Happy Birthday...You Are Busted!

Happy Birthday...You Are Busted!

My friend Steven Covey, the author of the bestseller Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, coined a phrase that has become a cornerstone in today’s business community: Begin with the end in mind. That is where I’d like to begin this Rambling—at the end.
At 11:00 p.m., Saturday, March 17, 2012, the Ft. Pierce Police SWAT unit, battering rams in hand, forcefully entered 904 South 11^th St., the home of one Calvin McDermid, aka “The Voice.” McDermid was yanked from his wheelchair while he sang a rendition of “Love Me Two Times” that would have made the late Jim Morrison proud. He was slammed to the ground and cuffed and hauled to the pokey as he screamed a garbled mixture of ‘60s slogans that included Stop the War, Love the One You’re With, and Don’t Trust Anyone under Sixty. Two hundred and fifty gray-haired, aging hippies chanted in unison, “The whole world’s watchin’, the whole world’s watchin’,” as they rattled their canes and walkers at the retreating cops who hid behind clear plastic shields with billy clubs and mace at the ready. One cop took four stitches over his right eye when he was hit with an empty Viagra bottle and then tripped on an empty Ensure can.

Well, would you believe… two nice female officers from the Ft. Pierce Police Department finally had enough of “I promise this is the last song” and shut Tradition’s Children down in midsong?
So, to give you a bit more of the flavor of the evening, let me now go back to the beginning. In the beginning, God created dirt and several members of the DMHS Class of 1970. Well, maybe that is going back a bit too far. After all, poetic license can only carry a writer so far.
The 60^th Birthday Party of the DMHS Class of 1970 was scheduled to begin at 6:30. Cal and Tommie McDermid graciously provided their lovely home for our party venue, and it was just the perfect setting. I am sure if they had known that the 50–60 attendees we hoped for would eventually swell to better than 250, they might have reconsidered their offer. By 6:00 p.m., a full thirty minutes before the party’s scheduled start time, fifty attendees were already onsite. It seems that the aging process evidently affects our ability to tell time, among other things.

By 6:30, more than 150 were packed in front of the registration table waving $20 bills as if they were at one of Mark Walter’s auctions, as Cindie McNeal, Diane Mossman, Marcie Keen, Sue Norman, Linda Bravakis, Candy Willey, Rhonda Hilson, and Debra Pitts worked feverishly to hand out name badges and sell drink tickets.
As the sun began to set over the Carlton Ranch, the party took on a Disney World-like atmosphere, as the trees and bushes came alive with thousands of tiny white lights. The aroma of slow-smoked, mouthwatering BBQ provided by Jim and Karen Huck of Huck’s Catering drifted through the crowd, as Keith Andersen’s Boozgeois Saloon crew kept the revelers and their attitudes well lubricated.

Tommie McDermid and Janice Norvell of Epic Events, had the place looking just perfect, with balloons, posters, a collage of photos spelling out “60,” tie-dyed tablecloths, jellybean-filled vases, and beautiful centerpieces with tie-dyed ribbon framing clear plastic boxes filled with twinkling lights adorning the oval tables that dotted the backyard and tennis court. For appetizers, revelers feasted on more jumbo shrimp than we could eat and the best tasting fish dip I’ve ever eaten, provided by Dennis Macy.

Mitch Hilburn’s band, Out on Bail began the night with a Jimmy Buffett classic, “Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season,” and the night was officially underway. The band set up under a 150-year-old Florida oak framed in Spanish moss and, of course, those beautiful white lights. It was breathtaking!

This all played out under a cloudless sky as hundreds of twinkling stars intertwined with the thousands of white lights adorning the backyard under what seemed to be the direct supervision of an almost full moon smiling down on its favorite sons and daughters—the great Class of 1970. The temperature remained in the mid-60s with a 3-knot offshore wind creasing the partygoers throughout the evening. Simply put, it was a perfect night for a perfect party.
Yes, the music, food, and decorations were all textbook perfect, but that was not what made this party; it was the people. Sometimes, the best plans can be upstaged or enhanced by pure dumb luck. This was the case on that Saturday night. At each of our previous reunions, we have welcomed attendees from other McCarty classes and, why wouldn’t we, because they were such an important part of our McCarty experience?
However, this birthday party was the first time we openly encouraged other McCarty classes to attend. It was not a deep thought-out plan; I’m not that smart. It was more, “Hey, we’re having a party, why don’t you come?”
It reminds me of the verse from the old Beatles song:

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends.

