Ten years gone, Part 8
Tomorrow, my sister informed me, is City High’s graduation. So I think now is a fitting time to wrap up this series about having graduated from high school 10 (now 11) years ago. I have been meaning to do it for a while — before New Year’s was ideal — but have not gotten around to it. Surprise, surprise. However, last week I happened across a little inspiration.
Each Wednesday for the last couple weeks my dad and I have gone to Sharpless Auctions on the Herbert Hoover Highway. We do not go there for the auctions, though, which start sometime around five o’clock. Instead, we go earlier and browse the almost endless tables and rows of furniture, mysterious heirlooms, antiques, and complete junk that will all (amazingly) be sold that night. It is a very interesting place and I would sometime like to see the auction.
Last week, in the large outbuilding where tables are lined with boxes filled with unsorted items, I found a 1987 City High yearbook. It belonged, I assumed, to a guy named Dan or Doug (I do not remember which); his name was highlighted in orange wherever it was listed — which is kind of lame if you ask me. Anyway, I opened it up and was hooked. I just about flipped through the whole thing.
I always loved looking through the old yearbooks stored in the Newslab and wish I would have grabbed a couple of the extra copies kept in the loft. Though I was never on the yearbook staff (I kind of wish I had been), I like to admire the pages and how everything was put together. The themes, the way certain events were covered, the cliché stories about sex and drugs and quirky students. (There was a reason the Red and White was the standard for high school yearbooks: it was awesome year after year.) It is also interesting to see how people dressed back whenever or looked when they were younger. In that way, yearbooks are probably the closest things we have to community time machines. The ’87 edition of the R&W, I have to say, was damn good.
While flipping through I found a couple interesting surprises — for me, at least. On one color page was a picture of a pool scene; a guy with red hair was in mid-jump. Below, in the caption, he was identified as “Doug Alberhasky ’87.” On a page about homecoming was a black and white picture of a husky kid tending a roasting hog. His name: “Terrence Neuzil ’87.” While checking out the Little Hawk staff photo and the names listed underneath I noticed “Matt Hayek” in row two.
Fast forward 25 years. Alberhasky is the store manager and lead bier guy at John’s Grocery. Terrence Neuzil is a 12-year member of the Johnson County Board of Supervisors, and Matt Hayek is serving his second term as Mayor of Iowa City. (Hayek graduated from City High in 1988.)
“Man,” I thought when I finally closed the yearbook. “What the hell am I doing? What the hell are we doing?”
Seeing those prominent Iowa Citians at a young age shamed me. Not because of their current local fame but because of their service to the community and professional accomplishments since that ’87 yearbook was handed to excited students at the end of the year. It made me reflect on my own post-high school life. Granted, Alberhasky, Neuzil, and Hayek have 13 and 14 years on me, but what have I done? (Write, work, drink beer, watch a lot of football and baseball.) What could I have done? (A lot more.)
I could be doing a lot more with myself. Everyday I feel myself itching to do more, itching to do something that benefits my community — my fellow Americans, my environment. My personal pot is slowly reaching a boiling point. One person can make a hell of a difference in the world, and seeing Alberhasky, Neuzil, and Hayek in that old yearbook was inspirational. They were just like me: City student, LH staff member, future beer lover.
Each Wednesday for the last couple weeks my dad and I have gone to Sharpless Auctions on the Herbert Hoover Highway. We do not go there for the auctions, though, which start sometime around five o’clock. Instead, we go earlier and browse the almost endless tables and rows of furniture, mysterious heirlooms, antiques, and complete junk that will all (amazingly) be sold that night. It is a very interesting place and I would sometime like to see the auction.
Last week, in the large outbuilding where tables are lined with boxes filled with unsorted items, I found a 1987 City High yearbook. It belonged, I assumed, to a guy named Dan or Doug (I do not remember which); his name was highlighted in orange wherever it was listed — which is kind of lame if you ask me. Anyway, I opened it up and was hooked. I just about flipped through the whole thing.
I always loved looking through the old yearbooks stored in the Newslab and wish I would have grabbed a couple of the extra copies kept in the loft. Though I was never on the yearbook staff (I kind of wish I had been), I like to admire the pages and how everything was put together. The themes, the way certain events were covered, the cliché stories about sex and drugs and quirky students. (There was a reason the Red and White was the standard for high school yearbooks: it was awesome year after year.) It is also interesting to see how people dressed back whenever or looked when they were younger. In that way, yearbooks are probably the closest things we have to community time machines. The ’87 edition of the R&W, I have to say, was damn good.
While flipping through I found a couple interesting surprises — for me, at least. On one color page was a picture of a pool scene; a guy with red hair was in mid-jump. Below, in the caption, he was identified as “Doug Alberhasky ’87.” On a page about homecoming was a black and white picture of a husky kid tending a roasting hog. His name: “Terrence Neuzil ’87.” While checking out the Little Hawk staff photo and the names listed underneath I noticed “Matt Hayek” in row two.
Fast forward 25 years. Alberhasky is the store manager and lead bier guy at John’s Grocery. Terrence Neuzil is a 12-year member of the Johnson County Board of Supervisors, and Matt Hayek is serving his second term as Mayor of Iowa City. (Hayek graduated from City High in 1988.)
“Man,” I thought when I finally closed the yearbook. “What the hell am I doing? What the hell are we doing?”
Seeing those prominent Iowa Citians at a young age shamed me. Not because of their current local fame but because of their service to the community and professional accomplishments since that ’87 yearbook was handed to excited students at the end of the year. It made me reflect on my own post-high school life. Granted, Alberhasky, Neuzil, and Hayek have 13 and 14 years on me, but what have I done? (Write, work, drink beer, watch a lot of football and baseball.) What could I have done? (A lot more.)
I could be doing a lot more with myself. Everyday I feel myself itching to do more, itching to do something that benefits my community — my fellow Americans, my environment. My personal pot is slowly reaching a boiling point. One person can make a hell of a difference in the world, and seeing Alberhasky, Neuzil, and Hayek in that old yearbook was inspirational. They were just like me: City student, LH staff member, future beer lover.
