Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

Again I speak of the class of 1973. This week, a look back at graduation, ‘70s style.
The summer of ‘72 we (my friends and I) began thinking ahead to graduation. We all knew the Class of ‘73 ruled ... we’d been writing it in each others yearbooks for three years and maybe more. As fall approached thoughts drifted to senior pictures ... yes, back then we waited until sweater weather to actually wear a sweater. I had mine taken at Higgins Studio. Higgins Studio was located where Tammy’s is today. The owners, Jim and Dixie were legendary. Their son Blake was in my class. I remember wearing a seersucker plaid blazer over a yellow oxford shirt. My hair was long and pulled back around the crown of my head. Mom didn’t like what I wore ... never did. But she hung my senior portrait (an 11x14 inch monstrosity) in the living room anyway.
The York High class of 1973 was scheduled to graduate on Sunday, May 20. Our ceremony would be a first ... and I think a last. Invitations to the grand event looked much like those I received this year ... the Jostens variety. Three folds of off-white paper, pencil drawing of the school, “Class of 1973” scrawled across the front in an unknown font, signature card and photo enclosed. But the invite is where all similarities to 21st century graduation ended.
You see, I sent invitations to exactly six people; my parents kept one, my grandparents received another. Two sets of family friends each got one and a pair went out to my aunt and uncle in West Virginia, even though they wouldn’t be able to make it.
Baccalaureate took place at individual churches of the students. We attended the First United Methodist Church ... so that’s where my graduation was blessed, right along with the graduations of the rest of the Methodist seniors.
Actual graduation ceremonies took place at 2 p.m. the 20th of May on the grassy center of the York High School (the former Middle School) track at Fourteenth Street and East Avenue. City workers moved bleachers in from all over town. We, the graduates, were seated on folding chairs at the foot of bleacher city. Right near the railroad tracks.
There was a stage of sorts. I can’t remember if it was a flat bed trailer .... but whatever it was it was scary to walk on and off of in  platform wooden clogs. Even though I was an ‘L’ I walked in with Randy Hergenrader ... Jay was paired with my girlfriend Cindy (Strand) Maly. I always thought I should have strolled in on the arm of Dan Leininger, both of us being L’s. After all we’d been sitting side by side in homeroom for two years ... but that’s not how it worked out. Don’t worry, I’m over it. Randy and I got along just fine.
It was sunny and windy on graduation day 1973. It was windy and all of us girls were wearing pale, pale goldish-yellow caps and gowns. So we all looked a little jaundiced. The guys got to wear blue — consequently they looked all healthy and tan.
Gordon Fillman handed my diploma to me that Sunday afternoon. Our class motto was the very deep and thoughtful statement, “Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday.” Or was it “Tomorrow is the yesterday we worried about today?” Or maybe it was, “Yesterday is the today we worried about tomorrow.” I get confused.
Post-graduation festivities were sadly lacking back then. I remember walking from graduation across the street to my house in Arbor Heights where all 12 of my guests assembled. We feasted on punch, cake, nuts and traditional pastel after dinner mints, then chatted the afternoon away. Elroy Nelson stopped by and left a card ... I think he was our only drop-in. The next week thank-yous went out to my grandparents for the diamond earrings, the Bonhams, my aunt and uncle, and the Nelson’s for a bit of cash and that was about it ... simple, huh?
When mom and dad dismissed me from my “family” duties I took off to spend some time with friends and Jay. That was my graduation day. I’m not sure when the trend toward graduation shrines and dinner for 100 began. But the lack of “celebration” didn’t make a difference. All I know is, when the last train whistle blew and the class of 1973 graduated we knew were on the right track — right between the cinder and railroad varieties.