A Blast--From the Past : A jampacked reunion of Central L.A. students from the 1950s strengthens bonds that have endured for decades.

Standing graveside at a friend’s funeral four years ago, Bernice Sanders said she was suddenly inspired to do something that hardly seemed appropriate at the time--organize a big party.

But when other former schoolmates at the funeral agreed that they should stop meeting only under similarly gloomy circumstances, Sanders realized it made perfect sense.

“The only time we would see each other was at sad occasions like this one,” she said. “It was ridiculous. A reunion seemed like a logical thing to do. I wanted to celebrate us all still being friends after so many years.”

So Sanders, 53, and several others who attended Central Los Angeles high schools in the 1950s got together and arranged a gathering. After the successful first reunion four years ago, the core organizing group--officially, the Committee to Preserve Partying--had another one last weekend.

Amid the oldies music, kisses, enthusiastic greetings and countless updates of what was happening with whom, bonds that have endured for more than 40 years were strengthened.

“It’s real important to enjoy your friends while they’re still alive,” said Ron Weidman, 56, a 1956 graduate of Los Angeles High who sat chatting and joking with former classmates at the Nov. 14 bash. “Of course, we’re all really well preserved,” he joked.

Through social upheaval, personal traumas, divorce and death, the citywide alliance of African American students who attended Dorsey, Jefferson, Manual Arts, Crenshaw and many Catholic schools in the ‘50s is holding firm in the ‘90s. In a city as sprawling and generally rootless as Los Angeles, that is no small feat.

Sanders said she and others were fortunate to have grown up when the city’s African American population was geographically concentrated. In those days, the Eastside began at Main Street and included Watts; USC was considered a part of the Westside. Residents, particularly young people, traveled in small circles, restricted in part by unwritten segregation codes that were nevertheless strictly enforced.

*

“Everybody just knew everybody else,” recalled Sanders, a publicist and a 1958 Dorsey graduate who was one of only six black students at Audubon Junior High when she graduated from there in 1955. “Word got around about parties real fast. There was this big interconnection.”

The grapevine also wound its way through churches, softball leagues, car clubs and “nonpareils”--small social clubs started by certain cliques. “All these local alliances gave us a focus,” said committee member Ronnie Banks, 54, a 1955 graduate of Loyola High who is now chief of staff for Police Chief Willie L. Williams. “It stayed strong. We have more of an affinity for each other now than we did then.”

The late 1950s, Sanders said, was also a historically calm period for her and her peers, who were “too young for Korea, and later too old for Vietnam.” The battle for civil rights was in its early stages, and the Santa Monica Freeway, one of many freeways that would eventually split communities in Los Angeles, was just a notion.

“We had values that kids today just don’t have,” said committee member Helen Ketch, 54, a Manual Arts alumna who is now an elementary school principal. “A lot of young people don’t have the opportunities to come together as we did. There is so little caring in the world today. That’s why it’s important for all of us to get together at festive events like this.”

*

For its first event in 1989, the committee used the sign-in sheet at the funeral as a mailing list, then added names as word of the party spread. Sanders said methods of getting the word out were much the same as in the ‘50s: calling numbers found in old phone books, telling people on the street and in markets, contacting local fraternities and sororities.

News spread beyond the city limits--graduates of Central Los Angeles schools called from as far away as Detroit to confirm their attendance. The 11-member committee used its own money to cover party costs, trusting they would get it back through sales of $25 tickets.

Although the first reunion featured hot dogs and chips, 250 party-goers this year feasted on a Mexican buffet at the Police Academy and boogied to the music of a disc jockey who played hits ranging from Soul II Soul to Motown oldies. Gossip centered on couples within the group who had married, divorced and shown up--separately--at the event.

*

As revelers hit the floor, others gathered before a bulletin board, updated throughout the evening, that listed the names of 59 people who had died over the years. Mary Lucas, 55, a retired executive secretary and a graduate of Polytechnic High School, ran her finger lovingly over the name of Leonardo Cablaya.

“He was my husband’s best friend,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Before my husband came here tonight, he said, ‘My best buddy won’t be there tonight.’ ”

But small-scale reunions and moments of joyful surprise balanced the sadness. Weidman was approached by a vaguely familiar face who turned out to be a neighbor he hadn’t seen in 40 years. “I was just thinking about Granville Sykes, and next thing I knew he was walking up to me,” said Weidman, shaking his head in disbelief. “It was amazing. It was like I stepped back in time.”

Weidman said that despite learning of the inevitable losses, he cherished the event and hopes it will be held more often. “I left L.A. for 20 years and came back,” said the retired pharmaceutical supplies salesman. “All my friends were still in place. It was as if nothing had changed.”