40th Class Reunion Letter (1995)

Wilston Hickey

c/o Los Angeles County Jury Board

P.O. Box 5591

Los Angeles, California 91773

06 July 1995

Dear Class of '55 Classmates,

Sometimes I think that the biggest mistake I ever made (other than telling
Coach Spaulding where to stick a baseball bat) was getting on the O.J. Jury. We
have been sequestered (fancy lawyer-talk for jailed) for months now, and the
damn trial is due to go on for weeks more. At first, I thought that it would be a
great adventure to be on the jury for the trial of the century, but it really isn’t
much fun, particularly in the middle of the summer when you are Juror No. 3,
and Juror No. 2 hasn’t seen the Arrid XXX Dry commercial, and Juror No. 4 has
gas. I am sick of Marsha Clark and her Dullsville hairdos, and equally sick of that
uppity Johnie Cochran. Who cares if O.J. can get a glove on, or whether some
dog was barking at 10:00 pm. or 20 minutes later? We all know that he whacked
Nicole and Ron, but we long ago decided to be a “hung jury”. That way no one
will be really pissed at us, and we will all have a chance to make a few bucks
selling our stories to TV and the tabloids. Also, I like to be thought of as hung.
One of our guards told me that the scouts for the Letterman show have been
hanging around. But it really does drive me wacky listening to the same crap
over and over again, and then being fed bland food and having our telephones
monitored and our TV censored. I swear, the only thing that keeps me on the
jury are the winks and come-hither smiles from Judge Ito!

So much about my current life. My friend, Clive, and I parted a couple of
years ago. Clive thought he wanted a career change and went to school to learn
to be an electrician, but he didn’t do well because he couldn’t figure out the
difference between AC and DC. I am thinking of getting back with Peggy Marge,
who was a lovely but deceitful woman. She manages a Hooters in the south. [I
think there is some poetry there].

That reminds me, I ran into Sue Donkin a while back when I was still
living in San Francisco. Her name is now Sue St. John. Her telephone number is
408 899-9906. She said that she lost track of everyone and would love to hear
from her classmates.

Well, I’m really sorry that I had to miss another reunion, but I’m sure we’ll
meet again.

Best Wishes,

Wilston Hickey

35th Class Reunion Letter (1990)

HlCKEY'S SUCKERS
San Francisco Type Candy
The Bathhouse Mall at Fisherman's Wharf
San Francisco, California

Summer, 1990

Dear Classmates:

Another five years gone by! I just re-read my letter in the yearbook from our
30th reunion, and there has been a lot of changes and turmoil in the Hickey
household since then, mostly for the worse, but some for the better, as you shall
see.

My naval career went to hell, or more literally, to Davy Jones' locker, as we
used to say in the Navy. While I was the officer in command of the Land 0 Lakes
Naval Research Station, I came up with an idea for a stealth aircraft carrier to base
the Navy version of the stealth fighter aircraft. We had billions for research at
Land 0 Lakes and we pumped most of it into "Project Columbia" during my watch.
(I called the project "Columbia" both out of fond memories for my school, and also
because the carrier, named "Columbia", was to be the gem of the ocean.) Four
years and $55,000,000,000 later, the Columbia steamed out of the dry dock in
Terhensha, Wisconsin, down the Kraft River into the Great Lakes, through the St.
Lawrence River, and the Bay of Fundy into the Atlantic Ocean on a shakedown
cruise with 6 pre-production versions of the F-55 Stealth Fighter aircraft aboard.
It was a top-secret operation, but hardly anyone saw us go because it is so hard to
notice a Stealth anything. Anyway, when we were in Canadian waters about 52
nautical miles off the coast of Newfoundland, being escorted by a Canadian
Frigate, the HMS Meech Lake, out of Quebec, when we launched the six F-55
aircraft to test the whole weapons system out. The crew of the Meech Lake didn't
know we were there, incidentally, because we were a Stealth ship, and they couldn't
see us or pick us up on their radar. Anyway, we launched the aircraft and that
went o.k., but the trouble began when we tried to land them back on the deck of
the Columbia. At that point, we realized the fallacy of the whole concept. The
aircraft couldn't find the carrier. The pilots couldn't see it because it is so well
camouflaged, and they couldn't pick it up on their radar, because anything Stealth
is invisible to radar. Likewise, the carrier couldn't find the Stealth aircraft. The
good news was that the F-55's gave up looking for the carrier and safely landed
at the Montreal Internal Airport (where they weren't noticed because they are
Stealth). The bad news was that the Columbia was accidentally rammed by the
Meech Lake, which couldn't see it because it was Stealth. Both ships went down \
with all hands. The U.S. government never publicly said anything about the loss
of the Columbia because it was so top secret, but the Canadians said plenty about
Meech Lake going down. They didn't know who was at fault, and I think that they
officially I blamed a fishing boat from Labrador or Newfoundland. Please don't
mention this to anyone, because it is still highly classified. Anyway, my boss,
Admiral "Bull" Halsey, said some very unkind things to me, like that I was an F_
Up and probably couldn't get sex in a whorehouse. [See below] There was a Board
of Inquiry, which concluded that the whole thing was a "hair-brained scheme", and
. recommended that I retire, which I did, with my rank of Captain and my pension
intact. I am writing a book on my naval career, and I plan to send the manuscript
to Dave McCullough at Book-of-the-Month Club if I can come up with a catchy
title.

