Yesterday, I saw one of my former classmates at Windham High School. He asked where I had been at Alumni Banquet – he and two others from the class of 1955 attended. There aren’t many of us left, for sure.

By today’s standards, we were a small class – but then, Windham was small in number, too. The town population was about 3,500 and about 50 of them were in my class, as we settled into our “home room,”,the study hall at Windham High School.

We didn’t have lockers or backpacks – we had desks with chairs affixed, and the whole unit bolted to the wooden floor. The desks didn’t lock. All our books and paraphernalia went into the desk. We had no expectation of privacy, and the thought, in fact, never occurred to us. Lockers were in the shower room, and were used, as I recall, only by athletic team members.

So, in the fall of 1951, we took our seats, wondering what this would be like. We didn’t have a lot of choice of subjects, rather, we chose a course (General, Commercial, College) and classes were assigned for that course. As freshmen, we went through Freshman Reception, “hosted” by the seniors before which we all suffered some minor humiliation – carrying their books, wearing foolish clothes and so forth. I’m sure today that would be called bullying or harassment, but we took it in stride.

At a dance at the high school called Freshman Reception, we were performers of various skits and all that carried us through was the thought that one day we would be seniors and get to do the same thing!

Some of us didn’t become seniors, though. Over the years, some dropped out of school to go to work, not always by choice. Some went in the military (not to forget Korea) and a number of students quit school and got married. A few moved away.

About this time of year, 60 years ago, we were more than ready to get out and be on our own. We were going to work and “live our own life.” Financial aid and/or scholarships were nearly nonexistent. There was no such thing as a Pell Grant or such. A handful of graduates went to either two- or four-year schools after graduation.

We spent the last few weeks before the June 10 graduation, practicing marching, singing our class song and waiting for the yearbooks to arrive.

In my case, I was in a state of near shock, as I had to write and give a speech – my salutatorian address, which today is a total loss – I have no idea what it was about. I know only that our English teacher, Miss Browning, and my mother, heard it enough times to probably repeat it.

In my first-ever pair of nylon stockings and high (well, almost) heeled shoes, and a maroon cap and gown, I joined my classmates (about two dozen) on the stage at today’s town hall, and before I knew it, it was over.

Thus ended a dozen years seeing all of these people, nearly every day for nine months of each year. Squabbling on the school bus, competing in the schools, on the playground, yelling at basketball games, and class events – all was ended.

Sixty years is a long time. We’ve been through a few more wars and lost some of our classmates along the way, but we don’t care anymore whether we get our essay written, whether our clothes are as good as someone else’s, or if we make the team. The important thing is, we’ve made it this far.