While dusting the volumes in my bookcase recently, guess what I discovered? Never mind guessing, I’ll tell you. It was my junior high school autograph book. I thought I had lost the 4-by-5 ½ paperback long ago, but there it was, squeezed like a dwarf between two hardcover biographies of historical giants Paul Robeson and Frederick Douglass. I was as happy by that find as I am when I unexpectedly discover a 20-dollar bill folded inside my jeans pocket. The pastel-colored pages of the little book have faded, and the front cover is missing, but most of the inscriptions of my former schoolmates are still legible. Only some scribbled in pencil are hard to read.
Days before graduating from Garnet Patterson Junior High School in 1963 (Okay, you can stop doing the math now.), I had purchased that autograph book, anticipating that cute remarks, witty jokes, and heartfelt well-wishes written by my classmates and some favorite teachers would fill the pages.
I carried the little book to another bookcase, where I removed a larger-sized autograph book. That one was signed by my peers from Dunbar High School. It has been years since I opened either of those books.
I brought my two keepsakes to the dining room table, sat down, and began perusing the pages. I wonder if today’s graduating students still maintain the tradition of signing autograph books at the end of the school year, or has that, like many traditions, become a thing of the past in this age of Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram, and text messaging?
As I reread some of my junior and high school classmates’ messages, some seemed silly from the vantage point of age and maturity. Others revived pleasant memories of school days. Space won’t allow me to include many of the entries here, but I’ve listed some of my favorites below:
“To a nice chick. May you have the best of luck as you go thru (sic) life.” Ronnie Reece wrote that one. Following his message, Ronnie sketched a stick person walking through the years 1964, 1965, 1966, 1967, and 1968. I remember that Ronnie was tall, handsome, and had a wonderful sense of humor.
Ponder “Mr. Soul” White wrote, “Good luck all the time.” Between the words “the” and “time,” he drew a large clock. Nice guy, Ponder.
I met Valerie Blackstone (nicknamed Val) in junior high school. She also attended Dunbar and remained my lifelong friend until she died in 2004. Her entry was a corny rhyme: “On the day of your graduation, you will receive an invitation from the board of education to increase the population. Do you dig this situation? A friend always, Val.” I imagine today’s contemporary teens would write that verse using more provocative language.
Adele Thomas and I grew up across the street from each other. After graduation, she married her high school sweetheart, Francis Smith, another Dunbar student. During Dunbar’s 35th class reunion, they were still married, and I suspect they remain together today. Adele wrote this. “The way to be seen is to stand up. The way to be heard is to speak up. The way to be appreciated is to shut up. Good luck.” Considering I was as quiet as a church mouse throughout my school years, I took her words to heart. With much determination in the years following graduation, I became the outspoken person some people wish would sit down and shut down.
Katherine E. Stanley, I remember being much more mature than other girls at school. True to her demeanor, she penned this, “Let your life be like arithmetic. Joys added. Sorrows subtracted. Friends multiplied. Love undivided. McKinley Tech bound.”
Another nice guy, Stephen Bennett, wrote, “To a very sweet girl. I wish you much luck in your future years.”
Harry Gough was one of our class’s brightest and most popular students. If I remember correctly, he always wore a suit to school, and I think some students considered him a nerd. I would not be surprised to learn that he became a college professor. He wrote “Best of Luck.”
I’ve maintained contact with some former alums, like Phillip Stevens. I knew Phil before high school, just like I did Val. We three have history. We were mutual friends, playmates, and schoolmates. Phil was another ambitious and active student. In addition to being a member of the military band, he was quite the athlete on Dunbar’s football and baseball teams. Besides our lifelong friendship, Phil is one of my dear Facebook friends. He wrote in my junior high book, “A friend of Val’s is a friend of mine,” and in my high school yearbook, “Always remember your junior and high school friend.” I always will.
Another athlete, Mevin Caldwell inscribed, “May God ever be with you and help you in everything you try to do.”
My namesake, Loretta Gaines, was also a bestie. She, Val, and I had our own clique. Loretta wrote, “To my favorite sister. Always stay as sweet and cool as you are. Wishing you the best of luck.”
Schoolmates weren’t the only ones who signed my books. Some of my relatives had their say. One cousin, Velda Parker, wrote, “Remember me. I’m the one who loves you.”
Some of the graduation cards I received remain tucked inside the back cover of my High School Yearbook. One came from Uncle Lucky and Aunt Jennie, another from Uncle Alton and Aunt Imogene. And then – there is the one from my then pen pal (who would become my husband two years later). I was a senior in high school, and he was in the U.S. Air Force, serving the second of his four-year enlisted service in Germany. The graduation card he sent me contained the answer to the question I asked in the last letter I sent him before graduating. “No, I’m so sorry, I can’t return stateside to take you to the prom.”
As shy as I was in school, this former shrinking violet would have blossomed while attending the prom with my military beau wearing his dress blues.
My mom wrote the most memorable prose in my autograph book. I’ve been unable to learn the author of that verse, but the words will remain with me forever: “Dear Daughter, Remember, wherever you be, be noble. Whatever you do, do well. Whenever you speak, speak kindly. Bring joy wherever you dwell. Love Mother.”
After reading my way down memory lane, I returned both books to the bookcase. Those school days seem like a hundred years ago. Come to think of it, it’s darn near close!