What Is It About High School?
Maybe it is because high school coincides with adolescence. Maybe it is because high school is the passageway into adult life. But there is no question that we are drawn like moths to the flame where high school is concerned. I have met many adults whose major motivation in life to is live down high school. Revenge is an oft-repeated theme in the popular genre of movies about high school. The dumb kid bests the smart kid. Poor kids humiliate snobs. Jocks are defeated by geeks. But no matter how you remember high school, it boils down to struggles of the underdog. And of course, we always cast ourselves in that role.
Most of us who graduated high school in 1966 have recently parented high school age kids. How was it? Was it just me, or was it particularly painful to have to watch our kids act out the same pantomimes, often in a different role than we ourselves played? Granted, my daughters lived in such a different world that comparisons were hard to come by. You will just have to take my word for it that the problems of kids in Summit, NJ, were more serious and less serious, all at the same time, than the culture of Northside High School, circa 1966. But some things were the same. It hurt like crazy to watch my daughters struggle with unfair outcomes, nasty put-downs, bad hair days, disloyal friends. To see them almost but not quite win, to deal with mean coaches and bitter teachers, brought it all back, whatever “it” is. But I must be honest and say that, for all the advantages my kids have, they don’t have anything like the memories I have.
First I need to establish that we moved to Ft. Smith when I was in the last few weeks of 9th grade, from a small country town in southern Arkansas. That was a terrible trauma, as you might imagine. So if you don’t remember me, that’s probably why. Then, right after high school my folks moved to Springdale, so I never really came back to Ft. Smith. I was very grateful to spend 3 years in one school, and probably felt tremendous fondness for Northside High School for that reason.
I think we had some great teachers in high school. Our bow-tie wearing Mr. Farnsworth had to be the ideal principal. Remember his morning devotionals? The day started with that little dinging bell, and then Gayle playing the organ, followed by Mr. Farnsworth’s words of wisdom. Given the state of the world today, isn’t it amazing that such things were allowed in public schools? Who remembers dissecting fetal pigs in Mr. Blair’s biology class? Remember his stories about being a prisoner of war in the Pacific in WWII? And his description of tests as “a chance for us to show him what we had learned?” I seem to recall that he drove an enormous, old pink Cadillac with children hanging out of every window. That dear, dear man was here for our 30h reunion. He said he remembered me, but I didn’t believe him. Mr. Blair told me that I had a talent for writing about science. I never became a science writer, but at one point I did write proposals for health care agencies, and I think that was close. The important thing was that he encouraged me. I only hope my children have had at least one encouraging, endearing teacher.
Then I recall our English teacher in senior year. I don’t remember his name, but I remember sitting behind Eddie Grober. (Remember all those deep discussions we had, Eddie?) This teacher made us feel so grown up. He would say that he didn’t take roll and didn’t care if we cut class because we were soon to go to college, where it was up to us to attend class. He refused to treat us like children. In my eyes he was the epitome of sophistication. His artsy, literary discussion of novels were heaven. I have to be entirely honest here and reveal that, often, before the first class of the day, I would stop off by the water fountain to pop a No-Doz because I typically talked on my pink princess phone late into the night, often to you, Jim Hawkins! But, given the drugs kids take today, hey, it’s about the same as starting the day with a grande latte from Starbuck’s,
Any discussion of teachers at Northside High would not be complete without the Evans/Grigsby honors history/English team. Weren’t they “Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean?” I can still see Mrs. Grigsby with that circle pin in which to hang her spectacles. And there is no question that that grammar she taught us was the last time, and the best time, we all received instruction in the basics of English grammar. I probably remember things they taught me at least once a week. They were the best. The best. (Obviously I have chosen to ignore the prohibition of sentence fragments. Sorry Mrs. Grigsby.)
