We were instructed on how to reach the latrine, or bathroom. Go out the door at the end of the room, walk down the covered catwalk, and enter the next building, which contained commodes and showers. Contained therein were facilities for doing laundry and some electric irons which were quite wisely held safe from pilfering by being clipped onto chains. For me the opportunity to visit the latrine came none too soon. I had been in a state of panic for almost the whole time we had been there, and I availed myself of the opportunity with all haste. Most of the other women in the group hurried down the catwalk with me, as well, all shyness and modesty forgotten in our need.
We had no time to look around, because at that moment the sound of a shrill whistle split the air, and we heard the now-familiar yell of “Form up in twos!” and we ran back up the catwalk and did as directed. Once again, we were checked off on the sergeant’s ever-present clipboard, and once again we cried out “Here,” to signify our presence. There were about thirty lined up in a ragged row. I was beginning to be hungry, and wondered if we were going to be marched off to the mess hall. Army food is reputed to be universally unappetizing and I hoped I would be able to eat it. I glanced down the room to where a large round clock hung on the wall. To my surprise it was only 10:55 and we were obviously not going to eat anytime soon. Where were we going then?
Of course, in due time, we found out. Down we went to the supply warehouse and were measured and fitted out with our summer uniforms. If memory serves me correctly, we were given every item we needed to clothe our bodies, from top to bottom. Khaki girdles, khaki underwear, everything was army issue and we bade goodbye to our feminine civilian wear. Where it went I will never know, but we saw it no more. We went back to the barracks and put on our outfits, and practiced tying our ties. We were in the army and might as well get used to it.
Fort Oglethorpe was a sprawling old army post, destined to close down when the war ended. It was the training ground for only women recruits, and not a man was to be seen anywhere, except for the prisoners of war who were brought in by trucks, and did maintenance work here and there. I remember particularly that they collected the garbage cans and cleaned the grease trap in the mess hall. Under guard at all times, they were well behaved and looked well fed and clothed. Many of them chose to stay in the United States after the war ended, and they proved to be good citizens and some became quite well-to-do in various professions.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Now it can be told, continued
Boot Camp
We reached our destination – Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. Once again we were herded along, straggling as best we could in columns of two. It was a bustling place, with a couple of companies marching in formation over the parade ground. The recruits were all in summer khaki uniforms, and I was heartened to see how fit and well fitted out they seemed. We didn’t get much chance to gawk around, though. We were hustled into a large, old building that clearly was to be our home for the next four weeks, our barracks. The entire room was filled with two-tiered beds, most of which were already occupied. We were given the last beds down at the end of the room and once again, told to wait. Now we knew what that meant. We sat down on any available bed and waited. And waited. And waited.
Fort Oglethorpe was founded in 1902 and had been active ever since. It was to be a training base for the next two years, and in 1946 was closed down for good. It was not the lush, green land I had expected, having read “Gone With the Wind”, but instead a dusty, weed-swept area where my allergies blossomed in full force. Dry, dusty, wind-swept, and enclosing rows of unpainted, run-down wooden buildings, it resembled a frontier fort, which indeed it was. I looked around while we waited, scanning the interior of the long, bare room with its rows of beds, and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
The room, though containing only beds, seemed crowded. I suppose there was room for about forty recruits, though now I don’t remember exactly how many there were. The beds were double tiered, what today would be called bunk beds. The floors were unfinished wood, but clean and well scrubbed. Later I found out why everything looked so tidy.
While we waited, another group of enlistees entered the barracks, and we were all lined up again, our names were read from a list, and we answered “Here”. The sergeant, a different one this time, seemed a bit more inclined to view us as human beings, and actually seemed amused at our appearance. “You will take the bed to which you are assigned,” she announced. “You will not be able to exchange it for another. No arguing. That’s the way it is. You won’t fall out of the top bunk. You won’t be here long enough to develop likes or dislikes so get used to it.” I, to my disappointment, was assigned to a bottom bunk. No view here, only the bottom of the bunk above me, just a couple of feet above my face.
We reached our destination – Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. Once again we were herded along, straggling as best we could in columns of two. It was a bustling place, with a couple of companies marching in formation over the parade ground. The recruits were all in summer khaki uniforms, and I was heartened to see how fit and well fitted out they seemed. We didn’t get much chance to gawk around, though. We were hustled into a large, old building that clearly was to be our home for the next four weeks, our barracks. The entire room was filled with two-tiered beds, most of which were already occupied. We were given the last beds down at the end of the room and once again, told to wait. Now we knew what that meant. We sat down on any available bed and waited. And waited. And waited.
