“Sister Susie, brother John

Martin Luther, Phil and Don

Brother Michael, Auntie Gin

Open the door and let ’em in, yeah”

“Let ‘Em In”

Wings

They were the heroes of our heroes.

The first Everly Brothers song I remember hearing was “All I Have to Do Is Dream” from Jan & Dean’s 1965 live album “Command Performance.”

For a while there, the SoCal sound, of surfing, beaches and cars, coexisted with the British Invasion. Unlike Fabian and Perry Como, the L.A. acts weren’t immediately wiped from the map. As a matter of fact, “I Get Around” was a huge hit in the summer of ’64, and of course “California Girls” was monstrous in the summer of ’65, but by that point Jan & Dean and most of the striped-shirt sneaker crowd were done.

But I loved the SoCal sound before the Beatles broke. I can still remember hearing “Little Old Lady (From Pasadena)” at the beach when it was a hit and the teenagers were grooving to it in what was called “the pit” in front of the pavilion, and I was still on the outside looking in, still a youngster, far from cool, but infected by the sound.

So I bought “Command Performance” because it had the hits. I was never a singles guy, they were never a good economic proposition, the B-side always stunk and you paid 69¢ for the two songs when you could get ten or twelve for $1.99, and eventually $2.52, before everything became stereo and they raised the price a dollar, before singles went to 99¢. And of course we had the Beatles albums immediately, and at first many thought they were a fad, like hula-hoops, our parents indulged us, but that did not turn out to be the case. But with Jan & Dean it was a value proposition, the live album had all the hits, from “Surf City” to “Dead Man’s Curve” to “The Little Old Lady (From Pasadena)” to “Sidewalk Surfin’.” But it also had covers like “I Get Around,” and “Doo Wah Diddy Diddy” and “Louie Louie” and…”All I Have to Do Is Dream.”

“I can make you mine

Taste your lips of wine

Anytime night or day

Only trouble is, gee whiz

I’m dreamin’ my life away”

I know those words by heart, because I played “Command Performance” so much that it turned gray, which used to happen with overplay with the heavy tonearms of the all-in-one record players of the day. But I did not know it was an Everly Brothers hit, the credits just listed the writer, Boudelaux Bryant, and when the track was originally a hit in 1958, I was five.

And now I was eleven.

But with the explosion of the Beatles came tons more information, you started to hear the stories of the acts, about their influences.

And then “Bye Bye Love” was on Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” in an infectious live rendition, and Paul Simon testified to his love of the Everly Brothers.

Now by time we hit the seventies, there was a rock press, and there started to be an excavation of all those who’d had hits in the fifties, before the Beatles, the influences. You’d read about Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins, and the Everly Brothers. The new acts were so big that they lifted all boats, and suddenly we’d see these acts on TV, but they didn’t have hits, they were out of time, just like the haircuts the Everly Brothers wore in the fifties.

When the Beatles broke the “dry look” became prevalent, it rode out the sixties. The Beatles killed product, certainly for men, although we still saw ads for Dippity-do. The Everly Brothers were greasers. We didn’t expect them to show up on motorcycles, to hang with the Hell’s Angels, but the fifties were in black and white and the sixties were in color, by the end of the decade every household had a color TV, it was like the flat screen rage of ten years ago. The Everlys were dated. Although they seemed to be bigger in England, where they embraced American roots, unlike in the home country, where we threw them overboard when the hits dried up.

And then came Paul McCartney’s song “Let ‘Em In.”

“Band on the Run” was a complete surprise. McCartney seemed to have lost his touch. “Wild Life” was for the hardcore only. And “Red Rose Speedway” had the execrable “My Love.” But “Band on the Run” had a rock edge we thought Paul had lost, the album was gigantic and although “Venus and Mars” was not quite as good, it had an element of whimsy its predecessor lacked, but in 1976 it was followed up by Wings’ “At the Speed of Sound,” which coincided with the massive U.S. tour, but after this album Paul never had the credibility he possessed earlier, he never reached the same heights, because of two tracks, “Silly Love Songs” and “Cook of the House.” The previous was lightweight fare made for AM radio in an era when all the action was happening on FM where the music was heavier, and the latter was seen as an abomination, it was bad enough Linda had to play in the group, but did she really have to sing this inane song?

