If there are two things at which my sister Michelle excels, they
are these: being absolutely passionate about those activities which she enjoys and,
equally significant in this case, delegation. It is via the latter that I am compelled to
compose this brief essay on the Monrovia (My Private Idaho) Reunion of January 26th, 1999.
What prompted this reunion was somewhat unexciting. I was planning a multipurpose trip to
So-Cal and the itinerary was subject of discussion one evening with Michelle. The
interaction itself, as you might guess, was very 90's as it was entirely via AOL instant
message. Truth be known, Michelle is easily reached via this medium and seldom via phone,
as her single household line is almost incessantly coupled to her modem. She backs up the
inconvenience with her cell phone and thus drives telemarketers into poverty. But I am
getting way off track as I am sure I might repeatedly throughout the course of this
commentary.
At any rate, she suggested "Hey, why don't we do an ASM reunion while you are in
town?" I was skeptical, if not flattered, and politely suggested that she not go to
any such trouble on my account. "No problem," she replied. "Takes no time
at all." It was only within the next forty-eight hours that I would learn of the
omnipotence of her communications capabilities and the extent of the resources at her
disposal via one Gus Gonzalez, of Miami. In that time, in essence, she had extended an
invitation to "virtually" the entire globe and e-mailed most of the West Coast
just for good measure.
Cut to trip en-route to Monrovia:Michelle makes a memorable remark:
"There really should be an unwritten rule that says the coordinator need not
necessarily be the first to arrive . . ." Given the weather, it was not a prime night
to be making expedited travel among evening commuters. But we actually got there at a
respectable time and only one invitee had beaten us there: None other than my
ever-punctilious father, Joe LaGue.
I'm not sure what part to tell you next in the interest of capturing the full impact of a
later to be heard punch-line, but . . . well lets try . . .
So as the Maitre' D (at an Acapulco? - why not, I'm a generous guy with titles) shows
Michelle and Dad toward our reserved section, I turn around by chance and am suddenly
greeting my arriving mother, Deirdre Fearey, (hugs) and her friend Rita Pike who I have
known since my cradle years (more hugs). This is already fun. A little thin on ASMers,
thus far, but much of my family is here. A cell phone call has me talking to my sister
Cheryl, who lives only blocks away but is nursing the flu. ¡Qué lástima! I was really
hoping she could come. Cheryl, I realize that the above term was more often used
sarcastically in our family, but here I mean it sincerely.
We get settled in to chips and salsa when Kari (Lynn-Jerry) Lenggiere drops in. We
comfortably go through all of the pleasantries and, evidently, Kari took notice of my hat.
Michelle made mention of Kari's recent foray into the world of stand-up comedy. This, I
admire. Kari then suggests that she might even try a number or two on us but cautions me
sternly from any compulsion to heckle. It's gotta be the hat. The woman has me pegged
already and I've known her less than a minute. So what if my hat is a mock turtle? I
always wear it when I travel as it makes conversation flow easy; heckling too.
While we're commenting on the weather and the probable attrition it will likely have on
our anticipated ranks, Heidi Lambert drops in. Heidi, it would seem, teleported from
Redondo Beach to Monrovia since she was spied on-line as we were leaving Corona.
Conclusion: Folks that live in the L.A. basin have access to a secret underground freeway
system, the existence of which, they will never divulge to mere mortals.
So by now we have several simultaneous crossfire-conversations going and all are having a
great time. With the obvious exception of the related parties, we all feel like we've
known one another for years. We all notice a well dressed gentleman cautiously observing
our party as he approaches. "Michelle?" "Sergio?"
Oooooooeeeeeeooooooo, Class of '64, arriving! Only days earlier, Sergio Cerda had made
contact with this veritable ASM reunion machine that Michelle and Gus are constructing and
decided to make it to the reunion come high water or more high water. This was getting
good and the conversation continued to flow.
By chance, I had happened into town on an evening that would enable me to take part in an
award presentation to my Dad. Proud to do so, we escape to Pasadena and leave the
gathering for a short while. We're soon back and by then the rest of the gang has
effectively toured the world.
So Dad is getting set to bid farewell when Kari chimes in. "You know" she says,
"when I first got here and took note of some of those present" (obviously
referring to my Dad, Mother and her friend Rita) "I thought Wow, Michelle is really
diggin' em' up. We must have the class of '54 here too!" Laughter roared! Of course
Kari was quite delicate, as class of 40-something would have been closer to the mark.
One by one, folks said goodnight to return to braving the weather on the return home.
Michelle, Sergio, and I closed the joint. Waxing
philosophically about the bonds that perhaps tie ASMers much like war buddies, we pondered
some kind of theory that seemed meaningful. Perhaps it is that most of us were thrust into
a culture, an environment, a life that was obviously foreign to us, but was nonetheless
demanding of us to adapt. What is evident is that those who also came from outside of
Spain and with whom we collectively adapted, are part of a bond that runs through it all.
And the common denominators, in this case, are ASM and Spain. When you consider that we
are all adults and increasingly appreciative of opportunities for
interesting social interaction, Michelle, Gus, and all of the ASMers that have become
participants in this growing movement, find that it fills a void that they probably had
forgotten existed. Fascinating.
Que aproveche!
Joe (Fearey) LaGue, '74 |
