Laurie Halladay - Five More Minutes With

Five More Minutes with Spends Time at a 50th Reunion

Written by Laurie Halladay on October 14, 2013

One of our frequent contributors, Laurie Halladay, has just returned from her 50th high-school reunion in Monroe, Michigan. She shares her moving (and often funny!) experiences below, and a group photo above. Thanks, as always, Laurie!

I can’t believe that a week ago my plane was landing in Michigan for the start of my Reunion Week, and now I am flying home this afternoon. I wish I could press the rewind button.

But, I sure filled every moment with fun, and I truly talked myself out. (I know you can’t believe that one!!!) The week exceeded my expectations, and thanks to all who contributed their time and hospitality to me. It was fantastic.

My adventure began in Grand Rapids where my mom’s side of the family resides. I stayed with cousin Jane and know we got the same “talking” gene from some mouthy ancestor. We were hoarse by the time I left.

She took me to the Grand Rapid Art Prize, an art exhibition which covered the downtown. We had a family dinner, but that wasn’t enough, so her daughter Ingrid and cousin Laura showed up the next morning with scones and coffee to continue the gabfest until I ran out the door on Wednesday morning.

I headed east to Grand Ledge to see close family friend, Jody Vollrath, in her retirement home and to meet her daughter Judy. We had a beautiful luncheon in a private dining room and talked until 4 p.m. So many memories.

I got in the car and headed to Detroit to see Carolee from Florida who has a summer place in Oak Park. I got there in time for dinner and to meet her Michigan family over Chinese take-out. They were great and her brother-in-law got me back on the road to Monroe before dark.

Needless to say, I had no trouble sleeping. On Thursday, I was refreshed and back in reunion mode.

This time it was breakfast with my dad’s side of the family, followed by wonderful visits with my parents’ friends who were great influences in my life.

Then it was time to drive to the Detroit airport to pick up Mr. H. His plane was on time so we could make it to dinner at the Michigan Bar with my lifetime friends (kindergarten and camp mates) Nancy and Marilyn and their husbands. Being a small town, we ran into others and that kicked things off.

On Friday, Mr H and I did the “down memory lane bit” driving around Monroe, seeing my old house, which is now run down — very sad.

Back at the motel, I talked them into letting me see who was checking in. Lo and behold, Carl Monroe Savage, Jr. (a.k.a. Butch), the boy next door from the time I was three years old, was in the room next door to mine.

Also good friend John and his wife were there. So screams, hugs, and we were all off to the Friday-night party at Jack’s country house.

I went to school with Jack since kindergarten and he hosted about 100 of us. No name tags, so we had to embarrass ourselves when we didn’t recognize someone. But, it was the highlight of the weekend.

Several classmates I loved showed up for their first reunion 50 years later. I talked until I was frozen since the party took place outside.

On Saturday morning, many of us congregated at the old high school for a “tour.” Basically, we had our pictures taken and then were turned loose to roam in packs around the old halls checking out the boys and girls locker rooms.

No hall passes were needed, and no hall monitors like in days of old. They kicked us out after an hour, but we weren’t done talking (never were done talking.)

About 10 of us headed back to the Michigan Bar, sat outside in the sun, and swapped more stories.

Back to the hotel to get ready. I was not sure my outfit was the right one, but I wore the black pants and silky top instead of the black dress. It was the correct choice, and thanks to all that listened to my “what-am-I-going-to-wear” angst.

The big event was at the Masonic Temple where we had “Temple dances” on Friday nights after football games. This time, we looked like senior citizens, but still felt like 17-year-olds.

Thankfully, there were name tags this time. Mr. H decided to watch football, and let me be on my own for the reunion schmoozing.

We had pictures taken, and there was a DJ, but all people wanted to do was TALK. I felt I never had a chance to get to everyone, and I talked with some I couldn’t even remember.

The acoustics could have been better, and it got to the point where I was shouting to be heard and couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. So, I took a good long look at all of my classmates whom I may never see again, and said my farewells.

But, that was not the end. Still had another day!

On Sunday, there were coffee farewells with the classmates at my hotel and then we joined a table of eight at Cracker Barrel for another breakfast rehash of the reunion. This was followed by the Presbyterian Church bed races in the middle of town, a 4-p.m. feed with Nancy and Bob at the Michigan Bar, and a 6-p.m. “chicks-only” party at Bonnie’s. We made the most of it.

Leaving Monroe and all of my friends, relatives, and classmates brought a tear or two. I am one lucky kid for having grown up in “Mayberry” in the 1960s. I don’t think at the time that we ever thought we had it so good. But, we did!!!

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Inspiring Moment: Two Pelicans in Florida

Written by Laurie Halladay

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Inspiring Moment: Blue Heron in Florida

Written by Laurie Halladay

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Friendship Defines a Life Well Lived

Written by Laurie Halladay on February 14, 2013

Dick Vollrath was a great friend in life. . .and death

They say most people would like to know that their time on earth made a difference.

That is definitely true of my dad’s best friend, Dick, who died just before Christmas last year at the age of 92.

I kind of suspect God kept him on earth so long since he did so much good in his quiet, unassuming way.

His equally generous and caring wife of more than 60 years shared her life with him. They raised a family that spread across the country, but was brought together every Saturday night for the weekly family email from Dick.

While there are many family stories, I knew Dick as a role model for friendship.

