My apologies to the boys of 212. Yes, I knew you have that distinctive way of identifying your class. And yes, I ignored it so the rest of the world might know I was talking about 1959.
Today's metro column hones in on one particular graduate from the Eisenhower years, Irv Einhorn, chosen because he exhibited the sort of arc of character one can do justice to over 16 newspaper column inches: Smart boy doesn't take serious school too seriously, works as soda jerk, bowling alley mechanic, struggles through Temple, drops out, then finds himself in a brutal job in the Borscht Belt and returns a different person.
This morning I have heard from so many other Central boys from that era, most of them sharing similar heartening stories of slow-release talent and remembered lessons. A couple pointed out that the Class of 1959 should be the 212th Class. Feh.
I didn't write in the piece, but know for a fact, that Central takes its idiosyncratic nomenclature from the way it used to graduate TWO classes each year over most of its history, which dates to 1836. The January and June commencements ended in 1965. That better?
(and, no, he is not related to Ira Einhorn, my dinner partner for three stimulating meals in France a decade ago, when he was eating and drinking better than he is now, in his cell.)