But I bought “At the Speed of Sound” anyway. Because it was Paul McCartney. And because I had a cross-country drive, from Salt Lake to Connecticut, and I needed tunes, so believe me, the album is embedded in my brain.

And the truth is “At the Speed of Sound” is not in the league of what came before, but there are some more than memorable tunes, like “Warm and Beautiful” and “Beware My Love” and Denny Laine’s “Time to Hide.” But the opener was “Let ‘Em In.” Referencing Phil and Don.

It was clear who Paul was singing about, they came right out of the speakers, the legends, the progenitors. Elvis was something unto himself, Little Richard and Jerry Lee and Carl Perkins were an earthier rock sound, the kind the Beatles played in Hamburg, but there was a direct connection between the Everly Brothers and so much of what came out of the radio from the mid-sixties to the seventies. There was melody, it was about songs more than records. The Mamas & the Papas were not a huge step away. But really all the ballads of the British bands, they all seemed to be influenced by the Everlys. And then came the singer-songwriters at the turn of the decade and it seemed the Everlys had more influence than any other pre-Beatles act, but they did not capitalize on it. You see they were fighting.

That became the story of the Everly Brothers, now that we were paying attention, they couldn’t get along. And if you were born in the forties and experienced their hits firsthand, this was probably gut-wrenching, as the Beatles breakup was for those of us born in the fifties. But to the younger generation, the Everlys were more cartoons than legends.

But then they had a victory lap. They opened for Simon & Garfunkel on their 2003 reunion tour. It was a last hurrah for both Simon & Garfunkel and the Everlys and I’ve thought about it a lot as the years have gone by, that Staples show was one of my three best of the twenty first century, along with Adele at the Greek and U2 at the Forum with the screens they walked between. You can still see Adele and U2. But the other acts? Well, Garfunkel lost his voice and by time it came back Simon no longer wanted to go on the road. As for the Everlys? They’re dead.

But I remember remarking about the audience at Staples to Jay. They were OLD! White hair. On the verge of retirement. I’d never seen such an old crowd at a rock show before. Now we’re the old crowd. We have white hair. We are on the verge of retirement.

But when the Everlys stood on stage and played the songs we now knew, and knew they’d done, it was like the good old days all over again, the two of them with acoustic guitars strapped around their necks singing perfect harmonies in each other’s faces. It was weird. It wasn’t like they were grinning, chewing the scenery, enjoying themselves, it was like they were the same as they ever were, but now I could see it and experience it, and get it.

But thereafter nothing.

And then Phil died in 2014 and now Don yesterday. Twitter blew up last night. The L.A. “Times” obituary went up almost instantaneously, it had obviously been pre-written, because at some point in the not too distant future, they knew Don was going to pass. And then he did.

84. That used to be old, but not anymore. People regularly live until 90 these days. People don’t think they’ve had a full ride until they reach that plateau, or maybe 89. And the truth is so many of our rock heroes have died before their time. Never mind the four original Ramones being dead, so many performers of the classic rock era are already dead and buried, dust in the wind, even though they were in their late sixties and early seventies. And you should see the Stones this time around if you’re ever planning to do so, this could be the last time, Charlie Watts couldn’t even make it. Arlo Guthrie had to retire. The sun is setting on our generation. And we seem to be the only ones who care.

We thought they were icons, the biggest stars in the stratosphere. But it turns out the younger generations don’t feel the same way about them, and they live in more of a song-based as opposed to act-based era. Tracks come and go, whereas if you made it in the early days of rock, during the classic rock era, you were a legend that lasted forever, above the politicians, superseding the athletes, you were gods!

Because of that sound that came out of the radio. You got a feeling you could not get anywhere else. That spoke your story, that rode shotgun, that gave you insight.

It wasn’t only Simon & Garfunkel who cut “Bye Bye Love,” so did George Harrison.

And Simon & Garfunkel recorded “Wake Up Little Susie” at their legendary Central Park concert in 1981.

But Paul Simon was born in 1941. Ditto for Art Garfunkel. And George Harrison in 1943.

As for “All I Have to Do is Dream,” not only was it covered by Jan & Dean, but even Richard Chamberlain sang it, and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and Juice Newton, and R.E.M., and Cat Power. It has truly survived the ages.

