I was not part of the in-crowd: the jocks, the groupies, and the glitterati. Part of that was because I was not really a senior. Bonnie Bongard and I were the chosen ones because we skipped a grade and went from being lowly lower-classpersons to seniors. Bonnie because she was smart. Me, because they wanted me out of the school. According to "them," the sooner the better.

I mostly hung around with people from the class of 1962. There were Carolyn, Ellen (Chickie), and Virginia. Why is it that I only remember the girls? Oh yes, there were Steve, Dan, and Elliott. In the senior class my best buddy was Isao. Haven't seen him for forty years. 

How about the other senior guys? There was Roger Lehman, was he cool or what. I couldn't even hold a ball, much less throw it. Coach East didn't understand that Asian kids only played football (ok, soccer to you). Clark Toy scared the living daylight out of me. He was big. Actually, though, he was just a teddy bear. Romeo Busuego was the debonair dude from Manila. And, how did Tien Min manage to play that American game - basketball. And George. Well, George was just ...George. "What you mean, George!"

The senior girls? They were sophisticated. Brenda was like royalty, better make an appointment with her social secretary first to say hello. Cassie hung around with the student body president, for crying out loud. Sophie was too intelligent for most of us. 

Miss Rogers was a teenage boy's wish come true. She was cute, smart and - you know, sexy. The only problem was that she thought she was there to teach. Hey, my idea of fun was not trigonometry. My big accomplishment in her class was that I learned about that Indian guy - Soh-cah-toa.⁽¹⁾ Or was that in Mr. Downs' class?

Mr. Downs was an alumnus who lost his way by returning to teach history and western culture to the heathens. Who cares that he wanted an Indonesian kid to know about some white guy with funny hair, wooden dentures, and something about cherry trees. Heck, at least I understood the cherry tree part - Sakura, right? But, did he accept Guided Democracy, no way! I never knew that history could be so enjoyable.

Then there was Mr. Spooner. Whoa. Talking about tough and gutsy, the Spoon had it all. He scared the hell out of all of us. A look from him would stop any of us dead in our tracks.

I remember chemistry where we had some jock, six feet five, and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. Chuck somebody or other (you know, in the Old Geezers class - 1960.) Apparently Chucky boy said something without prior notification to, and approval of, Mr. Spooner. The Spoon made him sit by himself and write 100 times that he would not talk in class. Now, that takes intestinal fortitude, because, as you remember, the Spoon was about four feet tall. 

Against all odds, Mr. Spooner accomplished one other thing: while I almost flunked his chemistry course, I aced chemistry in college, messed up the grading curve in that course, and was hated by my fellow college chemistry classmates.