You always remember your first chance to succeed
- Mike Dewey: Life Lines
- August 24, 2024
- 601
Sometimes, when I sit down to write, I have an outline in mind — a beginning, a middle and an ending, sort of like a short story.
Or an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.”
Andy tells Opie that learning American history is hard, which sparks righteous anger from Miss Crump, his teacher, creating chaos in the classroom. In Act Three he figures a way to make amends by telling the story of Paul Revere, which the kids love, bringing peace to the school and squaring things with Helen.
Good morning, good afternoon, good night — simple as 1, 2, 3.
This was supposed to have been one of those weeks. My plan was to wade into the waters of summer’s end and back-to-school dreads, writing my way around some memories, triggering some of yours.
I even had a stage-setting song lyric ready for insertion:
“We had some good times, but they’re gone.
The winter’s coming on … summer’s almost gone.”
You can’t go wrong with the Doors from 1968. That’s pure gold.
Then I heard something from a friend, and I had to change course.
He told me the high school’s student-run newspaper, which had been part of the landscape since the late ‘30s, had folded.
Faithful readers may remember that, as a senior, I was an editor on the staff and contributed two columns to every edition, one on sports, the other on popular culture, such as movies, books, TV, music.
I knew how lucky I was to have that kind of freedom of expression, and I did my very best to earn the trust that had been placed in me.
But I was only one small part of a bigger team that worked together to not only meet our biweekly deadline on time, but also to see to the printing and distribution of the paper. Writers, editors, photographers filled the pages, but others sold ads to offset the expenses, not to mention the print shop guys who ran the presses.
It was exhilarating, heady stuff, and I like to think that we did well.
There were certainly more visible extracurricular activities available to students including varsity sports, band and Drama Club, cheerleading, dance team, and all manner of arts and science stuff.
The school even had its own radio station, something I was part of, and we could program our own play lists for the lunch hour, though there was a bit of a kerfuffle when someone cued up Jimi Hendrix’s sonic, revolutionary version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” recorded at Woodstock, a decision we all backed.
Those in positions of power, however, expressed a different view.
Such opposing opinions weren’t uncommon, and as you might expect, the newspaper itself was occasionally the target of, well, let’s just call it faculty frustration. We had an adviser, a saintly woman who put up with more guff, shenanigans, attitude, ego and arrogance than any educator in the building … but she loved us all.
When you’re 17 or 18 years old, you’re just beginning to find your voice, and the decisions you make aren’t always necessarily the most mature aspects of your embryonic journalistic world view.
You tend to overreact to complicated issues — the war in Vietnam, the burgeoning women’s lib movement, the importance of “All in the Family” — and that took a toll on even the most dedicated teacher, who probably wished we would all just take a deep breath.
But that can be nigh on impossible when you’re in high school.
It’s an adolescent cauldron of swirling emotions, a funhouse mirror maze in which it’s easy to get lost, a hormonal overload factory, a place more suited to confusion than clarity, a cruel rite of passage.
I think of Quint’s monologue in “Jaws,” the one in which he describes in sobering detail what it was like when the crew of the USS Indianapolis found themselves torpedoed in the Pacific.
“Sometimes the shark would go away … sometimes he wouldn’t.”
That’s high school.
You’re never quite sure when it’s safe to jump in the water, to carry the metaphor a bit farther. All you can do is swim smart.
It’s a time of learning how to learn, to make mistakes and then undo the damage that you’ve done, a laboratory of cause and effect.
I met most of my closest friends in high school, and I consider myself quite fortunate to have maintained relationships with them.
Sure, life’s unpredictable currents have carried us in diverse directions, but there remains an unbreakable bond, a brotherhood that has stood the test of time, a truly remarkable survivors’ union.
After more than 50 years, you can’t ask for much better than that.
I’ve held onto every copy of the newspaper from those days, and even though, when I reread some of my work, I cringe a bit, I remain convinced being a small part of it all was a blessing.
Rest in peace, Panorama. Thanks for the chance to find my voice.
Mike Dewey can be reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com and 1317 Troy Road, Ashland, OH 44805. He invites you to find him on Facebook, where high school madness is a cause for celebration.