Dick moved to our hometown after I left for college. He used to say that my parents took them under their wing and made them feel welcome, but I could see that Dick brought much joy to my dad’s life, too.

Laurie’s father, A.J. “Baer” Kohler

Dad had a golf buddy, someone to play bridge with at the local men’s club, a fellow Lutheran, and a sports fan to share his passion for University of Michigan football games.

I kept hearing about “Vollrath.” I can’t count the times my dad would say, “I have to call Vollrath.”

The two organized Fourth of July golf outings and picnics for their circle of friends, joined the group for Wednesday dinners at the country club, had their Kentucky Derby parties and bets through the years, and Friday night dinners with widowers–Harold and Bill–at their favorite restaurant.

In the autumn, on Saturday afternoons the four of them would gather in Ann Arbor for tailgating and football games at “the big house.” The Michigan-Ohio State game was a tradition they shared for years. Those were the good times.

But, a true friend is there when the chips are down. When my mom had surgery, Dick showed up in the waiting room to keep my dad company and to be with him when the diagnosis was cancer.

Dick was the one to pick me up at the airport and help my dad organize my surprise visit for my mom’s 87th birthday.

When my parents couldn’t get back to Michigan for health reasons, Dick and Jody came to Florida to cheer them up. I know my dad made frequent calls to Dick during that difficult time when he was in a wheel chair.

Dick was there to pick us up when we returned to bury my mom. He attended to all of my dad’s needs–listening when my dad needed to talk, or sitting quietly with him as both of them mourned. He was the rock.

My dad returned to Florida with me, but Dick was still a big part of his life.

When the end came, and my dad had to make the decision to continue treatment or accept hospice, he had me get Dick on the phone.

I left the hospital room as they talked, and have no idea what they said. The next day, my dad told me he wanted hospice care.

I followed my dad’s wishes for visitation and a big church funeral. As an only child, I didn’t have a lot of close relatives. But, I did have the Vollraths who stood with me at the funeral home.

When I didn’t know how I could walk up the aisle following my dad’s casket, it was Dick who gently supported my elbow.

He continued to “visit” dad at the cemetery which wasn’t too far from his house. He would drive by our family home, and send photos of the floral arrangements I ordered for the grave.

Through the years, I kept in touch with Dick and Jody. We tried to keep some of the traditions alive like the horse-racing bets and cards for special occasions.

On the few times I came back to Michigan, one of my first stops was at the Vollraths.

Age was catching up with them, but they wanted to stay in their home. They had helped so many others in their circle of friends, but when their own health problems arose, they were reluctant to accept help from others.

I wanted to be there to do my part.

But things have a strange way of working out. My best hometown friend, Nancy, and her husband, Bob, were deacons at the Vollrath’s church. They had an opportunity to “adopt” the Vollraths as part of a church-outreach program. Nancy kept me in the loop, and I saw that she was doing for Dick and Jody what I had not been able to.

I heard from Jody how much Dick loved talking golf with Bob and how much Nancy was helping. The four of them were bonding and the Vollraths were accepting their help.

My best friend helping my dad’s best friend. . .something about going full circle.

When I saw the email from Bob and Nancy last December 21 with the subject line of “Dick Vollrath,” I began to tear up knowing what it would say.

I called Nancy, and together we cried and shared our memories of a great man and friend.

I want to think that my dad and Dick are together again. And I know they are because friendships like theirs do go on forever.

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad,WIth My Friend

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What Would Ebenezer Think?

Written by Laurie Halladay on August 1, 2011

On a warm, sunny summer day in Lowell, Michigan, five-year-old Sydney was enjoying ice cream with a new acquaintance, four-year-old Max. They were seated at the “kids'” table with an array of older children whom they were told were cousins.

What brought them together for this first-time meeting was the memorial service for Max’s great grandfather and Sydney’s great grandfather’s first cousin, Fred.

If you shook the family tree hard enough, Sydney and Max might be fourth or fifth cousins.

If they even thought about it, they were probably just as confused about how they were related to each other as the adults gathered at the adjoining tables were.

Cousin Fred was the last of my mother’s generation of first cousins.

I remember when I was not much older than Max and Sydney, the family would gather in our backyard for the annual Labor Day picnic.

I would be seated at the kids’ table with some of these same adults that now had become strangers to me.

They, too, had children and grandchildren whom I had never met until Fred’s memorial.

Sadly, it occurred to me, that we may never meet again.

But here for one day, the mantle had been passed, and I was the older cousin at the table.

Before gathering to give Cousin Fred a final toast, we had assembled at the little country cemetery where my ancestors were laid to rest.

Big headstones with our family name attested to the fact that we owned several sections of this burial ground.

Over in the back, I found Ebenezer and Carrie, my great grandparents, who had six sons and a daughter.

Max, Sydney, and all of the rest of us were the result of that union in 1867.

Ebenezer served in the 16th Michigan Volunteer Infantry and fought in 38 Civil War battles before coming home to Carrie, his Michigan farm, and a life with her for 50 years.

I had known things about my great grandparents, but visiting the grave site and being in the community where they lived brought them to life for me.

As I stood there, I wondered if Ebenezer and Carrie had noticed the crowd gathered in the cemetery on that Sunday.

If I had had five more minutes with Ebenezer, I would have introduced him to the family that carries on his name and blood lines.

I’d ask him what he thought of us. I am sure the generations that followed would be beyond his imagination.

But, I’m glad we could be there for him to see, and I am sure Carrie would be beaming.