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Wayne Capooth, M.D. - remarks at Reunion 2007
Hi! For those of you who don’t recognize me — or don’t remember me — or perhaps never knew me, I’m Wayne Capooth, Class of ’62.
In high school, I was not a class officer or valedictorian; I was not an actor in the senior play; I was not voted best dressed, most likely to succeed, wittiest, friendliest or anything else. (God knows I should have been voted best looking.)
Like many of you, I was just a kid — interested in good times, girls, fast cars, rock ‘n’ roll and not much else — trying to be about as irresponsible as I thought I could get away with.
Wayne Capooth. Photo by Susan WilsonThe year 1962 was a great deal more than just our graduation year. It was the year we went our separate ways and began our lives as young adults. It was a year of many other beginnings.
Most significantly, it was the beginning of the most turbulent, revolutionary decade of modern times, the beginning of a new, youth-inspired social consciousness and idealism in America. The times, they were “a-changin’.”
Before the new decade would end, our generation would have far-reaching effects on national attitudes in such diverse areas as civil rights, environmentalism, war and sexual freedom. We would see men walk on the moon.
1962 was the beginning of a decade of campus unrest, violent conflicts, assassinations, upsetting moral values, intense space exploration and incredible technological development, Memphis Music, Beatles, Bob Dylan, hippies and a drug culture that remains the number one social problem in our country today.
But as is with any other year of beginnings, 1962 was also a year of endings. Not only was it the end of our high school days, it was the end of our innocent youth. And it was the end of America’s innocence.
Like all youth before and after us, we saw ourselves as the center of the universe. But as we reflect now upon the early sixties, when we were in high school, we can see that in many respects — more so than in any other time — we, the teenagers, really were the center of the universe.
Those were the days of family get-togethers. We knew our aunts and uncles and cousins. We picnicked in the parks and walked in the woods. We had little money, but were not poverty-stricken because we had purpose.
All in all, it was a great day to grow up. We had little money, but we learned to enjoy what was available. We were not confined to electronics but free to learn about nature, and physical activities, and each other.
We grew up with the purpose of achieving. We were anxious to learn. Our purpose was to have the facilities within, to emulate the great people of our society.
Then if greatness presented itself, we would be ready to accept it. If it did not, we could live normal, productive and secure lives and contribute to our own towns and neighborhoods.
Purpose kept us going. We had reasons for pride.
Think of the teachers we had in those days! They taught us to be and think as winners. We respected and somewhat feared our teachers but over-all knew them as friends.
Think of the things we learned in everyday life: how to work for the treasures we needed and wanted, how to help each other when the going was tough, where to look for information, how to plan for the future, how to stand on our own two feet when we were put on the spot.
Think of the confidence we had in each other. The students were the brightest. The girls were the prettiest. The football players were the winners. The cheerleaders were the peppiest. The musicians were the most accomplished. We had the pride of the Class of ’62.
We were proud because we knew hardship was just a step in making us self sufficient. We did not grow up to be forever dependent on the dole or the good will of others. We expected to be responsible, dependable and independent adults. We wanted to accept our roles in life, whatever those roles might be.
And we wanted to be accepted because we were ready — not just because we eventually would reach the magic age of 21 — the supposed age of maturity.
One other thing we had, though we scarcely realized it and might even had denied it at the time. We had prayer. We had grown up in churches.
We knew there were different faiths and different practices. Yet we saw our fellow classmates with the same ideals and the same sense of responsibility, and we knew behind us all was one vital Creator.
We didn’t talk about prayer in those days. We didn’t go to the streets and demonstrate about our religion. Nevertheless, the times did come when we depended on prayer.
Since high school, we have known wars with its terrors. We have known life and death of friends and family. We have known financial and emotional trials. We have known fear and frustration. We have felt fatigue and despair.
The right and ability to pray, as we learned 45 years and more ago, has continued to sustain us through the years, and will sustain us the rest our course.
We are now entering the first half of the twenty-first century since we left Overton High. Older years have become reality. We can tell our grandchildren and our great-grandchildren how we grew with purpose and pride, and continued through adversity with prayer. We had patriotism and pragmatism, too, but time flies too fast to talk about them.
For years, I have carried a clipping in my wallet. It is one that makes me think of our class and its possibilities for the future. It goes like this:
Live by the old ethics and the classical rules of honesty. Put no new names or notions on authentic virtues or vices. Think not that morality is ambulatory; that vices in one age are not vices in another, or that virtues may be stumped by opinion. And therefore, though vicious times invent the opinion of things and set up new ethics against virtue, yet hold on to the old morality, and rather than follow the multitude to do evil, stand like Pompey’s Pillars — conspicuous by thyself and single in integrity.
It is this ability to stand alone for right and true progress we learned at Overton High forty-five years ago. It is this ability to endure which will bring us together again.
Tonight, we’re all together again to remember those wonderful times we spent at OHS — when we were together almost every day — danced together — went through puberty together — when we formed many of the values we now hold dear, and many of the most intimate, precious and lasting friendships of our lives.
There are more than a dozen people in this room who are still among my closest friends — very special people who, after all these years, are dearer to me than ever — people I still see often, but never often enough.
There are others whom I haven’t seen in 10, 20 or even 30 years, but whom I am nonetheless happy to see once again. I love reunions — and I love this class — and I suspect many of you are here tonight because you share these feelings.
While we were in high school right here in Memphis, over 45 years ago, we had the greatest heroes, the coolest cars, the best barbeque and the best rock ‘n’ roll of all time. But most important, we had fun. So let’s welcome one another — with hugs — to our 2007 class reunion. Let’s dance, sing along to the oldies, party and enjoy.
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