After leaving the Navy, I moved back to San Francisco, a city which I grew to
love during my college days at UCLA (Los Gatos Campus). I decided to start an
entirely new career, and opened a lollypop factory and store, called "Hickey's
Suckers". If any of you come to San Francisco, please come by the store to see
me. It is in the tourist area, in the mall at the old Fisherman's Wharf bathhouse.
It is sort of a childhood dream come true; not much money, but a lot of enjoyment.
(Fulfillment is probably a better word.)

On the home front, things didn't go well. My second wife, Peggy-Marge,
became hooked on aerobics and physical fitness. She spent hours and hours at it
every day. Soon she became lanky and flat-chested, her hooters having all but
disappeared. Her hair lost its curl and her face became drawn, her complexion
sallow. She was always humming the damned background music from the Jane
Fonda workout tape, which half drove me crazy, and in the middle of the Columbia
mess, she just left and went to open an aerobics studio in Hanoi. I loved PeggyMarge
once, but as far as I am concerned, she can stay there with the damned
commies! (I apologize for this outburst. I am not anti-women, but I just can't take
broads that get too muscular and are always sweaty, and then just pick up and trot
off to Asia without even a by-your-leave. I hope it never happens to you.)

On a brighter note, I want to share with you that I have come out of the closet
and found (or more precisely, admitted) my true sexual orientation. I know that
this will come as a startling revelation to many of you, particularly the girls I dated
from the Manor, and those fellow members of the J.V. basketball team. I can
understand and appreciate your disbelief. "Not Wilston Hickeyl" you are probably
saying to yourselves. I know that some of you girls in high school thought that I
was a real stud. Actually, I tried to be, but I always had these peculiar feelings
about the guys on the team. Nothing ever happened then, but I used to spend a lot
of time watching the soapy bubbles travel down the glistening bodies of my
teammates during the post-game showers, and thinking strange and disturbing
thoughts. [Parenthetically, my psychiatrist thinks that my feelings about PeggyMarge
may be tied into this whole thing I had about the guys on the team - and the
coach.] I know that this news may cause some of you girls that I dated to have
eerie (or is it Erie) feelings, but in looking back I know that I really did enjoy
necking and groping around with some of you girls at the Auto-Vision. (Who
knows, I might enjoy it again.   Is the Auto-Vision still there?) With the name
"Hickey", I felt a certain obligation to leave my mark on my dates. I remember
bringing one of you home after a drive-in date. (I won't embarrass her by giving
her name, but she was a dark-haired girl of German extraction from the Manor).
Her mother took one look at her neck and sarcastically asked if she had been
attacked by the Auto Vac down at Hoffman's Car Wash. She wouldn't go out
with me anymore. Ah, we were young and tender then. Now, 35 years later,
there probably isn't one of you who would get a spot that would show through
your pancake makeup if you spent 30 minutes hooked up to an industrial-grade
Hoover.

I wish I were able to be with you, but I definitely will come to the 40th reunion.
Enclosed is a fairly recent picture taken at a party given by my sweet friend, Clive.

Yours, always

Wilston Hickey
(Captain, USN, Ret.)

Letter to Gert 1989

34-a Surfsup Blvd.

San Diego Naval Base

San Diego, California 34213

17 OCT 1989 

Ms. Marie "Gert" Carpenter

35 Brookwood Drive

Latham, New York 12110

Dear Gert,

While unpacking I came upon the letter you sent out in 1985 inviting the class of 1955 to our 30th reunion. It's hard to believe that more than 5 years have gone by since then, and this old salt doesn't want to miss our 35th reunion, particularly since I haven't made any of them up till now. I wanted to give you my new address so that I can get a notice of next year's reunion.   

I have been away from Terhenshow, Wisconsin, for a couple of years, now. The last four years haven't been happy ones.  I don't want to bore you, but Peggy-Marge sure didn't turn out to be the woman I thought she was. She left with half the fleet, and I was stuck back in dry dock trying to be both mother and father to Kathleen-Carol, who is a pretty enough little girl, but is very flatulent.

My boy Bucky doesn't hold down a job for very long, and his wife Suzy smokes a little grass. I have to send them money every so often to help pay the rent and keep Coors in the refrigerator. Bucky spends a lot of time pondering things.

On a good note, my other son, Lyndon, is making a fair living in a teabag recycling business, but he has a lot of dandruff.

