Hats Off! Musings of being a Pirate
May, 2001
By Wyatt Newman
That Special Spring. The Spring
of May, 1960.
There may be other special springs in one's life, such as a June
Wedding, the graduation of one's child, entering the military or any
number of momentous events. But one Spring is always memorable
to anyone who graduates from high school. The end of the
security that school provides. The final end to what has been
twelve or even thirteen year ritual of waiting to burst out the
school doors into the freedom of summer. The senior year is it. You're
on your own, kid. You won't be doing this again, coming back in
September. So the senior year of high school is marked with special
events, special memories, joined with maybe special hopes and
special fears. Planning on going to college? Maybe going into the Army
or Navy? Perhaps marriage awaits. Getting a job that will go
beyond just a summer thing. Something will show up. Whatever
"Let's have a fling or two. This is our senior year! We're
graduating. Let's celebrate!" So went the whooping that
special spring 41 years ago.
Academically, school started to wind down. It seemed like informal
classroom conversations increased. Teachers generally let up,
knowing to demand too much would be somewhat daunting. The
grades were probably already determined for the most part, so the
Alfred E. Neuman philosophy, from that goofing-looking kid most
of us grew up with, seemed to fit.
Oh, there were still some important things to really concern ourselves
with. Those in athletics had district or state meets/games to
possibly prepare for, or at least finish up with a good season.
This would be the last, after all. For a few others, there was
the Lilac princess competition. For whatever special interest,
this would be "our finest hour."
For most, it was prom time. Going or not going? Who with? What to
wear? Prom time is more, much more than the dance itself. It's
an entire weekend of ordering, selecting, planning, organizing,
dreaming, worrying or even disappointment. Looking back, each person
will have his or her own memories ... either a time to never
forget or a time to withdraw from the memory bank.
The signing of the yearbook, the beloved Treasure Chest. This, of all
things of high school memories, is the most enduring. It has the
photos of people and events and the written words of classmates
and friends, both forgettable and unforgettable. When the
yearbook came out, passing it around the classrooms on all three
floors was the only school business being conducted. For once in
a hungry teen's life, signing the purple book was more important
at lunch than eating. A lot of people we met in our journey through
Rogers gave us memories, but give credit to those who put the
yearbook together for giving us the biggest collection of all of
them. At that time, most hardly knew who they were. Working out
of sight, doing who really knew what. Taken for granted,
probably. But, by jiminy, what would we have but aging, fading
memories in mind without the Treasure Chest.
Springtime in Spokane. Goodbye snow and brown grass. Hello sun and
greenery. Springtime at Rogers. Goodbye to ... well ...
whomever. Hello to ... you now really know.
- Wyatt
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