Bill Cutlip:
CLASS OF 1974
Berkley High SchoolClass of 1974
Berkley, MI
Grand Haven High SchoolClass of 1975
Grand haven, MI
Muskegon High SchoolClass of 1974
Muskegon, MI
Anderson Junior High SchoolClass of 1971
Berkley, MI
Rosy Mound Elementary SchoolClass of 1967
Grand haven, MI
Bill's Story
Life
Forget my bio. Let me tell you what I remember about Berkley High School.
Actually, my most cherished memory of BHS occurred after graduation -- not that I graduated, you understand -- and features John Norton. (Whatever happened to that guy?) We roomed together at Grand Valley State, which had enough BHS grads running around to rate a "Berkley II" label.
Anyway, one night John and I drove into Grand Rapids to have a beer in the Pantland Penthouse, a fancy bar on the roof of the Pantland Hotel. As we got onto the elevator, we were followed by a group of well-dressed, conservative Grand Rapidians. The last to board, a tall man in a dark suite, said, "Hey! Let's go to the Presidential Suite!"
John and I looked at each other. Why not?
The year was 1975, and Gerald Ford, the greatest Grand Rapidian of them all, was then president of the United States. So the Presidential Suite was not just another queen-sized bed with a deluxe bathroom: we were going to see the actual president's actual suite.
We followed our new friends off the elevator and marched boldly into the presidential suite. The man holding the door seemed very surprised to see us.
It was indeed a palatial residence: lots o...Expand for more
f cheap paneling, a generous amount of plaid hotel furniture, many TVs. We headed straight for the bar and began to plunder, while the other people huddled in a terrified circle at the other end of the room. John set his pack on the floor, unzipped the top, stuffed two bottles of wine in and shut the bag. I poured about twenty ounces of cognac into a huge tumbler and tried to chug it -- choked, coughed, and sprayed cognac across the room.
"Excuse me," said the tall man, very casual, very determined. "Are you with the Republican Party?"
Now that was a stupid question. Clearly we were slacker liberals, Squeakie Fromm fans straight from Republican Hell -- but looks can be deceiving, I suppose, and there was an election coming up.
"Hey, man," said John, pocketing a pint of Jameson's. "We're with the human party."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
We left. But we toasted the president far into the night, sang "The Star Spangled Banner" at the top of our lungs, saluted everyone and everything. It was the closest I would ever come to identifying with a politician.
But we were liberals again by morning, and cursed the president for our hangovers.
And that's what I remember about Berkley.
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