Comments:
Kurt Starnes. 25 years. Who else would get
this show on the road? Thanks, Kurt. I love you
man. It was so strange to view our class roster.
I think we were about four hundred if memory serves.
And so many of those names I don't even
recognize. But many of them I do. And it's so strange
how such a great distance in time regulates the
affections for our fellow classmates.
I look down that list and think
"oh, he was a great guy and she was
wonderful" and I realize that many of these people
weren't even my close friends. Maybe we were locked
down in the same homeroom, check the H's, Hail, Held,
Hendricks, Holden... or we had some class together. I distinctly remember Mrs. Hall's English class in our freshman year. I was fresh from London, well not quite as I served a
year at MJH (kind of like prison) and yet still in
considerable culture shock. She was a speed reader and extolled the value of learning Latin roots. There were quite a lot of us in that one but I really couldn't focus
and failed. My stellar first year at MSH dropped
me in to the class of '85 for a time and some of my strongest attachments are with that class. In my second year at MSH, perhaps a week before class started, I had
an epiphany. It was this realization that would put me
back on track and help me assimilate into that crazy
world of high school in our era (in every era there is
some secret code of admission). In ours, the Polo shirt.
For some reason Ralph Lauren, not his real name, was
the arbiter of fashion in our school. You were with
Ralph or you were nobody. I remember telling my Ivy league educated mom that I needed help from Ralph
to fit in. She was more than understanding and helped
me pick out a nice turquoise number for the first day
of school. And then there were the requisite Sperry
topsiders. With the appropriate body amour in place,
the right people pretty much left you alone and you
could get on with high school life. Our school experience,
in rich, white, segregated pre 84_85 oil-bust, nouveau riche Houston, put a lot of pressure on everybody to fit in. At some point I remember gaining immunity and feeling secure, but I
remember some haunting conversations from others who
never felt that way. They were keen to find that chink
in your armor that would lead you back to that insecure
place that was lying at the bottom of all our feet.
"We'll get you my little pretty." High school as reality
tv.
But we had our friends too. The arbiter of fashion in
our school, our benevolent prince, was Kurt Starnes.
I remember when I first visited Kurt's house, a shrine
to Ralph, and saw the stacks of Polo sweaters, rows
of Polo sports jackets, many with the labels still attached,
and remember thinking, damn. Mike Roa was with us
that night and I remember thinking the ostentation Mike
and his family showed with cars was eclipsed by
Kurt's sartorial splendor. But of course, Kurt had his cars,
the Lancia Zagato, the turbo-charged Supra, the 911.
Of course, Mike's cars were always a bit more manly,
but he's Italian, and also a prince. What can you expect?
Damn, come to think about it, maybe it's cause their both goalies, along with my other brother from another
mother, Peter Fisher. I didn't realize I was so shallow,
but as a sweeper, if you stop goals, I think the world of
you. This is a soccer reference lost on most of you but as you all know soccer in 1984 was not a real sport
but more of a curiosity that somehow snuck in through
the back door with very little fanfare but no small contempt.
Anyway, I suppose we had a class president. I couldn't tell you who that was, but I can remind you
about lunch time in our school. I wish somebody
would post a map of our school. Well, there was the lunch
room, and all those bloody wings. Did they use colors?
Must have.
And there was the courtyard somewhere in the middle
of the school, somewhere between the gray wing and
the blue wing. That was the court. That was
where Kurt held court. And there was some girlfriend
there, maybe more than one but I can only remember one and she will remain nameless for obvious reasons.
And everyone was beautiful, or at least good-looking,
(comely?) and well-dressed and nice. Kind. And
I really have to think that was Kurt's influence to
some degree. He was a kind and generous spirit
and that influenced those around him who might
otherwise have been (let's face it) pretty bitchy.
I remember spending time in that court and always
feeling safe and comfortable and this is no small
accomplishment in high school. So Kurt, thanks
for that and for your friendship, even though I
haven't seen you in 25 years. Is that possible?
What have you been up to since 1984? WTF
Stuff. I continued my not so great student antics,
dropped out of college and raced bicycles for a time.
Won a few races, and lost some. Went back to college,
discovered I was a pretty good student, spent a lot
of time in the library, (Mmmh, old book smell) an ended
up with a PhD. In political science. Teaching, consulting,
research, dropped out again and went to film school in
New York. Worked in Sweden and Brazil in the film biz
but have gone back to teaching. I now live in Taiwan
and own an English school. Mrs. Hall, where are you now? I miss Texas, mostly friends and Mexican food,
and the US to some degree but am
unlikely to show at the reunion due to work responsibilities and living on the other side of the planet.
However, where I live, Taipei, the weather is almost
like Houston but not quite so extreme. At least
we get earthquakes from time to time.
I can't help but be reminded how Kurt loaded us up on
a plane and flew us to New Orleans after our Senior Prom. That he is in the forefront of this reunion effort
is no great surprise but deserves our appreciation.
So Kurt, thanks for doing this. I don't think I'm alone
in thinking that to the Mustang class of '84,
you are the indispensable man.
Much love,
Mark Hinnawi
