... and what about the prom?

I sat down today and visually visited my high school Facebook friends. I’m thinking about the whole idea of "prom." Back then, there were comings-out of girls in the elite society of white girls. I guess I should go ahead and crack the old nut: I had my coming out much later, around the age of 27. 

At Athens High School, there was no prom. Along with desegregation, prom was discontinued. I think of that today with the news of the high school in Fulton, MS, that cancelled their prom because a lesbian couple planned to go together as a couple.

That the school would cancel its prom, placing the burden of a stupid adult decision on the backs of a couple of kids is so sad to me for the two girls and for all the kids who looked forward to their prom. But, you know what? I've been there, in a couple of ways. For one, I went to a school that did not have a prom for reasons adults thought made sense. Secondly, I've felt the social ostracism of being controversially different. With everything in me, I wanted so much to fit in and, especially, to not rock the boat. Of course, we had gay schoolmates back then -- we're everywhere, always. But, it was hard for those who could not pass. One person I know of committed suicide. I had no language for or consciousness of my own gayness back then, but I did feel the pain of difference. But, really, back then, we were frying other fish, so to speak. I can remember only that we were all twisted up about race.

So, why did my high school not have prom? Because: parents of white girls did not want the risk of their girls dancing with black boys. And, school officials did not want the set-up for inter-racial violence. That's it, in a nutshell.

Proms and coming out balls were (are?) for putting people of the same education and social class together to make couples, to make families, to make society. That's why schools once were in neighborhoods. Society girl rituals are about presenting young ladies to the world, to say, "I'm ready -- I will graduate, I'm fertile, come and court me." The more elite clubs are about social engineering sharpened to a point. And, as the Baptists said back then, everyone knows if you allow teenagers to have sex before marriage, it could lead to dancing. No one thinks overtly, out loud about the design of social rituals. It's all about birds of a feather. That's the thinking of the good ol' days -- the Old South.

Somewhere along the way, the elite sorority I mentioned earlier, the one that would finally move me out of strangeness into popularity, hosted a formal-dress dance for the white kids, by invitation only. The brief time I was a pledge, I wrote kids' names on bids and envelopes, decorated the ballroom, and ran the scut-work errands for the sorority. The bids were presented at the door of the Athens Country Club (need I say, whites only Country Club?), and one year, at the ballroom of the Jetport in Madison. 

Above, that's the photo from my senior year, dressed in the gown my mother made for me. In our alternative-prom formal, couples (boy-girl) promenaded across a stage in a ceremony called the "lead-out." The tuxed boy with the gowned girl on his arm walked with head-high dignity out into the spot-light and paused for the photograph. Where is that tuxed boy now? He was older than me by 3 years -- an older man.

This same sorority also held the Sadie Hawkins dance every year. Whites only, of course. For this dance, the girls asked the boys, turning the tables of chivalry. I think that dance was at the old Fairgrounds in a barn-like building. 

The idea of both dances is that they were off school property in private locations, hosted by a private group that was not officially affiliated with the school. Parents were chaperones. Teachers and school officials were invited, unofficially. I wonder if anyone back then questioned what we were doing? Well, why should anyone's conscience be any different from mine? There I was, a Christian, a caring person -- and a self-absorbed teenager trying to fit in. 

Why does my mind anachronistically wish to have been more enlightened back then? The lines were drawn for us, racially and sexually. We all knew our "place" in society. I suppose by now, I have moved through my life to such a place that I find it impossible to give in to nostalgia. Sure, it was a sweet time at times, but would I go back and live it again? Not just no, but, hell no.

School Days: Class of '75

In the spring of 1975, I graduated from Athens High School, Athens, AL. I think our class must be due for a reunion this year, a multiple of 5 -- or do they go to 10 year increments after thirty years? Anyway, wow, 35 years ago!

I have five or six classmates on Facebook, some of whom I knew since elementary school. The benefit/burden of living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone -- sort of.

It's not so small anymore, and, even back then, we always seemed to have newcomers.

