DANVILLE - "Star in the play of life."
Dick Van Dyke's graduating class of 1944's motto hung proudly in the Danville High School gym.
Van Dyke has definitely taken the slogan to heart, and the star shines, even when he's not underneath the house lights.
"They're trying to tell me all these old people are classmates of mine," Van Dyke said as he walked into the gym, feigning disbelief.
The exclusive reception immediately followed Friday's student production of "Bye Bye Birdie," and the tribute to Van Dyke. It was open only to former classmates, friends and family.
The gym was decorated with blown-up photos of Van Dyke mounted to the folded bleachers and prominently displayed on easels. Reception guests enjoyed immaculately arranged tables of fruit, cheese, and delectable desserts. A quartet of violinists added the final air of sophistication.
The joke telling, story swapping, resounding laughter and endless chatter didn't begin until Van Dyke walked into the room.
"Where did they get all these pictures of me?" he asked.
As soon as he entered the gym, he was surrounded by a group of people, old friends and schoolmates, chatting away, while a line formed outside the perimeter, each person waiting anxiously for a spot near the star to open up.
Everyone had something he or she wanted to share - "Do-you-remember-when?" or "I was in this class or that."
Elsa Walden of Champaign was there for the break in Van Dyke's career that sent him reeling into stardom more than 40 years ago, and she was at the reception Friday night.
"He remembered me after I told him my name, the little stinker," she said.
Walden, 81, was the stage manager for "Bye Bye Birdie" with Van Dyke in New York.
And there were countless others who knew Van Dyke in high school, clamoring to make their presence known.
When the gregarious Van Dyke finally allowed Marty Lindvahl, DHS music director, to usher him to his seat - one of four chairs set up near the free throw line at the rear of the gym - he had a hard time staying there.
He had signed only a few autographs from his assigned spot for people waiting in the line that stretched to the other end of the room before he was up again.
"There they are!" Van Dyke shouted, rising from his chair. "I was just asking about you guys."
Brothers Bill and Bob Kesler shook hands with Van Dyke, introduced him to some family members and caught up for a few minutes.
"You guys haven't changed at all," he said.
"Have you seen this picture?" Bob Kesler asked, pulling out an old black and white group photo.
They laughed and pointed out old friends in the picture.
"I'm supposed to be sitting down," Van Dyke said, turning toward his chair. "I never got this much attention in high school."
And he loved it. He couldn't sit down.
"I was just asking about you! Did you see the Kesler twins?" Van Dyke asked, in a half spin, changing directions from the chair to his cousin Robert Arnold, who'd just walked up. They hadn't seen each other in 30 years.
Van Dyke turned to a few people who'd gathered.
"This guy had a bedroom full of model airplanes!" he announced. "That's all he ever did."
The two talked about old classmates and Van Dyke finally took his seat.
"We're dropping like flies," he told Arnold. "Watch the bananas and don't buy any green ones."
About 30 classmates had sat in a reserved section for the "Bye Bye Birdie" performance and held up a big "Welcome Home" banner. Most all of them showed up for the reception.
"I'm just glad to see so many of us still around," Van Dyke said.
Robin Sherlock and his wife Deloris Mahoney, both 1944 graduates, brought an old '43 year book for Van Dyke to sign and a copy of a DHS "Moments Musical."
When it was her turn in line, Barbara Dickson Faye gave Van Dyke a great, big hug.
"Class of '42," she introduced herself. "But we're the same age."
"How'd you get ahead of me?" Van Dyke asked.
Hugs, autographs, laughter, memories, photographs ... the night continued like that into the morning.
"I haven't been up this late in about 30 years," Van Dyke said, out of his chair and walking his way down the line.
"When everybody clears out of here, we're going play some basketball," Van Dyke said to a few people in the line that had whittled down to about half its length. "Shirts against skins."
The reception was supposed to last only an hour after the production, which ended about 10:45 p.m. But Van Dyke stayed until after 12:30 a.m., until he'd smiled for the last photo, signed the last autograph and shook hands with the very last friend.
They were all friends.
As high school buddy and fellow "Burford" Jerry Seawright said before, "He's never met a stranger."