Yes, the friends of the Class of ‘70 made the night so special. That “help from our friends” would not have been possible without help from two very special friends, two ladies whom I have come to love and respect over the past few years: Jimmie Anne Nourse Haisley, Class of ‘69 and Billie Sue Huck, Class of ‘67. Both are webmasters of their class websites, and we three have shared much to try to help one another make our sites collectively better.

Early, I saw there was interest from many Eagles who preceded our graduation. I asked both Jimmie Anne and Billie Sue if we could promote the party on their websites also. Not only did both quickly agree and both register, but both made me an administrator on their class sites. At the time, I had no idea that their simple act of friendship would have such a powerful and positive effect on the creation of the “perfect party.”
Because of this cross-pollination between the classes, the siblings in whole families found it easy to share this magical night together. We were all drawn together through the common thread of our formative years in Ft. Pierce. The Simmons, Huck, Sinnott, Suggs, Andersen, Gottardo, Macy, and Turner siblings and more came to laugh together, share memories, and renew friendships that, in many cases, had lain dormant for decades.
In retrospect, it seems so natural that we share that night with those who played such a big part in our high school experience. I wish I could take credit for that, but alas, it was simply the byproduct of extending the hand of friendship to friends who had touched so many of us in so many ways. I heard from a nonattendee that the immense turnout was “not our class.” I can only say that had they experienced that enchanted night as we who attended experienced it, they would understand how off base that thought really was. All who attended were our “extended family,” and we were all blessed by their attendance. On a personal note, I can only hope this is not the last time we encourage a “family reunion” of this type.
I know that anyone who has heard Mitch’s band Out on Bail will agree they are musically one of the best bands in the state. Everyone truly enjoyed them. Then, about 9:00 p.m., I had the honor to take a minute to thank all the volunteers who made the night a success. We planned to end that recognition with Cal and Ronnie Griffith joining Mitch and Billy Smith and the Out on Bail band in a type of revival of our Tradition’s Children, the band that provided the soundtrack of our high school years. Even in the party atmosphere, there was also a bit of sadness, when we remembered the two deceased band members, Glen Burrell and Mark Moore, who are no longer with us. But the night really began when the four surviving Tradition’s Children band mates took the stage.

As I left the mic, exiting stage left, I looked back and saw a sight that warmed my heart and brought a lump to my throat. Nearly every person at the party stopped what they were doing and began to form a circle around our grass-covered dance floor. They were not just listening; they were experiencing this band of our youth. Sixty-something couples hugged a bit tighter, smiles were a bit wider, and there was a sense of community in the air wrapped around us like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. That feeling was so powerful that it is still difficult to reduce to words.

