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How many years? It cannot be! 38 summers, autumns, winters, and springs have passed since our class graduated Columbia High School? Well…it’s true. Tonight, October 23^rd, several of us “gathered” together across the miles in a teleconference to start discussions about our upcoming 40-year Reunion.

The young women and men who, led by Ms. Wood, put together and published The Aquila for our senior year did a great job under somewhat trying circumstances.

Thanks!

How many years? It cannot be! 38 summers, autumns, winters, and springs have passed since our class graduated Columbia High School? Well…it’s true. Tonight, October 23^rd, several of us “gathered” together across the miles in a teleconference to start discussions about our upcoming 40-year Reunion.

Here are some of the personal testimonials of those who participated in our 35-year reunion. We met at the 57^th Fighter Group restaurant by DeKalb-Peachtree Airport on a nice Saturday evening, ate (very!) well, danced (and danced and danced and…) to the great sounds of a great DJ, and enjoyed moments both quiet and boisterous outside under the stars. Many of us met again on Sunday afternoon, when we gathered for a family picnic at a park in Snellville. Want to remember those moments or see what you missed? Look at these photos:

• The restaurant
• The Reunion
• The Picnic  

If reunions are the lifeblood of our classmate community, the people who organize and conduct the reunion are the heart of our class. If you are inclined to contribute—in any way—on the committee, you should know that such work calls you to…

The word gives the speaker a good feeling. It calls forth memories of friends and friendships, of triumphs, of success at having accomplished something. We’ve come together almost every five years since we graduated; some, particularly those on the decade, have been very big events while others have been more casual get-togethers. We’ve accomplished this, remarkably, without a formal class organization or dues.

My Senior year was one of venturing out, testing, and anticipation. All the while, it seemed pretty much as every other, previous year. Well, with one exception:

The only course I HAD to take was Senior English. I thought long and hard over the injustice of this. After all, I was forced to go through an ENTIRE SCHOOL YEAR, a year of MY life, JUST to take ANOTHER course in English! 

A Winning Season

The first year of our school, we played B-Team ball only. We fielded a varsity football squad for the first time in 1968; despite their heart and efforts, that team was winless. The next year, 1969-1970, was radically different.

Well, what a shindig this was! When the Prom Committee sent around a questionnaire asking us which group we’d like to have perform for the Prom, many of us wondered about their grasp of reality. This list included bands such as Santana. How was that to be? Such a “name” group coming out for a DeKalb County high school prom?

The young women and men who, led by Ms. Wood, put together and published The Aquila for our senior year did a great job under somewhat trying circumstances.

Thanks!

The choral arts program exploded in our senior year, 1969–1970 under Mr. Madision Short. Where once there had been a rather small group of participants, Mr. Short went out and “recruited” (shanghaied) many more. He built several choruses, including the fabled Men’s Chorus, mostly with young men and women who hadn’t learned to read notes. Mr. Short had developed an innovative method of teaching voice to people who could not read sheet music or tell you the difference between a high C and a low D (outside of the definitions used to grade papers and tests, that is).

Teamwork + Sportsmanship = Success!

The men and women’s Eagles varsity basketball teams earned respect and success on and off the court. This writer recalls that the women’s team was very successful, indeed!

Our Eagles wrestling team was very successful in this, their second year. In 1969-1970, the team reached fourth place in the regionals. Congratulations to all!

In 1967, a new professional sport came to the Atlanta area: the National Professional Soccer League. (The NPSL merged with the North American Soccer League in 1968.) Our region hosted the Atlanta Chiefs, brought to life by Dick Cecil and the Atlanta Braves organization.

The sport literally took off among youth, fed by new youth leagues organized throughout the area. The DeKalb County school system quickly added the sport to its athletic program; so quickly, in fact, that most teams were coached by men who had no experience with it.

