I have often mused that Facebook came along at the right time for my peer group. We were well past college and decades past high school when the online socializing site hit its stride. Some of us had families with kids, others had divorced or moved onto new marriages. All of us had had plenty of time to take risks and make mistakes -- personally and professionally -- without needless pressure or temptation to post our laments online or confront an annual photo collage recapping all that had gone well or not in the previous 12 months.
Instead, those of us who came of age in the '80s (or earlier) went our myriad ways for a time. Then, at a mature stage in our lives, technology presented us with a simple way to seek out or be found by pals from childhood, adolescence and young adult days, the friends with whom we had once rebelled and rejoiced or simply now remembered fondly.
In short, Facebook has been a hoot.
Among the first long lost playmates to contact me after I signed on to the social media site was a grade school classmate I hadn't seen since her family moved away when we were in fourth grade. Her note seeking to reconnect asked if I was the girl whose mother had painted clouds on my bedroom ceiling and strung crystal rain drops from them? Yes, that was me. Many years post-graduation, a friend from my freshman year dorm confessed I'd been his first college crush. What! Really? Today, it gives me a handy way to bond with out-of-state cousins I rarely see, schedule reunions with soccer teammates from my teens and exchange words of encouragement with my partner's widowed mother.
The camaraderie can be stellar. But I am also grateful I didn't have to drag all these friends, family and acquaintances along with me throughout the roller coaster ride that was my 20s and 30s. The benefits of living la vida publica has its limits. One of a handful of friends who refuses to climb aboard the Facebook train takes a stance that amuses me greatly: "If I lost touch with you, there's probably a reason."
As the great ladies I interviewed for the story posted below can attest, face-to-face friendships trump the virtual kind whatever generation you belong to.
For 60 years Oakland High alumnae keep friendships aliveOriginally published Nov. 18, 2002 — The Oakland Tribune/ANG Newspapers Turn back the clock for a moment. It's February 1943 and a gaggle of Oakland High School girls wearing bright red lipstick, saddle shoes and cashmere sweaters files into the home of their pal Barbara ``Stevie'' Stevenson for a graduation lunch. At each table setting, the girls find a miniature address book placed there by Stevie's mother. Before the lunch ends and the girls head out the door, prepared forever to go their separate ways, Mrs. Stevenson makes a suggestion that will impact the rest of their lives. She encourages the girls, all members of a high school social club called Entre Nous, to swap addresses and stay in touch on a regular basis.
Such a good idea, in fact, they've kept up the routine for nearly 60 years, tallying up about 700 monthly get-togethers. Through marriages, baby showers, one divorce and the deaths of their husbands and children, the original group of 17 offered a refuge of fun and solace that the women counted on each month. A few have moved away and several have died, but the seven remaining Entre Nous ``girls'' - as they still refer to themselves - continue their monthly tradition. ``Some went on to college,'' Doris Cretan of Sunol says. ``Everyone lived a different life, but the monthly meetings ...'' ``... Hold us together,'' says Routh, finishing her friend's sentence. Their careers spanned industries including retail flower and dress shops, an electrical engineering company and education. Between them, the surviving members of the group boast 19 children and more grandchildren than they can quickly count. They no longer wear bobby socks and their preferred lipstick shade has toned down to a softer rose or pink, but the laughter and ribbing appears as lively as ever as the women, all now 77 or 78, enjoy a recent lunch together at L.J. Quinn's Lighthouse in Oakland.
``Don't believe it,'' chimes in Barbara Buckhorn of Oakland from across the table. And about Routh: ``We called her Chatty,'' says Leona Burns of San Leandro. Lee agrees. ``She's our Chatty Sue. She's also the zany one.'' Routh soon gets back at Lee by reminding everyone at the table about the time Lee committed the fashion high-crime of wearing the same outfit for two consecutive New Year's Eves. ``Yes, and I still have it,'' Lee says. ``And I'm waiting for the next New Year's party.'' ``Remember the last one?'' Lee adds. ``We could barely stay up.'' ``When we had the birthday party for Stevie it was 2 a.m.,'' Kathleen Parsons of Oakland says. ``Times have changed.'' True, much has changed.
Their vibrancy and camaraderie, however, remain unaltered. By agreement the gang long ago determined that their monthly discussions would not dwell on mundane subjects, such as babies in the early years or aches and pains in the present. At this meeting, they pass around a thin high school yearbook, ``The Oaken Bucket,'' which their class paid for by picking tomatoes and walnuts for an area farmer. The black and white photos of the then-teenage girls show off their smooth skin, long crimped hair and an occasional white flower behind the ear. They also share newspaper clippings, including a yellowed group photo from 1942, of several of the girls working for the war effort. ``The friendship (among us) results in a kind of trust with each other,'' Cretan says. ``You don't feel uneasy sharing things with each other. It's a good support. It's kind of like an extended family.'' Lee calls the ambience of their meetings, ``fun-loving and socially-inclined.'' ``From very early on, our whole purpose was not to do any good,'' she says. ``We were not do-gooders. Pretty self-centered. You never have to fear you're going to be put on a committee, although I've been treasurer for 50 years.''
As young women with children, they rotated meetings among their homes. Happily, their husbands got along well and the group threw many parties. One year, members took a cruise together. Some gals chat daily with one another. Others have little contact with fellow members until the next meeting. But when they get together again, it's as if they'd never been apart. Four members attended kindergarten together, the rest have known each other since sixth grade. ``None of my children have made these kinds of friendships,'' says Buckhorn, whose twin sister Betty Nickell is also a member. ``They say: `Gee, Mom. You were so lucky.''' The members of Entre Nous, French for ``among us,'' say they had some advantages that circles of friends today don't share. Number one, the nucleus of the group remained in the Bay Area, and in the years immediately following high school graduation most of them worked together at the Oakland Naval Supply Depot. ``The other thing that may have kept us close was, remember, we were before television,'' says Cretan, the only one in the group to marry her high school sweetheart. ``People used to visit and have people to dinner.'' By contrast, today's young people endure more turnover in friendships, jobs and homes. It also helped that gossip-mongering never infected the group. ``We all liked each other and there wasn't anyone we didn't want around,'' Buckhorn observes. ``There were a few we discouraged,'' Lee quips. ``There's been a lot of kindness,'' Cretan says. ``We've never been vicious.'' ``No,'' Lee agrees. ``Dolores comes right out and tells you: `Change your clothes for the next party.''' Joking aside, Entre Nous members offer suggestions for young people interested in following in their footsteps. Get together often, they say, but not too often. Most importantly, don't let significant relationships fall by the wayside. ``Don't take your friendships so casually,'' Cretan says. ``Because in later years, it's a lot more meaningful.''
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