Memory Snapshots Beyond the Treasure Chest

John R. Rogers

You will laugh, but I remember that Vicky Stempel always wore the prettiest wool skirts and sweaters.  The Girls League office had a radiator that went across the end of the room under the window. I was able to tuck my bottom in the corner and lay over the end of it when I had cramps. "The Pirate" hangout across the street had the best hamburgers ever ... now and then, and a jukebox with Elvis.  My homeroom was Mrs. Church's on the first floor east. My locker was on the third floor west. I detested Mr. Thompson (algebra), but loved Mr. Sabo's class.

My home life was not the greatest, so high school was a haven. I never missed a day if I could help it. I didn’t realize how poor we were until I got to high school and never had a sweater like the other girls. The only sweater I had in high school was that one the art teacher painted on my yearbook picture. It was the only picture I had, but when cropped for the yearbook, it would have made me look naked. I never had baby doll shoes, or got to join in any after-school sports or clubs, or so forth.  We just didn't have the money for such things.

I remember the starch we used in our petticoats and how it would snag my nylons.  I remember the girl (sorry, her name escapes me) in a wheelchair, and how all she had to do was wait at the top or bottom of the stairs and there were always two young strong boys to pick her up, chair and all, and up or down the stairs she went. To this day “handicapped” means “compassion and acceptance” to me.

Wow! Talk about a flood of strange memories! Thinking about them makes me realize that some of those things helped shape my thinking through life. I learned to sew so my girls would always have "what the other girls were wearing". I learned to reupholster, refinish, tile, paint, quilt, and build, so I could have nice things I didn't have as a youngster. My flower gardens are a joy to me. Last year I learned how to take cuttings from heritage roses and root them for my rose garden. I couldn't go to college, but I discovered I was bright and quick to learn.

I am now an accountant through on the job training, and it make sense to me. I made sure all my children had the chance to go on to school.

- Charlene Scott (nicknamed Charly)

At my inauguration into Rogers track my freshman year, like all newbies, the sprints seemed easiest to run. So, my first meet the coach allowed me to enter the 100 yard dash.

To the finish line, all excited at my debut about to take place, probably dreaming of possible glory. When the starter commanded to take our marks, I pulled down my sweatpants and noticed that I had forgotten, apparently in my excited haste, to put my running shorts on underneath. There I stood, abashed, in front of God and country, the starter, fellow athletes and who knows how many motorists driving by on Wellesley seeing the bare-butted skinny kid at the starting line wearing only a jockstrap. How clearly I can still hear the words of the coach, who was standing nearby: "Only a freshman ...." That elicited laughs from the group of athletes in the crowd.

I quickly pulled up my sweats, ran more than a 100 yards back to the locker room, quickly put on my running shorts, and ran back to the track, foolishly thinking...I don't know what ... that the starter would hold up the start of the race for me to return? That there might be another heat? That it was only a dream and I would wake up and all would be well?

It was the end of my days as a sprinter. The coach moved me to the distant
race, the 660. Nice move, coach.

- Wyatt Newman

I guess today's young ladies can call boys and even ask them out. Not so in the fifties. The one exception was the Sadie Hawkins Dance.

Coming- of- age alert! I'm inserting a memory tape.

It's my senior year. Being a geek, I hang out at Mr. Carroll's chemistry lab before school (Later in the year I will scramble the fire department using chemicals -- on another tape).  This morning he tells me, "Eddie, a young lady wants to ask you to the Sadie Hawkins Dance."

"Thanks for the warning, Mr. Carroll." He doesn't intend it as a warning. He's trying to grease the skids for a young lady to carry out a task that risks rejection from the opposite sex. I have a notion of who she is because there are  not many girls that hang around chem labs.  This is a young lady of substance from the class of '61. I'm not talking about wealth. Alas, my taste in females tends toward fluff over substance at this time.

"Flee! Hide!  Run! Get away! Do whatever it takes," I think to myself. I bolt for the chemical storage room.

Rats! It's a box canyon! What military genius! "Moron, you're trapped!"

Seconds pass that seem like minutes. I hear a shaky voice behind me say, "Eddie?" I pretend to study the fine print on a mercury bottle (I'll bet you won't find that in schools today). I slowly turn around.

"Y-yes?"

"Would you ... go to the ... Sadie Hawkins Dance with me?

She looks like Dan Quayl caught in headlights (Sorry. Worn tape. He isn't invented yet. She resembles a sweet little doe, okay?). I, too, feel a bit disoriented.

I hear myself mumble a quiet monotone "Sure" (If I had turned her down, I couldn't look in a mirror today, get the picture?).

We exit the back room, Mr. Carroll smiles ... at her ... not me. She smiles back. Tracked, wrapped, trapped, strapped, and delivered; same-day delivery, no signature required.

To get through this thing, I borrow a car from my mother's boyfriend (subject of a separate tape). The actual dance, and even picking the lady up, is a fuzzy picture. She's probably having a lousy evening because I'm only going through the motions. I take her to the Bend Restaurant after the dance, She orders cocoa (as opposed to hot chocolate). I find this kind of cute and begin to perk up. I begin get to know her  more, and find her to be interesting. As we talk, Norm Cooper shows up at the Bend with his date. The picture blurs again.

The tape fast-forwards ten years. I think, "Dummy!"  I should have been flattered to take that bright young lady to a dance. She was not a Hollywood starlet (thankfully). Instead, she was attractive, smart, and a credit to Rogers. I can't say for certain what I was, beyond a stupid skinny little geek.

The tape rewinds and ejects.

I recently read a posting on classmates.com from the lady's older sister. As I read, I thought perhaps this could be an avenue to reminisce and apologize to my Sadie Hawkins date about that night. Of course not. Things don't work that way. Instead, I missed the window by 20 years.

The posting said that my Sadie Hawkins  date had died in a car wreck in the 80's.  I felt a sense of loss, even though I never knew the young lady well. It happened in Madison, Wisconsin, a university town. It seemed to fit that she was at that place.

- Ed Mauget