Not everyone likes history classes, even though we constantly make and re-make our own histories. History is not the study of dates but the understanding gained of one’s self in the perspective of place. Star Trek and the host of space science fiction that have evolved from it call this "the space-time continuum." It’s still one’s sense or understanding of place.

We always valued and trusted those who served as administrators, led by The Principle and His Assistant (Wesley Hardy and Sam Black). We never, individually or collectively, pulled any stunts or protested anything at any time. No one was subjected to discipline of any kind, and detention was for other schools. 

Early morning,

The sun shining bright,

Lazy world waking up.

Cold, grey heavens

And misty forests below

Bring their very own

Special beauty to this,

our venerable Earth.

In subtle flight

The dove; soft, pure, white

Brings peace of mind

The soft light

Glows on morning dew—

Studded grass.

The old

Tin soldier is

Reddened with rust, but

Sturdy and staunch he stands on

The shelf.

Verdant

Grass, the azure

Sky, cobalt seas, and deep

Sepia earth so rich; this land,

This Eire

Good-bye

Is only a

Word—but somehow it expresses

All the pain and sorrow of a

lost love.

Dreams

dreams,

ever-changing in a sea of confusion.

some bad,

shadowed by a threat of evil premonition,

some good,

and more pleasant than reality itself,

but all hazy, vague,

intruding the mind

causing a whirlpool of questions.

Why do they come?

What purpose do they serve?

Are they just the object of coincidence,

escape,

fantasy,

or is the meaning deeper?

Silently falls the snow

Falls and, in coming, covers

The filth and hatred

Of the world in a blanket

Of white purity

Dawn

On rich golden wings

It creeps o’er high mountains

and lush mossy glens.

Dusk

With rich subtle wings

It encloses the land with

deep velvet sleep.

Crisp is the air, so

Laden with its message of the

Summer’s warmth departed.

The short night is through:

On the hairy caterpillar

little beads of dew.

People

Who are nosey

Make me ill, because they

are always trying to find out things

I know.

The Dance

Invitations are given, all soon accept.

The room quickly fills to capacity.

The music soon builds into a rapid dance beat.

A multitude of people awake and burst into activity.

            The dance starts.

The thrashing of many bodies

Consumed with exuberant fire.

Carried along in passionate fervor.

Along the exotic path to emotional fulfillment.

            The dance goes on.

Insane motions and deranged thoughts

Flow through their set-free minds.

Innate frustrations are relieved through physical exertion.

And normal inhibitions are shucked off; anything goes.

            And the dance goes on.

Fertility rites and pagan dancing.

The supreme test of mans vitality

Is whether or not he will endure.

These ceremonies often involve pain.

            And the dance goes on.

The music builds to a crescendo and fades out.

Applause rings its appreciation to the band.

Joe sinks into the remembrance and sorrow arises.

Souls come down to earth for another week.

            The dance has ended.

I wandered down a lonely road,

With nothing but a song;

My head bent low, a careful pace,

The road it was too long.

Now I moved with definite step,

That soon I would reach the end;

Changing directions many times.

On the highway to a friend.

Moving too fast

Not thinking ahead, only the past

Only mistakes can help me think,

And plenty I have inside me.

No one can tell me right or wrong

I see no black or pure white;

Only shades of gray that sink

As I figure which way to go

Running now,

                        and still too slow;

I must get where I’m going.

Wherever that is, it’s too far away

And nothing holds me long.

I can feel the fear coming strong;

A fear of never reaching,

Of only running endlessly

Across the universe…searching.

If all is black for me

            then why can you see?

The way to go is true

            for someone as strong as you.

If I can’t hear the sounds

            of time as it moves ’round,

Then how can you tell

            what time as we ring the bell?

All is black for me,

            for only the wise can see.

Not fools who cringe with fear

            with the passing of another year.

Not souls who search for light,

            and are borne into the night.

Not hearts that doubt always

            and cease to love through the days.

Yes, never the blind, nor pitiless

            shall see,

Only the ones who understand

            and try to help another,

Only the ones who see

            all men as their native brothers.

