Reunion Memories

What we experience when we are young defines who we become, who we are today. When you grow up in a nomadic lifestyle, it can become difficult to feel grounded, find roots, or even to meet someone who understands why you can't remember all your addresses, just the number of countries you called home.

This restlessness is one of the reasons alumni have been attending Ankara reunions since 1992, searching for a connection with that common bond forged by shared foreign experiences.

When you attend a reunion, you will connect with an old friend and probably find a new one where explanations are not necessary. They just "get it." The years drop away and you share your stories.

We hope you enjoy the stories below. We thank our contributors for sharing them. We know there are other stories to be told and we would like to hear from you about your memorable experiences.

Anita's Reunion Memory - Anita Donohoe 66
The Story of a Hero - Jill Boldway 70
My Ankara Family -
Melissa Miller 68

Contact: Reunion Memories

Anita's Reunion Memory
By Anita Donohoe 66
(Posted on Log Cabin Chronicles August 8, 2000.

Anita Donohoe, daughter of a US intelligence officer, grew up overseas as a foreign service brat. There were thousands of 'brats' -- children of U.S. military and foreign service personnel -- who shared intense experiences in far-off places, loved one another, and then dispersed, never to meet again. Or so they thought.

Here's Anita's story...

When my father reentered my life in 1954 and invited my mother to join him in Afghanistan, my fondest wish to visit a foreign land was granted.

Although my brothers grumbled, she accepted. We moved into a sprawling house, surrounded by gardens, a high wall, and a staff of eleven. My father was an intelligence officer in the US Foreign Service, which meant my brothers and I were foreign service brats.

For my seventh birthday, my father gave me a bright red push-scooter that had a bell, a seat, and tires that really went flat. I was given the freedom to go off on my own, exploring the cobblestone streets of Kabul. I was content to live at the end of the world, where even the food and fragrances were different from what I had known all my life.

After Kabul, we lived in a farmhouse outside Washington DC. I was sent to a parochial school, where I refused to be confirmed. I just didn't see much difference between the Catholic religion and what I'd been exposed to in Afghanistan. Besides, I couldn't say the Apostle's Creed and believe it. The nuns couldn't argue with that.

We left Virginia for the intense heat of Jeddah, in Saudi Arabia, where we would spend the next two years.

It was while camping deep in the Saudi desert that my father's Lebanese hunting buddy lured me into a water hole and wouldn't let me out until I proved I could tread water. Little fish nibbling at my toes inspired me to catch on quickly.

After that, my father supplied all of us with flippers, masks, and snorkels and took us skin diving in the visually rich coral reefs of the Red Sea.

1959, we moved to Turkey, where we remained until my late father retired from government intelligence in 1967.

As he had in Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia, my father insisted we learn the language, eat local food, and get to know the people. This time I ended up with two sets of friends; Turk and American teens didn't mingle much.

When I was 15, the Americans didn't have much to do with me because I dated a Turk. Fortunately, that attitude had changed by the time I left. Ankara was our first tour of duty to offer a large community of American dependents, mostly Air Force.

Tours of duty were 18 months. We had our own school, located in downtown Ankara. Between people leaving and new arrivals, the student body held steady at about 200. Those of us who were in for a long tour envied those returning to the States, never dreaming we'd lose touch.

It took much less than 18 months to form strong bonds as we rode the Blue Bus and attended school together. Air Force buses ran on a regular schedule, taking us from our homes to school to the Armed Forces Exchange (AFEX) snack bar, the service club, and Lake Golbashi during the summer. Riding the bus was a social event, and we rarely went anywhere without friends.

When we didn't ride the buses, we were taking taxis for a mere iki buchook (two-and-a-half Turkish Lira) to meet downtown for a Turkish meal or the Pic Nic for a beer. There was no age limit for alcohol or tobacco in those days.

Well, you did have to be 16 before you were issued a ration card for cigarettes.

We had school dances, slumber parties, and gathered at our friends' houses where the hosting parents would spike the punch, provide snacks, and leave us to our own devices. We gloried in our independence, our ability to have fun, never noticing how much we depended on each other.

My turn to say goodbye came in 1965, when I moved to a boarding school in California. Contact with Ankara came to a close. I was fortunate that my boarding school had a large international population. I knew I was an American, but I didn't feel like one.

