Facebook is the 2022 version of what we once enjoyed in the yearbook or the high school annual. Except statuses are never updated, re-touched professional photos don’t wrinkle, what you were in 1972 is what you remain. Published with your 1970s style, pursuits, personality, achievements forever bound at the age of 17 or nearly 18 or fully 18. Old yearbooks are historical markers – the year in photos – the year in black and white. Today they serve as memory tools, something to clear the cobwebs and fuel the ruminations. Why have I kept them? The high school years I remember are a long dark tunnel of striving to be myself and pursue my interests but being confined at every turn by boundaries I was not allowed to cross; parental boundaries, personal boundaries, insecurities, popularity contests for which I had no prerequisites. Yet, I hang on to these tomes. 1970, 1971 and 1972. Frankly, I find them inspiring. Not the individual photos, oh no. Not the ballpoint pen inscriptions, though two or three of them were authentic, sincere and custom. The memories that stay with me to this day are the snippets of literature, poems, song lyrics – the prompts that set the stage for the journalistic layout of each volume.

Tiger 1970: Moving On

Like a long, lonely stream I keep runnin’ towards a dream, movin’on, movin’on.

Like a branch on a tree I keep reachin’ to be free, movin’ on, movin’on.

Cause there’s place in the sun where there’s hope for everyone,

Where my poor restless heart’s gotta run.

There’s a place in the sun and before my life is done,

Got to find me a place in the sun.

A Place in the Sun Ronald Miller, Bryan Wells (1966)

Do you remember the emotion? Do you remember the angst? Do you remember the feeling of being heard and understood, wrapped in a hug by words? Do you remember the need to belong? And the comfort of knowing there was a place for you? I do!

I was sophomoric, emotional, hormonally vulnerable and the words hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh, I had heard the song before. But here it was. In the high school annual. Chosen by a yearbook committee I had never met and they understood!

Tiger Seventy-two:

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; for they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons…

If you compare yourself to others you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself…

Keep interested in your career…

Exercise caution in your business affairs… From Desiderata, Max Ehrmann (1927)

Even though I was a fan of literature and a consummate reader – particularly when I should have been doing my homework and carving a place for myself in academia – I had not, to that date encountered Desiderata

The impact was huge. At a time in life I could rarely think of with any placidity. From years of comparing myself to others; first chair, second chair, highest soprano, lowest alto, most virtuous, worst kid on the block, law abiding hedonist, fair maiden or cuckold, jilted sweetheart; came this gem of advice for a life well-lived. I took it as seeing into the darkest needs and recesses of my soul. I found the printed plaque. I nailed it to the wall. But I rarely stood and read it. More often, I returned to Tiger Seventy-two where I could savor the scent of the book binding and read the prose poem traditionally. And gradually over the years as I bucked the inevitable challenges of relationships – both business and social – I turned the pages and aged gracefully (I hope) with the other members of the Class of ’72. I read penned inscriptions, some insipid and false and some personal like this from a favorite music teacher, “…students who feel and enjoy as you do are rare.” Gradually I came to feel at peace with my past and God as I understood God, to feel like I truly was a child of the Universe no less than the trees and the stars. And to know that at least one or two other persons actually “got me” and understood who I was and who I was meant to be.

399 of us, regardless of any other shared background or similarities were thrown together as the Class of ’72 by a collection of Jerrymandering statistics known as transportation boundaries, classroom capacity, and baby boom. Therefore, we have a shared educational experience of one to twelve years that causes us to meet every decade or so – and particularly this 50^th year – for a thing called a reunion.

“And gay lustiness will give way to age and truth” Tiger 1971, Janet Schwietert, Tiger Tales 1967.