Last year Savannah Nichols was the first of the "Second Generation Nichols Kids" to graduate from high school. It also marked the 50th anniversary of my own high school graduation in May 1964. I wrote Savannah this letter and gave it to her as part of my present to her. I hope she will remember it as a loving gift--a tidbit of my personal history which tells in detail about a similar experience so many years before her own. And because we only celebrate an event once for a 50th anniversary, I thought maybe the rest of the family might enjoy reading about this little blast from my past.
May 2014
Dear Savannah,
I never dreamed when I graduated from Rawlins High School in May 1964 that 50 years later I would be celebrating the high school graduation of my first grandchild. On that fragrant Spring night half a century ago, all my classmates and I could muster about the future was to joke that in 20 years we would be able to see if 1984 was really the way George Orwell imagined it in his famous science fiction novel. Twenty years seemed so far away. There was no way to imagine 50! Or that we would be in a new century AND a new millennium.
So
in honor of that 50 year span, and the fact you have been accepted at my own
Alma Mater to continue your studies, I wanted to share some of my
senior/graduation experiences and some of my thoughts at this time with you.
My
graduating class had 113 people. I was
number three and the highest ranking girl in the senior class. It was a switch in placement for me and Lyle
Bareiss. When we graduated from the 8th
grade in 1960, I was second and gave the Salutatory Address. Lyle was number three. Guy Ray—handsome, drop-down dead good
looking, great athlete, and every girl’s dreamboat—remained at number one. He gave the Valedictory Address both in our 8th
grade graduation and for our graduation from high school. That meant that Lyle had to give the second
place talk in 1964. I was off the hook
for that but disappointed in myself that I had slipped from second to third
place.
Graduation
back then was a pretty serious step in one’s life. It was a sober business to be graduating from
high school and embarking on another
path to higher education or a skilled profession. Or the Military. The United States still had a draft law then
which meant that as soon as a young man turned 18, he registered with the
Selective Service System who conducted the draft procedure for our
country. If a young man went to college,
he had a 1S (C) status and was deferred from the draft as long as he went to
school. If he didn’t go to college, then
he was automatically put at the top of the list as 1A and was drafted within
weeks of his 18th birthday or whenever he quit college.
Graduation
itself back then was also a pretty formal affair. The Sunday evening prior to the graduation
ceremonies, the graduates and families convened for a spiritual message (given
by one of the local clergymen) just exactly the way they would for graduation a
few days later. Our fairly new high
school—the first graduating class was the year we graduated from 8th
grade—didn’t have an auditorium like the old high school-turned-junior high
did. But all those rows of chairs and
the dignitaries sitting up front made it seem like more than the cavernous
space where we had cheered our athletic teams, attended assemblies, and held
our prom. At the Sunday night baccalaureate service where we marched in
two by two—boy and girl, boy and girl—we filled in the rows of folding chairs set up in the gymnasium. That was good practice for our “real” walk to
Elgar’s familiar Pomp and Circumstance. Just
hearing that piece of music now still stirs the excitement and trepidation I
felt at that time.
I
also felt important. All eyes were on us. Parents and families were trying to
pick their own special person out of a sea of white mortarboards and white
graduation gowns on the girls and maroon caps and gowns which the boys were
wearing—basically white and red which were our school colors. The process for ordering the cap and gown
which was heavy robe material and only on lease—we kept nothing but the silk
tassel—ordering the announcements from
Josten’s—everyone’s was exactly the same with a personal name card inside—and
trying to keep all the instructions in mind was mind-boggling, but it was
finally behind us. The announcements had
been sent out weeks before, and we were actually wearing the gowns. Ready, set, GO!
And
when I talk about formal, I am also talking about formal dress under the gowns. The graduates wore dress-up clothes. The boys had to wear white shirts, dress
slacks, dress shoes and ties so the knot showed at the neck front of the
gown. The girls wore fancy dresses with
heels and hose. My dress was a cute
one-piece with bloused top and high neck.
The fabric was what was referred to as a marshmallow crepe in a pale
pink abstract print on a white background.
My shoes were white sandal pumps.
I looked chic!
