If
there is one year of my K-12 school experience that is worth writing about here,
it has to be 8th grade at Bryant Junior High (now Bryant Middle School) in Salt
Lake City, where Kay and I grew up, married, and raised our children (in SLC, that
is, not the school :)
Starting
junior high in 7th grade was a frightening new world, but by the 8th grade I was
settled into the seven-period, daily routine with lots of homework every night using my bug-free, antique typewriter. And great friends!
The neighborhood
walk-to-school gang met M-F every morning at the corner of “I” Street and 13th
Avenue for our long trek downhill – typically very humorous, as I recall Craig.
My
special group of friends at school – not the popular elite, but my favorites
for boy-girl parties including slow dancing (think "Blue Velvet") – really made 8th grade my favorite. One special young woman took me to the formal, adult
ball in the Salt Lake Masonic Temple (Wikipedia: SLC’s “best example of
Egyptian Revival Architecture”) – a different experience for a sheltered Mormon
boy!
After-school
dances were mandatory in the gym with lots of “wall flowers” watching from the sidelines – not so fun.
I recall witnessing "greasers" fight with chains in the back alley, which also served as the shortcut to the Fernwood ice cream parlor on South Temple for my regular after-school treat: a
double-scoop ice cream cone for 25 cents. Then the hike uphill, carrying more books than I would actually use, was a challenge especially in "freezing blizzards," as I could describe to my grandchildren.
A few of the most memorable teachers and classes:
Mrs.
Webb taught me the valuable lifetime skill of typing; (years later it evolved into
keyboarding.) Speed was the big thing in
that class, a favorite.
Mr. Neeley, the tough Social Studies teacher, found a knife hidden in a student’s back (waistband). After that, I never dared to carry one to his class!
Mr. Neeley, the tough Social Studies teacher, found a knife hidden in a student’s back (waistband). After that, I never dared to carry one to his class!
Coach
Caputo taught us men to box "with finesse," as he said, to show confidence and
expertise.
I still see farewell notes in my 1963 Chronicle, the school yearbook (oops – a clue to my age), for example:
“Ned, It’s been
fun in English. Have a good summer and Good Luck next year.
– Maurine.”
