Degrees of separation

Just back from the annual UC Davis Quarter Century Club dinner, which was, as usual, a lovely and fun event. Lots of old friends to reconnect with, including Teri Bachman, for many years my editor and mentor at UC Davis Magazine and a new initiate this year to the Quarter Century Club; my former boss, Jan Conroy; and the rest of the new 25- (and 50!) year initiates.

After dinner (and many glasses of quite fine wine), I found myself in conversation with Warren Roberts, the superintendent of the UC Davis Arboretum. I've known Warren for years, know something of his family's history in this part of the world (I think they arrived about the same time Father Serra did), and we've had some lighthearted exchanges now and again. But tonight I discovered that he and I lived in Burlingame in the '50s, both attended Burlingame High School, and both were in the band. Prof. Brose was the band director; Warren played the French horn; I was a second (or possibly third) clarinet. We managed to summon up the BHS alma mater ("On our city's western foothills, reared against the sky . . .") (This is a highly fanciful concept, by the way; while the city, itself, does nudge against the western hills, the high school itself is conspicuously planted in the flats, not that far from San Francisco Bay), and recalled the not-so-lovely band uniforms we wore to the football games.

My family moved away from Burlingame following my freshman year at BHS, so my memories of that place end when I was 14. Funny now to realize that Warren, this grown up, mature, funny, intelligent, accomplished man is someone whom I once sat near in third-period (or was it first-period?) band. I'm tempted to say I wish I'd known him then, but maybe not; maybe it's more fun (and more magical) to learn our shared history after an evening of celebrating our communal history.