iii - High School: Freshman Year, 1935-36
In September 1935 I became a ninth-grader, a freshman. I could now legit-
imately sing the pep song “‘Tis Allegany!".
Regardless of my higher status, I was still small in stature, still wearing
knickers. Most of the boys were learning to cope with changing voices. Not I. I tried
to lower my voice but didn’t fool anyone, especially the girls!
So I was dumbfounded when Betty Phillippi called and asked me to
accompany her to the Girls’ League dance. I said I didn’t know - I’d have to ask
my mother. Mother said, “Of course, and don’t forget to thank her for asking
you." But I didn’t know how to dance. Mother and her sisters tried to teach me.
The family did not own a car, so my ever-resourceful mother managed to have a
date that night and her friend drove us. I thought I had learned to dance but I was
wrong, so Betty taught me the box step and I marveled at such a clever invention.
I thought I had had the most wonderful time of my life, in spite of being the only
boy in knickers.
My first year of high school was a real challenge academically. I was
determined to earn high grades and studied hard and finished the year with all B’s
except for A in Latin. I was disappointed. I truly wanted more A’s. I can’t explain
my obsession, for there was no pressure from home. Peer competition perhaps.
I did not join any school groups that year or participate in any social functions
other than that first dance. My first year of high school, for all my expectations, was
not especially remarkable and the arrival of summer vacation was welcome.
One memorable event of that summer of ‘36 was my first train ride. After
all, my grandfather Wallace was now a conductor on the Western Maryland
Railroad passenger train that ran between Cumberland and Elkins, West Virginia.
In July he took me along on one of his trips. For the first two days I stayed with
Pop in the hotel where he lived when he “laid over," and for the remainder of my
visit with his sister, Aunt Margaret and her husband Uncle Ira Patterson. While
there was not much to do, my hosts were warm and good-humored and made me
feel at home. Aunt Marg aret's cooking tasted wonderful; Uncle Ira introduced
me to his favorite breakfast: toast with peanut butter. It didn’t take much to
please that unsophisticated teenager.
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