The Boy Voted Best Looking in our Class

The Boy Voted Best Looking in our Class

 

Marty Dillon Lindsay· 

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Left my lake in southern Indiana yesterday morning and traveled I64 W toward St Louis. We went back to The Land of Lincoln for a memorial service for the Boy Voted Best Looking in my high school class. As the hills of southern Indiana gave way to the flat prairie farm land, I could feel myself decompress. Relax.It was as if my spirit expanded when we came to the wide open spaces. It had been a busy past two weeks and I was happy to see corn fields.

As we passed over the Wabash River and under the green and white sign that said “The People of Illinois Welcome You”, I glanced down at my hands on the steering wheel. “These look like my grandmother’s hands”, was what I thought. They look old. How can that be? I don’t FEEL old. I quickly thought, “But I am heading home and it has been almost 50 years since the summer of 1968 and high school graduation”. How could this be??? How quickly we went from a graduation ceremony to a memorial service.

Yesterday was one of those perfect June days. Blue skies, white puffy clouds, and a breeze. The service was a military service- outdoors at the cemetery. I must admit that I knew The Boy Voted Best Looking, but didn’t know him well. We were friends, but I don’t really remember ever having a really serious talk with him. But I felt compelled to go to this service. I am so glad I did. I learned a lot about him

I remember that he was very intelligent. And of course, handsome. Funny. Those things I knew. But I didn’t know much about his life after high school. Through the eulogies delivered by several people, I learned. Learned that while I was in college, focusing on classes, sorority life, laughing and having fun- he was a 19 year old kid in the jungles of Viet Nam. He had been drafted and instead of enjoying college life, he was fighting for his country and his life. He was in a helicopter that was shot down, wounded by shrapnel, and had experieces there that left him with PTSD. He fought in a war that many considered to be useless. He risked his life in that unpopular war and what he saw and endured left him scarred. He overcame all of that.

He went to college, married and had children, became a master carpenter. He was active in military organizations, and did volunteer work for a group to support young musicians. He had a full life and was loved by many. And most importantly, he was able to love and not allow the scars he carried to seperate him from people.

My feet started to hurt during the eulogies, as I had forgotten that I would be standing and had worn uncomfortable shoes. I happened to be standing with one of my favorite long time friends. As I went to remove these awful shoes, I almost fell over. I put my hand on her shoulder to steady myself while removing those shoes. I couldn’t help but be thankful for the streadying influnce she has always been in my life, for she is one of those quiet, calm, unflappable people. The kind of person one can lean on when in pain.

After the 21 gun salute and taps, we all went to a local place to have a party in honor of the Boy Voted Best Looking in our class. It was , in many ways, like a class reunion. Lots of members of our class were there. We toasted our departed friend, laughed and it seemed that time had stood still for all of us. Yes, we looked older, but we are mostly still the same inside. And we just picked up where we had left off.

So, tonight I am thankful. Thankful that I went. Thankful for all of the people there who were such fun to be around. Thankful for the life of that handsome boy. Thankful even for the hands that looked old on the steering wheel. Thankful for the comfort of dear, long ago friends. Thankful, too, that my memories of long ago are wonderful ones. Thankful