Across the country this fall, high school classes of 1975 are gathering to celebrate their fiftieth reunions. Our reunion took place this past weekend in Randolph, Massachusetts, with three days of memories, laughter, and reconnecting. Classmates traveled from as far away as Florida, Texas, and California. It was a joy to see familiar faces, some unchanged, others transformed by time, and to make new friends among those we may not have known well, or at all, in such a large class.
We were part of the
great Baby Boom wave, 543 strong, graduating from a town that had grown rapidly
in the 1950s. Randolph was then a young, thriving community; more than 500 new
homes were built during those years, and the school system struggled to keep
pace. By 1972, the high school had expanded to serve a peak enrollment of
nearly 2,400 students. This year, the enrollment is only 765, less than
one-third of what it was in 1975.
The RHS Tour
Our reunion weekend
kicked off on Friday afternoon with a tour of Randolph High School, returning
to the halls where many of our memories were made. Stepping through the
familiar front doors, we saw that time had been gentle to the old building. The
bricks, the halls, the stairways—they all seemed frozen in time. Most of us
could have navigated them blindfolded.
What surprised many
was the sharp decline in the student population. Today’s enrollment of about
765, less than a third of what it used to be, still occupies the same 300,000
square feet, giving each student more space but fewer classmates. Yet even with
all that room, the school felt lively, well-maintained, clean, bright, and busy
with after-school activities. A few current students we met looked astonished
when we said we had graduated fifty years ago.
One of the most
notable changes we observed was the removal of the career and vocational
programs that once filled a large section of the school. In the 1970s, over 750
students took part in programs like architectural design, health services,
mechanical drawing, electronics, graphic arts, auto repair, and carpentry. By
1985, all of these programs had been discontinued, and the specialized
equipment was taken out. What once was a proud symbol of opportunity had become
a quiet hall of standard classrooms.
We wandered through
the library, a place some claimed to love, while others admitted they had never
stepped inside as students. We also peeked into the office, where a few of us
had once been called for disciplinary talks. The lockers remained the same, dented
and scuffed with age. “The Wall,” once a long stretch of blank brick where
students lingered between classes, has been broken up by restroom doors and
utility access. The cafeteria sparked warm memories of dances, the jukebox that
played three songs for a quarter, and the unauthorized card games at the far
tables. The auditorium had new seats and the stage a new curtain, but it still
felt familiar, and those who had been on the stage in band or drama enjoyed
reminiscing about those times.
We also found
ourselves reminiscing about the teachers who shaped our lives — Kachinsky,
White, Turner, Galante, Cronin, Coyle, Davenport, Mashrick, Walgren, and many
others. In 1975, there were about 170 faculty members at Randolph High School —
roughly one teacher for every fourteen students — and nearly two-thirds of them
were men. Today, the faculty is considerably smaller due to declining
enrollment. Still, the number of teacher aides and support staff has increased,
resulting in an overall ratio of about one adult for every six students. The
most notable change, however, is that the profession has become overwhelmingly
female, with nearly 80 percent of practitioners being women. It’s a remarkable
shift from the classrooms of our youth, when most authority figures were men
and most guidance counselors and secretaries were women. The balance has
shifted, and with it, perhaps, the culture of education itself — a reflection
of how both Randolph and the nation have evolved since our time in those halls.
Outside in the
courtyard, new air conditioning compressors stood where there once was open
space, a comfort our generation never knew. We gathered for group photos and
laughed as we noticed that the championship banners in the gym only dated back
to 1990, a subtle reminder of just how long ago 1975 really was.
In many
ways, the Randolph we returned to is not the same town we grew up in. Our
generation came of age in a community bursting with young families — the peak
of the Baby Boom — when every street seemed to echo with children’s voices, and
the schools strained to hold them all. That tide eventually ebbed, as it did
across America. Families grew smaller, fertility declined, and the great wave
of our generation rolled forward, leaving fewer children in its wake. At the
same time, Randolph, like much of Greater Boston, changed in character —
becoming more diverse, older, and shaped by new waves of residents from around
the world. The result is a high school with only a third of the enrollment it
once had, yet one that still stands as a crossroads of cultures and stories.
The faces in the classrooms are different now, but the promise of opportunity
that drew our parents here endures, written in new languages and lived through
new dreams.
It was a brief yet
meaningful walk through the past. After the tour, with an hour before our next
gathering, classmates dispersed to visit old neighborhoods, take photos in
front of childhood homes, or walk through the cemeteries where family and
friends now rest. Each of us carried our own reflections — on where we started,
who we became, and how, even after fifty years, Randolph still feels like home.
AMVETS Meet-Up
Friday evening led
us to AMVETS Post 51, the ideal place for the Class of 1975 to reunite once
more. From 5 to 8 p.m., quiet conversations and laughter filled the room until
later, when a great local band sparked the dance floor. Nearly fifty classmates
helped pack the lounge, voices rising above the music as groups of old friends
reconnected and new ones formed.
Conversations flowed
easily. Time seemed to collapse; long-buried memories surfaced as if they had
been waiting just beneath the surface all along. Someone would call out, “Do
you remember…?” and laughter would follow.
I was deeply moved
when several classmates mentioned my book, Small-Town Boomers: A Nostalgic Look Back at Randolph, Massachusetts. Some had already read it and wanted to share
their memories of the same places and people. Others had not heard of it but were
eager to get a copy; about fifteen went home with books that night. It was
humbling and joyful to see that what I had written resonated so directly with
those who had lived it too.
As the evening went
on, the music grew louder, the laughter freer. The conversations that began
with polite updates soon gave way to heartfelt stories, small confessions, and
shared gratitude for the winding paths that had brought us back together,
older, wiser, and still connected by the same hometown threads.
