Some things remained etched in memory. One of them is being a “1L,” shorthand for “first year law.” It is one of life’s unique experiences – a mixture of fear and wonder, an introduction to a new vocabulary and a different way of thinking.

Scott Turow’s 1977 book “One L,” subtitled “The Turbulent True Story of a First Year at the Harvard Law School,” accurately describes much of my own experience. We were all afraid of being called on in class. It didn’t matter how you responded to the professor’s questions. You could hardly say “Not prepared,” but whatever you did say was either completely or mostly wrong. That way of teaching is called the “Socratic method.” If you ask me, it’s a form of sadism.

I’m a reunion guy. I keep going back, to Stevens High School, Brown University and the dreaded Harvard Law School. I do so with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, the latter my fear that I won’t know anyone, or worse, that I won’t recognize the people I do know.

On the last Saturday of October, the Pianist (good sport that she is) and I drove from Keene to Cambridge, where the reunion organizers had thoughtfully arranged parking. Would you believe there are wild turkeys wandering around at the corner of Cambridge and Everett streets? I thought I was in Jaffrey.

Out of a “1L” class of over 500 who arrived in the fall of 1961, about 25 of us made it to our 60th. The group included a few whom I knew well, a few I knew somewhat (including Justice Stephen Breyer) and some I didn’t know at all, even by name. In the last category was Peter Quint, now a retired law professor at University of Maryland Law School. We stood next to each other during the noontime picture-taking.

At the class dinner that evening, Peter saw “Keene, N.H.” on my nametag and said, “My father was born and grew up in Keene.”

We had a good chat, and it came out that I grew up in Claremont.

“My aunt and uncle lived there,” Peter said.

I asked for their names. “Sig and Gertrude Heller” was the answer.

“They had a restaurant,” I said. “I remember them very well. After attending Hebrew School, my friend Mike and I used to go there for milk and chocolate cake.”

“Gertrude was my father’s sister,” Peter said. “She died quite young, and I never really knew her. What was she like?”

“She was a very nice person,” I replied. “She worked in the restaurant, always greeted me with a smile and gave me an extra big piece of cake.”

I’m glad I went to the reunion. Now I’ve got my eye on another one.

On its website, the Stevens High Alumni Association proudly claims to be “the oldest active high school alumni association in the nation.” On graduation weekend every June, there’s a big Alumni Day parade – class floats, marching bands, fire engines, antique cars and more. A long time ago, I marched in it, playing my clarinet as we passed in front of Sig’s Restaurant.

Looking several years ahead, I’m planning to be in Claremont for my 75th high school reunion in 2032. If I make it, I will be in the parade once again. But this time, as a reward for longevity, I won’t have to march. I will be riding in an antique car up front.

Joseph D. Steinfield lives in Keene and Jaffrey. He can be reached at joe@joesteinfield.com.