And needless to say, Linda Ronstadt rained coin down upon Phil Everly with her cover of “When Will I Be Loved,” from her breakout album “Heart Like a Wheel.” And honestly, I did not know it was an Everlys tune when I first heard it, because it was first a hit in 1960, when I was seven. But Linda Ronstadt was already fourteen, and at that age a few years make all the difference.

A few years back, well, at the beginning of this century, I saw Ronstadt at the Universal Amphitheatre. But now not only does that venue no longer exist, Rondstadt no longer sings. Time is passing.

So if you were a certain age the Everly Brothers were as big as it got. They were formative influences when all you had was the radio and black and white TV, when everybody knew all the hits and they were much bigger than anything today. Hell, the Everlys’ music lives on more than sixty years later.

Because it had such an influence on the acts that pushed music into the number one artistic medium. Music made more than movies and built the Warner Cable system. Music was a money machine. But even more it affected people’s hearts and minds. You can see an old actor in the grocery store and marvel, but when you see an old musician your heart starts to pitter-patter, your eyes start to bug, THAT’S THE GUY WHO WROTE AND PERFORMED THOSE SONGS!

But it won’t be long before those guys (and gals!) are gone.

And what they represent is on the periphery now. Rich voices singing melodic songs while playing analog instruments. Seems like a lost art when you look back and gain perspective. But the records are still here, at this point the records supersede the artists who made them, they’ve become part of our DNA.

And in many ways the Everly Brothers were there first. They established the paradigm. And I was too young to be there, to be infected, but the people I was listening to ate up all those records, Phil & Don were gods, no matter what they did thereafter, those tracks were just that big and special. The Everlys are truly one of the building blocks of rock and roll. Which meant so much they created a hall of fame and built a museum to contain it, and the Everlys were installed in the first induction ceremony.

But now that same institution has rappers and pop singers. Being inside is not much different from winning a Grammy. Some of the best acts are never even considered.

But way back when, when it was all starting, when it was new and different, the Everlys were experimenting, pushing the envelope, and the work they did may no longer be in fashion, but it’s still as fresh and direct and meaningful as the day it was released.

And now Don Everly has been released. They’re going to let ’em in upstairs. And so many of his fans are going to be there with him soon. What do they say, heaven’s got a hell of a band?

Spotify playlist: https://spoti.fi/3sEmedJ

They canceled because they didn’t sell any tickets. Covid was just a cover-up. Crowdsourcing, i.e. my readers, hipped me to this.

Not that it’s fully explicable, the act had two top ten hits in 2020 and one already in 2021, but to know more I’d have to investigate locations, ticket prices, etc.

Failure in the marketplace is always a complicated story. What makes people stay home is unclear. Yes, now we’ve got the Delta variant, but Florida Georgia Line is a country act, and country leans right, and it’s those on the right who say they’re not afraid of the virus.

But Florida Georgia Line had its first hit in 2012, which is almost ten years ago, and it has a strong appeal to adults who may not want to risk a show, then again they’re going to see so many acts in the amphitheatres.

But looking at the data, sales of FGL’s albums have declined over the years, the act was strongest when it debuted. Then again, in the interim streaming has burgeoned and it’s a bit apples and oranges, but the mania is gone, the act is not brand new, people are either fans or they’re not, they’re going to buy tickets or they’re not. Maybe FGL is now seen as a singles act, which have a harder time selling tickets.

But what we do know is some of our biggest heroes obfuscate, lie, to avoid telling the truth, that they’re canceling dates because they couldn’t sell tickets.

As a matter of fact one of classic rock’s legendary artists, with A+ credibility, canceled an arena date saying it was in solidarity with the unions when the truth was tickets just weren’t selling.

So there you have it.

Florida Georgia Line canceled their tour, Garth Brooks too…are they more worried about infections or potentially pissing off their audience?

The only video you must watch this weekend is this:

“Dying in the Name of Vaccine Freedom”: https://nyti.ms/2W6usjh

It’s a brief documentary on vaccine adoption in the Ozarks. Bottom line, you can’t convince those who refuse to get it.

