Do The Reunion

It’s a quiet, early Saturday morning and I’m where I often am – sitting at a computer keyboard and screen, a cup of hot coffee alongside to keep me company.

From this same computer a few days ago, I learned the terrible news that another of our contemporaries had died at an age that’s much too young. It’s the second time in less than two months that this has happened, and that’s far too frequently.

Bill Kunz was a bigger-than-life character. A big guy with a sometimes gruff exterior, but a big heart.

A South St. Louis high school classmate – Bishop DuBourg, 1978 – Bill made his name in the St. Louis restaurant business.

Bill and I were never great friends in high school. DuBourg operated on a segregated and not particularly productive “tracked” academic system back then, and some student paths never really crossed.

It wasn’t until the 2000’s – after Bill already had built a solid career in the restaurant industry and I had toiled in media for several years – that we connected at his Webster Groves restaurant, the Highway 61 Roadhouse.

The Roadhouse was, and still is, a fun place with a wonderful atmosphere, outstanding Cajun and Creole food, and great live music.

I used to tell Bill, in all seriousness, one of the best features of his restaurant was the lighting. The place was lit so that its patrons all seemed to have a warm, youthful glow to their faces – something that’s important to those of us approaching our twilight years.

In many ways The Roadhouse flew under the radar. When people on various Internet chat boards would discuss the best St. Louis restaurants, The Roadhouse wouldn’t be mentioned as frequently as other places.

But those of us who knew, knew -if that makes sense.

One of those who “knew” was Guy Fieri, perhaps TV’s most famous foodie, who featured Bill, and The Roadhouse, in a 2012 episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.

His appearance on the show was a curse and a blessing, Bill used to say. He once told me he’d sometimes get caught off guard – experiencing an unexpected rush of customers on a weekend afternoon or evening, and he’d blame it on, “that damned TV show,” which continued to feature The Roadhouse in reruns.

It was that kind of honesty that made Bill a legendary character. You’d walk into his restaurant and he’d greet you warmly, then immediately give you grief about the ugly shirt you were wearing.

So you’d smile and just remind yourself that that was Bill. And if he gave you a subtle dig – that was his way of saying he liked you.

He’d sold the restaurant and had cut back on his work schedule a few years ago, with the hopes of retiring and enjoying the fruits of his labor, but it never fully happened.

Bill Kunz died on a hot mid-July day in St. Louis, the victim of a heart attack. In his obituary, his family, fittingly, encouraged those who knew him to break bread at a local restaurant with friends and family.

It’s hard to think of a better way to honor him.

Bill’s death was this summer’s second gut punch for our very close-knit Class of ’78.

The first came 28 days earlier, when we lost Mike Barnes.

Mike was part of a gang I call The Sorrows Boys – a group of funny, sarcastic gents who are as close today as they were when they graduated from Our Lady of Sorrows grade school on South Kingshighway Boulevard in 1974.

I was never really part of the group – I’d left Our Lady of Sorrows in the 5th grade. But believe me, the Sorrows Boys certainly did fine without me.

The Sorrows Boys were and are still legendary. When Mike and his brother Mark started up a men’s soccer and softball team many years ago, they did all the stuff you have to do – reaching out to potential players, coordinating schedules, etc.

Then, after all of that hard work, they had to pick a name for the team.

So they called themselves: The Buzzards.

Not the Eagles, not the Hawks – the Buzzards.

I still crack up at the name.

It’s the kind of self-deprecating humor that made Mike and The Sorrows Boys so much fun. Like Bill Kunz, Mike was a family man – devoted to his wife and kids. But they both had lots of fun and possessed that no-holds-barred South St. Louis sarcastic sense of humor.

There was a serious side to Mike too.

He was the type of guy who’d run through a burning building to rescue a stranger – and that’s not hyperbole. He worked his way up through the ranks of the St. Louis Fire Department and was promoted to Captain in 2007.

By now, if you’ve gotten this far in this column, you’re probably wondering what the introduction – the part about class reunions -- has to do with all of this.

Here it is:

I’ve always thought friendships were sort of like concentric circles. You know, the kind you see in a bullseye, one circle wrapped in another, and another and so on.

Your best and longest-lasting friends are the ones at the core. Others fill the next few circles.

For a long time, Mike and Bill were “outer circle” guys to me. But about a dozen years ago, our class began having regular “reunions” – full scale get-togethers, and mini-reunions of smaller groups as well. Through those meetups, those friendship circles moved a little bit closer.

I’m grateful for whomever started the reunion ball rolling. Many of the people with whom I never really connected back in high school are people I now consider good friends.

While it’s extremely sad to note the passing of Bill Kunz and Mike Barnes, it’s comforting to know we all got a little bit closer over the last few years, due to those reunions.

So when you get one of those cards, or letters or emails soon that lets you know you have a class reunion coming up – I’d suggest you give strong consideration to attending.

Do the reunion.

You never know what, or who, you might be missing.

As always, thanks for reading.