Fort Oglethorpe was founded in 1902 and had been active ever since. It was to be a training base for the next two years, and in 1946 was closed down for good. It was not the lush, green land I had expected, having read “Gone With the Wind”, but instead a dusty, weed-swept area where my allergies blossomed in full force. Dry, dusty, wind-swept, and enclosing rows of unpainted, run-down wooden buildings, it resembled a frontier fort, which indeed it was. I looked around while we waited, scanning the interior of the long, bare room with its rows of beds, and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
The room, though containing only beds, seemed crowded. I suppose there was room for about forty recruits, though now I don’t remember exactly how many there were. The beds were double tiered, what today would be called bunk beds. The floors were unfinished wood, but clean and well scrubbed. Later I found out why everything looked so tidy.
While we waited, another group of enlistees entered the barracks, and we were all lined up again, our names were read from a list, and we answered “Here”. The sergeant, a different one this time, seemed a bit more inclined to view us as human beings, and actually seemed amused at our appearance. “You will take the bed to which you are assigned,” she announced. “You will not be able to exchange it for another. No arguing. That’s the way it is. You won’t fall out of the top bunk. You won’t be here long enough to develop likes or dislikes so get used to it.” I, to my disappointment, was assigned to a bottom bunk. No view here, only the bottom of the bunk above me, just a couple of feet above my face.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Now it can be told continued
We seemed to be pretty close to the railroad station, because we could hear trains pulling in and out, and the air was heavy with fumes and soot.
“Form up by twos,” a voice barked, and we all jumped to our feet and looked at the speaker, a tall sergeant with a no-nonsense look about her. “On the double,” she snapped and we formed two lines, still not knowing what was to come but anxious to keep out of trouble at all cost. “Follow me,” she ordered, and led us out the door and down about half a block, to the railroad station. There we halted while she consulted a clipboard she was holding, and then she herded us onto the train, and pointed out our berths. It was a sleeper car, and for the first time I realized that this was to be an overnight trip. To my delight I drew an upper berth with a window view. This was going to be fun!
We still had no orders and had not yet been told of our destination. Since the sergeant seemed unable to speak in other than three or four word sentences, I doubted that she would be very communicative on any subject.
Once again, there we sat and waited. For what, we had no idea.
I have only a hazy memory of the trip down to boot camp. I knew we were heading South, and I remember wishing fervently that I had thought to bring a book to read. We ate in the dining car, and I don’t think I was overly enthusiastic about the food. Nor did the trip improve my opinion of my fellow travelers. As I said, we were a motley crew.
“Form up by twos,” a voice barked, and we all jumped to our feet and looked at the speaker, a tall sergeant with a no-nonsense look about her. “On the double,” she snapped and we formed two lines, still not knowing what was to come but anxious to keep out of trouble at all cost. “Follow me,” she ordered, and led us out the door and down about half a block, to the railroad station. There we halted while she consulted a clipboard she was holding, and then she herded us onto the train, and pointed out our berths. It was a sleeper car, and for the first time I realized that this was to be an overnight trip. To my delight I drew an upper berth with a window view. This was going to be fun!
We still had no orders and had not yet been told of our destination. Since the sergeant seemed unable to speak in other than three or four word sentences, I doubted that she would be very communicative on any subject.
Once again, there we sat and waited. For what, we had no idea.
I have only a hazy memory of the trip down to boot camp. I knew we were heading South, and I remember wishing fervently that I had thought to bring a book to read. We ate in the dining car, and I don’t think I was overly enthusiastic about the food. Nor did the trip improve my opinion of my fellow travelers. As I said, we were a motley crew.
Monday, April 27, 2009
I thought that time would fly by and I would be on my way. My sister cried and I announced my decision at work, much to the surprise of my co-workers. I waited eagerly for the big day to come.
Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. As usual, life took another turn, and I found myself waiting far longer for my orders to come than I had been led to expect. Several things happened in the meantime, including a move to another apartment that I shared with my sister, and a farewell party at the defense plant where I worked. But at last the telegram I had been waiting for came and I eagerly tore it open and read it. It was short and to the point.
