, sometimes why. They can paint rich and beautiful word pictures of life as it was in 1973, and earlier. If I ask my wife who a person is, I get a story – when they slept over at each other’s house, where they ran around, what their parents were like. Always the story. I know more about most of these people than I ever knew about my own high school friends. They never forget, and when they start talking there is a light in their eyes, big smiles on their faces, maybe some hand-waving. Back-in-the-day is an expression for many, but to these people it is so real it still burns bright, and the qualities and values of those times still hold sway.

They Love Each Other

Yes, they may still remember something someone said years ago, but they still love them. They are all cut from the same fabric, and I don’t mean in some weird, inbred way, so stow that tired joke. Their families go back generations, and that generational love continues. All of them grew up in this small town, where families mattered, love was (and is) expressed. They aren’t afraid to show their love, and most all will greet each other with hugs and kisses. Handshakes are for business deals, after all. This here’s family!

I was struck last night by the genuine quality of this. It is the very reason they keep doing this, even in the age of social media. They may know what you had for dinner last night and how many grandkids you have, but they sure haven’t hugged your neck in a while (unless they ran into you at Walmart) and that is the one thing Facebook can’t provide. That even extends to a transplant like me.

The SDHS Class of 1973 Cares

While there were plenty of old people jokes – we are, after all, old people – I heard many ask specifically how the other was doing, how is recovery going, how’s your momma doing. And it’s real because they let each other tell their story in response. Everyone knows who has had, or is going through, a major medical trial. There were folks not in attendance because they were still overcoming heart surgery or had tested positive for COVID. There is no HIPAA in this crowd – tell us about your knee replacement, what kind of prescriptions are you taking, who is your doctor. They aren’t being nosy – they need to know so they can care and pray for you.

Four years ago this week I was in the hospital battling for my life with a rare disease. I can’t tell you how many people asked about me, how I was doing, am I okay now. Some of them I couldn’t tell you their names (fortunately we had name tags!) but it didn’t matter. I was one of them, albeit by the good sense I had to marry one of them, and they really cared about me.

Robert Talaska Field is the name of the SDHS football field. He graduated with the 1973 class but had faced great difficulties growing up, after an early brain injury. The field is named after him for good reason – not only did he work as the high school custodian, but he was also the Trojans team manager. There was a table with a card to sign, and people lined up to sign it, and a gift of a shirt – SD’s Robert: The Man, The Myth, The Legend. Everybody around here knows him and loves him, my own kids included as he lives next door. He couldn’t make the reunion because, you guessed it, he was at the Trojan’s season opener.

My wife always puts together the memory table, with pictures of the departed class members. The number is up to twenty-eight this year, and it’s a somber reminder of the finite realm in which we live. I saw many stop and carefully review the photos, and I suspect they were recalling the good times they had with their dear departed friends.

They are a Fun Bunch

Laughter was the language of the evening, with stories, jokes, memories bringing the house down. For a small group, they sure could get loud. Even with the PA system it was tough to get their attention for an announcement. And whenever a story was told everyone got the punchline and laughed accordingly. I did not see any long faces, even though at this point in life there is much to be sad about. If you can’t laugh at life, yours and mine, then what’s the point? The SDHS Class of 1973 is not a tinkling glass, piano playing in the background crowd. They are having fun, with the DJ keeping the vibe going with classic rock while they eat and drink, and tell stories, with gusto.

Movers and Shakers

In such a small sampling of the population, I see so many accomplishments. The class boasts successful businesspeople, career military, teachers, artists. Others are deeply involved in the community whether in politics at the local and county level or the fire department. Not everyone may know this, but Soddy-Daisy was united for progress specifically to develop a better fire department and get a better town fire rating. It takes movers and shakers to make this stuff happen, to get better schools, make sure the roads are paved, keep the city safe and clean for everyone. Because they love each other and care about their town, they use their skills and resources to move everybody forward. These people are the very heart of what makes America work.

People of Faith

In an age of declining spirituality in America, you’ll find that God is alive and well in Soddy-Daisy, TN. While everyone is not a stereotypical Bible-thumper, I don’t think you will find many who don’t give credit where it is due. Plenty of “thank God,” “PTL,” and pointing up to the Big Guy going on here, especially those who have been or are going through the wringer. And it’s all wrapped up nicely with a heartfelt prayer “In Jesus’ Name” before the buffet line is open for business.

What I saw was a small crowd of big-hearted people. What I heard was the joy of celebrating the good fortune to be from a small town, what I felt was genuine love. Of each other, of their shared history, of life.

And maybe I was a little bit envious.

You see, this is not something you can force, it can’t be legislated, there’s no way it can be created out of thin air. It must have been lived, in all its fullness and passion. The experience had to be shared to create a reunion that is real, this alive.

The evening closed with an original song that may have had a tinge of melancholy, but no regret. While the singer fondly recalled the times, he also lamented the growing number pictures occupying the memory table. Because he, and they, and even me, don’t want this to end. It has been a good, long ride for the class of 1973, and hopefully they will have many more years to celebrate, to remember, to love each other.

Thank you, Soddy Daisy Class of 1973, for letting me be a part of your memories.

Reunited, and it feels so good.
Reunited ‘cause we understood.
There’s one perfect fit.
And SDHS, this is it.
The class of 1973 is excited, ‘cause
We’re reunited.“

(Lyrics adapted from Peaches & Herb, songwriters: Daryl Simmons, Antonio Dixon, Toni Braxton, Kenneth B Edmonds.)