Memories of 1974

Written by Guest Blogger Damian “Lou” Vidal RHS Class of 1978.

Memories are funny. Some like the birth of my children are vivid and almost tactile in form as the
images materialize in my head while others like my father’s funeral appear in a haze of emotion. Maybe it’s the content of our memories that makes the difference, maybe it’s the emotion, and maybe it’s both. Sometimes music or smells can pull you into a time warp of images that come rushing back like a flood bursting a dam.

Just a few Sundays ago my wife was cooking pancakes and my young seven year old son got up from bed and said to her “Mmm that smells good Mom” and as I smelled the same wonderful odor I remembered a similar day in my youth when I said a similar thing to my mother, the moment brought a smile to my face, memories are funny that way.

More and more as I get older it seems that the memories that hold their meaning to me are those that remind me of family and of friends. Even though it may be about something I was doing it always falls into the content of my memory because of those that were around me. It appears that what we are doing isn’t as important as who we were doing it with or for. I remember the first time I played touch football at Mount Carmel because of Bill DeMayo asking me if I wanted to play. I remember my first snowman because my older sister was telling me how it should be done. I remember the first time I dove off the high dive at Graydon Pool because of Joe Schroeder’s incessant ribbing that I wouldn’t. All those memories bring back a feeling of joy and happiness that are engraved in my essence. It is a time of innocence that I often think about and sometimes miss.

Funny how job promotions or bonuses or making a great deal of money don’t create any everlasting flashbacks in me, we seem to place such value on the material things in our lives yet it appears that what really counts are the relationships, and the emotions we attach to them. It seems that what matters most are those moments with people that retrospectively ripple back like waves in time crossing the pond of our lives.

 The other day I was going through some old photo albums and found a picture of one of those moments in time. It is 1974 and I am in ninth grade and I am doing one of those things that as young boys we loved about school, going to gym and playing for the love of it. There is no championship, no trophy, and no scholarships on the line, just the bragging rights for that afternoon and the feeling that you were the greatest athlete ever if you won. I have no idea where these boys are today, I hope and pray all are well, but they will forever exist in my memory as the teammates and opponents in a do or die game of flag football on a sunny fall day in the field across from GW JR. HIGH.

From right to left:

In the wonderfully stylish 70’s print shirt, Sam Ward, The massive Jim Foody getting ready to break
some bones, The diminutive Mike Travers who had a heart as big as the Titanic, great soccer player! The cool and collected Chip Conklin. The always smiling, I know you can’t see him, Chris Holmes, and me, an average kid with average talent who always gave it 101%, Damian “Lou” Vidal.