Last weekend, my high school graduating class celebrated its 50+1 anniversary. (Our actual 50^th anniversary was 2020, but was postponed due to the Virus of Unknown Origin).

Due to a conflict, I was unable to fly back to St. Louis for the event. And given the nature of the ongoing pandemic, I’m philosophical that it was probably better not to have spent eight hours on two flights, sitting next to a super-spreading individual.

William Cullen McBride High School was an all-boys high school for “major learners” run by the Catholic Archdiocese of St Louis.  (There was, and remains, a similar all-girls Catholic high school named Rosati-Kain).

While the notion of not being around “girls” through high-school would be thought barbaric and anti-social, anti-feminist, and likely a few other “antis-“by SJW types, in truth it made education a good deal easier. There was no competition for the attention of young women that I assume was, and is, typical of the hormone-fueled student life in most high schools.

Major Learning meant a school with four years of math; four years of English; four years of foreign languages; and three years of science; with history, religion, music, and physical education or interscholastic sports rounding out the time.

It was a place where questions were asked, and rote answers weren’t the norm, and you would be expected to be able to explain yourself. Later when I was in college, I realized that much of our McBride education was conducted the same as many university courses.

We were bright young men – some brighter than others; in a few instances, much brighter than the rest of us.

A review of the individual pages of graduates of any of the classes through the years, including the class of 1970, shows many brilliant careers in medicine, law, business, and other fields -and perhaps more importantly, successful well-lived lives in the community and family.

I suspect many of us were over-achievers – with hard work needed to master all those courses taught by the dedicated Brothers of the Society of Mary and lay teachers.

Being an over achiever meant having, or learning, the discipline to do the work – work that only got tougher with each rung up the educational ladder and into one’s professional or work life. Being an over-achiever was a lesson in itself to work to achieve life’s goals and overcome obstacles.

I’ve often felt humbled by the guys with whom I attended McBride.

The school tended to attract bright eager young men who wanted a first-class education; passing an entrance exam was required in eight grade, and I still remember the pride I felt on the day I received the letter of acceptance.

Failing to enter McBride would have meant attending one of the co-ed Catholic high schools – where a high-quality education was still provided. It just wouldn’t have been the same as at McBride with its unique environment.

As it was, the Archdiocese of St. Louis made the decision, supposedly for financial reasons, to close the school after the graduation of the class of 1971. (My twin younger brothers got to attend McBride for two years before the school closed.) There are many of us still unhappy with that decision.

There were 155 of us who started in our freshman class in the fall of 1966 – sure seems like a long, long time ago now. Along the way, some departed early, some joined later. And on graduation day in 1970 there were 139 of us who walked up in our caps and gowns to get our diplomas.

Since then, we have lost 25 of our classmates – all way too soon.

But looking at their faces on their alumni pages makes me remember them as they were: young and full of promise and hope for the lives ahead of them.

It is a reminder we were all the same.

And if life tossed us curve-balls after McBride, as it surely does to everyone, and we didn’t get to do all we hoped and planned, most of us still succeeded far beyond what have been thought possible by most people.

The seeds of those successful lives were nurtured by the caring teachers and the classmates and friends we had at 1909 North Kingshighway.

I can imagine no better place to have started the journey.