“Be at 121 Milwaukee street at Eight O’clock A.M. on July 15th,” it read. “Bring only what you wear and your personal toilet articles. You will receive further orders there.” It was July l4th. The time had come.
The next morning my sister watched openmouthed with astonishment as I packed my things into a cosmetic case, stuffing in a few articles of intimate apparel as per instructions. I think she had been as skeptical as my cousins, but when I called a cab she knew I meant business, and tearfully bid me farewell. With a casual wave and a big smile, I was off.
I felt like a nun who was escaping the nunnery. I was on my way at last. While my cousins and sister had been kind, they were always watching over me, and no matter how hard I tried to be independent, I was still the youngest and so had no anonymity. It never occurred to me that I was going to be guarded, regimented and scrutinized as never before. I rode in grandeur in the cab all the way down to South Milwaukee and stepped out of one life into another.
There were about eleven or twelve other women there already, and I must say they were a motley lot. To tell the truth, I was somewhat taken aback by how lacking in distinction they seemed. Of course, as a 21-year-old, I viewed anyone over 25 as being over the hill. “Ye Gods!” I thought to myself. “They are all older than I am. I’m still the youngest! “ Two of them seemed to be about thirty-eight or forty, and I remember thinking with scorn that they would never be able to survive boot camp. I assumed of course that I could handle basic training with the best of them.
The room was empty except for some chairs arranged around in a semi-circle, so I took a seat and looked around at my companions. There was a murmur of voices in the background and one woman was blubbering because she had changed her mind, but they wouldn’t let her rescind her enlistment. One enlistee hadn’t arrived yet, and we waited around to see if she would come. I took another look around and was not at all impressed with what I saw.
We were supposed to have with us only a small case with our personal possessions, but several of the women had large suitcases in tow, and a couple were dressed as if for a formal affair, with hats, gloves, and shoes with high heels. All of them had on makeup and hairdos, and, except for myself, apparently thought they were going to a social function. There is a saying in the army that seemed apropo: In the army, you hurry up and wait And that is what we did.
It was hot and muggy and I was glad I was wearing a light suit made of a material known as seersucker. One doesn’t see this much anymore, but it was popular during the war, and even men’s suits were made of it. It didn’t wrinkle and was fairly cool. And as we waited and waited, I noticed that a couple of the women had taken off their shoes and gloves and hats, and were about as uncomfortable as one can be wearing a girdle and silk stockings. I was thankful that I had on ankle socks and clogs, and was holding up pretty well. The weeping woman had pulled herself together and was trying to repair her mascara and put on fresh powder and lipstick. We were about as uncomfortable as we could be.
Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. As usual, life took another turn, and I found myself waiting far longer for my orders to come than I had been led to expect. Several things happened in the meantime, including a move to another apartment that I shared with my sister, and a farewell party at the defense plant where I worked. But at last the telegram I had been waiting for came and I eagerly tore it open and read it. It was short and to the point.
“Be at 121 Milwaukee street at Eight O’clock A.M. on July 15th,” it read. “Bring only what you wear and your personal toilet articles. You will receive further orders there.” It was July l4th. The time had come.
The next morning my sister watched openmouthed with astonishment as I packed my things into a cosmetic case, stuffing in a few articles of intimate apparel as per instructions. I think she had been as skeptical as my cousins, but when I called a cab she knew I meant business, and tearfully bid me farewell. With a casual wave and a big smile, I was off.
I felt like a nun who was escaping the nunnery. I was on my way at last. While my cousins and sister had been kind, they were always watching over me, and no matter how hard I tried to be independent, I was still the youngest and so had no anonymity. It never occurred to me that I was going to be guarded, regimented and scrutinized as never before. I rode in grandeur in the cab all the way down to South Milwaukee and stepped out of one life into another.
There were about eleven or twelve other women there already, and I must say they were a motley lot. To tell the truth, I was somewhat taken aback by how lacking in distinction they seemed. Of course, as a 21-year-old, I viewed anyone over 25 as being over the hill. “Ye Gods!” I thought to myself. “They are all older than I am. I’m still the youngest! “ Two of them seemed to be about thirty-eight or forty, and I remember thinking with scorn that they would never be able to survive boot camp. I assumed of course that I could handle basic training with the best of them.
The room was empty except for some chairs arranged around in a semi-circle, so I took a seat and looked around at my companions. There was a murmur of voices in the background and one woman was blubbering because she had changed her mind, but they wouldn’t let her rescind her enlistment. One enlistee hadn’t arrived yet, and we waited around to see if she would come. I took another look around and was not at all impressed with what I saw.
