The Class of ‘65

 

Back before Internet, cable and Facebook,

Before Kindles and Barnes and Nobles’ Nook,

Before cell phones and never-ending on-line rants,

There were guys wearing desert boots and peg-legged pants.

There were also hundreds of wonderful girls

With their hair in ponytails, bobs or curls.

Many wove their hair into a beehive;

That was the Class of ’65.

The girls all loved our high school teachers;

The guys felt the teachers were horrible creatures.

Then the faculty split the school in two –

Triton Red and Triton Blue.

We suffered through days of never-ending classes

Squinting at the blackboard, wearing dark glasses.

We were in the cafeteria, sharing a Coke

Or under the steps, grabbing a smoke.

The girls thought those days were funny and happy

But the guys, we thought they were all pretty crappy.

We worried about acne, blackheads, oily hair;

It wasn’t fun, wasn’t cool, it just wasn’t fair.

Worrying about grades, chicks and the draft;

What about a job, should we learn a craft?

Would we end up in the Army, Navy, Air Force?

Should we go to college… if so, what course?

And if we’re drafted, would we survive?

They were our worries, the Class of ’65.

Those gym teachers sure made us feel like dopes

As we ran track, dodged ball and climbed the ropes.

The guys hated most of the classes

Dropping pencils, passing notes, grinning at the lasses.

We wore corduroys that swished when we walked,

Smiling at the cheerleaders as we all gawked.

We wore flannel, tight pants and jackets of tweed

And madras shirts that would always bleed.

Feet clad in Keds, Buster Browns and desert boots,

Dungarees, elastic belts and skintight bathing suits.

Covering our faces with Clearasil cream

Slicking back our hair with Wildroot or BrylCreem.

Running from a sweaty gym to the showers

In a locker room that sure didn’t smell like flowers!

Maybe in school we just might have had a ball

If it weren’t for the time in detention hall.

Weekend coming up, time to be groovy;

Let’s go see what’s playing at the movie.

Macho flicks like Goldfinger, Magnificent Seven

Or hanging out at that new store called 7-11.

Punching holes in our muffler, cruising in our cars

Past Bellmawr Lake, Weber’s, Mingle and Starr’s.

Driving back and forth through the new Mickey Dee’s,

Smiling at the girls, thinking you were a tease.

Days of ‘57 Chevys and the first Mustang,

Car radio blasting and we all sang

Doo wop, a capella, did some hand jive.

That’s how it was for the Class of ’65,

Listening to songs from Bob Dylan, Mama Cass,

Just cruising, only 22 cents a gallon for gas.

Going to Bellmawr, Mepri, Oaklyn Dancette,

Guys wishing all the girls looked like Annette;

Girls wishing the guys were like Elvis or Frankie

Instead of the Little Rascals’ Alfalfa or Spanky.

Guys getting a date by a call on the phone;

Splash on the Aqua de Silva cologne.

Take her to Cooper River for the submarine races,

Irish Hill, Chicken Beach or many other places.

Drive-in movies like the Parkway and the Star-Lite

Or maybe try taking her out for a bite.

Go for a hoagie from one of those delis

With names like Carmen’s and Antonelli’s.

Or maybe a snack at the Diner or Twin Kiss

Dating in the 60’s was hit or miss.

And, by the way, wasn’t it really silly

Why we always fought with the guys from South Philly?

Wishing for summertime as hard as we could

For long days at Bellmawr Lake, Campanell, Wildwood.

Those never-ending summers made us feel alive

For all of us, the Class of ’65.

Now those everlasting summers are no more

And seasons speed by like a revolving door.

So maybe, just maybe, those days weren’t so happy

But maybe, just maybe, they weren’t all that bad.

To be that young again, we’d all be so glad!

Our bellies have grown, youthful skin no more;

Now bifocals instead of the sunglasses we wore.

But that spark of school spirit and great memories survive

For us, the Class of ’65!

Babe

2015