Richard E Kelly

I received news of our 50-year class reunion about a year ago. A class of 152 high school students would be asked to reunite in Columbus, NE on Labor Day weekend – and yet I really didn’t know a single one of them. And it was a confession made to me by Margaret Ericksen Egleston in an email—we weren’t part of the popular crowd—that made me think: Why would I want to attend this reunion of once vibrant teenagers whose lives I crossed paths with at a dull, low point in my life? A time where my actions were monitored by a highly controlling mother who believed the world would end (“Armageddon”) before I reached the age of twenty.

Pat, Margaret, Sue, Jani

But after I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of attending. Maybe I would finally get to know people who I should have made friends with during that troubling period in my life. I must confess that I wanted to visit with Donna Ewert Dubsky and Margaret. Both of them had read and enjoyed my book, Growing Up in Mama’s Club, which describes my childhood.

My wife Helen and I organized our summer so that the class reunion would be the frosting on the cake. We left our Tucson home on June 30 and spent fifteen days at a rental home in Estes Park, CO. Then it was off to stay with friends in Long Pine, NE. (If you’re interested, I blogged that visit in July.) We followed that with four days in downtown Chicago and over a month in Grand Rapids, MI where we raised our children and where I spent 33 years of my working life. We arrived in Columbus Thursday evening and enjoyed an excellent meal at Dusters. On Friday morning, I visited with my 90-year-old mother, who still believes Armageddon is imminent. We showed up at the VFW Hall at 5:30 PM, where the reunion commenced.

When I walked into the Hall, I felt a positive, happy energy. I immediately knew that I’d made the right decision to attend. I had something in common with everyone in the room—our high school experience—be it good, bad, or indifferent. And as Jani Fey Stukas said, “we were the lucky ones as we were still vertical.”

Ron Graus was the first one to greet me. His smile was contagious, but of course he knows how to “work a room,” something that does not come easily for me. Mary McEnerney Goc greeted me with a big hug. I later learned that Jani had dubbed Mary, “The Generalissimo.” In spite of what Jani may tell you, Mary is the real deal, a hard-working “worker bee” and the kind of person I would want on my team. But there was one disconcerting moment: While I was making small talk with her husband, Dick, I told him how pleased I was to see Mary. The moment I mentioned her name, he immediately stiffened, came to attention, clicked his heels, and saluted. Maybe Jani and Dick know something I don’t.

I was impressed by the hard work and due diligence of Mary and Jean Treinies Munson who put together the “Class of 1961″ Binder. This was one of their many contributions, making the reunion a major success. It was definitely helpful to see pictures and bios of fellow students. (Donna did the cover art for the binder.) During those dead moments, as classmates circulated, it gave them time to digest what all had happened over the last fifty years. But there was plenty of time to visit. I particularly enjoyed good, lively conversations with Donna, her husband Dennis (a very cool guy), Bob Hughes, Gail Ballew Walters, Margaret, Bernard Hay, Kurt Leininger, Ed Loseke, Herb Peterson, Gerald Whitcomb and more. Remember, I wasn’t one of the “popular kids” in high school, so it was a bit of a challenge for some people to figure out who I was.

Jean, Bob, Karlyn, Sue, Kurt

I would like to thank Lois Davis Rosacker and Diane Swan Amenta for making trips to Columbus to help Mary put the picture boards together. Special kudos go to Vera Lutjelusche Cromwell for finding some of our long-lost classmates.

Rose Parade marchers: Margaret, Diane, Karlyn and Lois

On Saturday morning, we toured the newly renovated high school—a very impressive facility. Then it was lunch at Maximus; and dinner and socializing at the New World Inn. After dinner, we were treated to a nostalgic presentation by Brian Kluck and Jani. Helen and I said our goodbyes at the Sunday Brunch.

Brian, Margaret, Maryanne Whitcomb

Okay, you must know that I had a great time. But just why can I lay claim to that verdict? As a socially stunted teenager, I had to bide my time before I could finally utilize my God-given talents. Perhaps it’s why I espouse satire and irony so passionately and why I can be self-effacing and comfortable with ambiguity. Life is too short not to laugh – particularly about ourselves. You tease people you like. At least that’s my M.O. I don’t think people should take life too seriously, and I don’t. The way the reunion was organized, it was a big stage for a performer, especially a big tease like me who is also a writer looking for a story. But what clinched access to my creative comfort zone was that at no time did I hear anyone say, “Woe is me.” Religion and politics were never discussed. What I heard were unassuming, happy people. What you see at age 67 or 68, if you’re still vertical, is about as good as it will ever get. You can no longer con anyone into thinking you are anyone other than who you are. You are as happy as you will ever want to be.

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When our La Paloma neighbors and friends, Ken and Maureen Hake, invited us to spend two days with them at their remote cabin in North Central Nebraska, my wife, Helen, and I jumped at the opportunity. It was a part of the world we had never explored. And, Ken and Maureen are game people, our kind of people. But little did we know what a special treat this experience—spending time with Ken and Maureen in this very unique environment—would turn out to be.

