The class of 1980 reminisces over the ‘glory days’ of high school
It’s the last “S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night” of summer vacation, as the song by the Bay City Rollers goes. The air in the dimly lit ballroom of the Santa Clara Hilton is thick with the smell of white wine and nostalgia. The tables are set with artfully folded napkins and the centerpiece is a megaphone on a bed of purple and yellow confetti.
These are not your average dinner decorations. And they are not for your average people. They are the Matadors of 1980.
Members of the MVHS class of 1980 congregated on Aug. 21 for meals, music and memories of the glory days when Auto Shop was a class and evenings spent showing up at teachers’ houses with snow in the trunk and proceeding to “snowball” them when they answered the door.
It doesn’t matter that they live in places like Fremont, Roseville, Sunnyvale and Livermore or that they have not seen each other in years. They are here, now, together as Matadors.
“Live each moment like you’re not gonna be around the next year,” 1980 ASB president Alex Breznikar said. It seemed the class of 1980 would never get over it when senior year was over, but life went on.
Few of them imagined in high school where they would be today. Ever since Margarita Dorado went on vacation to Santa Cruz with some friends right after graduation, life has taken her from Cupertino to Livermore. Though Dorado mingled with many people from MVHS, she misses the days spent with the other members of the track team.
“[It was the] best thing I did in high school,” Dorado said, “because it got me into running.”
She has track to thank for some of her good friends after high school. She and Elaina Reeves, a fellow track member, bonded in Dorado’s junior year. Though they do not see each other often, they still keep in touch. Ironically, the ‘running duo’ no longer run together.
Giggling like teenagers, members of the class of 1980 make their way to the dance floor to pose for a class picture. Although over half of the class is missing, those present are still packed tightly, heads poking every which way just to be seen. Dorado and her sister Carmen sit together in the front row. The noise level spikes, friends talking and laughing with one another, hiding behind other people. The 40-something-year-olds buzz with energy, giggle, shout-whisper and make silly faces.
“You and the lady switch seats please,” the photographer repeated, less patiently this time.
“Come on!” The two in question shout, half-grinning because they’ve been caught. They move back, and the photographer takes two photos, neither of them quite perfect yet.
“Somebody was talking,” he says. “This is your last chance.” The crowd quiets down.“One, two, three.”
Click.
The shot is done right this time, youthful smiles lighting up their faces. They know they have nailed it. Cheering, the class of 1980 disperses. Not much has changed. They might be 30 years older, but they don’t have it all figured out. They still have a long road ahead of them. But it’s going to be okay, because they are Matadors.
Just like the glory days.