My 30 years in the Navy was up last fall, but I decided to stay in a while longer. I was passed over for promotion to Admiral, but the Navy doesn't look kindly on senior officers without a wife. So, I guess I'm sort of back in the market.

If you folks are having a reunion next year, I'll try to fly back in and see who still remembers me. Incidentally, I was up in La Jola last weekend, and I saw a lady walking down the street who looked a lot like Jo Ann Dray, who lived in the Manor. She had the same face and reddish hair, but a bit plump. Does she live out this way?.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best regards,

Wilston A. Hickey

30th Class Reunion Letter (1985)

195-a Yaloopse Drive               
Terhenshaw, Wisconsin 33564
11 MAY 1985                           

Ms. Marie "Gert" Carpenter
35 Brookwood Drive
Latham, New York 12110

Dear Gert,

I can't believe that its been thirty years! Actually, its been
a little longer for me, since I left Columbia at the beginning
of our senior year to lock in the Korean War G.I. Bill of
Rights. (I think John Clynes also did.)

I went right into the Navy, and at the time our class was
graduating in June of '55, I was on a tin can near New Zealand.
I spend 3 years at sea, and then got a medical discharge after
I was hit by some live steam when a pipe ruptured. I'd hate to
tell you where the steam hit me, but I sure got scar tissue
where its not nice to have scars! Anyway, I got discharged at
the San Diego Naval Base in 1958, and since my father took a
transfer and my folks moved away to Missouri after my sister
Bess got involved with the kinky things that went on over in
Sherwood Park, I decided to go to college out west. I started
at San Diego Jr. College and, believe it or not, I became a
math major. (Do you remember Alice Bennett telling me, in
front of the entire Algebra class, that she thought I should
switch to a manual arts class with Mr. Roden??) Actually, I
had a lot of math training in the Navy, since I was a gunnery
yeoman, and I was really ahead of the average college freshman.
I guess I was flattered by getting to the head of the class,
and it inspired me to become a real student. I transferred to
UCLA (Los Gatos Campus) and really became a serious student,
although UCLA-Los Gatos was in a different league from SDJrC.
I graduated from there in 1962 and went on to Stanford on my
G.I. Bill/Navy Disability (I ran into Dave McCollough there
once) and got a Masters Degree in Applied Culturalmathe, which
made me a real hot item with Viet Nam breaking out. The Navy
offered me a package to come back in which included intensive
plastic surgery by a Hollywood surgeon to enable me to pass a
physical, a commission as a full lieutenant, and a year at the
Swanson Academy for my D.N.S. degree, which I completed in
1965.

By then I had met my first wife, Denise. (I think she reminded
me of the Denise in our class, the pretty, dark haired girl who
lived in the Manor.) Denise was getting a Masters in Holistic
Horticulture from the Logan Agricultural Institute, and when I
shipped over to 'Nam she joined me there as a civilian
agricultural advisor. We got married and had two Amerasian
sons, George ("Bucky") and Lyndon. By the time of the
Vietnamese "phasedown", I was in charge of the Navy's Applied
Culturemathe program for the entire SOPACFLT (Fareast). I had
18 years of Navy service at that point, and just couldn't see
any wisdom in getting out two years short of a pension. Denise
and I couldn't adjust to living stateside after the war, and we
parted good friends about 8 years ago. Bucky and Lyndon stayed
with me at the Denver Submarine Naval Base for a while, but
then went with Denise after I married my present wife,
Peggy-Marge, who was a WAVE stationed there. Peggy-Marge is
quite a bit younger than I am, but not by today's standards.
We have one daughter, Kathleen-Carol, who is a real doll.

I have been C.O. of the Land 0 Lakes Naval Research Station
here in Terenshaw for almost a year, and will probably stay on
with this assignment until my 30 years are up on 14 Oct 1988,
and then retire and become a civilian consultant to the
military. My chances are pretty good of making "flag rank"
upon retirement. We haven't decided where to live, but it will
probably be either Biloxi (to be near Peggy-Marge's folks) or
Fargo to be near Bucky and his wife, Suzy.

It was really a coincidence that I heard about the reunion. I
come into Knolls about once a year to check on their
envirographics, and when I came in this week I ran into Don
Perryman, who had himself just heard about the reunion. I'm not
sure that I can make it back, but if I can arrange it,
Peggy-Marge and I will come.

I never did get a yearbook, and can't remember all of our
classmates (it will probably be mutual), but I can remember
playing ball with Elf, Ray Hogle, and Zeb LaMontaine, and
walking down by the lake with you! I remember having a crush
on a girl named Charlene or Helene, but I never got up my
courage to ask her out. I went out with a girl named Sue
Dunkin or Dankin who started Columbia just before I left, and
we wrote for awhile. Perhaps I will see her there.

Best regards,
Wilston A. Hickey
Captain, U.S.N.