High School Years

One of the first memories that popped into my head quickly as I sat down this morning to write about high school was a warning my older brother Mark gave me: “Never ask an upperclassman for directions if you get lost in the building….” there were tales and laughter associated with misguided freshmen wandering the halls looking for a class during the first few days of school. This beloved high school is shaped like an H and boasts two floors with the choir and band rooms lofting above them in the center of the building along with the cafeteria which also served as a study hall. So, I was smart and heeded my brother’s warning but without asking in return “how will I know who is a senior!?”….I can confess to you I did get turned around one time and was late for a class after my lunch period and a couple times after being on spring or Christmas break I forgot my locker combination. Other than those minor situations, I loved high school. Let me tell you a few reasons why.

As a freshman I continued adding choir as an elective into my schedule. My vocal teacher was Mrs. Leis and she was wonderful! The school had added a girls ensemble to its offerings of girls choir and Honors Choir. I was placed in the ensemble class which meant it was a smaller number of students and there were no boys in the class (they were in Honors Choir) I loved to sing and easily picked up learning the melody of any song; it’s here where I was taught how to read music, acquired the ability to learn intervals audibly along with rhythm, counting, determining what key a song was written in…all the technical aspects of not merely singing. Most importantly we were taught proper breathing techniques for supporting our voices and how to sneak a catch breath for long phrases. Being part of the ensemble was also my first experience “going to vocal competitions”, usually at a school in the Flint area, where vocal students in our area came to perform and be judged for a coveted “1” performance. 

In the summer between my freshman and sophomore year I auditioned with Mrs. Leis to be considered for the Honors Choir. This was my first experience singing alone with her, listening to her play intervals on the piano and telling her the answer for each one, sight reading a portion of music, all so she could determine if I was qualified to be in the school’s prestigious choir which mainly performed acapella–no accompaniment–requiring perfect pitches in it’s four sections, soprano, alto, tenor and bass. My audition went well but I didn’t know until picking up by class schedule just before the start of school if I had “made it in”. I had all summer to wonder. To worry. To anticipate. Imagine my apprehension as I tore the cover off my class schedule. I didn’t look to see what my class load was….my eyes went searching for the choral class I was assigned. And there it was–Honors Choir. I was in! That sophomore year with Mrs. Leis was another amazing year of learning and expanding my love to sing. She made music come alive and she was incredible at forming relationships with us as individuals. She liked a good practical joke and took advantage of playing them whenever possible. She had a habit of swinging her foot with crossed legs as she sat on her stool in front of us. Occasionally her heeled shoe became an unintended projectile, landing somewhere near the front row of us girls in the soprano or alto section. 

Sadly for us kids, she left teaching after my sophomore year in order to return to college and pursue a degree in counseling. Our hearts were broken and we were determined there was no one who could replace her. Mr. Sarri was hired as her replacement and those of us very loyal to Mrs. Leis didn’t accept him for quite some time. In my junior year he took us to a choir festival as was the norm and we received a “2” for our performance…and quickly blamed him for breaking the long held reputation of never getting a rating other than a “1”. But, in my senior year with him, back to festival we went and something powerful happened. In the portion of our sight reading piece for the judges, we got our allowed instructions from Mr. Sarri, performed the number and upon ending stood in utter silence watching the judges making their notes, heads bowed down looking down at their paper. Breaking the silence and the dread surrounding us, one of the judges began to speak. He said “That was a difficult arrangement and you performed it without error. Now, please sing it again for us, but this time, relax and have fun. Enjoy it!” And we did! The real change, the real miracle was our heart change towards Mr. Sarri. He was no longer the “bad guy”. He, indeed, was capable of picking up where Mrs. Leis left us, and my time in the Honors Choir was filled with numerous performances and oh yes–ample “1s” at competition.

Mr. Matlock. Ah, this quirky rather young teacher was one of my favorites. As Mrs. Leis and Mr. Sarri honed my skills for vocals, this man taught me about writing, marketing, journalism, photography. In my senior year I was named as editor of our high school yearbook and Mr. Matlock was our “advisor”. He oversaw our teams that sold advertising for the book, took photos (we had our own darkroom to develop the negatives) , wrote articles about activities, captioned those photos, and built our pages that went to the publisher–all under strict deadlines that were never allowed to be missed. I can still hear him telling us “I don’t care how late we have to stay to meet a deadline. If it’s midnight, we will be here, and I’ll order pizza.” I don’t remember ever having to stay into the late evening hours but we certainly did work after the school day had ended. His discipline and hard work paid off for us; our bright lime green covered yearbook won a national award! I was inducted into the national Quill Society (other than that memory I really don’t know what membership gave me except pride in response to hard work that was not without its challenges.  If memory serves me correctly, I wrote about pubs and how they fit into the culture of their time….we were required to turn in a draft which was returned with red markings where and what to correct for our final submission. I truly don’t recall my final grade but I do know it was a good one, well above a C.

Final exams were part of our senior year, too, and Mrs. Cappells were not for the faint of heart. I was the kind of student who studied, wasn’t sure if my study skills were adequate, always studied up until the moment of picking up my pencil to begin a test. I also was the type of kid that seemed to finish a test first, causing me anxiety if I had rushed…did I answer all the questions correctly? So, when I took her final exam and went out into the hallway as allowed by her upon completion, she followed me out and asked “So,Susan, how do you think you did on the exam?” It was just her and me in the long quiet hall by a set of lockers. “I don’t know Mrs. Cappell. Your tests are pretty hard sometimes.” She assured me that I had most likely done very well and in that moment I felt relief. But more than a peace flooding over me was the sense of a firm, sometimes strict, well seasoned teacher taking an interest in a shy, sometimes fearful girl finding her way through challenging required classes and assignments. Again, I don’t remember my exact grade, but it was well above a C.

Graduation. We got our caps, our gowns, our gold tassel. We rehearsed several times and on the much anticipated evening of commencement over 600 of us filled the chairs that were on the football field. Our parents sat in the bleachers. Our administrators and guest speakers were in front of us on a temporary stage. Our graduation evening was beautiful. There was no rain; the sun shone from the western skies as we listened to each speaker, as we lined up as rehearsed to receive our diploma which actually was only the holder for it. We received our diploma when we returned our rented gown. Walking into the school office to do just that was my last time to enter this huge H shaped two story building that housed so many humorous and serious memories for three years. I was the last of us three kids to graduate high school but not alone to begin pondering “what’s next?” My “what’s next” actually began as I was seated in my chair on the football field. I was anticipating senior lockin that night, hanging out with my boyfriend and other kids…listening as each classmate’s name was announced receiving the “diploma”…actually having a moment of complete fear in the reality that the next morning I was faced with “what will I do now…..” Thankfully, answers came…..that’s another entry. For now, as part of the class of 1971, one of 600 plus kids….more life, more lessons to learn, more challenges to face were waiting around the corner.