Growing up in the Middle East had made me different somehow, and I just didn't fit. It was the international students who made me feel at home. Unlike their American classmates, they didn't blink an eye when I told them I'd learned to swim in a water hole in the middle of the Saudi desert.

In '92, I received a stunning phone call. The voice of a long-lost friend informed me that I'd been "found" and that I was invited to an Ankara High School reunion to be held in Dallas that summer.

Disbelief was impossible; I knew this voice. I flew to Dallas. I arrived on a Friday.

The hardest drinking, heaviest smoking, most exuberant crowd I'd ever been exposed to drank the hotel dry by midnight.

Normally, I stay away from crowds -- memories of riots and revolutions happening before my eyes were too vivid, but we were actually recognizing each other. I felt safe, welcome.

Bodies had weathered, but the eyes and the smiles were the same. Here were people reentering my life whom I'd thought lost to me, friends with whom I'd bonded as a teen living in a faraway land. My life would never be the same.

Our second Ankara High School Reunion was held in ‘96, again in Dallas but in a bigger hotel. Why Dallas? We are spread all over the world, Dallas is easy to reach, and the rates are good when the season is sticky. This time, my high school sweetheart was there.

In July 2000, I flew to Dallas for the third time to join more than 400 American dependents who had attended high school in Ankara, Turkey between 1953 – 1979. The occasion was AnkaraReunion2000: The Millennium Party.

Since I had been to the previous two Ankara High School reunions, I arrived this time thinking it could not have the intense emotional impact I experienced at the first one in '92. However, there were several small moments of reunion so meaningful my eyes would fill. I came away feeling loved.

Two Old Friends --
Pictured on the left is Anita's brother Rick with his best friend from high school, Rich. In July 2000, they met for the first time in four decades in Texas.

It was a deeply moving moment when my brother Rick and his best buddy Rich met each other's eyes for the first time in 38 years. They were the best big brothers any sisterless girl could wish for. They looked out for me until I reached my mid-teens, when they graduated from high school and left Ankara to join the Marines.

Early Sunday evening, two newly found old friends and I made our way to the local Turkish restaurant for dinner. The food was excellent, and there were just three of us, making for good conversation.

However, Cafe Istanbul didn't have sugar cubes.

I have vivid memories of placing two sugar cubes in the rim of the glass. The hot tea would cool as I sipped through the slowly dissolving sugar, the last sip unbearably sweet. The idea of no sugar cubes was enough to make me pass on a glass of after-dinner tea.

That would be like a cup of Turkish coffee with no mud at the bottom. No fortune to tell.

By Monday, my contribution to the cacophony generated by 500 exuberantly emotional people, conversing in a shout with dear friends I hadn't seen since the early '60s, laughter, and lack of sleep had muted my voice. Dallas was miserably hot, but spirits were high as we celebrated our lives in Ankara, where everything we did we did together.

The three major reunions have inspired several minis throughout the US, and our old friendships are very much alive and thriving.

My life has been powerfully enhanced.

Anita Donohoe
Rancho San Julian, CA

Anita Donohoe was a foreign service brat in Kabul, Afghanistan 54-55; Jeddah, Saudi Arabia 57-59; Ankara, Turkey 59-65; and lived in Athens and Volos, Greece, from 73-76. She currently makes her home on an old family ranch in California where she participates in ranch management, lures her cousin's cows to eat apples from her hand and crop the grass around the house, indulges in macro photography and plays her mountain dulcimer.

The Story of a Hero
By Jill Boldway 70

I’m Jill Boldway from the class of 1970, and I attended George C. Marshall High School in Ankara, Turkey, in 1967 and 1968, and I’d like to tell you a story about a hero among us, with whom I was reunited at the 2005 Reunion in Dallas.

Jill Boldway, Age 16
Manzarali Station, Turkey - 1967

Michael Wade
Posthuma, Age 17

In 1968, at the age of 16, a serious crime was committed against me by three students from our school that has affected me my whole life. I was attacked, beaten, and thrown into the street in front of an oncoming bus. Another fellow student saved my life that day. Without a thought for his own safety, he ran in front of the bus, waving his arms at the driver, and stopped the bus just in time. The front tire had stopped on my hair, inches away from crushing my head. The trauma of the event was so great that I actually went out of my body and was floating above the scene where I watched my 17-year-old friend run out in front of the bus to save me. That brave teenager has been my hero throughout my life, yet he spent most of his life regretting that he hadn’t done enough to stop the attack.

