Stories
New Old Friends
By Mary Kathleen Mehuron
Maybe it’s because I’m a novelist that even events in my real life feel like they are part of a plot line. Just recently, an old high school friend, John, reached out to me after fifty-five years via a Facebook private message. I was floored. I think I was actually tactless enough to write, “I thought you were dead!” But it’s true—most of our crew from school stayed in touch—albeit in fits and starts—but at least we had each other’s email addresses.
To explain: When I was fourteen, a group of us—dancers, musicians, actors, and even aspiring directors—started a theater group. We wanted to continue performing during the summertime, and we owned the entire startup. There was very little adult supervision. We took charge. How did we even know how? I’m still really proud of us all.
We became bonded by the auditioning, the practicing, and helping to hang lights and build sets. When we reached the opening night of actual performances, it felt like a monumental accomplishment. Over the many years, we continued to value the connection we had made so long ago. But as our lives went on there was no word from John. Inevitably, whenever I had a nice conversation with one of the other “kids”, the question would arise: “Has anyone heard from John Student?” And now out of the blue, here he was.
I stared at the screen, my heart racing. Memories flooded back—after all, we both were founding members of the troupe. How many times had we shared the stage together? How many “notes” did we give each other to help improve our performances? We always provided serious, well-thought-out feedback to each other. In fact, that was key to our particular bonding. I’m not sure we thought any of the other kids were as dedicated to “the work” as the two of us were—to the idea of becoming professional performers. We might whisper the thought of it to each other, for fear someone might hear and call the notion a pipe dream, but we clung to the idea.
There was also laughter, despite the fact that our shared dream was bittersweet. The year John left for college, I became a junior. As I remember it, I saw him one more time when my parents hosted a New Year’s Eve party before we moved west from New Jersey. He brought a date—a girl I didn’t know. That was our last touchpoint until a mutual friend and I called his mother for his current phone number. He was surprised to hear from us but we made promises to stay in touch—promises that ultimately faded. He had also mentioned that he was engaged to be married.
Without overthinking it further, my fingers flew over the keyboard. “We should talk.” Without actual conversation, there was no way we could catch up on what had happened for over five decades.
But I hesitated. What if he was boring now? Or worse, maybe he was divorced and lonely. Being solidly married myself, that kind of situation would make me cringe. Still, I made, “I can’t believe it’s been so long,” pop up on the screen. After a few seconds of contemplation, I decided it was worth the risk. I clicked send, unsure of what to expect. Would he want to really reconnect, or had time erased our short-lived but once strong bond completely?
The minutes felt like hours. I paced my living room. At seventy, the ache of nostalgia was becoming familiar. I thought about others I had lost along the way. Three of my close friends died just last summer. So I know from experience how important it is to value those who are still around. As I was about to give up hope that John would respond, a notification appeared.
Two days in a row we had hour-long phone calls. They got us up to speed but I’m sure both
of our spouses thought we were insane. It must have been obvious to them that our intentions were good because neither seemed threatened by the rekindling of our friendship. An unexpected result was that our creative past felt alive again. Because we still shared so much in common, our exchanges seemed to buzz with possibility. We realized this could be more than just a reconnection; it could be the start of some new creative work.
John offered to help me edit a new portion of my fundraising book called Take Me Back: An Anecdotal History of the Mad River Valley, the third edition. And, when I asked him to consider participating in an "In Conversation" event for my new novel, Down on the South Beach Drag at Thunder Road Books at the Jersey Shore– he seemed genuinely touched.
He brought his wife, Christine, and some friends. They came back with me to my brother and sister-in-law’s house, where a beautiful luncheon was served. Everyone said it was like we all knew each other all along. We joked about being new old friends. That day at the shore, he went from being just a friend to also being a valued colleague. And I like to think his wife and friends became my friends as well.
Do you remember the old movies where a youngster inevitably said, “Let’s put on a play. We have a barn and Farmer Jones will donate the wood so we can build a stage”? We were “those” kids. And there’s a part of us that still is. I think we should cherish that.
This experience has reminded me of the importance of connections and the creative collaborations that can spring from them. Sometimes, reaching out can lead to unexpected joys and reinvigorate us. In a world that often feels disconnected, it’s heartening to rediscover the threads that bind us to our past and to one another. So, if you have someone from your past who has crossed your mind, maybe you should reach out. You never know what magic might unfold from a simple message.
