Ears to Hear

Reflections on the date of November 30, 1975

Dear Class of 2030,

This is the last day of Thanksgiving break, and today I feel like writing about my high school friends. Thanksgiving is a good time to hang out with friends, and I am thankful for them.

The town where I went to high school is a leafy, well-established suburb of a major midwestern city. It was so characteristic of that type that it was twice featured in national documentaries about what it was like to come of age there.

Most (all?) of my friends grew up there, but I was a newcomer. A child of divorce, Mom and I moved to that city after she remarried. They chose that suburb based on the excellent schools, which did not disappoint.

My stepfather was a chess player, and he often faced off against a local judge. I took little interest, as I was feeling down from the divorce and its aftermath. One day, Mom said I should join a club that the judge’s son was part of, a Masonic group called DeMolay. It seemed a little interesting, so I said, “Sure, Mom.”

She was right: I did make friends. In fact, all of my closest friends were members of our chapter, the Rabboni. The judge’s son John became my best friend.

John is a year older than me and twice as confident. He’s a brilliant thinker and is able to frame difficult issues with ease and clarity. We talked a lot and listened to music. I can still picture the upper room in his old house where we would sit on the floor, listen to Cat Stevens, and try to figure out the mysteries of life. We played the 1972 album “Catch Bull at Four”, with its cryptic lyrics, over and over again. Books figured heavily in our conversations, too, such as Black Elk Speaks and Siddhartha. I’ve never again had that type of friend. Thank you, John.

Al and Tom, also DeMolay, were friends of John’s, so they became my friends, too. Most Saturday nights, we would play poker into the early hours in Tom’s basement, which had been set up as a party room. Think paneling, neon signs, captain’s chairs and vinyl tablecloths. Al was the oldest and sometimes we’d hang out at his little rental house. He got the Heart album “Dreamboat Annie” right after it came out. I remember being blown away by that beat. For a change, we would sometimes go to IHOP. At that time, the franchise branded itself with tent-shaped buildings, kind of a cheesy chalet design, and it was open all night. Some of the “international” flavor came from its daring syrup options: blueberry, butter pecan and strawberry. Trendy for the time.

The highest leadership position in a DeMolay chapter is called the “Master Councilor.” John had that role, then I followed in his footsteps. One of the things I did was to reimagine the initiation ceremony, which was based on the martyrdom of Jacques DeMolay, a Knights Templar who lived in the 14th century. I converted the event from narration to a dramatic reenactment and set it to progressive rock music. Jacques made his entry to the Yes song “South Side of the Sky.” Jethro Tull also contributed. The chapter thought it was pretty cool, and the adults didn’t seem to mind. (Didn’t hurt that John’s older brother was one of our advisors.)

My advice, ’30, is to hold on to your high school friends. Don’t lose touch. Hang out with them at Thanksgiving. Sadly, I have lost contact with John, Tom and Al, and I hope to mend that soon.

If you feel like it, share your friend stories in the comments.

Your friend,

Bob