Now if you’ve been following the news, it appears the Pfizer vaccine will get full F.D.A. approval on Monday, in any event by Labor Day, and what will the unvaxxed say then? IT DOESN’T MATTER! F.D.A. approval was always a straw man, a way to hide their desire to never get the shot. However, the big deal about F.D.A. approval is then businesses will feel more comfortable telling their employees they must be vaxxed, or else.

I’m watching a TV series right now in which a wealthy character, not an alta kacher but someone significantly under fifty, says the key to success is correct information. Sounds so simple, so obvious, but most people don’t heed this aphorism. In the information society, an amazing number of facts and insights are available online for free, you just have to spend the time to hoover up the information. However, not just any information, but correct, true information. Then you are powerful. Talk to anybody in business, false information is a drag on your enterprise, it may even kill it. And the truth is, it’s no different in society. Furthermore, a good businessman knows how to separate the wheat from the chaff, what is viable and what is not, and listens to experts, all of which are anathema in this self-researched, biased knowledge world we now live in.

So the #1 trending topic on Twitter today was Patagonia. It is detaching from Jackson Hole ski resort, not allowing the shops there to sell its merchandise, because Robert Kemmerer, the resort’s owner, cosponsored a fundraiser with Marjorie Taylor Greene, Jim Jordan and Mark Meadows: https://bit.ly/3y6G5U4 The story broke on the ski sites a couple of days ago, but is now being reported by regular news outlets. And if you read the Twitter thread, it’s almost all positive, posters saying they’re going to go out and buy Patagonia gear.

Same thing happened with Nike and Kaepernick.

It turns out taking a stand is good for business.

This is a complete change from the old thinking, when we lived in a more consolidated market, with three TV networks and top-down information. Today, no one is that big, NO ONE, you’re lucky if you have acolytes at all, and you gain them and they adhere to you by taking a viewpoint and sticking to your guns. Then again, like that character said in the above-mentioned TV show, to succeed you’ve got to have the correct information.

That’s the history of America. Gays can get married. We evolve to be together as opposed to apart. Yes, you can stand on the wrong side of history, try to hold the future back, but your base is going to slip through your fingers.

As for me?

Since I’ve been posting on the unvaccinated I’ve lost in excess of a hundred subscribers. But those who are e-mailing me who are staying are much more vociferous in their support than in the average e-mail I get. They like that someone is standing up for THEIR position, because to a great degree they feel powerless. This is how you build and maintain a career, by taking sides on the issues, what you believe in, otherwise the bland social influencers with millions of followers would be ruling public opinion, and they’re not, and almost all of them have a very short tenure. Have a top ten hit and people might know your name, be a career artist, testing the limits, exploring, bonding to people, and you may never have a top ten hit but you’ll be able to play live and be supported playing music for the rest of your life, that’s the power of a fan base, and fans are caught by edges, not curves.

Now Florida Georgia Line is a Live Nation act. They can’t go on the road without Covid/vaccine restrictions. This is a scenario facing so many of the big acts who are on the fence. Believe whatever you want, but if you’re taking the money, you’re playing by the promoter’s rules.

So what we’ve learned is the battle isn’t about waking up the uninformed, the unvaccinated, but closing the doors on them as a result of their behavior. Just like smoking… Smoke all you want, just don’t do it inside, in the office or the club. And sure, people still smoke, but if you’re a smoker today the young people, even older people, judge you negatively, there’s nothing cool about it. We will get to this point with the unvaccinated if the reasonable, the educated, those with the correct information just do what is right and wait for the disenchanted to wake up and do what is right for not only them, but society. And if they don’t want to wake up, it’s their choice.

That should be the modern philosophy. If you don’t want to get vaxxed, that’s absolutely fine. But don’t plan on being in a public space. And protest all you want, statistics tell us there are far more pro-vax than anti-vax people, despite the anti-vaxxers being very vocal and the media reporting about them.

I was reading the class notes.

Go to a college as small as Middlebury and you know everybody, at least those in your year. They put out a publication each annum entitled “New Faces” with pictures of all the freshmen, you can look them up, hell, you can even find these booklets online today, such that you can pin a face to a name, but not always.

