The Octogenarian Brunch. January 18, 2018

Copyright © 2018                                      John F. Oyler

January 18, 2018

The Octogenarian Brunch

Despite being in the midst of a bone-chilling series of single digit temperature days, we had an excellent turnout for the first Octogenarian Brunch of the New Year. My school schedule last semester restricted my attendance for the past few months, but Wednesdays are free for me now and I am looking forward to lots of good sessions this year.

We were comfortably settled at two four-person tables pushed together when Paul Love showed up to push our total to nine; we quickly found an extra chair and rearranged the condiments to find him a place. Paul, who lives in Cecil, is a recent and welcome addition to our group. He graduated in 1951.

I think we are about to begin our twenty-fourth year of getting together on the first Wednesday of each month to tell war stories about our growing up and going to school in Bridgeville in the 1940s. After the forty-fifth reunion of the BHS Class of 1949, Sam Capozzoli suggested that those of us who lived in this area get together once a month and compare notes.

We enjoyed it so much that some of us began to add another date each month, on the third Wednesday. And, as our numbers began to dwindle, we began to welcome members of other classes. At this point we range from the Class of 1948 (Alfred Barzan) to the Class of 1955 (my brother Joe), all now legally Octogenarians.

This time I was joined by two fellow ‘49ers, Don Toney and Lou Kwasniewski. Fellow classmates Dick Rothermund, John Rosa, and Sam Capozzoli attend occasionally The 1953 class was well represented by Dale DeBlander, Russ Kovach, and Ron Rothermund.

When we first started getting together I thought this was a unique happening. Since then I have become aware of numerous other similar groups of old fogies sharing a common interest who share this habit with us. There is something very civilized about a bunch of old men sharing memories as well as opinions on the world’s problems.

This group started out equally divided between liberals and conservatives, but its changing makeup has shifted more to the conservative side. Since I consider myself an open-minded moderate, it is easy for them to characterize me as a liberal. I am also involved in another group of chronologically challenged men, a book review club made up primarily of retired attorneys. They are passionately liberal and, consequently, view me as an alt-right redneck. I enjoy baiting both sides, frequently in regard to the same topics.

I also enjoy stumping both groups with trivia, especially if it is sports related. I recently read an article about Franco Harris and his visit to the Pope, and their discussion of the Immaculate Reception. My trivia question is “What record did Franco says was on his mother’s phonograph at the moment the Immaculate Reception occurred?’ The answer is “Ave Maria”, which is either a joke or a remarkable coincidence. Neither group guessed the answer, but my son-in-law Jim did! So much for the imagination of my associates.

The conversation at our brunches generally begins with an update on folks we know who have died recently and those who are in bad health. George Maioli was a good friend of all of us; we mourn his passing. We then usually go through the tabulation of problems we share – hearing aids, cataracts, root canals, etc. – before getting down to the serious discussion of whatever professional sports team is in season.

The one thing about which we all agree is that, despite growing up in the Depression and World War II, we were fortunate to be live where we did when we did when we were kids. Officially over half of the families in Bridgeville had incomes below the poverty line. Nonetheless the memories we retain are mostly happy ones.

I recently have been struggling with the recollection of a childhood game in which the loser was subjected to being pounded until he was able to “name three cigarettes and whistle”. I remember memorizing “Camels, Chesterfields, and Luckies”, then struggling to produce an audible whistle. I had difficulty whistling under normal circumstances; duress made it nearly impossible. Unfortunately, none of my colleagues remembered that game.

We frequently make enough noise that other folks in the restaurant will come over and comment on something we have discussed. At this point we are meeting at Bob Evans at 10:00 am the first and third Wednesday of each month. If you happen to there on those dates, we are the scraggly looking collection of Alzheimer’s candidates hidden back in the southwest corner of the dining room. Drop by and say Hello!