The Banquet at the John Carver Inn
Saturday night was
the main event, a banquet at the John Carver Inn in Plymouth, Massachusetts.
About sixty-five classmates attended, some had joined the AMVETS gathering the
night before, and others arrived fresh for the occasion. Altogether, nearly ninety
unique members of the Class of ’75 participated over the weekend, roughly 20%
of those still living, a strong showing by any measure. One teacher, Phil
Kachinsky, and his wife joined us for the event.
Statistically, that
number is something to be proud of. National surveys show that for a class our
size, 500 to 550 graduates, attendance at 50th reunions typically ranges from
10 to 20 percent, and sadly, about 10 to 15 percent of classmates are no longer
with us. Ours, then, was right on the mark, a testament both to the dedication
of our reunion committee and to the enduring bonds that hold our class
together.
The banquet room was
beautifully decorated, thanks to the tireless volunteers who spent months
preparing. As people arrived, a familiar rhythm emerged—gasps of recognition,
long hugs, and spontaneous laughter that only happens when someone you haven’t
seen in half a century calls your name as if no time has passed.
Conversations
effortlessly shifted from family to work, from retirement to travel, from good
health to the challenges of aging. Every story blended gratitude and
resilience, reflecting the shared understanding that we all face life’s battles
but remain true to ourselves.
In high school,
relationships were at the heart of everything. We were a web of friendships,
rivalries, and romances, some passing quickly, others lasting. Some reflected
on their experiences dating, going to dances, prom, and Santa’s Dream. Some of
the relationships formed at that time have led to marriages that remain strong
today. Several married couples who were high school sweethearts were present.
As the evening progressed,
our conversations evolved from reminiscing about our youth to more profound
reflections on the lives we've lived since high school. We learned about our
friends' backgrounds, struggles, and battles—stories of those who had survived
serious illnesses, beaten addiction, or lost a child. We want to laugh and
remember our shared past with friends, but also strive to understand them
better in the present by learning about and appreciating what they've been
through over the past 50 years.
A special moment
came for each of us in reviewing the In Memoriam book, a touching
collection of names and faces of classmates who have passed. People gathered
around it quietly, some pointing out familiar names with a sigh, others
surprised by losses they hadn’t known about. It was a reminder that reunions
aren’t only about celebrating who’s here, they’re also about honoring who’s
missing. The reunion committee put a lot of work into the book, and it was a
wonderful tribute to those who went before us.
And yet, even with
those moments of reflection, the evening was filled with joy. There were plenty
of photos, and the unspoken understanding that gatherings like this grow more
precious with each passing decade.
Throughout the
weekend, a common refrain echoed in conversations: questions about those who
did not attend. Many of us hoped to see certain classmates who didn’t attend.
We understand there are countless reasons people can’t make it—distance, family
obligations, travel costs, illness, or simply feeling uncomfortable in large
social settings. Some are introverts by nature; others don’t share the same
nostalgic pull that drew us back. But to all of them, I want to say — you were
missed. We talked about you, remembered you, and hoped you might join us next
time. This reflection is partly for you, so when we gather again, you’ll know
how much your presence is wanted and how truly welcome you’ll be.
Why Reunions Matter
Fifty years is a
long time. Many of us approached this milestone with some hesitation —
wondering who would remember us or if we’d still share much in common. But once
you walk into that room, the years seem to fade away. The person standing
before you isn’t a stranger at all; it’s someone who shared your youth, your
teachers, your triumphs, and your heartbreaks.
In high school, we
lived in our own little worlds — not divided by hostility, but by circumstances
and youth. The Math Club rarely interacted with the athletes, and the Career
Development students hardly overlapped with those in advanced placement classes.
Some classmates held after-school jobs to help support their families, which
meant they couldn’t participate in sports, band, or clubs, often leaving them
on the margins of school life. We were friendly, but we didn’t always
understand each other’s paths. At the reunion, those old divisions disappeared.
The years had leveled us, softened the edges, and replaced comparison with
curiosity. You could see it in the way people reached out, extending a hand to
someone they barely knew, asking sincerely, “What have you been doing all these
years?” It was as if time had washed away the boundaries that once felt so
permanent. Instead, there was something more straightforward and more
genuine—shared gratitude for the roads we’ve traveled, and the realization that
new friendships can still be formed, even fifty years later.
A 50th reunion isn't
just about nostalgia. It’s a reflection on time, a chance to see where our
shared roots have led us. It reminds us that, even though the paths we’ve taken
are different, we all started in the same place and still carry pieces of each
other. The laughter might be softer now, the hair a little grayer, but the
warmth is deeper, and the gratitude even stronger.
We don’t gather
merely to look back, but to give thanks - for the journey, for survival, for
friendship that can stretch across fifty years and still feel like yesterday.
As the weekend ended
and we said our goodbyes, there was a quiet understanding that what we shared
went far beyond nostalgia. It wasn’t just a reunion of classmates but a
reconnection with a part of ourselves—the young men and women who once filled
those halls with dreams and laughter. Time has thinned our ranks and changed
our faces, but not the bond that began in that small suburban town so many
years ago. The Class of 1975 remains proof that friendship, memory, and the
sense of belonging we built together can endure half a century.
As evidence of the
reunion’s success, there was a call to have Meetups at AMVETS more frequently
than every five years. The response was resounding.
Congratulations and thank you to our reunion volunteers for a very successful
and enjoyable weekend: Susan Libman Drew, Larry Hiltz, Paul Casano, Sharon Smith
Gillis, and Leslie Greenfield Lathrop
Note: I ran out of copies of my book at the event. For those who wanted to buy one, but could not, please go to this link on Amazon to buy a copy. Thank you
Small-Town Boomers: A Nostalgic Look Back at Randolph, Massachusetts
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