The date was September 14, 2001 and the 35th Reunion of R.J. Reynolds High School Class of 1966 was about to begin; but the usual social banter wasn’t on anyone’s mind. Tragically, September 11, 2001, forever referred to as “911,” had to come first. The colors of our alma mater are black and gold, but our clothes that weekend were striped with red, white, and blue.
The skies over our hometown of Winston-Salem, North Carolina were clear. We talked quietly amid the shadows of pine trees and the stately presence of our historic school. In earlier years, we had been maligned as rebellious, slack, and unamerican. What did we know? We hadn’t been through a world war or the depression, but we did know tragedy. Most of the Class of ’66 were together when our young, charismatic American president was gunned down.
I was at my mother’s funeral when John F. Kennedy’s assassination took place. I was unable to share that national tragedy with my classmates; my hero had fallen the day before. The acrid taste of tragedy haunted my high school years. In the bloom of youth, my classmates’ souls healed quickly from the pain of our nation’s loss. My personal loss was a gaping wound bleeding into many years of my life. Despite my pain, life went forward and soon my high school years were just a memory.
The next life chapter unfolded. Around 1970, some alumni basked in the glow of youth and success while others merely survived. Friends were scattered throughout the world by colleges, careers, and the military. A number of RJR soldiers were lost in the fire of landmines while serving their country in Viet Nam. We relished the memories of walks to the hamburger stand together and the laughter of our lost classmates. We grieved our losses and tried to make sense of a senseless war. Our common black and gold stripes were now tinged with the blood of friends lost.
As the seventies turned to the eighties, we decided to meet every five years. Thankful to see each other, friendships were renewed with a greater appreciation for life and love. We hugged, told our stories, and swapped phone numbers. We were now working, having families, and paying taxes. The media replaced its picture of slack, glassy-eyed, baby boomers with one of responsible, working adults.
Some of us couldn’t come for every gathering. It was the early nineties and I had to care for my husband who was locked into a battle with multiple sclerosis. For eleven years, I fought hard for his health and dignity. Before his death, I returned to school to become a teacher. I loved my two children and hoped that what I did would be enough for two parents. In 1996, my husband died and left a huge hole in my life. That same year, my son and I donned my late husband’s coats and wore them on a trip to Europe. At least part of him would be close to us as we traveled.
In 1997, I met a wonderful man who became my husband and a part of my healing.
He was anxious to meet the high school friends who were still a part of my life.
In 2000, I renewed my contact with Maizie, the solid rock of the Class of ’66. We talked of the next reunion and those who would come. I made plans to see Maizie in July of 2001, but that July didn’t come for Maizie; cancer stole our solid rock out from under us.
We decided that Maizie would have wanted the party to go on as planned that mid September weekend. The twisted plans of terrorists brought a somber note to our gathering. The wretched fireball of death consumed the security of an entire nation in its destruction. In an unbelievable twist of fate, the Class of ’66 was again bonded in tragedy. The horror of this senseless attack brought us closer. Patriotism motivated us to wear our red, white, and blue stripes once again.
Airports became homes to classmates who tried to join the reunion. Some classmates in the Washington area watched as madmen used a plane filled with innocent lives to tear the Pentagon apart. Later, they told a story both horrible and incredible. The picture of punishing flames was seared into their memories. They had made their way through chaotic streets and traffic to drive south to the safety of old friends.
February 4, 2011, I lost Ret. USAF Capt. Bill Coogler. In addition to being my husband and soul mate, Bill had trained SAC Crews in ‘downed’ pilot communications. Let the healing continue with the balm of red, white, and blue stripes; and for the Class of RJR ’66, fringe those stripes with black and gold.
the late Bill Coogler, Rita Lyons Disher, Mary Beth Blackwell Chapman, Rick Disher
the late Gary Morris and Ronnie Thomas - Reunion 2006
Ann Lewis Coogler, 'Chipper' Crouch, Patti Trivette Malspina, Amanda Bullins Crabtree