By Cokie Roberts and Steven V. Roberts

Here’s what Bayonne, N.J., was like when Steve graduated from the eighth grade at No. 3 School in 1956. He lived two blocks from the school, in the same house his mom had grown up in, a house built by his grandfather with his own hands.

His parents both attended classes at No. 3, in the early ‘30s when it was still a high school. And they lived a block apart when they met on his mom’s 17th birthday, 70 years ago last winter.

Occupying a narrow neck of land, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, Bayonne was a town of strong neighborhoods, strong families, strong ties to tribes and traditions. People knew who they were and where they were from. Steve can count on one hand the classmates who arrived or left during his entire tenure at No. 3. A woman who moved here during 7th grade is still known as “the new girl.”

As the Class of 1956 approached its 50th anniversary, one member, Phyllis Wasserman Gorelick, started raising money for a gift to the school. Checks poured in, and so did sentiment. Wouldn’t it be great to see each other, and not just exchange e–mails?

And so 24 (out of 78) “Golden Grads,” as their yellow and blue T–shirts proclaimed, gathered in No. 3 School’s over–heated auditorium on graduation night (the power went out three times) to present the gift, a lectern. Then the “GGs” repaired to Naples pizzeria (”The Napes”), a favorite high school hangout, to exchange old memories and new pictures.

With six grandkids, Steve tied for the class lead, but several classmates voiced a common complaint. Their thirty–something offspring have not bothered to get married or produce progeny. One woman, who finally gets to play Mother of the Bride this summer, says the race is on: will her grandkids be walking before she needs a walker herself?

As a group, the women looked a whole lot better than the men, and were more recognizable. At Bayonne High in the ‘50s, there were no organized sports for girls; twirling a baton was the apex of female athletic achievement. Today, these women are playing golf and working out and fitting into the dress sizes of their youth.

The men were harder to place. One sported a long gray ponytail, another was completely bald, a few had added beards or mustaches. Steve understood. One grandson looked at his silvery head recently and asked, “Teebs, what color did your hair used to be?”