We all were then mysteriously transported to a varnished basketball court, and suddenly, we were all seventeen with our special honey at a Dan McCarty victory dance. I felt chills, and I was never more proud to be an Eagle. As I sit in my office writing this Rambling, it is difficult for me to stop smiling, although it has been almost a week. If you were there, you understand; if you were not, my written description cannot take you to that place. That train has left the station, my friend.
For that one delightful evening, those fond memories again became reality for 250 blessed friends of yesteryear.
Then, we got busted!
I could have never scripted a better ending to this 60^th Birthday Party if I tried. It restored our street cred and forever made this night a memory guaranteed to bring smiles until the last Eagle has left this Earth. It will be remembered at future reunions, funerals, and retold over coffee or beer shared by attendees and nonattendees alike. It will be remembered with smiles and laughter, and I am sure will be repeated, recounting the events much more closely to my exaggerated opening paragraph than what happened. Then again, over time, reality ceases being reality, and the perception of reality becomes the only true reality. So, for the record, here is what really happened.
About 10:00, the cops arrived, the first time citing the city noise ordinance. Cal handled this with a bit of name-dropping and his million-dollar smile.
Then, about 11:10, Rodney Clasby said, “Dick, come quick; there is someone asking for you” as he tugged on my arm, pulling me toward the street. As we rounded the first parked car, the two Ft. Pierce cops stood without a single smile between the two of them, which is when Rodney stopped and pointed to me, telling the cops, “It’s his party.” Thanks, Rodney, the view from under the bus was… interesting.
I put on my best howdy ma’am smile and asked how I might be of assistance, as if I did not know. “You are going to have to shut this down,” they said. “We have a noise ordinance, and this is our second trip to this location tonight.” I thought I heard what she said, although it was a bit difficult with Cal McDermid belting the words to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” at a decibel level a bit higher than a fighter jet Dana Longino once flew.
For a second, I thought about pulling a “Rodney” and asking the cop, with a pointing finger, if it was that guy on stage whom they had told to tone it down an hour earlier, but I took one for the team. I assured Ft. Pierce’s finest that this would be the last song. They said OK and returned to their cruisers, but did not leave.
Thirty seconds later, Cal’s voice again rang clear and strong with the Kinks classic, “You Really Got Me.” A quick look over my shoulder, and I saw the two cops fly out of their cruisers as if they had run over an IED.
I made a 180-degree turn and quickened my paces with the goal of getting far enough from the house to keep the cops from seeing it was the forewarned Cal singing with his forked tongue. You remember Cal, the guy who told these cops we would tone it down at 10:00 p.m.
With my best aw shucks smile that showed my wisdom teeth and my hands extended above my head in mock surrender, I tried to explain that my earlier promise that the band was on our last song was my mistake, and this was really our last song.
Again, they returned to their cruisers, but again, did not leave. I made my way to Mitch to tell him that we needed to wind it up. As I walked to the registration table to continue my earlier interrupted conversation with Cindie McNeil, I heard to my surprise our old buddy Cal asking the gray-haired mob, would you like to hear one more? What do you guess was the crowd’s answer? Ronnie Griffith and Billy Smith began to bang out the familiar licks to the Jim Morrison oldie, “Love Me Two Time.”
I started in a slow trot toward the driveway (slow is all I have left at 60) on a mission to intercept what I knew was coming. But alas, I needed more horsepower than these old legs could provide. Twenty feet from the gate, I saw my two buddies in blue making a beeline to the band, and this time, they would not be denied. In midsong, the music halted.
My first thought was what a bummer, but after a few minutes, it became clear that getting your 60^th Birthday Party shut down because you were partying too loud and too long was really a decent way to end the event.
But when the “music died,” the party did not end—far from it. Everyone was just having too much fun, and no one wanted it to end. By midnight, there were still 100–125 people left. By 1:00 a.m., 50–60 remained.
One thing that made the event so cool was how we promoted it. We did not mail any letters or postcards to promote the party. We promoted the night only with the websites of the Classes of ‘67, ’69, and ‘70 and some calls to those not on our site. Barbara Furr headed up the calling team that also included Nancy Pyles, Ginny Simms, and Debra Pitts. You could say the Class of 1970 has officially entered the Internet age. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Ruff! Ruff!
The party promotion greatly benefited from the great PR efforts of Sam Yates of Yates and Associates. Sam knew that papers normally do not print articles on “reunions”. He needed an angle to get the coverage. He used the release of my new book, Don’t Trust Anyone Over 60 – The Life and Times of the Last Eagles as that little twist to get the coverage we needed.

Writing this book, my 10^th, is my way of using my God-given talent as a writer to help all the classes of McCarty High “Keep the Spirit Alive”. The book will also become an ongoing fund raiser for the class of 1970, with 20% of all book sales dedicated to our 45^th reunion.

