This is the time when, each year, the annual newsletter for my high school class has gone out to all remaining classmates. I say “remaining” because what was once nearly 100 of us has, over the years, become barely thirty. We are, after all, in our early 90’s now – bur we still stay in touch. The newsletter always triggers memories and we reminiscence about past reunions as well as our high school days. One particular reunion – the one celebrating fifty years – was particularly memorable. But first, let me tell you about who we were.
Kindergarten was a fairly new and voluntary concept in our community when it was our turn. We were required to be five years old by November first in order to be enrolled that fall. Preschool was unheard of and we attended half-day classes, learning to listen quietly, follow instructions, take part in group activities, name colors, count to 100, print our names, be kind to others and take naps on demand. First grade brought simple arithmetic, beginning reading, workbooks and an awareness that our abilities were being judged and assigned grades from A to D or the shameful F. By the time we were ready to advance past fifth grade and enter the three-year junior high school, we were well-versed in the requirements of rules, routines, responsibility and whatever else was expected from us.
We were patriotic and idealistic, believing that America was good and right and that Ellis Island would always welcome the weary, the poor, the “huddled masses longing to breathe free” with open arms. During WWII, we bought savings stamps at school, brought dimes and nickels for the March of Dimes and the Red Cross. We had writing tablets with pictures of General Eisenhower and Jimmy Doolittle on the cover and practiced the Palmer Method of penmanship with wooden pens with replaceable tips that had to be dipped into the bottle of ink after every few words. We were proud of gold stars pasted on a chart for perfect math papers and Friday spelling tests. And we held our breath on the last day of school, anxious to see if we had been passed on to the next grade.
We all had new “best friends” by the second week of school each year and wrote silly rhymes in each other’s autograph books – and later in those cherished high school yearbooks that everybody called “annuals” without thinking of the actual meaning of the word. We had nicknames and private jokes that we thought nobody else understood.
In junior high, we learned geography, Iowa history, the parts of speech and couldn’t wait to get to high school and discover the mysteries of algebra. We were introduced to the concept of different teachers for different subjects. We had “home-room” teachers who kept the confusion under control and helped us adjust to the new routines. We were encouraged to take part in extracurricular activities like skits and short plays, special interest clubs, committees to accomplish specific tasks and try out for sports teams. We attended our first pregame pep rallies and took part in assembly programs where we could recite poems, sing or play musical instruments.
Among other shortages, the war had brought about a change in the availability of qualified teachers. Some were old-fashioned, called out of retirement; others were under-qualified but eager to do their part to fill the hopeless gap. A few (and we were fortunate to receive their benefit) were inspired, natural-born teachers who awakened new curiosities, showed us new possibilities and earned our respect for them as well as for the privilege of learning.
At the end of each quarter, honor students got to skip school for a day without being “absent.” This was called “exemption day” and we stayed home, wishing we were in school, especially after we came to realize that there had been a movie or special assembly program while we were gone.
High school would be very different, with new students from the eight-grade rural schools added to our numbers, new challenges and new responsibilities. More about that next week.