(light cigar)

Go to hell.

I’d like to tell you all what a rewarding experience it was, to help put together this reunion, what a pleasure it was, and is, you know, to renew old and treasured relationships, and bond again, or, I suppose you could say, rebond, with all the wonderful friends of my youth, and so on, etc.

(take drag)

So let’s give it a shot, shall we?

(puff)

Thank you, thank you all, for making these past few months such a rich and exciting time for me personally and, I’m sure, for everyone who helped put together this wonderful event.

As I look out on your welcome faces, each shining with the luster that only a return to one’s home can inspire, I feel remiss in my attempts to maintain our connections during the years between Reunions. I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.

Again, thank you so much for permitting me to indulge myself in this labor of love, this celebration, our 30th high school reunion.

(take drag)

So, anybody buy it?

(puff, looking around)

You know, I was a little nervous about having to get up here and talk tonight, since I don’t do this kind of thing - - ever. So, after pissing the bed fourteen nights in a row, I went to see a guy I know who does this stuff, and I asked him for some advice.

Right away, he wrinkled up his nose and said, “For God’s sake, wash your sheets!”

I thought to myself, “this guy knows his shit.”

So I took some notes.

He said it helps a lot of public speakers to relax, if they imagine the audience naked.

(puff, looking around)

I said to him, “Jesus! You don’t know THESE people!”

He said, “It’s pronounced ‘Haysooss.’ But you should call me ‘Doctor.’”

(puff)

So then he says, something else some speakers do to relax, even though he doesn’t recommend it, is they toss down a couple drinks before getting up to talk.

I wrote that down.

This guy knows his shit.

(puff)

So I asked him, “So then, what do I talk about? What do you say at these things?”

And the dumb sonovabitch looks me in the eye and says with a straight face, “Talk about something you know.”

So I say to the bastard, “You bastard. If I knew ANYTHING at ALL, do you think I would have agreed to do this in the first place?”

He unwrinkled his nose and said, “Good point,” and stood awhile in uffish thought.

(puff)

“Well,” he goes after thinking a while, “you could tell them something about yourself.”

When I woke up, I said, “Gee, I’m not sure that’s boring enough.”

And he says, “So tell them something about you that they don’t already know.”

“Jesus!” I said, “they’ve known me for forty years. What they don’t already know, I can’t remember.”

And he looks me in the eye and says, “It’s pronounced, ‘Haysooss.’”

(puff)

So then he told me just make something up about my life that’s interesting.

I asked him. “You mean, lie to them?”

Instead of answering yes or no, the butt-munching bastard sonuvabitch just sort of gave me this look, like he thought we had some kind of in-the-movies understanding or some damn thing.

“OK, Doctor,” I said. “How’s this for a story? I call it “The Scandalous Birth of Chris Botkin”

(Take drag. Cue “Tubular Bells”)

In his youth, my father managed a hotel out on the west coast. After the war he moved back to Ohio and married, and I was born, more or less in that order.

I say more or less, because my twin sister was technically born first. She died in childbirth, though, when the floor hit her in the soft spot after I sort of unexpectedly kicked her headlong out the chute.

It was scored an error on the catcher.

My parents were pissed for a long time. They always called me Baxter. I found out when I was in my twenties that “Baxter” was Gaelic for “afterbirth.”

(puff)

The murder trial was devastating for the family. When it was over, to live down the shame, we changed our last name from “Bates” to Botkin.

I’m sure you’ve read about the trial. It was a kangaroo court. That was the only way, I guess, that they could keep a newborn’s attention. I distinctly remember the judge, all in black fur, glaring down at me over the bench while passing my sentence.

“Young Master Bates,” he barked. “In all my years of judging I have never heard before of someone more deserving the full penalty of law. However, some small consideration must be paid your relative youth of two days and five hours - make that six - therefore; I hereby postpone your well-deserved public execution until such future date as can ensure that you will die hopelessly in debt, alone, bald and fat. So be it! Boing boing boing.”

(puff)

I remember thinking, “Yeah right! As if! Broke, lonely, bald and fat! Good one!” and with malice aforethought, I showed my contempt of court by pooping in my didy.

(puff. Cut “Tubular Bells”)

So I asked the shrink, “Would something like that work?”

“Christ!” he shouted. “You just paid for my Ferrari! I’ll be seeing you for fifty years!”

I just grinned and shook my head. “It’s pronounced ‘Chris,’” was all I said.

That’ll do, pig.

(curtsy)

(take drag)

That’s MY story, and I’m sticking to my underwear. I’m sure you all have similar stories to tell.

Thanks for coming.

Now, on to business.

The classmates who served on our committee planning tonight seriously deserve everybody’s thanks. They are listed on page 2 of the class booklet.

Planning & Setting Up	Rees McKee, Meetings Host Karen Imwalle, Peg Rabatin, Tom Larkin, John Bergman, Ken Cline, Chris Botkin
Greeter’s Table & Sign-In	Peg Rabatin
Door Prizes & Snacks & Pop	Marcia Helentjaris
Photos & Food	Tom Larkin, Bob Burden
Music & Class Booklet binding	Bill Zink
Hall & Beer	Rees McKee
Newspaper clippings	Connie Miller
Everything else wrong	Chris Botkin