Boston Common - Niche Media - A side of Boston that's anything but common.
Issue link: http://digital.greengale.com/i/121906
and Finally ... PARTING SHOT class portrait COMPETITION TRUMPS NOSTALGIA AS ALUMS FROM THE AREA'S 60-PLUS COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES STAMPEDE INTO TOWN FOR REUNION SEASON. BY KELLEY DOYLE ILLUSTRATION BY DANIEL O'LEARY I f you're wondering why you cannot get into Meritage, Mistral, or Upstairs on the Square, it is because our city is under siege. Here, like nowhere else, 'tis the season for reunions. Thousands of alumni from the area's 60-plus colleges and universities are convening for reunions fifth through 50th and indulging in a little healthy competition while recapping The Best Years of Our Lives. At my fifth reunion, the talk was all about careers. BCG or Bain & Company? Harvard Business School or Wharton? I-banking or dot-com? (Little did we know, Harvard classmate Matt Damon was about to outdo all of us with his Oscar for Good Will Hunting.) And it was clear we were on a marriage track, too. There were lots of engagement rings sparkling (emerald cut or traditional round?). By the 10th, my classmates had started to look a little different. Consensus was that the women had improved. We eschewed carbs and had better haircuts. But the men? What they had gained in weight, they had lost in hair. The reunion party looked different as well. There was a bouncy house next to the barbecue tent to accommodate all of our cleverly named offspring. The Last Names First (MacAllister, Devin, Talbot) played with the New Names (Piper, Skylar, Peyton), the Traditionalists (Eloise, Lucy, Madeline), and the Old Men (Sam, Max, Gus, and Frank). As we progressed to the 15th, I noticed an unsettling theme: The Wheels Are Falling off the Bus. In the process of divorcing a classmate, I certainly fit in this category. And there were others. There was the hedge-fund titan married to CNBC's favorite research analyst: Their alleged insider trading scandal was splashed across the New York Times Style Section. An adorable boy from my freshman dorm had survived a divorce to then marry a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit actress—take that, First Wife! And this new wife, when not acting, had written a scathing memoir about the bad behavior of her ex-husband—take that, First Husband! The only classmates whose suffering wasn't a matter of public record were the unpublished novelists still toiling in the stacks of Widener Library. Last year I attended my 20th, and we seemed to have collectively grown up. Most of us were able to honor our classmates' achievements—from Oscars to best sellers to company launches—with a great degree of genuine pleasure, especially as we looked at our own growing families. My classmates seemed happy—those who weren't opting to stay home (phew!). And people seemed humble. Life is messy for everyone; we had learned that by now. The next one, I'm told, is the pinnacle of all reunions. Colleges are banking on our continued success and our ability to write the big checks. Alas, more competition: Who made the biggest gift? We will be rewarded for our philanthropic spirit, however, in the brochure or on a banner, a bench, or a building. I, for one, am looking forward to seeing the Matthew P. Damon Theater break ground one day. BC 136 BOSTONCOMMON-MAGAZINE.COM 136_BC_BOB_AndFinally_LATESPRING_13.indd 136 4/10/13 5:45 PM