A
couple of months before the end of school, my dad made me drive my mother and
myself to Salt Lake City so I could purchase a new dress for graduation and
also my prom dress. No small town
outfits for me! I was scared to death to
drive that distance by myself—meaning the only driver—but my dad pooh-poohed my
fears and said I would do fine. After
all, I had been driving since I was 11 years old, and had gotten a license when
I was 15 as soon as I was of legal age.
And true, I had driven much of the distance to Utah myself anyway while
my dad was sleeping in the back seat.
So, my mom and I set off for the big city and were savy shoppers at the
big department stores (Aurbach’s and Z.C.M.I.) on Main Street just down from
the temple. Both dresses and the shoes
came in under $100. (I think the dresses
are still in a box down the basement.)
I
was in the hospital with some kind of influenza the whole entire last week of
school during my senior year. Not only
did I miss most of the exams (the scholastic status had already been
determined, so grades on the exams wouldn’t have made a difference) I also
missed a lot of the fun—Senior Day among them, although now I don’t even
remember what we were supposed to be doing to celebrate. I did have to take the trig exam, but the
teacher asked me the questions, and when I didn’t know the answers he “guided”
me to the solution (most of the answers probably—that was one math class in
which I didn’t do so well. One reporting
period I got a C. It was the only one I
ever got in my life.) Anyway I was glad
to be out of the hospital just a couple of days before graduation though I
still felt weak. Plus I was able to
attend the one graduation party at which I really wanted to be.
In
a way that hospital visit gave me some kind of celebrity status. I had lots of sympathetic visitors, and Lyle
Bareiss even came to ask if I would “walk” with him for the processional. I was afraid that I would be assigned the
person I would walk with according to the alphabet. So, that made me happy. Since Lyle was number two and I was number
three in the class, I was right up at the front as we walked into the gymnasium. Guy Ray, number one, and Karla Santich, "no status", but
Guy’s "wannabe" girlfriend were the head couple.
Numbers two and three—that would be Lyle and me—were the second couple.Since there were so few people in my class—the next year was the start of the Baby Boomers and they had 250—it is safe to say that I knew every single one of them. And some of them I had gone to school with since Kindergarten. Both Jane Peterson and Teresa Spencer had even been in the same section of every class, every year in elementary school. Oh, and I think Marie Jack was, too.
I remember thinking we were soooo grown up. We were so much more sophisticated than the under classmen. But I remember also how apprehensive I was about taking off for college. Finally at the point of feeling comfortable at last after four years, I wouldn’t have minded sticking around for another year. Provided everyone else did, too. I wouldn’t have wanted to be the ONLY one doing a victory lap. But that’s not how things work. Life moves on and you better be on board moving right along with it.
Because of my scholastic status in the graduating class, I was offered a full-ride scholarship to the University of Wyoming. But I told my guidance counselor I didn’t want it. I wanted to go to BYU and applied for a scholarship there. The counselor asked me what I would do if I didn’t get the scholarship. Surely I would reconsider and go to the University of Wyoming at that point. NOPE! Even if I didn’t get a scholarship, I knew I wanted to go to BYU. But I DID get the scholarship. The only thing that bothered me going forward was the gnawing at the back of my mind about what I would do if I lost the scholarship because of my grades.
Much of the rest of that experience has faded now. It was so vivid I thought I would never forget every little detail. But I have. Yet I do remember it as a really terrific time in my life. It seemed to be a very visible major step across a threshold to the next part of my life.
So, Savannah, you probably have some of the same fears and feelings of exhilaration. Life isn’t so different after all. Just the trappings that accompany each of our decades is different.
I
sincerely wish you well. I am beaming
with pride for your accomplishments and am certain you will find fun,
friendship, and a lot of opportunity to fuel your faith in yourself and in your
abilities. You have proven yourself a
leader. Be that assertive person in your
living space and in your ward. As a freshman,
I was in the newest created ward on Campus—the 56th, in six separate
stakes. I can’t imagine how many there
are now. But there is plenty of room for
you to shine.
Take
care! Soar with exuberance! And remember to live in gratitude for this
wonderful opportunity that you helped come your way.
Love from your father's mother,
Georgia
Carol Huggins Nichols-Batemana.k.a. Momma G