The Hake’s three-year-old, well-designed 900 sq ft cabin is the perfect destination point for two couples who want to get lost in nature, play games and to get to know, to really get to know, each other better. The cabin is located in a pristine forest of ancient Ponderosa Pine on the edge of a fertile 260 ft canyon wall. While we couldn’t confirm it, Ken claims that a meandering stream teeming with native brown and rainbow trout awaits anyone who ventures a long slide down the steep canyon walls. The official mailbox is Long Pine, NE, but to access their forest home, one must drive ten miles on a dirt road north off Highway 20.

If you were blindfolded and airlifted into the cabin, it would be easy to believe that you were in the mountains of Colorado. It’s a very special place with a plethora of both whitetail and mule deer, giant turkeys, porcupines, blue birds, pine martins, rattlesnakes, bobcats and more. At night, the stars come to visit and put on a spectacular display of lights. The sunrises from our bedroom are what I would love to see when I wake up in the morning every day for the rest of my life.

Ken and Maureen brought in food supplies and wine for the three days and two nights we spent with them. Once you get to this special secluded spot, you want to stay put and enjoy some of the best that Mother Nature has to offer. The Hake’s knew this in advance and planned accordingly.

We knew that Ken would be passionate about winning any and all games that we played. I think it has something to do what with him being raised in a small rural town, Leigh, Nebraska. Perhaps it was the water or it could have been the DDT he brushed his teeth with as a child. But little did we know the passion; I mean THE PASSION that he has for everything he decides to do.

Ken and Maureen own the 200 acres of land that surround the cabin. And when Ken walks his property, he truly becomes THE ERADICATOR. If he sees a weed he doesn’t like, he destroys it with a passion; and “Not in a shy way!” as Frank Sinatra croons in one of his songs. Ken’s ultimate passion, perhaps hatred is the better word, is reserved for the dastardly, invasive red cedar that populate his land. He becomes a pyromaniac if need be and much more when it comes to these scum bags. And I must say, he makes a very convincing argument for why these bastards need to die, and to die now, before they destroy his sanctuary.

I guess in two words, Ken does everything “His Way.” Most people eat almonds. Not Ken. He prefers to scarf almonds. Many people are quite competitive and will at times beat up on their opponents. Not Ken. He prefers to fleece them. If he loses two times in a row, he will attempt to enlist Maureen’s support with, “Now, let’s fleece the Kelly’s.” However, Maureen does not always take Ken seriously and often refers to him as The Fabricator.

In spite of Ken’s unique personality, one of his most redeeming features is his passion of 47 years for his wife, Maureen. It is a joy to be around a man that radiates his love, admiration, and friendship for his best friend, his life-long companion, Maureen Foley Hake—the Eradicator’s sweet thang.

P.S. Oh, I must not forget. When you stay with the Hake’s at their cabin in paradise for two days, you will be required to participate with them in one of their most sacred of rituals. At 4:30 PM, Monday thru Friday, the best wine and cheese is served and the television is turned on for thirty minutes. Get comfortable because it’s time to watch Jeopardy. And the best entertainment is watching Maureen, not Ken or the three contestants on the large flat-screen television, come up with the correct answers first. Man, she is good! But then, life is good with the Hake’s.

P.S.S. If you’re curious, we played Qwerkle, Euchre, Mexican Train, Thirty-One and nine rounds of Golf, a game of cards. And yes, the Hake’s fleeced the Kelly’s. Ken says the next time we play for money or mortgages, whichever is more solvent.

My wife, Helen, and I celebrated our status as new Arizona residents by taking a 5-day, 1,300-mile mini vacation in order to feast ourselves on some of Mother Nature’s most scenic southwest canyons, buttes, mesas, monoliths, rocks and monuments without going to the Grand Canyon or Sedona.

We started our journey on Sunday, June 13, and headed for Globe, a mining town so named because of a globe-shaped piece of almost pure silver found in the area in 1870. Several miles later, we were treated to a 30-minute drive through picturesque, 2,000-feet-deep Salt River Canyon. Here the colorful sedimentary rock layers are visible from the road for miles.

Then it was on to Show Low, elevation 6,500 feet, where Tucson Desert Rats like we’ve just become can escape the summer heat. Here you can bask under 100-foot-tall pine trees or fish for feisty trout in the pristine streams in the area, but this was not our destination for the day.

Our goal was the southern entrance—Rainbow Forest—of Petrified Forest National Park. And words can not describe the thrill of seeing so many brilliantly colored, petrified logs strewn over this first stop of what is a 93,533 acre park.

About 225 million years ago, these logs we could touch and see close up were giant trees clinging to an eroding riverbank before falling into a fast-moving stream that carried them to wet, swampy lowlands. They were finally submerged in water and buried under volcanic ash sediments rich in silica before time and Nature’s handiwork did its magic. Silica replaced the wood until the logs were virtually turned into stone, with iron oxide and other minerals staining the silica to produce rainbow colors.

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