Roger Ebert on his class reunion:

One of our class members would die as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. Another would die mysteriously fighting with the rebels in Nicaragua. One was lost to Alzheimer's. Most of us would have success--one building a church, one becoming a bank president, one working for the CIA. Getting married, having children, having grandchildren, and now those still alive were here together after 50 years, at a new hotel located more or less where we used to pick strawberries for 10 cents a quart on the University's South Farms.

Most of our class members were still alive. This would probably be my last reunion. At our tenth reunion, held at the now-disappeared Moose Club in Champaign, there was still a little unfinished romantic business in the air. Twinges of old jealousies and heartbreaks. We noticed those who had once gone steady, the boy's class ring worn on a chain around the girl's neck, resting between her breasts in a gloat of possession. Now they had married others, but that night they smilingly took the dance floor together.

There had been hardly any drinking in high school--none, in fact, that I ever saw. Or much smoking. At the Moose Club in 1970 a lot of us were smoking or drinking, and one classmate wanted to ride back to Urbana on top of my car. Here he was in 2010, one of the most respected men in Champaign County. But still--this is the point--still absolutely the same man, sober now but with the same sardonic grin, the same sideways amusement at life. Here were girls I dated, and parked with in the moonlight to quote Thomas Wolfe on his trembling romantic destiny--his, and of course, ours. Then we kissed not so much in a sexual way as with the tender solemnity we thought of at the time as love. In 2010 that is all so long ago, but the same persons live inside, and while we live we share memories.

The rest is as gorgeously written.