Adolescence is a terrible time. Hormones, acne, algebra, dating, good intentions, bad decisions, impulsive behavior … why would anyone want to revisit it in adulthood?
Hmm. Well, because we would not be who we are without having experienced that crucible of maturation. When we reflect on our past, we pay homage to the roots of our journey. It’s an act of gratitude, not judgment.
The scholar Joseph Campbell said, “Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived. Follow the path that is no path, follow your bliss!” Experience and observation teaches us that there are many ways to go wrong in life. High school serves as a bridge from childhood to adulthood. Its guardrails exist to keep teenagers moving forward.
I was not among The Class of ’64 leaders. I didn’t participate in student government. I was not an athletic star. Stage performance and music were activities best left to those with artistic talent. I belonged to that invisible portion of our student body: the under achievers, the introverts, and the late bloomers. I was a dreamer, not a doer.
My dating history was abysmal. As a junior, I was 5’3″ tall. Most of the girls loomed above me. I hung out. I played poker with my buddies. We smoked cigarettes. We pretended to be cool. I learned to drive. I showed off. I indulged in mischief. Sometimes, alcohol was involved. Sigh … 🙄 Just an ordinary kid, immature, self conscious, and uncomfortable in body and mind. But, I survived.
The teachers from high school played a role in this. They encouraged us. They helped us believe in ourselves. While we tuned them out with one ear, we listened with the other. They forgave our bad behavior. They guided us with routines, which helped us inch forward, into the wonders of Campbell’s mystery.
Some were better than others. My favorites were Miss Borra in Italian, Mr. Longwell in Social Studies, and Mr. Schroeder from Geometry and coaching basketball. Teaching is a noble profession. In our culture, it is under appreciated. Yet, these men and women dedicated their working lives to our welfare. They did a good job.
High school in the 60s was a safe environment. But, we were oblivious to our good fortune. Sadly, the sanctity of that safety has deteriorated since 1964. In 2024 alone, as I write this, there have been 46 school shootings in the United States. Active shooter drills are now part of the curriculum.
Yes, we were lucky. Though, we too, lost our innocence when President Kennedy was assassinated in November of ’63. We would graduate beneath that cloud and emerge from the coziness of high school into our generation’s war in Vietnam. We had a lot of growing up still to do.
Some memories:
Mr. Southard taught typing and dictionary skills. I learned from him about Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations.
Mr. Schroeder showed me the logical beauty of Geometry.
Chuck Oliveira and I gave a presentation, as sophomores, on the Telstar communication satellite. How predictive a project given the array of current communications.
After JFK’s death, Mr. Longwell spoke to our class. He made us feel we were peers, worthy of respect. As a history teacher, he understood we would inherit the consequences of this violence.
MB, a year behind us, was my girlfriend. I remember her smile, her cat eye glasses, and that she introduced me to the music of Bob Dylan.
Finally, this reminiscence is dedicated to Dan Crowe. Memoir, I’ve said elsewhere, is like a trapdoor: once you trigger the mechanism you don’t know who or what will be waiting at the bottom when you land. For me, it was Danny. He was a good friend, a neighbor to Chuck and I. He had charisma. He was smart, handsome, and athletic. A tragic event ended his life before he had the opportunity to pursue his dreams.
Danny’s journey was short, but I remember him.
*******
It’s now 60 years hence from graduation. We have lived long and full lives. We married, or not. Many of us had children. They made us proud, they challenged us.
We’ve been left behind in some things. Cryptocurrency anyone? AI? We’ve succeeded, failed, and adapted. We atoned for mistakes, then, made some more. We forgave others their mistakes. We forgave, I hope, our own. When we were down, we seem to have got up. Some of us may carry unresolved baggage. Perhaps, there remains time to unpack it.
I never had a plan. Life just happened. I inadvertantly followed Campbell’s advice. My bliss was to live in the mountains. And so, I did. I am the same “B” student of no distinction that I was in high school. I’m still blooming and still dreaming about doing things.
Whatever, here I am, reminiscing about adolescence for a reunion I can’t attend. What’s to be said? None of us makes sense without each other. We shared the same milieu. We bear witness to our varied journeys. There may be doubts about where we are going from here. But, there is no doubt where we came from. And, it was a good place.
Thank you for reading.
John Smith
The Class of ’64
Good Blood, Bad Blood 