The LP 66ers

“For a few days, once a year, the atrophied souls of grown-ups are filled again with that spirit which inspires the wisdom of fools and children.” The Lake Park 66ers.

For their 60th birthdays, they each received their own personal scrapbook with photos and notes from each member of the group. At their last reunion, each was presented with a beautiful, professionally bound yearbook-style photo album chronicling their years together. They travel from around the country to be together once a year, and more often when weddings, anniversaries, and other of life’s milestones justify it. They call each other “my chosen family,” and they, along with my husband Jim, graduated in 1966 from Lake Park High School in Medinah, Illinois.

In August of 1997 two of Jim’s former classmates ran into each other at a Chicago area restaurant. It had been ten years since their last class reunion and they agreed that another reunion was necessary. They made some phone calls to get a small group together for a planning meeting. The group grew a little and they had so much fun together that they continued to meet long after the reunion.

A little less noise there, a little less noise! (Peter Pan)

In August of 1998, the last whole-class reunion, referred to as “The 11th Anniversary of Our 21st Reunion,” was celebrated. I don’t remember why I didn’t go with Jim, but I was probably camping with the Boy Scouts that weekend. On the night of the reunion, this small group of responsible, professional, mature adults managed to get themselves complained about and removed from several areas of their hotel—for being too noisy.

It was during that August weekend they discussed the idea of an annual get-together. The next year the 66ers held their own small reunion at a lodge in Wisconsin, where they once again got in trouble for too much noise. That’s when they decided what they needed to do was “rent a place as far away from others not fortunate enough to appreciate our energy and senses of humor, not to mention music, dancing, loud voices and laughter.” From then on they rented large vacation rental homes and bed-and-breakfast-type places around Lake Michigan for their gatherings.

We became us. I like us. (Can’t Buy Me Love, 1987)

As the next few years sped by, Jim attended the annual weekend reunions whenever he could, even if he only had a day to spend with the other 66ers. Because our son Robert was heavily involved in sports and Scouts, Jim and I were parenting in shifts through those years. If one of us was on the road, the other needed to be home with Robert, so I never went with Jim. He would come home and show me photos and slide show CD’s and shake with laughter while he tried to tell me something that someone had said or done that weekend. I was always glad he had so much fun, but I never got it since I wasn’t part of it.


The 66ers often had a theme or an organized event such as a murder mystery dinner game, a gift exchange, or a golf tournament planned for their annual reunions. It wasn’t always possible for everyone to make every gathering, and occasionally Jim would mention another classmate joining them for the first time. Sometimes a newcomer didn’t come back again because he or she just didn’t seem to appreciate the group wit.

It’s well-organized anarchy.

They appear to thrive on pure anarchy, but Pam is the chargé d’affaires. With everyone’s help, and flurries of emails, she solicits the wants, needs, and opinions of the approximately twenty 66ers, organizes the information, and keeps everyone in the loop. A couple of years ago, Jim and I were stuck in Chicago after a snow storm closed O’Hare. Our hotel was close to Pam’s home, and she set out on the snow-covered streets that night and met us for dinner. Even though I had only seen Pam once or twice at their tenth and twenty-first class reunions, I felt like I’d always known her. At the restaurant she said to me, “We have so much fun at the reunions, why don’t you come?” Her daughter Traci’s wedding was planned for the following summer, and that time I went along.

So much fun it hurts.

I’m neither exaggerating, nor bragging here, but I danced so much the night of the wedding reception that I was unable to move when I woke up the next morning. At a birthday party the next year I laughed so hard that my jaws ached the next day. After the fun at the wedding and birthday party, I had no doubt about attending the next annual gathering. We traveled to a bed-and-breakfast in Winchester, Indiana, where we ate, drank, danced, laughed and relaxed for three solid days.

Younger, happier, lighter in spirit.

At the 66ers’ reunions, you check your troubles at the door and forget them for a couple of days. They tease each other without mercy and no one is safe from razzing and ribbing. However, when one of them is hurting, the rest are right there for comfort and support. These ordinary people have the extraordinary gift of timeless and ageless friendship that makes you forget your aches and pains and imagine you really can dance all night again. As Pam puts it: “After a weekend together, we always leave feeling younger, happier, lighter in spirit.”

It isn’t a feeling you get about them. It’s the way you feel about yourself when you’re with them that is so good. I can’t wait for the next reunion.

Donna