Athens would not like to see itself as a bedroom community to any other city, but, in my memory, that was one of the interesting things about the town. The Huntsville industries brought a lot of "new kids" to town, children of people who worked in the science industries. In my mind, the most notable industry was the Space and Rocket industry, led by Werner von Braun, who led the development of the Saturn rocket, that made possible JFK's vision to land earthlings on the moon. Our 10-year-old is fixin' to go to Space Camp with her school this month, at the Space and Rocket Center.

Huntsville was the place to go as a teenager, if you wanted a nice date to a movie and a restaurant (The Fog Cutter, Red Lobster, -- you know, the fancy places). Athens had no movie theater at the time, at least not with new releases. I did work in the then-new Athens Cinema in my senior year, I opened the building, turned on the big projector, and started the popcorn machine -- all processes that took a long time.

I have been thinking about Athens High School lately because of the recent acquaintance with "the other McWilliamses" of Limestone County. How much I do not know of my own heritage ... Talking with Mikal Saahir and telling others about the story of our meeting (see earlier posts) have peeled back layers of memory and associations -- and the lack of them.

In 1975, our class graduated with a history of (not sure about this) five years of desegregation. I recall that we attended the old Athens High School when the Middle School was created around the same time, and I was in the 8th grade. Those who had attended 6th grade at Athens Elementary School spent 7th grade in another school for one year, while arrangements were made for the creation of the Middle School. [Memory is notoriously unreliable without documentation, so I'm not really sure about this chronology.]

By the time 8th grade opened up at the Middle School, desegregation had happened. I remember being led into the hallway on the first day of school, each class with its white students, lined up to greet our new black classmates. The air was charged with anxiety on both sides of the hall.

How did that desegregation work that year, from a system perspective? Only later in life did I begin to think about what my new classmates lost in desegregation. Trinity School was a beloved place for a lot of people, yet it was closed down and left to deteriorate. I recall driving through "the black section of town" and seeing the weeds and vines crawling up the walls and roof. Or do I? I think I remember that.

Instead of integrating both Trinity and Athens High, Trinity was closed, and, eventually, a new high school was built on the north side of town. This new school was located on Highway 31, not far south of the junction with I-65.

As I moved on through school, in those high school years, there were incidents of violence, especially at football games, it seems to me. I was in the band, and as far as I knew, or was concerned then, the band was a place of discipline and order. Mr. Bacon and Mr. Havely ran a tight ship, and music kept us all focused. Band was my joy in high school, along with my church youth group, the UMYF at the First United Methodist Church, and, of course, my horses.

For reasons I came to understand much later in my life, high school was not a happy time for me. I felt that I did not fit in. I was a tomboy; I was not particularly popular; I didn't date much, but had a series of boyfriends. When I was a senior, I was rushed into the sorority that I thought would make my social life complete. But, I quit because it interfered too much with my horse time. [Kids are so cruel to each other. Rumors and lies drifted back to me much later, but I was too far gone to care.] Life at home was fractious. Interracial dis-harmony, Vietnam, Watergate all created a -- here comes the cliché: turbulent time in which to be a teenager. I could hardly wait to get away and go to college.

When I did go away, I kept on going. Now, I'm here in Indianapolis, with my partner, a woman, her 10 year old daughter, our three dogs, and one cat, and surrounded by inlaws/outlaws I dearly love -- and, here, it's mutual and I feel so very normal. My family of origin, however, is painfully broken. My dear dad, full of bitterness and grief, still lives in Athens. My remaining brother is in Nashville, frequently homeless (see earlier poem). Robert's wife and kids live in Florida, and his teenage daughter is doing her best to find him in herself and her friends.

I had to move to Indianapolis to meet up with some wonderful people from Limestone County, with whom I share a history that is older than Athens High School. They mention names to me of their relatives, classmates and schoolmates with whom I shared nothing in common back then. I wish I could hear some stories of both the Trinity and Athens Middle and High kids who gained something and lost something back then.