COPYRIGHT 2016--Alan Spector
To characterize the University City High School Class of 1964 for the purpose of this web site, I chose to excerpt two pieces from my book, Hail Hail to U City High. The first is the Foreword of the book written by classmate Tim Arnold (thank you again, Tim). The second is the first part of my Preface. Together, they begin to capture who we are and why it's important that we think about this, especially as we grow older--together.
Alan Spector
Then and Now
by Tim Arnold
(Foreword to Hail Hail to U City High)
There are certain metaphoric truths about high school. It is a cauldron of dreams and unfulfilled opportunities and what ifs – to be marinated and exaggerated over the years. And it is a womb of permanently-intertwined connections with classmates, fellow travelers, seemingly buried in the long ago—connections that will not and should not go away.
Dreams will grow, and diminish, come and go; some will be realized, others discarded, replaced by new ones. With the passing of time, we come to realize that those lost opportunities were really youthful improbabilities anyway - if they indeed really were opportunities —something to get over, after all. Or not. But the rest of it is an enduring, unavoidable pull on our life-strings, a continuous stream of outtakes on the horizon of our mind’s eye that hover back there, and then come rushing up at a given moment, uninvited but persistently welcomed, to remind us of our roots, our youth. Our imperfections, warmed over by the years—the improbable distance — all of it becomes a benchmark for our lives as they have evolved these many years later.
The 1964 graduating class of University City High School, first suburb west of the St. Louis city limits, bloomed, together, in the same fertile garden, from gangly teenage angst into hopeful young adults during perhaps the most remarkable four years of our country’s history. From September 1960 to June 1964, our nation saw the birth of civil rights, the launch of the women’s movement with the publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique, and the seeds of the environmental cause sown by Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring. We launched our first man into outer space and heard our president state the improbable goal of landing a man on the moon before the end of the decade. Our nation’s presence in Vietnam grew from fewer than 1000 troops to an incendiary conflict, interrupted momentarily by the assassination of our president, whose death would prevent him from seeing his dream realized.
And these firsts: Ford Mustangs, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, zip codes, seat belts, IUD’s, panty hose, The Berlin Wall, birth control pills, “Smoking can be hazardous to your health” on cigarette packs – that cost 25 cents, The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, the first man in space and the St. Louis Arch.
With more than four decades gone by since we graduated U City High School, we’ve all had numerous reminders of the vast chasm between then and now, between youthful hopes and dreams and reluctant, semi-adult acceptance of our shortcomings, between opportunities both realized and not.
More telling realizations have come of late, given the opportunity to reconnect with old classmates we shared some of those dreams with so long ago. Or, even more remarkable, connections with others we had nothing in common with back then, or so we thought, only to discover that what we do have are our roots, our memories, and our awakening perspective of all of it - the most important things of all.
Forty-five years, as of this writing - seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it? Or, does it? Forty odd years is long enough to discover who we really are, or can be; long enough to become something different than we thought we would be or could be.
Four decades is long enough to have children and grandchildren, cave in to male-pattern baldness, take on new partners in life, gain and lose countless pounds, and, finally, begrudgingly, lose a half step on the dance floor. Perhaps time enough to see our parents in a different light. Time plenty enough to savor great victories, suffer enormous losses, and, blessedly, put them all into some kind of tolerable context.
A lifetime, literally, for some of us - the classmates we’ve lost along the way. Time enough to realize that whether or not they were close friends or simply classmates, and whether or not they had the same interests we did, or dressed the way we did, they shared every one of these remarkable experiences with us and held to some of the same dreams we did.
Time enough to know that all of them have contributed to the pull on each one of us to have come back to past reunions and attend future ones—to reach out to each other through the gift that is our internet connection, to evoke more memories, discover new friendships, and weigh in on another impassioned debate.
These things can cause all of it to feel like a mere heartbeat ago, the memories of those times within an itch of yesterday, yearning to be scratched.