Now for the random memories. I am going to mention things I recall, and you let me know if your recollection matches mine. When we were Juniors, the graduating Senior class was huge. Am I right? That was the last class before Ft. Smith high school students were divided between two schools. That class had a lot of very bright and accomplished kids. There was a girl who was in all the plays. I think her name was Candace or something like that. One day in a last period study hall she supposedly hypnotized herself. She was sitting in a desk, frozen, or so it appeared. We were all crowding around the outside windows and the hall doors trying to get a look while the ambulance arrived to take her away. I apologize if she is here tonight but come on. How could anyone hypnotize herself to that degree? I think she was the original drama queen.
Speaking of drama queens, I recall being pretty dramatic myself at the end of senior year. We were supposed to have a luncheon and fashion show to benefit the class. I remember doing a lot of preliminary research, visiting some Ft. Smith historic house to scout out a location and get estimates. It was the end of senior year and no one cared but me. One day I became so frustrated that no one would help with the plans that I marched into the class council room and wrote on the board in bold chalk letters: “FASHION SHOW CANCELLED.” Did I dream that, or did it really happen?
I have some personal memories that are bitter sweet. Our choral director, Edna Earle Massey, she of the big hair and even bigger rhinestoned cat-eye glasses, cursed me for choosing to be class representative for basketball homecoming queen over being a member of the All State Chorus in Little Rock by yelling: “You will always be sorry you didn’t go to All State Chorus!” I have to say, Edna Earle, that I have never been sorry I didn’t go. My memory is that I suggested our class motto, “We are the class nobody licks; we are the class of ’66”, on a bus trip somewhere in 10th grade. Just imagine the snickers that set off. Maybe I am wrong. But that’s my memory. I recall sitting on the side of a mountain near Mt. Gaylor singing at the top of my voice, “Climb, every mountain, ford every stream. Follow every rainbow, till you find your dream.” I remember thinking I had to be the friendliest person who ever lived and speak to each and every soul I passed in the hall. I started every day sick to my stomach from the pressure of being Miss Cheerful. In college that friendly training came in handy. As a sorority pledge I was told that I could amass all my required pledge points by entering the Arkansas Poultry Princess Pageant. You cannot imagine the mileage I have gotten out of this story, what with living in the northeast all these years. Chicken queen? Hard to believe, I know. As I had to work two jobs to put myself through college and had no free time, I needed some way to get those pledge points. So I starved myself for a month, slipped on my heels and my swimsuit and off I went. Boy, was I in over my head. Some of those girls were absolute pros at that beauty contest thing. I like to say I won Miss Congeniality because I was the only one no one was jealous of. But I digress.
There are so many other memories, some too personal, some too painful to recount here. But here are some other random things. Remember the chain reaction, multiple car crash on a dirt road on the way to a class party at our class advisor’s farm in Oklahoma? Remember double dates at the drive in? Remember guys reeking of English Leather? Remember summer nights? Remember laughing hard, at silly things? Remember the Beatles? Remember wanting to do something great to change the world? Remember the class floats at Homecoming and particularly the Trojan Horse with the Grizzly Bear inside? Remember the sweet dances in the cafeteria? Remember reading Catcher in the Rye? Remember sneaking out in cars to smoke during lunch hour and then coming back too nauseous for geometry? But the thing that my daughters cannot get over is that WE TOOK THE SAT IN THE CAFETERIA WITH OUR #2 PENCILS AND NO TEST PREP COURSES WHATEVER. I don’t even remember being told in advance that we were taking SATs, let alone spending years in anxious dread. In addition, I was thrilled, pleased as punch, to attend the University of Arkansas for an annual tuition of maybe $200. Considering that my daughter’s tuition at the University of Richmond for one year is more than twice what my father made in 1966, that is pretty incredible. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. But whatever it was, it was very special. All we really want from gatherings like this is to make peace with who we were, what we did, and where we are today. So many of you hold special places in my memory, in my life. You know who you are.
My daughter says, “Mom, you have such good stories. We don’t have any stories. Some day we’ll tell our children that we wanted something, we got in our cars, we drove to the mall, and bought it.” My Julia was relieved to have someone die in the ambulance when she was a junior rescue squad volunteer so she would have a subject for her college essay. I’m only half-kidding. But they are right. I do have good stories. I had good times at Northside High.
Love to you all,
Marilyn (Dees) Schuster