The Journey by Jack Caldwell

Several years ago, I posted an edited version of a presentation I was honored to give to the Edward Douglas White Catholic High School Class of 1975 at the occasion of our 40^th Class Reunion, held at Ducros Plantation House in Schriever, outside of Thibodaux, Louisiana, on Saturday, October 10, 2015.

Today, my class returns to Thibodaux and E.D. White on Homecoming Night in recognition of our 50^th reunion. Therefore, I have chosen to repost it.

For those of you outside the USA, it is customary for both high schools and colleges to celebrate the return of alumni to the school. The students have parties and dances. But Homecoming is highlighted by an athletic event–football in the Fall or basketball in the Spring. The alumni are saluted during the game.

While I wrote this for my classmates, I believe it expresses universal truths as well. I hope you enjoy it.

THE JOURNEY
by Jack Caldwell © 2015

WE ARE GATHERED HERE tonight to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of our graduation high school. It’s wonderful to be among friends, some who I haven’t seen in forty years. Remember when we listened to Roger Daltrey singing, “Hope I die before I get old?” Now it’s more like Paul McCartney and, “Will you still love me when I’m sixty-four.”

Forty years! Can you believe it? Sometimes it seems so long ago; other times, it was like yesterday.

Forty years. So much has happened in those decades. I could go on to list the many things that has happened, both here and around the world, since that day in 1975 when we walked on stage to receive our diplomas. But I’m not going to do that.

It has been my privilege to know an extraordinary woman. Albertine Prezlin Leche, my great-grandmother, was born just up Bayou Lafourche from here in 1879, the year the automobile was invented. She lived all of her 103 years in Thibodaux, Louisiana, the last twenty or so across the street from her beloved St. Joseph Catholic Church.

In her lifetime she saw the creation of electrical power and the telephone—in fact, she was one of the first telephone operators in Thibodaux. Women got the vote and the Civil Rights movement spread across the nation. She saw vaccines and heart transplants. Radio and movies and television. Vegetables in stores year-round. Humanity went from the dunes of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina to the Sea of Tranquility on the Moon, and by harnessing the energy of the atom, discovered unlimited power and the means of destroying all life on this world. She saw two world wars and countless hurricanes. She was witness to the best and worst of mankind.

Once, I asked her about that. The wonders she had seen! Surely that made an impression upon her. It did, she agreed. Air conditioning was nice. But then, she turned the conversation back to the things that were of interest to her. Her life at her cherished Coulon Plantation House with her late husband. The dozens of families she had known. Her long-gone friends. And the pride she had for her grandsons and great-grandchildren.

Now, Albertine Leche was not a simple woman, as anyone who knew her can attest. Her mind was as sharp as a tack up almost to the end. But in my arrogant teenaged youth, I did not understand why she didn’t want to talk about those great achievements and monumental events. I was too young to understand the wisdom she imparted.

My first clue came years later with the birth of my own son. It was then I saw the great purpose of life: the continuation of humanity and passing down of the accumulated knowledge of the ages to the new generation. In other words, growing up and raising children. It was then I saw that life truly is a journey.

Our parents were our first guides along the Journey. The lessons they imparted, the examples they presented, set us upon this trip.

Our faith is a guiding light in the darkness.

Our years in high school are not something apart—some unique event. It was an important waystation on the Journey. Those years helped create who we are. The knowledge offered by our teachers was part of that. But just as important, if not more so, were the interactions we shared together.

Certainly, we can talk about the singular events, the great successes, and tonight we will. Making the playoffs. Winning the state championship. Homecoming, Sweetheart, Prom. Rings and Graduation. All of that is indelibly engraved in our minds.

But these wonderful things were not all school contributed to prepare us for the Journey. It’s the small things, the people we knew.

Hanging around with friends, waiting for Home Room. The girls pulling down their skirts, worrying about Sister and her ruler. The guys playing cards. Turning in your homework notebook to Brother. The agony of fifth period, wondering if the day would ever end. The librarian sweetly asking you to be quiet.

Sweating on the football practice field. Marching band during a cold rainy game. Pep squad, dance squad, cheerleading. The school’s first girls’ teams. Prep Quiz Bowl, National Honor Society, Key Club, 4-H. Trying to decide what to wear to the Prom. Wondering if she’ll say yes.

All of this made us who we are and prepared us for the Journey.

We are not meant to go on the Journey alone. Some of us found their spouse at school. Others of us discovered their companion of their future lives elsewhere. Some of us took more than one try. I found mine on a blind date in a little café in Covington that no longer exists.

We all know the Journey is not easy. High school helped prepare us for this. We all suffered pain, pressure, and disappointment, as well as joy and satisfaction. We thought nothing could be so bad as sitting at home without a date, or anything better than beating our rival. We have learned better, haven’t we?

In the forty years since graduation we discovered life was nothing like we anticipated. Most of us are not doing what we thought we would. Some have traveled far, others have stayed close to home. The children come, grow up, and leave–and the Journey continues.

We start thinking of the legacy we will leave behind. What kind of parent were we? What kind of spouse? Co-worker, boss, mayor? Will we leave our family, our home, our community better than we found it?

For some, the Journey is over.

We have had setbacks and success, disappointment and surprise, tragedy and triumph, loss and growth, joy and sorrow, life and death. But we go on, reaching for that elusive Elysian Dream, that blissful place we all strive for–the goal of the Journey.

It was while writing this that I had another revelation. The Elysian Dream is not just the goal of the Journey, but is also the Journey itself.

It is why the Journey is filled with joy and hardship. Nothing worth having comes easy. For it is along the Journey we discover the things that make life worth living. The people we love. The places we’ve seen and the experiences we’ve had. Our work and our hobbies. The simple pleasures we’ve enjoyed. The delightful moments that are the snapshots of our lives. Our families, our friends, and our faith.

So tonight, we celebrate another waystation on the Journey. We will stand around and talk and laugh, and perhaps shed a tear. When tonight is done, we’ll lie to each other, promising to stay in touch. We’ll try, but we all know the demands on our time from families and careers. That’s all right, after all. For tonight itself is a milestone along the Journey. Tonight is a part of the Elysian Dream.

Bruce Springsteen was wrong. Our time at high school, as memorable as it was, was not our “Glory Days.” Our Glory Days, our best days, are before us as we continue the Elysian Dream that is the Journey.

This is what my great-grandmother was trying to tell me so long ago.

Tonight as we laugh and converse, reconnect and reminisce, let us take a moment to remember those who could not be here and those who have left this world all too soon. And as we continue the Journey, let us appreciate the gifts and experiences that we’ve been given by He who made us. And let us pray that when the Journey is done, we all stand together again on the sunlit plains of the Elysian Fields.

Until next time, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…