The memories will come, too. Sometimes they’ll ascend along with a song on the radio. Or a rerun on television. Some old American Bandstand footage. A whiff of English Leather. An email evoking the past. The moments will sit there on the horizon of our mind’s eye, waiting to be observed, and savored, and be as fresh as when they happened.
And then, with the luxury of the years and the miles, we’re left to decide that we all had much more in common back then than we ever could have or would have acknowledged. Certainly what matters now is to know that we all faced life’s first real steps together, and drew from each other and from the same collective well for inspiration and direction and affirmation. It is, all of it, a testament to the power of our shared experiences at University City High School. We are blessed with that, and with each other. Then, and now.
We’ve come back to this touchstone of a class journal to gather it all back in and share it with each other, and with the ones who have left us behind, and with you.
A special thanks to one of us, Alan Spector, who decided that there is something about our collective memories and hindsight and emerging lives that might connect with others who grew up when we did—or with those who have wondered about the “children of the 60s,” who may have been their parents—or found our music, or are facing life now themselves, and wondering if their ancestors worried about the same things, or shared the same hopes and dreams, or faced the same temptations. Well, we did, and we do. Then and now.
Tim Arnold
University City High School Class of 1964
I'll Be There
by Alan Spector
(Excerpt from Preface to Hail Hail to U City High)
To an insecure high school student in the early 1960s, the future looked like: Who will I sit with at lunch today? Will I have a date on Friday night? How will I do in the football game on Saturday? How will I ever finish my term paper for next week? Will the green baggers accept me? Will I get the role in next month’s school play? How will I tell my parents about that “D” I got on my math test?
Even for a “mature” senior, the future was only a little more expansive. Who will I ask to the prom? Will I be asked to the prom? Who wants to go to that silly old prom anyway? Where will I apply to college? What summer job can I get that will help me pay for college? How will I ever finish my term paper that is due tomorrow?
Few, if any of us were perceptive enough to be asking long-term questions. Who, what, and where will I be in 45 to 50 years? What will my relationship be with my high school classmates when we are in our 60s? Will I go to my 40-year reunion? If a classmate needs my help in the future, how will I know it and what support will I provide?
As graduating seniors, we signed each others’ yearbooks with deep, insightful phrases.
“We have everything to base a marriage on—we disagree on everything. But alas, it cannot be. Jane” (Horzmann)
“We really caught some grins in US History! It’s been great knowing you. Best of luck. Love, Joie” (Mary Jo Gottlieb)
“You’ll do in a pinch; in fact, you’ll do in a squeeze. Luck always, Elaine” (Levin)
“Keep up with baseball. You’ll never make it as a football player. Bob Cooper”
“Specks—It has been your pleasure being with me all of these years. Seriously, Al, you are one of…” (Marc Tenzer—thought never finished)
“May your future wife be fruitful and bear you many offspring. W. J. F.” (Bill Fuchs)
“Best of luck. I know whatever you strive for will be yours. Love, Barb” (Glick)
“It sure was different. Have a good time. Tom Norman”
While we would have liked to believe we would all remain friends, we knew we were heading off to different colleges and lives. Based on what we knew at the time, the yearbook messages could have simply been translated as, “Bye.” As it turned out, that would have been shortsighted.
Although a substantial nucleus remains in St. Louis, the University City High School Class of 1964 is widely dispersed geographically. We are also separated by time and by our individual post-high school educational experiences, families, careers, and lives.
We could have easily left high school and our class far behind, perhaps only to be brought back together by an occasional reunion. That is what happened to many of the people I have talked to from other high school classes, both from different schools and from different years. It also happened to some members of our class. Yet, now in our 60s, a meaningful number of classmates from U City’s class of ‘64 are in many ways as close now as, if not closer than, when we were in school together.
Perhaps we should have written in our high school yearbooks, “I look forward to still caring about you when we’re in our 60s. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there. If you want to visit, come see me, I’ll be there. If you need support, I’ll be there. I look forward to staying connected and seeing you as often as I can. I’ll be there.”
Alan Spector
University City High School Class of 1964
About U City '64