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I like Boomers. Perhaps the fact that I’m a Baby Boomer myself adds to my enjoyment.

The Source

I like Boomers. Perhaps the fact that I’m a Baby Boomer myself adds to my enjoyment. Recently I was asked to do a little performance for the JHS class of 1965. Some 100+ Jacksonville grads converged upon the town in mid-August and spent the weekend strolling around the square, packing the Illinois Theatre for a special showing, commandeering the local golf course for an afternoon, then ending up at a final banquet on Saturday night, and that’s where I found them. The two-day reunion was well organized, but like all events involving various locations and large numbers of people, the night was running behind when I arrived. I took an inconspicuous seat near the door and local wildlifer Pat Ward was kind enough so supply me with enough iced tea to make it through the welcoming speeches and the shank of the meal. My seat also put me in the path of the ladies’ restroom so I chatted with a few of the gals in line and acted as an unofficial guide to how many were using the facilities at any one time. One lady sat beside me to wait. She said that this was her first trip back to Jacksonville since she graduated. Now living on the East Coast, she was amazed at how the town had changed but even more astounded at how it had remained the same. “You people take Jacksonville for granted, you know.” “Really?” “I’ve been reading the local paper this weekend. You don’t know how good you have it.” She went on to tell me that her current place of residence is a town about four times the size of Jacksonville. “But we have no symphony,” she said, “no theatre, no county fair and only one little art gallery.” She added that her home town for the past forty years probably had a higher average income, more retail outlets, more highways, taxes, and higher real estate values, “but” she said, “we don’t have the sense of community you have here in Jacksonville. More stores don’t bring you together. It’s the other things.” By now the gal had lost her place in the restroom line, but we were having a good time chatting so she put up with a little discomfort to talk a bit longer. “The town square. That’s amazing. Most towns aren’t doing that.” I told her about the Grand Opening celebration and she said she’d seen pictures of the Clydesdales but wish she could have been here for the real thing. “Then I’ve been reading the local paper this weekend and you people just don’t seem to get it.” I asked her what she meant. “You have community. You do things together. “ I mentioned that there was no longer a line for the girls’ john, but she was in the middle of making a point and she put her urges on hold. “I’d move back here in a heartbeat,” she said. (Interesting side note: one lady passed us as we were chatting, and growled, “I hear they have entertainment. They didn’t tell me there was going to be entertainment. We don’t have entertainment at my reunions. Why are we having entertainment?” Since I was the entertainment, I didn’t respond.) My new East Coast friend stifled an embarrassed giggle as Miss Huff waddled into the restroom. I asked her how the town had changed. “I don’t remember Morton Avenue being that big a deal, but other than that it looks about the same. And the West End. That’s sure grown. I don’t remember there being much town west of ISD.” But this lady didn’t want to talk about buildings or Morton Avenue traffic. “It’s not Mayberry,” she said. “But it’s still the Jacksonville I knew. I had no idea that it would still exist. I see people walking their dogs and talking to each other on the square. I guess you never appreciate anything when you’re sitting right in the midst of it.” That was her parting admonition, and a good one. The waitresses began to clear the tables to prepare for the entertainment that Miss Huff dreaded. Come to think of it, I never saw her come out of the restroom. Perhaps she drowned. My East Coast acquaintance tended to her business, I tinkled the keys a bit and took off across town where my younger brother was trying to turn 60 with as little pain as possible. But driving down South Main I purposely avoided Morton and headed for the square.