New Year

Junior adios

1955 and I’m comin’ alive. Let it snow, let it blow, I’m getting my driver’s license as soon after January 15th as my little legs will get me to the door of the DMV! I’m a MAN! Well, sort of, at least I can get a real date now – since the first question a prospect asks is “Do you have a car?” Even terminal acne doesn’t prevent me from getting dates now. The gym magically transforms into a magnificent ballroom for the school dances. Colored crepe paper strung from rafter to rafter is the main decoration. Unlucky teachers are drafted to chaperone these jolly affairs. Testosterone, estrogen, pheromones and all kinds of moans permeate the area as puberty is in full blossom. Some of the hornier boys think they should wear their athletic supporters lest unwanted (at the moment) evidence of their lust appear while they are dancing closely with the object of their desire.
Couples who thought they had found “the one” would exchange “friendship” rings and then would be “going steady.” Very few of these lasted through a whole school year.
Cars brought new opportunities for privacy desired by the dating pairs. If you had a spare buck or two you could take your date to the drive-in movie, otherwise known as the “passion pit.” A fifteen minute drive would get you to the parking area of Liberty dam, jam packed in the evening with cars whose windows were covered with steam.
All this driving about was not without cost of course. The rich kids would pull into the service (yes, service, remember this is the ‘50s) station as say “fill-er-up.” Gas was about twenty cents a gallon. When I was flush I could request “two dollar’s worth” otherwise a dollar had to do. The Packard was also very thirsty for oil, using about a quart every couple hundred miles.
Drag racing on the street in front of the school was stupid, dangerous and common.
None the less, the Packard was KING, much to the dismay of assorted hopped-up ’49 Fords and Chevys. Taking off with a 10 foot patch of rubber behind, the Packard would hit 45 MPH in first gear, wham bam, 2nd gear and another patch of rubber and then at 70, unbelievably, third gear left behind another patch. Passengers in the other cars were yelling to their driver “Step on it!” - “I am!” as the black beauty left them in the dust. I later found out that the transmission was the reason for the amazing performance and was much sought after by professional drag racers.
The social highlight of the year was the “Junior Prom”, open only to the Junior class and their dates. Some of the less popular kids resorted to getting cousins or other relatives as “dates” or just stayed home. Once again, the gym was adorned.
I believe we got our class rings sometime during the year but had to wear them backwards until the end of the year when there was a brief ceremony and the rings were turned around signifying that we were now the upper class to be.
Then our last summer vacation from school began…