This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending my wife Pam’s 50th class reunion from Shinnston High School.
As the husband of a graduate, I occupied an interesting place at the reunion. I was close enough to understand how much the weekend meant but removed enough to observe it through the eyes of an outsider. I listened to stories, connected faces with names Pam has mentioned through the years, and watched as five decades seemed to disappear whenever an old friend walked through the door.
Shinnston High School is now closed, a victim of school consolidation. The Spartans no longer take the field, students no longer gather in its classrooms, and no new names are being added to its history.
What remains is preserved in places like the Shinnston High School section of the Bice-Ferguson Memorial Museum—and in the memories of the people who once walked its hallways.
The reunion began Friday evening at the museum, where the graduates were surrounded by reminders of their school years. Trophies from championship teams filled the displays. Letterman sweaters recalled Friday nights and hometown rivalries. There was even a mannequin dressed as the Spartan mascot.
Class composites hung on the walls, and people gathered around them, pointing out friends, teachers and classmates from years past. Each picture captured a moment when life was still mostly ahead of them. The faces belonged to giddy teenagers who were slowly becoming young adults, preparing to leave Shinnston High and begin the exciting—and uncertain—adventure of life.
There is something special about a 50th reunion. Earlier reunions may focus on careers, children, accomplishments and the lives people are still busy building. At the half-century mark, the conversations seem to carry a little more reflection. There are thoughts about what was, gratitude for what became of our lives and, perhaps occasionally, questions about what might have been.
The weekend also included a solemn reminder of the passage of time. A dozen members of the class had passed away. Many others could not attend because health problems made traveling difficult. Their absence was felt, even as those who gathered celebrated being together once again.
Several classmates traveled many miles to return to Shinnston, while a large contingent had remained close to home. Regardless of where life had taken them, they shared a common starting point. For one weekend, the years and the miles between them did not seem to matter.
Saturday evening featured a delicious buffet, a trivia contest and plenty of laughter. A class picture captured the smiles of graduates celebrating this remarkable milestone. The years had changed them, as years change us all, but they had not dampened the group’s spirit.
These graduates attended high school before cellphones, personal computers, social media or flat-screen televisions. They could not instantly text one another or preserve every high school moment in hundreds of photographs. If someone moved away, staying connected required letters, long-distance telephone calls and real effort.
Yet they built lives, raised families, pursued careers and achieved success that was never guaranteed—especially for many children of coal miners, factory workers and working families. They carried with them the lessons of their parents, their community and a school that expected them to find their place in the world.
The weekend was scheduled to end with breakfast on Sunday morning, but classmate Chuck Stanaker had one more surprise. After everyone finished eating, he invited the group outside to see his fully restored 1978 Volkswagen bus.
Chuck had taken what was once little more than a rusted hull and brought it back to life. With its pop-up camper raised and its vintage details carefully restored, the bus offered a true look back in time.
The classmates gathered around it with the same excitement they might have shown as teenagers when shiny cars and hot rods attracted everyone’s attention. For a few moments, they seemed to travel back to a time when a new set of wheels represented freedom, independence and all the possibilities of the open road.
Naturally, they posed for one more photograph. Standing together in front of the Volkswagen bus, they were not simply looking at a vehicle from another era. They were looking back at a time in their own lives when the road ahead seemed endless.
Soon, everyone returned to their homes and their lives. Their children and grandchildren may have asked how the reunion went. But, like most young people, they probably cannot fully understand the journey these graduates have traveled—or how much it means to stand beside someone who knew you before you became the person you are today.
Those four years at Shinnston High helped shape their lives. Graduation started a clock that has now been ticking for half a century. At this point in life, there are fewer ticks remaining than have already passed, which makes every gathering and every friendship a little more precious.
But you would not have known that from the laughter, the hugs and the smiles as everyone said goodbye.
For a few hours, they were not retirees, grandparents or people carrying the responsibilities and scars of a lifetime. Standing beside that Volkswagen bus, they were simply classmates again—the kids of Shinnston High—ready to climb aboard and see where the road might take them next.
