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Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More

Our class lost one boy to Vietnam. Danny Brooks, class of ’72, could make even the principal laugh in detention. He was the kid who could walk into a room …

For 50 years, our class left Danny’s chair empty to honor the boy we believed died in Vietnam—until a stranger drove 900 miles to our reunion carrying a letter that proved Danny had survived. Read More