We were supposed to have with us only a small case with our personal possessions, but several of the women had large suitcases in tow, and a couple were dressed as if for a formal affair, with hats, gloves, and shoes with high heels. All of them had on makeup and hairdos, and, except for myself, apparently thought they were going to a social function. There is a saying in the army that seemed apropo: In the army, you hurry up and wait And that is what we did.
It was hot and muggy and I was glad I was wearing a light suit made of a material known as seersucker. One doesn’t see this much anymore, but it was popular during the war, and even men’s suits were made of it. It didn’t wrinkle and was fairly cool. And as we waited and waited, I noticed that a couple of the women had taken off their shoes and gloves and hats, and were about as uncomfortable as one can be wearing a girdle and silk stockings. I was thankful that I had on ankle socks and clogs, and was holding up pretty well. The weeping woman had pulled herself together and was trying to repair her mascara and put on fresh powder and lipstick. We were about as uncomfortable as we could be.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Now it can be told (continued)
But this did not deter me in the least. Having been a middle child, I was used to forging my own path, and had never been one to shrink from a challenge. I hesitated not for a moment and the recruiting officer moved with the speed of light in signing me up.
Did I not consider the gravity of my decision? Did I realize that with this one step I was changing the whole course of my life? I gave it not a thought. I stood out there on the sidewalk for a minute, reveling in the excitement of the moment, and thinking that the recruiting office was small and cluttered. There was only one soldier in view, and I walked in with no trepidation whatever. When he asked me if I wanted to enlist, I replied, “Yes, sure. Why not?” I wasn’t frightened in the least, and thought the whole idea was a lark. I was young and adventurous and eager for a change in my life.
He asked a few questions, I remember, and then a door in the back of the room opened and another soldier came in, this time clearly a doctor. “Oh, no!” I thought. “I’m not ready for an examination.” I almost turned and walked out, not relishing the idea of donning a white cover. Weighing only 101 pounds I just barely passed.
“What?” You might well ask. “You weighed 101 pounds? Look at you now. Do you expect us to believe you were underweight when you were 21? “ Yes,” I reply. “I was a depression kid. I grew two inches and gained ten pounds in the army. Everyone gained weight in the army. We were eating at last.”
It was hard to keep my enlistment secret, but I carefully set the stage for my big announcement. I had two weeks before I was scheduled to ship out to boot camp, so I waited until my cousins and our friends were all together at the bowling alley, and then I hit them with the big news. “I’ve enlisted in the army,” I announced casually. My news was received with skepticism and indifference. “You’ll never do it,” proclaimed my cousin Ruth. “You don’t have the nerve.” My cousin Joyce looked at me with disbelief, but made no comment. The other two members of the team were busy adding up the scores and paid no attention whatsoever. So much for my big surprise.
Did I not consider the gravity of my decision? Did I realize that with this one step I was changing the whole course of my life? I gave it not a thought. I stood out there on the sidewalk for a minute, reveling in the excitement of the moment, and thinking that the recruiting office was small and cluttered. There was only one soldier in view, and I walked in with no trepidation whatever. When he asked me if I wanted to enlist, I replied, “Yes, sure. Why not?” I wasn’t frightened in the least, and thought the whole idea was a lark. I was young and adventurous and eager for a change in my life.
He asked a few questions, I remember, and then a door in the back of the room opened and another soldier came in, this time clearly a doctor. “Oh, no!” I thought. “I’m not ready for an examination.” I almost turned and walked out, not relishing the idea of donning a white cover. Weighing only 101 pounds I just barely passed.
“What?” You might well ask. “You weighed 101 pounds? Look at you now. Do you expect us to believe you were underweight when you were 21? “ Yes,” I reply. “I was a depression kid. I grew two inches and gained ten pounds in the army. Everyone gained weight in the army. We were eating at last.”
It was hard to keep my enlistment secret, but I carefully set the stage for my big announcement. I had two weeks before I was scheduled to ship out to boot camp, so I waited until my cousins and our friends were all together at the bowling alley, and then I hit them with the big news. “I’ve enlisted in the army,” I announced casually. My news was received with skepticism and indifference. “You’ll never do it,” proclaimed my cousin Ruth. “You don’t have the nerve.” My cousin Joyce looked at me with disbelief, but made no comment. The other two members of the team were busy adding up the scores and paid no attention whatsoever. So much for my big surprise.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
AT LAST IT CAN BE TOLD
I am going to blog a serial of my experience in the Signal corps in World War 11. There will be 20 episodes. This is the first.