Just these few shall really see,

But not the many as

            thoughtless as me.

The day is hot; upon a scaffold stands

     A girl, whose shame is partly due to me.

The burden which she holds to her demands

     That I go up and call the shame to me.

Should I ascend the dreary scaffold, too.

     And share the looks of all those hostile eyes?

Or should I stand beneath this sky so blue,

     And close my ears against my daughter’s cries?

Although my heart is crying to ascend,

     My legs refuse to carry me to it;

Because I know I never shall defend

     My sin to them; the sin I can’t admit

Will rest forever after on my heart;

     And blackness never shall from it depart.

Tantalizing rose

Free in the summer morning

Dripping with the dew.

Dancing daffodil by the tree.

Brightened by the sun, is laughing with me.

The evening is here.

Spring is near.

I sit gazing at the sunset.

Laughing at the busy bee

Who sucks the nectar from the tree

But lonely daffodil at rest.

The evening is here,

Spring is near.

The sunlight drifts through the

clouds, caressing my body with

warmth.

It dances on the lakes as it

showers the earth with a fulfilling light and strength.

All of nature looks up to this god

god, the sun, who penetrates all darkness

darkness.

Nothing can hide in the sun

not even me

no—not even me!

The words I speak would be meaningless—unless someone

truly wanted to hear.

The tears I shed could fall only to the earth—unless

someone was there.

The joy I experience would never exist if there was

no one to share these moments.

The talents I possess could never be developed until

someone saw the potential within me.

The love I give is not yet felt—until someone, a very

special someone, can also love.

From Hope comes Strength.

       a Strength creating confidence

The Confidence giving a driving

       desire to Search

Searching that seeks and finds

       Answers.

Answers bring a genuine

       Happiness.

This Happiness supplying a lasting

       Peace of Mind.

Oh God—give me the Faith to Hope.

My best friend is the Echo.

He always talks back to me,

But he never disagrees.

Linda Hurt Sewell

Linda H. Sewell, 56, of Oxford, died July 26 at Newton Medical Center. Born in Aschaffenburg, Germany, Mrs. Sewell was of the Catholic faith, loved traveling to the beach and rescuing stray animals and enjoyed flowers. She will be fondly remembered as the sweetest and nicest person in the world. Mrs. Sewell was preceded in death by stepson Channing Sewell.

Doug Pickett

Doug Pickett, aged 53, of Lawrenceville, GA, died on Sunday, September 17, 2006. He was a member of the Gwinnett Football League and Brookwood Touchdown Club.

Doug is survived by his wife, Dee Basom Pickett; 2 sons, John “Clete” Pickett of Lawrenceville; William “Chad” Pickett of Lawrenceville; parents, Jack and Dot Pickett, Jr. of Stone Mountain; sister, Sherry Shaw of Cleveland, GA; nieces and nephews Mindy Gamble, Shay Nix, Joshua Nix, Jaime Kight, Matthew Kight; several great–nephews and a great–niece.

Derek Joiner

Derek, who was a valued and trusted friend of many, was killed shortly after our 20-year reunion when his private aircraft crashed. (More to follow as acquired) 

Jack Head

Jack passed away from us on October 2, 2006. He is survived by his wife of 31 years, Debbie; their children: Stefanie and Jake Head, both of Dacula, and his sister, Betty Edwards, and her family, of Watkinsville. Jack was 54 and lived in Dacula, GA.

Jack was a loving husband and proud father. An athlete and avid outdoorsman, he recently retired from AT&T after 30 years with the company and worked his dream job at Brasstown Valley & Resort up in the North Georgia Mountains.

A true man by every definition of the word, he loved golfing, fishing, football, and being with his family up at the lake. A faithful servant of our Lord, Jack was an active member of Hamilton Mill United Methodist Church. He had a heart for those who suffer, especially for children dealing with cancer.