A LIKELY STORY: THE RISE AND FALL OF A GROUP OF FRIENDS CALLED `THE FELLAS'

Some old friends were in town last weekend, bringing old memories with them.

The fellas were in town last weekend. A mutual friend of ours was getting married. Ironically, she was marrying a childhood friend of mine whom I hadn't seen in years.

It seemed just like old times.

What, I've never mentioned the fellas before?

Most men have a group of "fellas" in their past. They are the people we grew up with, went to school with and did all of our socializing with.

I'm not sure how we BECAME "the fellas," or even who first started calling us that. If you asked one of us, we'd probably say it appeared to us in some divine dream. "Call yourselves the fellas, and they will come."

Probably it is of much simpler origins, beginning with an "I'm going out with the fellas" or "Let's call up the fellas."

But the name stuck. It wasn't a generic name that meant just ANY of our friends. We did have friends outside the fellas, but they were our less-important friends. The term fellas meant us seven and that was it.

After we came to think of ourselves as the fellas, we became a very exclusionary and elitist group, allowing no new members under any circumstances.

"Hey, I'm going to bring Joel along," one might say.

"But he's not a fella."

"He can't come?"

"He's not a FELLA. Fellas only."

And we even had "Fellas Night" once a week. One night a week we would all get together and hang out. This usually involved alcoholic beverages, cards and cigars.

"Fellas Night" must have been a phrase that many young women in town grew to hate. Certain members of the fellas had girlfriends, and others did not. And girls NEVER came before the fellas. Girlfriends come and go, but the fellas are forever.

"I'm sorry, honey. It's fellas night" must have been uttered three zillion times over the years when the fellas flourished. (Which I believe was somewhere nestled between the Stone Age and the Bronze Age.)

One of my girlfriends at the time, who hated every one of the fellas (except me, and that changed eventually) said we were just like Spanky's club in "Our Gang." Remember their He-Man Women-Haters Club?

The fellas were an odd lot, really. There were two subcultures in the fellas. Some of us were really cool guys, like the ones you see in beer commercials with all the beautiful girls around them and all the right words to say.

Joe, John and James were the cool guys, they had that whole, "All our names start with J" thing going. They always had tons of girls chasing them and, more often than not, catching them. They were all pretty similar, each one sporting a goatee at different times and even dating the same girls at -- I hope -- different times.

But others of us were introverts, never talking that much, and one of the fellas (his record stands today) has NEVER had a date in his life. I guess he doesn't have time.

Carl was the dry-witted one, the one who always saw things in a different way. Mike was the quiet, thoughtful, cynical one, who never really had a good thing to say about anyone. Not even himself.

But despite our differences, we sure had a good time, whether it was barbecuing in my back yard or shooting pool at some smoky pool hall.

We don't see much of each other anymore. John's in Memphis with James, Joe's in Chicago, Carl's in Columbia. The rest are scattered hither, thither and yon.

Some of us are successful, Joe's working on his doctorate at Northwestern. Some of us aren't. Some of us have been in college for about 20 years.

But we do get together from time-to-time, and when we do, it's just like old times ... sort of. We still laugh and talk and try to pretend like we're the same. But we're not.

We've all grown up (thank God) and we don't have that much in common anymore, not really.

Girls don't come before fellas anymore. I think I broke that rule when I decided to get married. (In fact, they called my wife, Lori, the Yoko of the fellas.) Now James is about to get married, too.

But they were good times and when I think about them I smile and remember and it feels good to say the name aloud to myself, "the fellas."

Scott Moyers is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.