AT LAST IT CAN BE TOLD
Sixty years have come and gone and the secret I have kept all of these long years can now be revealed for all to read. It is neither a sordid tale nor one of which I am ashamed. Rather, I take pride in the telling, and would like my descendants to know at long last the part I took in winning World War 11, the war we hoped would make the world safe for Democracy.
I was sworn to keep for life the secret I now reveal. But recently I found the whole story on Google, with a picture of the headquarters building and a comprehensive write-up. So apparently the rules have changed and I can tell my own tale at last.
It all started when I was living in Milwaukee and working in a defense plant. Although the work was interesting and I felt that I was making a contribution, I had been there for two years and was restless and ready for a change. Then one day a poster caught my eye. It was Uncle Sam, pointing his bony finger at me and saying “Uncle Sam wants YOU!” Did he indeed? The very next day the bus I was riding passed a recruitment office, and I took it as a sign from above and hopped off the bus and went in.
Without hesitation, I offered myself up body and soul. Even though my mother had warned me about the disgrace I would endure if I enlisted, I felt no qualms. My mother, being of a Victorian mindset, thought all women in uniform were only a small step above street walkers and kept women. She held to this notion for the rest of her life. The fact that I wouldn’t tell her what I had done while in the service only reinforced her conviction.
AT LAST IT CAN BE TOLD
Sixty years have come and gone and the secret I have kept all of these long years can now be revealed for all to read. It is neither a sordid tale nor one of which I am ashamed. Rather, I take pride in the telling, and would like my descendants to know at long last the part I took in winning World War 11, the war we hoped would make the world safe for Democracy.
I was sworn to keep for life the secret I now reveal. But recently I found the whole story on Google, with a picture of the headquarters building and a comprehensive write-up. So apparently the rules have changed and I can tell my own tale at last.
It all started when I was living in Milwaukee and working in a defense plant. Although the work was interesting and I felt that I was making a contribution, I had been there for two years and was restless and ready for a change. Then one day a poster caught my eye. It was Uncle Sam, pointing his bony finger at me and saying “Uncle Sam wants YOU!” Did he indeed? The very next day the bus I was riding passed a recruitment office, and I took it as a sign from above and hopped off the bus and went in.
Without hesitation, I offered myself up body and soul. Even though my mother had warned me about the disgrace I would endure if I enlisted, I felt no qualms. My mother, being of a Victorian mindset, thought all women in uniform were only a small step above street walkers and kept women. She held to this notion for the rest of her life. The fact that I wouldn’t tell her what I had done while in the service only reinforced her conviction.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A LOVELY DAY
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
A lovely day
Today is a good day to blog - I have dinner cooking in the slow cooker, my husband is puttering around outside, and the dog is flaked out on the deck. I usually take a nap in the afternoon, but today I feel like writing a little.
We are having a spell of warm weather, rare for our part of the world. The weather is usually on the cool side, being only a few miles from the ocean. Yesterday and today have been scorchers, and I have windows and doors open all over the house to take advantage of the fresh air. No wood-burning stoves going today! Usually someone will be polluting the air with a wood fire, often burning green wood and making clouds of black smoke.
Besides the warm weather, we are happy to see flowers and blossoms appearing everywhere. The apple tree outside our family room has blossoms, the roses are blooming, the periwinkle are showing llowers and the rare but beautiful trilliums are already turning violet in color. We haven't planted any annuals yet, but soon will get in our impatiens and geraniums which give us some color along the deck. This is the time of year when we most appreciate our good luck in settling here.
Most of my family still live in the midwest, in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Although we urge them to leave those cold places and relocate out here in California, where we have lived for fifty years, they decline. I guess they are as settled in place as we are out here. We will probably be here until the end, which we hope won't be for awhile.
Duty calls - I must put on the rice which will be served with the curried chicken. Take care. I'll try to write more often now that I am feeling better.
Posted by Grandma Dott
A lovely day
Today is a good day to blog - I have dinner cooking in the slow cooker, my husband is puttering around outside, and the dog is flaked out on the deck. I usually take a nap in the afternoon, but today I feel like writing a little.