At the time, we were both living on Site 23 (Manzarali Station) where my father was one of the commanding officers of the post (Maj. Francis W. Boldway, U.S. Army). I wasn’t liked because I was an officer’s daughter, even though I had done special things for the teens there, like securing an unused building on the post and fixing it up to use as a teen center. In spite of that, on a daily basis, I was bullied, cajoled, spit on, called every dirty name in the book, had things thrown at me and my clothes torn, and was tormented by many of the teens that lived on Site 23 who attended our school. The long ride to school was hell for me. My only relief was when we finally arrived at school and I had my friends and classes to give me a reason to believe that life was still worth living. I was a cheerleader then, and it gave me some sense of self-worth. I especially enjoyed cheering for the one and only football game we had – the Juniors against the Seniors. Little did I know that one of those football players would one day save my life.

Jill was one of
the cheerleaders
32 years later, I was reunited on the phone with my hero and I was finally able to tell him that I knew he had saved my life. He was able to fill me in on what happened as I had blocked most of it from my mind all those years. He saved me again when he filled in the blanks and told me about the good times that we had together - memories I had completely buried since the attack. I had spent my whole life with hardly any memories of my time in Ankara, Turkey, and very few memories of my days at George C. Marshall High School. Hearing those stories began to heal the pain I had been carrying inside all these years.
Michael is in the front row,
third from the right.
Jill and Michael at the 2005 Reunion in Dallas, reunite for the first time in 37 years.

I decided to attend the 2005 reunion in Dallas to further my healing and to perhaps recapture some of the lost good feelings by being with long-ago classmates with whom I once shared this foreign adventure; to reunite with my hero after 37 years; to thank my hero in person for saving my life; and, finally, to share this story. The story of a hero - my hero - from the class of 1968, Michael Wade Posthuma. Michael, because of you, I’ve had a wonderful life. Because of your bravery, my 33-year-old son is alive, my beautiful 6-year-old granddaughter, Kyla, is alive, and my grandson, Cooper, is about to be born. Thank you. You are a hero!

~ Jill Boldway, 8/13/2005

UPDATE: Since posting this story, many people have asked what happened to the students that attacked Jill. Mike told Jill that the two girls and one boy, along with their families, were sent back to the United States and the fathers were demoted. Jill has only a vague memory of men coming to her home on Site 23 and asking her questions.

Jill told us, "Mike has been very helpful in filling in the holes in my memory and has provided me with good stories of the fun times we had as I had forgotten everything. He's been a blessing."

My Ankara Family
By Melissa Miller 68

GCMHS was the second high school I attended living overseas. I was a dormie, a long way from home and terribly homesick. The other girls who had been there the year before made adjusting to dorm life a little easier. The problem with making friends overseas is, as we know, difficult because they were always LEAVING! Of all the schools I went to, for some reason, the one in Ankara means the most to me. I haven't given a lot of thought as to why, just that it was.

Melissa, in pink, with her Ankara Family
Ankara Reunion 2005," Istanbul Group"
When I came home [United States] and went to a school where I knew NO ONE and everyone else it seemed, had been friends since kindergarten! One other girl had grown up overseas, so we became friends. I felt so alone and different, and no one cared that I had been in another country. I wished that there had been some way to find my former classmates, but no luck of that in 1968. I did run into a few people in a mall, and we did have a mini reunion at Jim deAngelo's house in Maryland. But we lost touch after that.

Not until I had been in California for about ten years did I first hear of a reunion for Ankara alumni. I had just missed one in 1992. I made sure I didn't miss anymore! The 1996 reunion was such a thrill for me, meeting up with people I had gone to school with! All those familiar faces, all of us talking at once, I felt as if I had finally come home. The weekend, as always, went much too quickly, but the memories last forever. I made the one in 2000 and of course, last year [2005].

I am in contact with so many of you in the bay area and the rest of the country. We are so lucky to have this huge extended family who are there when we need each other. To us, our lives weren't unusual, and moving all the time just became second nature. The minis we have help keep that bond alive; whether it's five people or twenty, we have a blast! If you have never come to a mini, you are missing out. I treasure my Ankara family and always will