Sam’s press releases resulted in dozens of online articles and a great post-party article in the local paper. Click this link to view.
http://www.tcpalm.com/news/2012/mar/20/dan-mccarty-highs-last-graduating-class-shows-it/
The whole party happened under the watchful eye of our old friend, the Dan McCarty High Eagle mascot, which my old buddy Doc McKinney picked up and returned to the Ft. Pierce Museum. Don’t worry, Doc, the fact that you dumped the eagle off the trailer will always be our little secret; I will not tell anyone.
I left about 1:30 a.m., and as fate would have it, headed for my second brush of the evening with Johnny Law.
My route of choice for my return trip to Melbourne Beach was A-1-A for two reasons: (1) it is a wonderful and relaxing drive down the coast; and (2) that road seems to be packed with a lifetime of memories for me. What better place to remember the evening than driving that memory-packed beach road.
My mind bounced between my old high school memories and the new memories created that night. And there were so many new memories created in that single night. I smiles when I thought of Bobby Harrell’s booming jovial voice; Dianne Byrne’s smile; Gina Turner’s laugh; the organization of Cindie McNeil; Colleen Callahan’s willingness to drive from Jacksonville and back in one night just to make the party; Joanne Carlton’s hug; renewing friendships with Robbie Drumm, Ronnie Rohm, Chris Jacobsen, Steve Moose, Tim and Denise Macy, and Dickey Sinnott; spending a little one-on-one time with Janie Clark, Steve Isman, Wendy Walker, Robin Schmidt, Gary Key, Kris Metzger, Joe Barclay, Mike Jenkins and Audrey Short. It was great to see those whose friendships have grown out of the last reunion: Ricky Silverstein, Jim Lester, Mike Stuhr, Kenny Humphrey, Doc McKinney, Pete Wells, Eddie Reed, and oh so many more. If I did not mention your name, please forgive me, and think about cutting me a little slack—after all, I grew up in the sixties, so my brain is not firing on all cylinders.
Only five miles north of the North Jetties, the bottom fell out. The beautiful night so critical for the party’s was now gone and replaced with a coastal thunderstorm that sent huge raindrops pounding on my windshield for most of the way through Indian River County. I felt the same feeling driving through that well-timed thunderstorm that I felt watching the Twin Towers fall on September 11, 2001, knowing I spent two months in the South Tower at the beginning of my financial career—I’ve learned firsthand that timing is everything.
I knew that the beach road would be light on traffic but heavy on law enforcement, so I set my car’s cruise control and basked in the warm glow of a wonderful night. Coming into Melbourne Beach, a white car proceeding north quickly reversed direction and turned on its blue flashing light. Great! Just what I needed, more cops.
I pulled over and rolled down my window, digging through my wallet for my driver’s license. As the Brevard County Sheriff reached my open window, I realized that my driver’s license was nowhere to be found; I had lost it, presumably, at the party.
I was asked what I was doing out at almost 3:00 a.m. I told him honestly that I was returning home from getting 250 senior citizens crocked. He cocked his head similarly to the way my beagle does when he is unsure of what I have just told him. I followed up my “crocked” statement with a fuller explanation that shared info about our 60^th Birthday Party, the Fighting Eagles, and ending with that I had not had a drink for twenty years and volunteered to breathe in his face if he liked. He passed on the 3:00 a.m. breath.
He shined his flashlight into the back of my SUV and saw all the party junk I was hauling, then to the name badge still on my chest that proudly displayed my senior class photo. Finally, he shone the light in my face. Then, I was forced to tell him that somewhere I had lost my driver’s license. He sighed deeply and said, “Mr. Parker, you can go home; no one could have made up a story like that.”
When I think back on the event, I am so proud of all who helped make it a reality and all who attended. Please consider the following:

• We had more attendees than we have seen at any class reunion in years.
  • 244 in attendance
  • 89 from the class of 1970, plus their significant others which accounted for almost 2/3 of the attendees
• We had a lower registration fee than has been charged in years ($20 including dinner).
• We hired waitstaff and bartenders, and no classmates had to give up their night waiting on others. The dreaded cleanup was also hired out.
• The weather was perfect, in the mid-60s with not a cloud in the sky.
• The event was profitable. After all expenses including the seed capital from the 45^th reunion fund, we will still make a profit although breakeven was our goal. But, as I’ve learned from many years in business, profitability is a good thing. Those extra dollars will go to help provide a great 45^th reunion, which is, of course, right around the corner. (We will post an accounting next week when all bills are paid)

So, just as we can all tell you where we were when the Challenger exploded or when Kennedy was shot, all 250 who attended “the party” will never forget where we were on March 17, 2012.
Keepin’ the Spirit Alive,
Richard Parker