The classes I took during my Senior year continued in the classical, college-bound tradition. I had a newly assigned homeroom, the place where the day began and ended, where announcements were received over the intercom system to inform us about the day’s schedule of events.
Trigonometry represented the mathematical offering for the Senior year, as interpreted by dear, cranky Miss Galster. Actually, she did mellow during the year; I finally received an “A.” This was, after all, to be her final year of teaching.
Miss Evans continued to have us translate Virgil’s Aeneid and learn about Roman culture. My ponies were still greatly welcomed by others in the class.
Mr. Lamb taught Physics and I managed to become his star pupil. The class, except for Scott, saw no problem in my grading the quizzes he popped and helping them understand the correct answers.
A new class was “Driving,” with Mr. Davis as the instructor. Strangely, there were only three boys and about thirty girls in the class. Apparently, boys learned earlier from their fathers. For me, it was a case of “hope-for-the-distant-future,” since my father did not own a car and there was no likelihood he would ever buy one.
Public Speaking, the substitute for English, was again led by Mr. Bond who placed me on the varsity-team of four for weekend competition in interscholastic debates. For extra credit, I gave not only the morning student announcements on the school-wide intercom system, but also, the play-by-play summaries at home football games. That too was fun, even when the on-off button didn’t work on the microphone and a handkerchief was used to block, one hoped, the lively comments of Dick Rader, the fellow-student who served as spotter and relayed to me what was happening on the field. If he could have been heard, his color-commentary would have proven to be highly interesting but un-broadcastable.
From time to time there were special assemblies. One I mentioned in my diary entry for October 16, 1952, was with a Lieutenant from the Naval Reserve in Warren: “He pointed out the advantages of signing up with the Reserve. It might be a good deal, but not for me. I intend on waiting until they draft me and hope I don’t come out too bad. I have to serve at some time or another. Hell, is life worth anything in this day and age? You work in school and college to get an education. Then you go out on the battlefield and get killed. Why spend all that time studying? Why do we have wars anyway? Why can’t we live in peace? Someday I’ll see to it that we do. The adults of today and yesterday made a mess out of everything. It looks as if it’s up to us to straighten it out. That is, if we are still alive about twenty years from now. Anyway I hardly think we can make a worse mess of it.”
Feelings really don’t change, do they? Adolescents wanted to change the world, but we failed, as have the many generations before us, and, no doubt, as will all those who will come forth in this third millennium.
At least we didn’t have to be fearful of high school shootings.