recently attended the 40th reunion of
Tongue River High School’s class of 1975, but it
does not feel like I have been an adult for four
In my mind’s eye, I am about 25.
While on an early morning bike ride the week
before the event, the trophy wife and I dusted off
our mental Post-It-Notes to recall all 39 class
members and their spouses.
smart phones and Facebook, ours was the manual
typewriter and party line era, so our recall relied
on rapidly fading memories.
We named 24 classmates; one for each mile of
our morning ride.
Once home, I dug out my old yearbook and we
filled in the 15 empty slots.
As I studied senior photos of me wearing
bell-bottom pants with two inch cuffs, platform
shoes and long hair, I wondered how it was possible
I ever had children.
Apparently, the trophy wife did not realize
just how far down the ladder she was marrying.
Saturday evening, 25 of us plus most of our spouses,
gathered for a beer and barbeque at a classmate’s
house in Sheridan, Wyoming.
Friends are great, and old friends are extra
special, but old friends from a small, rural high
school share a bond about which city kids can only
The catching up was instantaneous and infectious,
but sadly, 10 classmates were absent due to
scheduling conflicts, two could not be found and two
There were two veterinarians, one rancher,
several coal miners, a couple railroaders,
construction workers, a main street store owner, an
engineer, accountant, teacher, restaurant manager,
logger and several health care providers.
Ours was a school mixed from three races,
although we did not recognize that division in 1975,
nor do we today.
We are friends and this brings me to my
Unlike the picture promoted by the state run media,
each of my classmates is gainfully employed; proud
members of the producing class rather than enslaved
members of the dependency class.
The 93 million Americans no longer in the
workforce and the 50 million on food stamps
apparently are confined to the progressive utopia of
the inner cities, so do not live in Wyoming.
When the topic veered to politics, and it
always will in a gathering of well-informed
patriots, it was nearly unanimous the progressives
have led America off a cliff.
To say my Wyoming coal miner friends were
furious with President Obama’s War on Coal would be
the understatement of 40 years.
With little provocation, they were ready to
sharpen pitchforks, light torches and would have
started marching on Washington Saturday night had
they not felt obligated to be at work Monday
Doing the only thing they can, most will support the
liberty wing of the GOP in the next election because
voting Democrat or establishment Republican will
just mean a different color of the same misery.
For the haters parsing this column, color has
nothing to do with race.
The 1975 class of TRHS will try, but they
cannot save America without your help.
Think before you vote.