New Year's Eve (Photo Version)

My father had my photos thrown away when I was in the Cukoo's Nest. They were sitting there in a Moishe's storage room in Queens. It wasn't deliberate. But the photos I took for that photo album I knew could never be recreated.
The party was at Vicky Rappoport's New Year's Eve party in the mid-1980s. I knew I would probably never or hardly ever see any of these people. I was either a freshman or sophomore in college.
I have to describe what I remember, or else the memories will fade.
Here's the photo album, in words.

John Huddle, in his father's living room on Rittenhouse. Huddle is eating a fudge popsicle (hey, no wise comments on that).
Robin Kreisberg, looking quizzically at a bottle of the cheap champagne he had just bought outside Circle Liquor in Chevy Chase DC.
Scott Wilkerson laughing, in a car going to the party, with a Milwaukee's Best can next to his face.
A crowd shot in Vicky's kitchen, with too many guys and not enough girls. Scott McLeod is looking at the camera, with his hair tinted a Sting-like blond. Some of the heads in the photo are black, so at least it was an integrated gig.
Jeff "Swaz" Dlemini in a blue and black sweater, with a boxy haircut that makes him look authentically African.
The other identifiable black guy, Martin Yancey, in a pink polo shirt, in a different shot. I think Kenny Kiron, looking hirsute, was in this shot too. If not, he was in another shot.
Joe Flint, with his face buried in a transparent beer cup. He is wearing a black Ramones-style jacket. His hair is wanna-be orange on top, not quite there.
Another crowd shot in the kitchen, this one with Keith Campbell in it, but just Huddle otherwise identifiable.

In retrospect, what was remarkable in the photos was a lack of girls. Now I know they were there, but my prejudices came through. I wanted shots of the Brewski Brothers in action.
It's like my brother (older) said. "Those guys don't like girls." Not meaning sexually, but that the Brothership admitted no females. Jesus, it was the Hoog who poured a beer over my head to christen me.

But like I said, I knew. This group would never be together all as one as in a long time, probably never.
Driving down to Tulane for Sophomore year with a college friend to go to the beginning of the semester, me and my college buddy Anthony Rotelli stopped in DC for a party before leaving again.
After the party was over, I asked him how he liked my friends. "How could anybody not like those guys?" he said. Kreisberg would be proud.