It’s been fifty years since we walked out of Xavier High School — fifty years since uniform shirts and polished shoes gave way to whatever life had waiting for us. Yet no matter how far we’ve gone — careers, families, losses, triumphs — something about Xavier has continued to live inside us.
We didn’t understand it then, but Xavier wasn’t just a school. It was a shaping place. It laid down habits, expectations, and standards that followed us into rooms and moments we didn’t think we were ready for. It wasn’t easy at the time. It was meant to be formative.
I recently watched a video that brought so much of that home. It wasn’t made for us originally, but when Class of ’76 sees “Generations of Generosity: Gaspar ‘Chip’ Cipolla ’49”, it feels like a mirror into something timeless we all felt at Xavier — family, legacy, and the idea that what you give comes back in ways you don’t expect.
That video reminded me how much Xavier was about people over paperwork, about connection more than credentials. It wasn’t just about learning — it was about becoming. Chip Cipolla’s story wasn’t ours exactly, but the sentiment was: men shaped by a community that asked hard questions and expected real answers. It’s the same spirit that still draws us back together.
Think about what we learned beyond the books.
We learned responsibility — showing up on time, carrying ourselves with a sense of purpose.
We learned brotherhood — unfinished conversations after class, late-night thoughts on life’s unfair turns, and the bonds that endure because they were tested.
We learned service — that your own success doesn’t mean much if you’re not looking out for others along the way.
The Jesuit idea of being “men for others” wasn’t just a slogan on a banner — it was something lived in the halls, in the JROTC formations, in the shared rigor that asked us to be more than average.
Xavier didn’t make life easy. It didn’t edify every insecurity, soften every corner, or promise that effort would always feel good. But it prepared us — for work, for family, for challenge, for leadership, for the uncomfortable moments when character mattered more than convenience.
Now, fifty years later, when we see each other again — gray hairs, stories etched in our faces, success measured not by titles but by the lives we touch — we’ll recognize each other instantly. Not because we haven’t changed, but because those core lessons didn’t fade. They just matured with us.
That’s the quiet power of Xavier — it didn’t just educate us, it indelibly shaped us.
So here’s to the Class of 1976:
We’re older now, wiser too — maybe a little softer in some ways, a little firmer in others — but still shaped by those years on 16th Street.
We carry those lessons forward not because we have to, but because they became part of who we are.
And fifty years later, that still matters.
The Valley Viewpoint 