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CLASS HISTORY
Short, starched dresses, expanses of smocking, wide bows—all these could be seen on the little girls who romped about in the sunny kindergarten room. Among the children were three little blonds, Dayrell, Carol, and Margie. After absorbing all the delights of The Three Bears, reading and writing, addition and subtraction, one morning we entered the Third Grade. Sitting in one of the miniature chairs was a little girl with long, dark braids—Anne Fezandie. The next year Fiz spent in New York on sabbatical leave. That year Sparkie, our rosy-cheeked cherub, joined us. Our year was also highlighted by a Greek Festival in which we played everything from horses in Olympic Games to evil spirits from Pandora’s box. We found Mary Dernier in Sixth Grade, where we were confronted by the bewildering prospect of new teachers, new subjects, and a new build
ing. Seventh Grade passed swiftly by and ended with a lovely "Little Commencement," with fluffy white dresses and flowers.
The Academic was new to us as Fs, but even newer and stranger to blue-eyed and beautiful Jane, to good-humored Phyllis, to Audrey-always-on-the-job, to brainy Ginny, and to Beverly, our official bearer of all bracelets. That year we, of all people, received the cut for being good. Evidently we were just scared into good behavior, for never again were we even considered for the honor. The years progressed; our hair got longer; our lips got redder; our dresses shorter; our studies harder. Then, suddenly, we found our
selves Juniors at Oakwood, amidst broad expanses of green lawn and with Miss Hurrey as our new principal. A whole bevy of new faces met us—Emy Del, Patty, Joanie, Shorty, Betsy, and Aileen. We wonder how we managed without them for so long! Barbie’s and Betty’s arrivals this fall completed our class, and, quite stunned, we find ourselves Seniors —perhaps wiser than before but, despite the faculty’s efforts, no more dignified. We’ve all had wonderful times this year, with going to our unique senior parties, trying to run things, and being constantly surprised at being seniors—those girls whom we always
used to look up to— but now, who looks up to us ?
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