Mrs. Lee was tough. My Social Studies grade went from an A to a B in the second marking period. Not too bad, I thought. In the comments space beneath my grade is a U. I was not giving it my best, Mrs. Lee would remark. Unsatisfactory effort, especially in my tests. She let you know and expected you to do more. I'd end the year with a solid A.
Even our report card was different. Kindergarden report cards were colorful affairs, with little stick figures representing the different subjects. First and Second Grade cards were a manila color, with a picture of the school on the front, resembling the crude paper we wrote on. From Third grade on our report cards would be white, they looked official, and across the top it let you know this was for real: PROGRESS REPORT TO PARENTS, underlined in bold. There would be no messing around from now on.
I'd pick up two new friends this year. Billy Hills would move into town, and he lived down the street on Lake Avenue, near the corner as it met Walnut.
Robbie McWilliams would come to the Heights, living over by Richie Hearn on Glassboro Road near Chestnut Hill. Four of my peers living close by, and I wouldn't have to cross over Glassboro Road to see them. More adventures, lots of toy soldiers, more company on the walk to school. My friendship with Paul Lapann would grow, and I'd begin to spend time with the guys over on the other side of town. Paul and I would share a love and fascination with the American Civil War and all kinds of toy soldiers. Paul had an Alamo set and a Ben-Hur set with Romans and chariots. We would fight all the wars throughout history together for the next three years.
I can't leave out the girls. Joyce Hoefers and Ann Trocolli. Patsy Mullin, Nancy Fleisch, Mary Lou Lewis and Diane Gabel, all back again. Nancy Carl would come over from the "other" grade to join us, and Lora Carter would still have a crush on me, a feeling that was never mutual. Lora lived down the street on Glenwood. She was tall for her age, and she always looked as if she had just stepped out of a beauty parlor. She "liked" me and wasn't afraid to show it, but i thought she was "stuck up" and snotty, so I avoided her like the plague. I was beginning to notice how pretty Sheila McLaughlin was too, but I always got the impression that I wasn't good enough for someone like her, so I admired her from afar like I did with Joyce. I was always a sucker for blonds in those days.
I'd walk the same trail but not always alone. My brother and Paul Avis would scamper ahead of me, and I'd meet up with Billy Hills along the way. He and I would walk home together, so the long march seemed to get shorter. Mark Gerber had pretty much disappeared from my life, and soon he and his family would move away. Mrs. Avis would learn to drive, and Mr. Avis would give us a ride to school in his panel truck when the weather was bad, reeking of gasoline and grass from the lawn mowers in the back.
We were changing, America was changing. John F. Kennedy was running for president, asking us all to look towards a brighter future and to share in the work that lay ahead. Americans were training to go into space, the Mercury Astronauts would capture our imagination in the year to come. Rock n Roll was here to stay, we were doing the Twist like we did last summer, and the cowboy was still king on TV. The H bomb still hung over our heads, and those evil Communists in Cuba and Russia still scared the living daylights out of us.
Most of the older kids who liked to bully us had moved on to other things, so I had less to fear as I walked or rode down Walnut Avenue, but I still took Whee-Zee along whenever I could; a little insurance never hurt.
Fifty stars on the flag, still a pledge and a prayer to start our day.
One foot stuck in the fifties, unable to let go of the past.
The other foot in the sixties, moving forward, moving fast.
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