The evergreen class of 1950

And here I am again, after some adventures carving a pumpkin for Thanksgiving, scaring off a young doctor clearly not used to finding his patients already half naked for examination and dressing as a cowgirl on my first Halloween party (I had forgotten we're supposed to look scary. Guess I'll try that next time.)

You imagine how hard it is to pick a story among all the little anecdotes that make up the big ``jellyfish in Washington picture!''

That's why you most likely won't understand why I chose to speak about a group of people in their 80s, with hearing aids, little hair left and a good deal of money!

Probably because they had a good sense of humor.

It was at an Ivy League university last Friday evening and I was clearly not happy to be there. First of all because my original plan had me dash off to New York after work, not take a train to the middle of nowhere for an assignment.

Then because it was raining, that my work day had started at 8 a.m. and that I was going to have to sit through dinner before being able to accomplish my mission, wrap it up and have a life again.

So when people moved to their tables I had no real plan and that's how I ended with the class of 1950. Yes, CLASS of 1950, not born in 1950.

As I prepared to sit and lower the average age by 15 years all by myself, one guest at the table shouted: ``What are you doing at this table? You have no friends?!''

Pretty funny, eh? Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad. As I tried to answer gracefully, he picked up the accent.

``You are French?" he went. ``I used to sleep with a French woman!''

Nothing like a good ice breaker, you will admit.

So under the classy dark wooden ceiling and stained glasses, I had a nice little chat with my dining companions.

Take the two next to me. They had been in the Navy and the Air Force and one had been a cardiologist for 40 years. They were almost fighting trying to show off their French, and their German. Sharing their memories of Paris decades ago while grilling me on what brought me to the U.S.

Meanwhile on the other side, one alumni was explaining me why the only reason he had been invited was because he had been giving money to the research center organizing the event, while the French woman's lover's wife (!) gave me the detail of their children's degrees and various jobs.

Shortly after tiramisu, I was called back into 2009 and ran to start my assignment.

But long after, thoughts borne during the dinner lingered. Here are the movers and shakers of their times, I thought. People who lived history, traveled the world, saw it change and are now on the twilight of their life, having fun in the hushed atmosphere of an elite university.

And nobody will sit with them.Isn't it sad? For them, and for what will become of us when our moment in the sun is over?
How come I had more patience with them than with my own grandfather?
Would I have liked these people when they were younger, or was it the way they aged that I liked?

After all, with all the political correctness around here, I doubt I will hear someone trumpeting about their French lover any time soon!