Then again, the student body has grown significantly over the past two decades. Now there are 2,580 students instead of the 1,800 when I went, which was a significant increase over the 1,200 of just a few years before. So maybe now you can be anonymous. Or detached and thinking big. With the internet you’ve got the entire world at your fingertips, you can be a loner in real life, but a star online, everybody can find their group, and this is a good thing, because loneliness kills.

But it didn’t used to be this way.

When I went to college there was not only no internet, but no cable TV, only one snowy TV channel and I won’t say it was like “Lord of the Flies,” but in many ways it was. Groupthink ultimately pulled everyone into wearing the same clothes and behaving in the same way. They’d come from the city in their finery, but in a matter of months the most sophisticated women were wearing overalls and painter’s pants, and the men too. The brands weren’t Gucci or Chanel, but L.L. Bean and Bass, the maker of the famous Bass Weejun, the ultimate penny loafer. Everybody became downwardly mobile, it was the opposite of today where you use your clothing to signify your place on the totem pole, the goal was to be equal and not to stand out, and to sell yourself on your brain, what was inside, as opposed to outside. Some of this was the ethos of the day, a lot of it was specific to a highly intelligent coterie in a hothouse in rural Vermont.

Not that I knew all this when I applied. All I knew was the campus was the most beautiful extant (testimonials are rampant), the school was coed when Ivies and others were just dipping their toes into coeducation, and the school had its own ski area, closer to campus than any other college/ski area combination.

What’s not to like?

Well, it took me a while to figure out.

And it took me a while to figure out what was vaunted, was really insignificant.

Like Winter Carnival. Sounds like a party, right? Well, what it really means is there are some NCAA ski races, a hockey game and a concert. Don’t think about getting lucky, almost no one got lucky going to a school where your classmates were akin to brothers and sisters. Then again, so many events that are promoted as paragons of fun, incredible experiences, are not, if you go alone, good luck, if you go with friends maybe you can party.

And when the snow was melting, there was a winter analog. Spring Weekend.

What do I remember about that weekend in April 1971…

Well, going half-drunk to a field where some students with Husqavarnas and other motorcycles I’d never heard of went ’round a dirt track and jumped into the air. And this was before the era of safety codes, there were no barriers, we were right nearby, drinking…that’s what you do in the hinterlands, drink, although they now do heroin too. There’s a lot going on in the city. There’s not much going on in the country. And it’s the same damn people every day, and there’s little opportunity, and people drink and drug just to get through life. I’d like to tell you that’s untrue, but I’d be lying, go live there, you’ll see.

And I believe the Saturday night concert was Brewer & Shipley, who were never hip. Then again, knowing the concert business today I realize small college campuses are at the mercy of secondary agents who are at the mercy of primary agents who either want to sell that which no one wants, or fill a date, and the odds of getting good talent at a fair price is nearly nonexistent, so you get an act with some name recognition that no one is really excited about seeing. And students go to the show because they’ve got nothing better to do. Although there are always those who say they can’t afford it, even though tickets are three or four dollars, because appearing poor is a badge of honor at elite institutions, it’s especially those who went to name prep schools who say they’ve got no money.

But instead of national sports activities on Spring Weekend there were amateur events. And as a freshman, I was still game. Hell, I’d even played volleyball in the fall. So when it came time to sign up for the bike race, I was all in.

And I had a new bike.

Every team needed a bike. This was just when ten speeds with dropped handlebars were becoming the thing. Before beach cruisers, before mountain bikes, before electric bikes. And I had a white Peugeot. Cost $92.50. Yes.

But we needed four riders. And two of them had to be women. Where would we get the women?

And this was long before Title IX, long before all women participated in sports. So we were flummoxed, and then one guy said he’d take care of it.

So it was a relay race, on a gray spring day, in the fifties. It’s almost always gray in the spring in Vermont, if it’s a bluebird day you put on your shorts and go swimming at the quarry, even if it’s not even sixty degrees, because they’re so damn rare.

And like seemingly every college, Middlebury is on a hill. And the relay race was around campus. And it started right in front of my dorm, at the top of the hill, Hepburn Hall.

I can’t remember if I was first or second. I completed my circuit and passed on the bike and as the legs of the race unfolded it was stunning, we appeared to be winning! I was just into participating, I didn’t want to sit in my dorm room with a blank face.

And then the bike was passed for the last leg to a girl I’d never met, and she took off like a shot.

