I graduated from high school 60 years ago. It seems like only…60 years ago.
I’ve been thinking about my old alma mater since I read about a grand homecoming reunion celebrating the classes of 1964 through 2024. For reasons I can’t fathom, the classes of 1962 and 1963, the first two classes at the school, were not mentioned. Are they so long ago that they have been forgotten? Did the organizers think all the classmates have departed or are just too decrepit to attend? Maybe “62 to 24” didn’t have that special promotional ring. Who knows?
Much has happened since 1964, so I thought I’d dust off the old yearbook and see what I have forgotten. The first thing I noticed was that it was all in black and white. I know from my teaching days that yearbooks today are, like life, in full color. Some schools even have elaborately produced videos. Next, I noticed that everybody looked young, even the teachers.
There were the prerequisite handwritten notes scribbled over each kid’s picture. “Have a happy future.” “Best of luck always.” “Keep in touch in the future.” One classmate wrote, “You’re a good guy I wished I’d got to know you better.” No, he didn’t and how’d he know I was a good guy? We barely knew each other.
One girl I did know who knew I was going to art college, wrote “Beware of the beatniks.” When you are older than hippies, you know you’re old. Very depressing. I considered ending this journey back in time, but I soldiered on.
My friend Wayne wrote, “May we always be friends.” We were until sadly he passed away, as have many of my classmates. Another facet of age you don’t think about when you are 18 years old.
Sandra wrote, “…to a cute guy….” She must have mistaken me for someone else. Another penned, “It’s been fun knowing you.” Not for me, I couldn’t stand that person. It is interesting how kids lie. I’ll have to go back and check how many became politicians.
All yearbooks have advertisements, which help pay for the printing. Many businesses were owned by graduates’ parents. There were 44 advertisers in my yearbook. Eight are still in business.
Tucked inside the back cover of my yearbook was a copy of the class “Prophecy,” a mimeographed sheet in the form of a letter to a newspaper editor. It was written by “Scoop,” an enterprising reporter assigned to report on the Olympics to be held at our high school field, a clever way to predict what classmates would become in this fantasy future.
Scoop was somewhat of a sexist, (You know who you are, Scoop.) often referencing “chicks,” a receptionist’s “nice legs,” “a bevy of delectable beauty” contestants, a “very sexy cigarette girl,” and two hat-check girls described as “babes.” Boy, have times changed. You can’t get a way with that today.
Scoop’s predictions were often quite accurate. He predicted Stephanie G. would run a beauty salon. Well, almost. She became the personal hairdresser to the Kennedy clan. How about that! Bob M. was predicted to own a funeral home. I’m told he did become a mortician but later changed careers to work in the landfill and recycling management business. (Don’t even think it.)
We even had a “Class Will.” I guess we did think about getting old.
Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and happily retired writer. His newspaper columns appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
Thoughts on…
By Dick Morgado