A Day In 1968

Usually my words flow from mind to keyboard without much effort.  A chance remark might set off an essay.  My friends worry that what they say may show up here.  But this time is different.  It has taken weeks of editing to tell this story.  I was there.  You may remember it differently.  I hope you will tell me.  The incident tore us apart, but not for long.  In a matter of weeks, we were once again the LIONS.  We laughed and danced together, we graduated.  We came together for reunions.  We made lasting friendships.  We were bound, not because of one day in 1968, but by a camaraderie years in the making.

1969 was an amazing year.  Woodstock happened.  Who would have thought man would walk on the moon?   Honeywell introduced the first home computer, priced at over ten thousand dollars.  Penthouse and Sesame Street were born.  Edward Kennedy got away with what some called murder.  The Amazing Mets won the World Series, Charles Manson became a household name. The Smothers' Brothers were cancelled after Spiro Agnew called them "subversive"....and in a little city called Erie, PA, there was a student disruption that would change the face of Erie schools forever.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: Class of '69 was directly affected. Sorry, but I like this part!

The tension had been growing for awhile, but unless you were part of the inner circle you were probably, like me and many of my friends, oblivious to what was going on.  We were high-schoolers, too self-absorbed to notice.  That particular morning, there were rumors.  We knew something was going on.  While normally we walked the hallways until first bell, there were more little groups in the corners.  There was more whispering.  I heard somebody say something about first lunch.  I paid no attention.

There was talk about a popular basketball player getting expelled from school because of an incident with a prejudiced teacher.  Petitions were signed.  Everybody liked the hoop star.  The teacher was not exactly well-loved, his racial and gender bias known well to his students.  What I had heard was that the teacher grabbed the student, the student hit him, and that was that.  I was not there.

The cafeteria at first lunch that day was ominously quiet.  There were few type-A dinners served. Pods of students gathered here and there.  Teachers shifted from foot to foot.  Tension was palpable.
We sat at our usual table with hot rolls and cookies instead of Johnny Marzetti (a sort-of goulash for you west-coast readers).  We waited.

When the fire alarm sounded at twelve noon, it became something from the movies.  Our peaceful lunchroom was filled with flying trays, stoneware plates and bowls.  A stainless butter knife whizzed past my ear (no plastic sporks in those days).  There were tables upended, chairs thrown. Shouting and screaming and running.  I grabbed my purse and my best friend.  We beat the track team out the door, never stopping until we reached the stadium gate.

My dad, who worked for the city at that time, had heard on the police band about the "riot" at Academy High School.  There were no cell phones in 1968.  My blessed father brought a huge yellow city truck into the frenzy.  Somehow, he found me and my friends and drive us to safer territory.

Oh, yes, the Lions made the news.  They called it a "riot".  This was 1968, remember.  But let me tell you this...there were a couple of minor fistfights that I saw.  There were no weapons--no knives, no guns.  There were bruises and black-and-blue feelings, but no killing.  There was mayhem, to be sure.  I don't envy those who had to clean up the cafeteria.

The next day, I went back to Academy.  Outside the stadium there were black students gathered.  Up on the hill, there was a parking lot where white students paced.  They eyed each other warily, but no punches were thrown .  No one stopped us from going in to the school.   For the first, but not the last, time there were police on every corner.  There were chains on the doors until first bell.  There were guards in the hallways when we were finally allowed inside.  We weren't allowed to walk the halls that first day; we went straight to homeroom.

The halls were eerily silent.  More than three hundred of us chose to stay home.

A few evenings later the school board called a special meeting to be held at Academy.  Hundreds of students, parents, teachers and police packed our auditorium.  One director, apparently miffed at being asked to attend, showed up late.  Making her entrance on the stage, she sighed as she dusted off her chair and nodded to the other members.  She barely acknowledged the throngs in the audience.  Yes, I remember her name.

We survived those days of mistrust.  We stayed civil with each other.  Our friendships stayed integrated.  Life went on at Academy.  We went to dances, we went to the prom.  We had our graduation in the stadium where we proudly wore the blue and gold.  Something changed in our school district that day besides the stoneware becoming Styrofoam and the stainless becoming plastic sporks.  Policy changed.  No-tolerance prevailed.

Throughout it all, we remained the Lions.

Dedicated to Academy High School, class of 1969 (and also class of '68).


High stands our Alma Mater, overlooking lake and town.
High in our hearts we cherish her ideals and fair renown.
Noble in her grace and beauty, in her service frank and free;
Training lives in truth and duty, honor, trust and loyalty.
Oh, we'll work and fight for her honor; we'll work and fight for her fame.
We will serve her right in the world's great fight; we will ever uphold her name.
For her sturdy sons are so valiant, her maidens so kind and true.
We will carry on, till the stars are gone, for Academy, the Gold and Blue!


PUBLISHER'S NOTE: I erred. This was 1968, not 1969. This is good, as my memories of 1969 can remain untarnished. However, I did such a good job (place here for applause) that I'm going to leave it pretty much as is, with apologies to everyone but the NY Times who also erred in its reporting. C'est la vie.