But she came back dead last. Walking the bike. The chain had fallen off.

Now to be honest, I wasn’t thrilled it was my bike. No one ever takes care of your equipment like you do. But this girl walking my bike from the Chapel to Hepburn Hall had an exhausted, pained expression and couldn’t stop talking when she was in earshot. There were only two or three of us still left. And she kept talking, we were having a conversation.

And I was impressed. This was not the typical Middlebury grind, this was not someone repressed and into her look, this was Stephanie Cole.

Made a big impression on me, but I never had another conversation with her again, not for the ensuing three plus years.

But I never forgot the interaction.

Now maybe she was on a different track academically, I’d never seen her in any of my classes. And she didn’t seem to hang out with the girls I knew, the ones we had dinner with at the SDUs (Social Dining Units, eventually they were named after donors, but everybody still called them the SDUs). But I always went to the same SDU, because it closed last, you could get dinner until seven long before the 24/7 food service of today’s gourmand campuses. You end up in your own rut, actually it’s easier than thinking about it.

Now time took its toll on me at Middlebury. At the advent of junior year I realized I’d seen all its tricks, all it had to offer, and what it really was was an educational factory for those who knew how to study, but not much more. Culture? I grew up fifty miles from New York City, forty five percent of these kids had been in the confines of prep schools. The others? They came from all over the country. And when I was done, I got the hell out of there.

To line up a job in Alta, Utah, the only place Middlebury meant anything, the only place it had name recognition.

But that was one of the great things about moving to California. No one asked me my SAT scores, no one asked me where I’d gone to college, to the point where I just started saying “a small school back east.” And if they pushed me, they’d still never heard of it. But once the boomers became parents college admissions competition became fierce and there was that Charles Murray incident and more people have heard of Middlebury, but I graduated nearly half a century ago. Seems like yesterday, but it’s a long damn time.

Now they mail you the alumni magazine every quarter. It’s transparent, they want your money. And most of the publication is stories about the activities of professors and graduates, but at the end of the magazine, there are pages and pages of class notes. Where you can mail in and tell your story.

I intentionally never mailed in. But that does not mean I didn’t read the stories.

To a great degree it’s bragging. And there are pictures of friends who felt they were superior. But the truth is, you’re judging yourself. And them. That’s right, how does your life compare to theirs?

And the truth is it took me ten years to get over going to Middlebury. To realize not everybody in America was smart, never mind checking you on your word choices.

And there’s a five year reunion. That’s just for the hard core.

And then a ten year… I was not in the greatest place, breaking up with my girlfriend, but I never would have flown cross-country to attend anyway.

And they have them every five years thereafter. And they posts lists of the people who go, and pictures too, and that’s when you realize very few people actually go to the reunion, and really it’s about reconnecting with your friends, and the truth is the friends I made there I still want to have contact with I do.

And as the years go by, fewer and fewer people send in updates. To the point where the class correspondents implore you to. And then you’re just like the old classes you saw in the magazine back when you graduated. There were only one or two people testifying, everybody else was silent. Maybe because their story was already written, there was nothing left to brag about, but one thing is for sure, everybody still reads the notes.

And then back in 2013 the magazine did a story on me! It seemed like I’d come full circle, they sent a professional photographer to my house, the article was great and…

Crickets.

I assumed I’d hear from some of my classmates. But no. Because they didn’t want to hear that I’d succeeded and they hadn’t. They were old enough to have their careers written in stone, but still…they just couldn’t be friendly and acknowledging. That’s cool, I get it.

But the truth is you never forget your college days. Especially at a place like Middlebury, where no one ever goes home for the weekend, where you’re all in it together, they’re formative years.

And the fiftieth reunion is right around the corner.

I wasn’t planning to go to that one either, but prior to lockdown I was at a party at an actor’s house who told me he’d just come back from his fiftieth high school reunion in Minnesota. I asked him why he went. He said his parents were dead, he was never going back to Minnesota, this was the last chance, after this it was over.

So I thought of going to my high school reunion. I’ve never ever been to any reunion, but it’s the fiftieth, now or never. But then I thought about the people I’d see… I couldn’t wait to get out of high school, best years of your life? Not for me.

