Laughs are bouncing off the walls at the Greentree Inn, and never mind that some of the joking is about fighting somebody else in the room way back when.

These were the boys of Holy Innocents School in Sheraden, a leafy neighborhood in the city's western reaches. Most of these guys met there, in the first grade, 75 years ago.

I ordinarily don't do reunion stories for fear of that do-one-and-you-have-to-do-them-all clause. But if I set the bar at first-grade reunions every three-quarters of a century, my phone won't exactly be ringing off the hook.

Jim Treher Sr. put this little dutch-treat luncheon together. No one else could. The retired FBI agent from Bethel Park, now 80, was able to remember more than 60 of his classmates' names, and he used his police skills to track them down.

He didn't find any girls because he didn't know their married names, but "the other guys can't believe I found 'em." He shrugged off the investigative feat with, "I'm an old carpenter and I know how to saw boards."

There were 11 who graduated from Holy Innocents' eighth grade in 1942, that first spring of America's entry in World War II, along with three others from Langley High's Class of '46. They went there because Holy Innocents High didn't open until the 1950s.

When he heard he'd have to pony up for his meal, Fuddy Erwin of Peters joked, "I have my Advantage Card."

"I have a Disadvantage Card," Medio Mercolini, who still lives in Sheraden, shot back.

How do you get one of those? I asked.

"All you have to do is live 80-something years."

Their old school, now St. Elizabeth Seton Regional, will close forever next month. It's meeting the same fate as so many other Catholic schools, victims of declining enrollment and rising tuition. All graduates of the century-old school are invited to return for a Mass at Holy Innocents Church at 4 p.m. June 6, which will be followed by a final walk through the grade- and high-school buildings and light refreshments in the gym.

Before the food even arrived Thursday, Mr. Mercolini was telling the waitress, "If you're going to have girls here, make sure you have an ambulance out front."

All the talk of this being a tough group was just that, though. These guys were so considerate, Joe Murphy asked before he told a joke, "Is anybody here Australian?"

There were a lot of jokes about confession, including Mr. Treher's memory of going down the hill to St. Vincent's in Esplen where the Hungarian priest, who didn't speak much English, was known to give a light penance.

"Hey, you know Sister Mary Emma would not be very happy with you guys," Carlo Oliverio, 81, finally said.

That was their second-grade teacher. He described her as short, thin and mean, but she also "saved my life." She showed him how to discipline his mind and nourish his soul. He'd go on to Langley and then Connelly Vocational High School, which gave him the tools he needed to make a good living as an electrician and television repairman. He'd send his four children to Holy Innocents High.

Mr. Oliverio hadn't seen most of these men since grade school, and he wasn't alone. But Mr. Treher believes these Depression kids retain a special bond because in their childhood "all we had was the games we played with one another."

Jerry Brandy, 81, of Ingram, was only half-joking when he said, "It feels good to get together and, I guess, see who's still alive."

When the meal was over, everyone assembled in the parking lot for a quick picture before they drove their separate ways. Somebody yelled, "Everybody with gray hair stand in the back."

Sam Palombini and Tom Parrish, both 79 and both still in the old neighborhood, told each other as they departed, as they must have so many times before, "I'll see you in church."

(Mr. Mercolini's daughter, Michele Janosko, who was in one of the last classes to graduate from Holy Innocents High before it closed in 1973, is handling the June 6 walk-through. Call 412-279-4275 for details.)