The Kindness of Strangers, or How I Got My Ring Back (Reverb11)

Let’s go back to 1985 for a spell.  If you weren’t around then, I’m sorry but that’s where we’re going.  You’ll have to muddle along as best you can, or fake it for a bit.  We’ll arrive at the point soon enough, Trust Me (and I can be believed because I’m not running for office!)

In 1985, I was 21 years old.  Or young, depending on your point of view.  I felt years old at the time.  Hindsight tells me my ears weren’t just damp on the back side, but had faucets stuck open.  I was pretty close to clueless and irresponsible.  I also thought I was smarter than most anyone I knew.  This made me a target for “Bad Things to Happen.”  I was a perfect storm of catastrophe when you add in an aversion for confrontation and sheer laziness.

I’d had several nice places to live during the course of ’85,  and had been asked to leave all of them.  Hindsight tells me it was understandable.  So, I ended up living in a ratty mobile home in a ratty trailer park.  It had a water heater the size of a powder room waste can and more holes for heat to leak out of than a politicians sound bites.  Still, it was home and it didn’t leak.

I worked at a gas station on a US Highway (which has since been renamed to a state road as a nice bypass was built) for the princely sum of Minimum Wage.  I wasn’t getting rich, and was barely making ends meet.  I pumped gas, checked oil and listened to a lot of baseball games on the radio.  I was allowed one soda per shift, as all they offered was bottled soda.  There was a place on the way to work called ‘The Original Hamburger Stand (gone now) that sold burgers for a shiny $0.25 each.  I bought $1 worth a day and that’s what I ate.  Burgers and that soda.

So, there I was.  A pump jockey in Reagen’s America.  At least I wasn’t eating government cheese.  But, I wanted more.  And to make a short story long, or to skip ahead of myself, I talked myself into an unpaid gig at a local commercial radio station to learn the ropes.  One day a week I was on the air, and after a while I ended up taking my  (meager) talents to Boonville, MO.  This meant moving from Columbia, and leaving the ratty mobile home in the ratty trailer park behind.

I found a wonderful place in a lovely older home (which is now gone) in Boonville and moved a few of my things out of the ratty mobile home.   Problem was, I didn’t get around to moving much more than those few things.  As a result of being slow, and not paying the last month or so of rent, the landlord seized my possessions.  He was out of line, and breaking the law and I could’ve done something about it.  I chose not to.  It would’ve meant swallowing my 21 year old pride and telling the family what had happened, and also getting a harangue for being lazy.  In short, I wasn’t willing to pay the price.  Which, in hindsight (always 20/20, by the way) was penny-wise and pound-just-plain-stupid.

I lost a lot of stuff through this.  It wasn’t the first time I lost a lot of stuff either.  I was a slow learner, it seems.  And one of the things that ended up left behind was my class ring from De Pere High School in De Pere, Wisconsin.   I had and still have less than grand memories there, but that’s mostly because I was a train wreck of a kid and not very nice.  So, I sort of got the memories and experiences I deserved.  So, it seems it was some years later that I realized that class ring was missing or gone and by then I didn’t really care much.

Times change, we grow up and sometimes you realize that even the worst times in life can have positives in them.  I do feel much better towards my time at De Pere HS and regret not just my behavior but my carelessness with my memories.  I worked hard to forget so much, and didn’t take care of things like photos or yearbooks.  As a result, the visual cues are all gone along with the names and faces.  So was my class ring.  I chalked it up to lessons learned and life goes on.

Six months ago, I got a Friend Request via Facebook from a woman I was certain I didn’t know.  There was a cryptic note in the request telling me to read the message she sent me.  Except I never got it.  Well, that’s what I thought anyhow.  You see, last night I was experiencing insomnia.  Probably due to some medication, but whatever the cause I couldn’t sleep so I was trolling Facebook, Twitter, news sites and the like looking for something to read to pass the time until the Sandman bitch-slapped me to sleep.

One of the articles I read told of how Facebook, in their continuing attempts to make things better without actually asking anyone, started separating incoming FB Messages into one of two mailboxes.  Your inbox and ‘Other’  Seems that messages from people you didn’t have on your friends list would end up there, or messages from pages you ‘like’ and that sort of stuff.  Since I was awake and bored, I took a look in the ‘Other’ box and found not just the heretofore ignored ‘Friend’ request from this lady I didn’t know, but the message she’d sent.  Dated last June, it was and it said, (paraphrase) “Did you lose a class ring from DePere High School, 1983?  If you did, I know who has it and he’d like to get it back to you.”

Gobsmacked was I.  And totally surprised.  Shocked, actually.  If I hadn’t been sitting down (okay, sprawled) on the couch, I’d have fallen over.  I sent a reply at 1:30 am that yes, I did lose a ring from that school and year and yes, I’d love to see it in my possession again.  Or something like that anyhow.  I hit send and didn’t really expect to hear about it again, considering the six months passing from the first message.

By 1:30 this afternoon, I had the ring in my hand.  After 26 years.  My class ring was back in my hand.  Of course, it’s too small to fit my fat fingers anymore, but I don’t know anyone who wears a high school class ring at my age (college rings are different) so that’s not a big deal.  What is important is that I was a recipient of the kindness I wrote about yesterday.

The man who found the ring, whose name is Paul Branham, found the ring 10 years ago or so.  He figured it belonged to somebody and that he could find who owned it and return it.  10 years.  Think about that for a moment or three.  10 years.   Between Paul and his friend Sue (the lady who contacted me via Facebook), I have an old ‘friend’ and piece of my history back.  The kindness of strangers is a wonderful thing.

My thanks to Paul and to Sue and my thanks to you for reading.