1970 was a turbulent year. Four of us graduated with perfect grade-point averages, but we were not asked to give remarks at graduation. I think the school feared what we might say. It was just a few weeks after protesting students at Kent State were shot by National Guardsmen. So I had to be content to garner my awards at the ceremony the night before. I had a clean sweep, taking a certificate for merit in French, Theater, the Royal Oak Musicale Award for Musicianship, a small scholarship for someone who planned to continue to study theater in college, Junior Phi Beta Kappa, something from the National Thespian Society. I have all the certificates in a scrapbook dating back to second grade. The scrapbook ends with my college commencement program. I remember being called to the podium repeatedly during high school commencement.

I remember little from the actual graduation ceremony. Only that it had rained while we were inside the gym. After, we all went home, changed and reassembled for our all-night party. I went with a small group of girlfriends, but before going back, we got really drunk — for the first time in my life…on sloe gin. It tasted like cough syrup. As I re-entered the gym I encountered parent chaperones from my neighborhood, temple members, pillars of the community, who congratulated me on all my success. I tried to gather myself so they wouldn’t know I was out of my mind. Did I get away with it? I quickly moved on.

Everyone assembled in the cafeteria for the “fun” awards. I received “most likely to succeed”. 46 years later, I wonder what everyone would think of me now. I stay in touch with two friends, so who knows.

We went back into the gym, tried to dance, hung around, sat in a circle on the floor. My sandal-clad feet were wet, I thought from walking in the rain-soaked grass. I looked down and realized my prom date had thrown up on me! “GROSS”, was all I could yell. A friend took me into the bathroom to clean up. Initiation into drunken behavior for all parties concerned.

I slipped under the bleachers and took off my bra, shoved in into my Greek bag (a staple of the period). It was a novel feeling, a moment of liberation that carried throughout my college years. I sidled up to someone I had a crush on…he didn’t respond. The evening wore down. I realized I didn’t have a house key so I really did stay out all night.

I came home to a concerned mother around 7am. “Why did you stay out so late?” “I didn’t have my house key.” “I knew that and left the back door unlocked for you.” It had never occurred to me to check. I crawled into bed, exhausted, the effects of the long night beginning to wear off; some just taking hold.

I was born on my father's 42nd birthday. He always said that I was the best birthday present he ever got.
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I was an exuberant reader, often reading by flashlight under the covers when I was supposed to be sleeping. I heard my 3rd grade teacher telling someone in the school hallway that I tested at a 10th grade level at that tender age. I loved “girl” books and there were plenty in my household, hand-me-downs from my mother, older cousins, even a neighbor, who I sought out when my older son attended Stanford. She had gone there ages ago. I still have a childhood book with her handwriting in it. I copied it and sent it to her (I got her address from her parents, now gone). She was truly touched and made her way from Berkeley to Palo Alto to say hello when we first visited David, more than a decade ago. So here are my favorite childhood books.

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott. My mother’s 1922 edition, a beloved birthday present from her brother. she wouldn’t part with her copy until after her death. I went through a phase where I wanted to be called Beth instead of Betsy (we are both Elizabeths) for the doomed sister. I now live about a half hour from Concord, MA, real home to the Alcotts. I can visit Orchard House, where the book was written. It is a museum, open to the public. I once took a visiting friend and was lucky enough to be there on a day when an actual dress worn by the oldest sister (Meg in the book) was out on display, as that was her wedding anniversary!

Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell. My mother’s 1936 SECOND edition (one month too late…it would be worth a lot of money if she’d jumped on it a month earlier; also without the dust jacket). I began reading this on Yom Kippur in 8th grade, the first time I fasted on the holiest day of the Jewish year. I had all afternoon with nothing to do and the book consumed me. We were studying American History in class and this seemed like the perfect complement. It would be years before I’d see the movie, which, though great, paled in comparison to this florid epic.

Mary Poppins, P.L. Travers. The first four volumes. Two of them came from my oldest maternal first cousin. One states that printing was held up because of WWII. I discovered there were two more in the series and devoured them. I loved the whimsy and fantasy. I was quite young when I read them, long before the Disney movie. I only discovered that Travers wrote more than these four books after seeing the movie “Saving Mr. Banks”!

Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White. This book was read aloud to us by Mrs. Zeve, my 2nd grade, and favorite teacher. She gave different voices to each character. She encouraged me to explore acting, which became my passion. Wearing glasses was OK because she wore them. I adored her and we stayed friends for the next 10 years. She came to see me in my high school plays, exchanged birthday cards (her’s was two days before mine), until my senior year in high school. It seemed odd that I hadn’t heard from her in December. My mother got a phone call two months later. My beloved Mrs. Zeve had died of stomach cancer at the age of 42. I still can’t watch any version of “Charlotte’s Web”, as I don’t want anything to interfere with hearing her character voices in my head.

The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery. We read this in French class in its original language. We all loved the sweet message and I bought an English version, which I cherish. It resonated with us in the late 60s.