But I’m still reading the damn class notes.

And you read for every year you were there, the three older classes and the three younger ones. And unfortunately, there comes a moment when you can no longer put a face to the name. Happens when you’re not paying attention. You know everybody, just like you remember every single class you took, and then they’re gone. Sure, you remember those who lived with you in the dorm, your friends, but everybody else? They fade away.

And I used to read the recent classes too. To see what they were up to after graduation. The younger generations are world-beaters in a way we never were.

But now I no longer even do that. Too much time has passed. I realize I might still feel young, like I just graduated from college yesterday, but if the students saw me on campus they’d snicker at the old guy, it’s the nature of life.

And since it’s the Covid era, the college e-mails you the class notes. You used to have to wait for the print magazine to see them.

And the e-mail came in about a week ago and I kept it, noted it as new, told myself when I had the time I’d dive in, but I never did.

And then it was Friday afternoon, yesterday, and it was now or never. The world slows down on Friday afternoons and I thought I’d tie up all the loose ends, and the last one was the Middlebury class notes.

Which were unsatisfying. Because, like I said, few of my compatriots weighed in.

And it’s a PDF, not a physical book, and I get interrupted a few times, but I decide to scroll to the end, I’m a completist.

And that’s when I get to the death notices. You always look for those who were in your class.

But they had a special box. For those who’d died in the interim when the magazine was essentially put to bed but not yet published. And in that list was…

Stephanie Cole.

I immediately started Googling, looking for the obituary. And I found quite a long one, which is not always the case.

The picture was not good. Then again, I don’t look too good either.

And she was my same age.

And her story…

She’d graduated third in her class in high school. She’d been a ski racer at Middlebury, that I knew, but no one paid attention to NCAA sports when I was in college, I went to one football game because my parents were in town, that was it. Never a basketball game… No one I knew ever went to a competition.

And after graduating she’d taught skiing and then gotten a job with the U.S. Ski Team in Park City. But on the drive out there, she had a bipolar event.

That was the word on Stephanie. I’d asked my bike-racing friends. She had mental health issues.

So she had to give up that job in Utah, and ultimately came back to New Hampshire, had a son and daughter, and worked in libraries.

And then she died.

Oh, of course she did much more than that, but I couldn’t get over the fact that she passed. It was all over. That’s all they wrote. Done. In the rearview mirror. Whew!

It’s starting to happen. My generation is starting to go. And the one thing about baby boomers, they don’t think they’re ever going to die, they believe biology doesn’t apply to them. If they just repeat the mantra, wear hip clothing, maybe even get plastic surgery, they’ll be here forever.

But that is patently untrue.

Some people live to be a hundred.

Some not even old enough to collect Social Security, which is not your money, it’s an insurance program, to make sure you have some cash in your old age if you run out, which many baby boomers are gonna, because they never saved for the future, were too busy living a high lifestyle, spending all their dough.

But the finality of death. It’s eerie.

When it’s all over it won’t matter I went to Middlebury College. It won’t matter what I did. A few people will remember me, and then I’ll die. I thought I had my whole life in front of me, and then the hourglass flipped when I wasn’t watching and now the sand is pouring and I’m racing to complete, get done, go to the places I always assumed I would but am now realizing I won’t.

And it’s not even the same world. A number one is not the ubiquitous track it once was. A movie is not something to stimulate your mind and talk about. One tries to keep up, but then at some point you wonder whether you should even bother, you’re old, embrace what you had, don’t bother trying to grab that which might be meaningless just because it’s new.

I’m too old to die young. My obituary won’t say I was cut down before my time. And unlike Stephanie Cole, I won’t leave any children behind. The lineage ends with me.

This is my life. Most of it has already been written. I can’t go back and change it, it’s carved in stone. Do I have regrets? ABSOLUTELY! But that’s history now.

It’s an endless march from now on. My generation, my friends, are going to pass. It’s started, it’s picking up steam. And some will die from bad behavior, some from accidents, but with most it will be a health issue that they have little control over. Cancer. They’ll get sicker and sicker, be a shadow of their former selves, hold on, and then die.

And you don’t want to live too long, because then all your friends are gone.

But I wish some of them were still here.

Stephanie Cole Nelson: https://bit.ly/3zcQXkI