High School Graduation, or: The Last Days of my Stint in Rural Eastern Oregon. Historic Union, Oregon is a city about 280 miles east of Portland.  On a map, it’s just north of the middle of nowhere.  The 2000 census put its population at 1,926. Its major industry is alcoholic and/or pregnant teenagers.In June 1999 I was part of the largest group of students ever to be expectorated from Union High School with a diploma.  At 53 students, our class was huge.  One of the concerns surrounding the graduation ceremony was whether or not all of us would be able to sit on the stage in the gym.  Yeah.  (We did). After graduation a large number of us hopped on a school bus to make the 280 mile ride to PDX where we boarded a plane and eventually landed in San Jose, CA.  After a minor transportation kludge, we made it to the coast. We, a bunch of kids from rural eastern Oregon, got to spend our senior trip in Santa Cruz.  How cool.  I’m not saying that anything bad happened, or it was too out of control, but the school board subsequently passed a motion that restricted distance and funding for future senior trips.  I guess they figured it wasn’t right for a bunch of kids to go on a vacation to the beach if they didn’t get to go too.  *shrug*Upon my return I got a job as a computer janitor at the local computer shop.  I lasted about another month and a half in Union, OR.  I made the decision earlier that year that I wasn’t gonna hang around; that I had enough of that part of the world.  It’s gray, cold, and windy in the winter.  I hate snow, and I wasn’t too keen on the career opportunities available to me (read: none).  When the opportunity arose, I packed my bag and came back to San Diego; my hometown. I still have family in Union, and I do go visit on occasion.  In fact, I’ll be up there in September to make an appearance at the 13th annual WetWesties/Bus Pilots reUnion campout at the state park just up the road. I guess the moral of this story is this: Get the fuck out when you can because you never know when the next train’s gonna come by.

High School Graduation, or: The Last Days of my Stint in Rural Eastern Oregon.

Historic Union, Oregon is a city about 280 miles east of Portland.  On a map, it’s just north of the middle of nowhere.  The 2000 census put its population at 1,926. Its major industry is alcoholic and/or pregnant teenagers.

In June 1999 I was part of the largest group of students ever to be expectorated from Union High School with a diploma.  At 53 students, our class was huge.  One of the concerns surrounding the graduation ceremony was whether or not all of us would be able to sit on the stage in the gym.  Yeah.  (We did).

After graduation a large number of us hopped on a school bus to make the 280 mile ride to PDX where we boarded a plane and eventually landed in San Jose, CA.  After a minor transportation kludge, we made it to the coast. We, a bunch of kids from rural eastern Oregon, got to spend our senior trip in Santa Cruz.  How cool.  I’m not saying that anything bad happened, or it was too out of control, but the school board subsequently passed a motion that restricted distance and funding for future senior trips.  I guess they figured it wasn’t right for a bunch of kids to go on a vacation to the beach if they didn’t get to go too.  *shrug*

Upon my return I got a job as a computer janitor at the local computer shop.  I lasted about another month and a half in Union, OR.  I made the decision earlier that year that I wasn’t gonna hang around; that I had enough of that part of the world.  It’s gray, cold, and windy in the winter.  I hate snow, and I wasn’t too keen on the career opportunities available to me (read: none).  When the opportunity arose, I packed my bag and came back to San Diego; my hometown.

I still have family in Union, and I do go visit on occasion.  In fact, I’ll be up there in September to make an appearance at the 13th annual WetWesties/Bus Pilots reUnion campout at the state park just up the road.

I guess the moral of this story is this: Get the fuck out when you can because you never know when the next train’s gonna come by.