REUNION NIGHTS
We have all marched
the Pomp and Circumstances trail
Tassels now turned, we
all knew we would not fail
Each class knows that
it alone is unique
Fame and fortune
waiting for it to seek.
But in one year the
sands were shifting in a flooding tide
Taking all of us for
at least a wild decade ride.
We arrived in the
fall of 1965
Eager and anxious to
at Stanford thrive
I loaded with a purse
seine check dollars ahead of tuition at $1575
Without fear, ready
to become the next great Hewlett Packard engineer
Not knowing that
Engineering 9 and France would me away from a slide rule steer
Off to France a Tours, le jardin de la France in
France XIII
6 months without
Indian football, baseball or the KA party scene
A Viking from Coeur
d’ Alene symbolic of Viking ships of old that battled only currents and unknown
fears
Sheltered by compass,
sail, oars, strong arms, axes, swords
and spears.
This later Viking of
65 faced a chasm cultural shift,
All icons parted and were
now in constant swirling drift.
Constant in Alaska
only to set the salmon net, haul in the halibut hook, fell the tree
Lower down, all was
moving, compass shorn, tidal waves from an Asian sea.
Radar blips most
likely false on a ship of Joy
Soon a generation
offered to Mars to maim and destroy
Be you of the class
of 65 or 70 when the end was almost
near,
Our time at Stanford
was a far different chaotic set of years
The jungle claimed
our bodies, the music changed our souls
The pill released us,
but the highs took their toll
A tough time for a
nation, a tougher time for its youth
Where in shifting
sands would one ever find the truth?
Lower away the cities
burned, shots heard, flags stomped to the ground
A nation for many
years torn apart, in chaos always unbound
At first Stanford was
an island of stability in a sea of storms
Later sit ins in
Sterling’s office burning of Naval ROTC became the norm
Support for a war
that we never should have been in slowly began to fade
Respect for the icons
of authority began to degrade
We were the chosen
few unlikely to the jungles to be sent to die or in the humidity wilt
As we look back at
the high school dropouts a profound sense of guilt
50 years later we
have come to grip with the past and have in most cases thrived
Some with legacies
off to Stanford, careers in law, business, politics, a sense of social good to
have arrived
The Winds of Freedom
still blow, our minds still learning and questioning set free
The journey of
improvement beyond the Farm is a never ending spree
For some so lucky the
warm summer rays are just now beginning to fade
For others, the
leaves are now turning color to fall, never to shade
Lastly, some of us
feel in our bodies the first hint of snow;
Fire waiting as we
now reflect on what we did sow
But common to all as
we move upon this life’s journey trail
Heads high, toasts
through the mist, hail Stanford hail, hail Stanford hail.
© June 24, 2010 Michael P. Ridley
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