A Matter of Perspective
By John M. Student
During my 25 years of teaching High School English Language Art classes I often tried to get my students to get involved with the arts- particularly theater. During most of my career the school was made up of all-boys. The girl’s school was just across the driveway, but seemed a world apart. Before we merged into one entity, students were able to take upper-level and AP classes together. The only real opportunity to “co-mingle” was during the school plays. We did the fall show in the boy’s building and the spring show in the girl’s. Oh! Did I mention that I worked in a Catholic high school? Yea, that’s right.
To try to entice the gentlemen to try out for the shows, I would tell my students the following story:
I grew up in a home infested with women- my mom, three older sisters and my grandmother. Since my dad passed away when I was eight, I was totally outnumbered. My mother was a huge fan of movies and plays. She named her first two daughters Rita and Joan after Rita Hayworth and Joan Crawford. (People “of a certain age” will recognize the names, the rest of you can Google them.) My youngest sister, Marcella, is more traditionally named after our mother and Grandmother. Her middle name is Lee though, an homage to Janet Leigh.
Every year at Christmas we would go into New York City to see a play or a “blockbuster” movie. Let me tell you, the theaters in NYC were spectacular when I was young. They were huge, with wide lobbies covered in plush red carpeting, marble staircases, crystal chandeliers, and a lot of golden ornamentation. The seats were covered in plush velvet, there was plenty of legroom and the ushers wore white shirts and bowties! The experience was memorable.
In addition to mom’s obsession with movie stars, my grandmother was hooked on soap operas - as a recent immigrant from Slovakia she learned to speak English by watching T.V. My sisters were a little troupe of actresses in their own right. Many original plays were performed in our home over the years. But I digress.
I would tell my students a story of how I became interested in theater. Her name was Mary Kathleen, though at the time she hated using the name Mary. And she spelled Kathy with an i. It was late in my junior year when my English teacher told me he was going to start a summer theater group. I told him that I had heard that and had a proposition for him. I would join his group under two conditions: 1. That Mary Kathleen had already signed up and 2. He cast us together in the show. He kept his promise! The play was A Man for All Seasons and I got the lead playing Sir Thomas Moore and he cast her as Moore’s – wait for it!- DAUGHTER.
It worked out, however. Somehow, I pulled off a very serious role in my first attempt. Mary Kathleen was great and we had many more scenes together than we would have if she were cast as Moore’s wife. He knew what he was doing! We enjoyed the rest of the summer doing two additional shows. Inevitably the class would ask “Well, what happened?” I, of course, would answer “I started my soccer season and went back to school.” They would groan and say” No, what happened to her?” “She went back to school as well. Honestly, We went out together for a while. Stop with the oohs! By "went out” I meant we went to the movies and ice skating and bowling- that's right- Bowling! And then she dumped me! We continued to be friends, rejoined the theater group the next summer and did a few more shows together and I left for college.”
That’s your story? Anticlimactic don’t you think?”
“The point of the story was that even though I lost the girl, I fell in love with acting and the theater. I graduated college with a theater degree, worked as a stage-hand and set designer and made it here to inspire you!”.
Over the years I got to some of them. A handful even went on to study theater. My biggest compliments were three students who became ELA teachers— one of whom did his student teaching with me. He went on to become an excellent steamfitter in Philly.
Little did any of us see the huge plot twist that was ahead. That 55 years after we last saw each other we would reconnect and use our combined artistic talents to collaborate. In the past year I have revived a book I started writing 25 years ago. Mary Kathleen read what I had done and gave me the confidence that it had potential. I read her first book, Fading Past, and wrote what turned out to be a critical review. (She hadn't asked for one.) She then invited me to be an “Advanced Reader” for her fourth novel, “Down on the South Beach Drag" and also to interview her about it at a book signing. She even trusted me to edit a portion of “Take Me Back: An Anecdotal History of the Mad River Valley”, a book in its third edition which she compiled to raise funds for historic projects in her hometown. Now here we are about to take on a new project. Who knows what the future holds? I can tell you that the adage “Good things come to those who wait!” is an understatement!