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My last year, senior in high school. Everything settles down after awhile. A small and pleasant and more together group of kids, about to take off into the world and, too often, never see each other again. As juniors and seniors in high school, we were a little closer to the counselors in age, and so could relate more as friends. I could have, and should have, gone to conference one more year after this, before college, but didn't. (There's a story there, but I think I'll save it for fiction.) Just a few more notes:
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We can't get away without mentioning Jamie, enormous cowboy from the panhandle. Go find him in previous pictures and see how many times he wore his trademark sleeveless shirt.
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This is Vernon, from Barbados. The first and only Episcopalean I've ever met from the Islands. Nice guy, and I never got tired of listening to his patois.
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Scott was one of the counselors. Decades later I ran into him again when I started brewing my own beer. He ran a store in Houston that sells beer-brewing supplies. It was fun to catch up.
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Me, about to escape down the road to the southeast, in a cloud of dust. I had no idea what was in store. But nobody does. That's the fun part.
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