We are having a spell of warm weather, rare for our part of the world. The weather is usually on the cool side, being only a few miles from the ocean. Yesterday and today have been scorchers, and I have windows and doors open all over the house to take advantage of the fresh air. No wood-burning stoves going today! Usually someone will be polluting the air with a wood fire, often burning green wood and making clouds of black smoke.
Besides the warm weather, we are happy to see flowers and blossoms appearing everywhere. The apple tree outside our family room has blossoms, the roses are blooming, the periwinkle are showing llowers and the rare but beautiful trilliums are already turning violet in color. We haven't planted any annuals yet, but soon will get in our impatiens and geraniums which give us some color along the deck. This is the time of year when we most appreciate our good luck in settling here.
Most of my family still live in the midwest, in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Although we urge them to leave those cold places and relocate out here in California, where we have lived for fifty years, they decline. I guess they are as settled in place as we are out here. We will probably be here until the end, which we hope won't be for awhile.
Duty calls - I must put on the rice which will be served with the curried chicken. Take care. I'll try to write more often now that I am feeling better.
Posted by Grandma Dott
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Class Reunion
The letter came a couple of days ago - my invitation to my class reunion, celebrating our graduation in 1940 - 69 years ago!
I went in search of my yearbook, but unfortunately it has gone missing, hardly surprising in such a long time. It doesn't matter, however, since in my mind's eye I can picture the old school building and my classmates as clearly as if it were only yesterday.
When I started as a freshman, I was the only new member in my class. The rest had been in grade school together and had simply moved up from the first floor to the second, hardly a big move. For me, however, coming from a small country school with only twelve or so students, it was quite a change. I didn't know how to play basketball, a big deal in that school, and had never played baseball, done gymnastics or been on the track team. My sister, my two cousins and I had to walk four miles to get to school, and in the winter we would arrive almost frozen.
I wasn't exactly a social success, being shy and somewhat withdrawn. Also, since we got to school just before classes started and left immediately afterward,, we had little chance to socialize. Evening events were impossible, so we missed out on sporting events or class plays and hardly kept up on class gossip. I can't say that I enjoyed my high school experience, and once I left to go to college, I never went back. But now I am reading the letter with interest.
There will be graduates from as long ago as 1934. Bertha Miller, who married my distant cousin "Happy" Chatterson, will be representing that class. I remember them both well. My cousin Joyce will represent the class of 1939. There is also a list of the deceased, which includes Marjorie Miller and Eva Baldwin. The list is incomplete of course, as the committee does not have contact with all of the graduates. I remember Eva Baldwin as a very plucky child of the times, ready to try anything.
Did I distinguish myself in High School? I was valedictorian and played in the marching band, but that was about all. I blossomed in college but that is another story. That was a long time ago, but does anyone ever forget high school?
I went in search of my yearbook, but unfortunately it has gone missing, hardly surprising in such a long time. It doesn't matter, however, since in my mind's eye I can picture the old school building and my classmates as clearly as if it were only yesterday.
When I started as a freshman, I was the only new member in my class. The rest had been in grade school together and had simply moved up from the first floor to the second, hardly a big move. For me, however, coming from a small country school with only twelve or so students, it was quite a change. I didn't know how to play basketball, a big deal in that school, and had never played baseball, done gymnastics or been on the track team. My sister, my two cousins and I had to walk four miles to get to school, and in the winter we would arrive almost frozen.
I wasn't exactly a social success, being shy and somewhat withdrawn. Also, since we got to school just before classes started and left immediately afterward,, we had little chance to socialize. Evening events were impossible, so we missed out on sporting events or class plays and hardly kept up on class gossip. I can't say that I enjoyed my high school experience, and once I left to go to college, I never went back. But now I am reading the letter with interest.
There will be graduates from as long ago as 1934. Bertha Miller, who married my distant cousin "Happy" Chatterson, will be representing that class. I remember them both well. My cousin Joyce will represent the class of 1939. There is also a list of the deceased, which includes Marjorie Miller and Eva Baldwin. The list is incomplete of course, as the committee does not have contact with all of the graduates. I remember Eva Baldwin as a very plucky child of the times, ready to try anything.
Did I distinguish myself in High School? I was valedictorian and played in the marching band, but that was about all. I blossomed in college but that is another story. That was a long time ago, but does anyone ever forget high school?
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