Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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A History . . . I imagine if you wanted to write a class history, you'd have to go back to the year 1954, unless you were a real scout who wanted to probe the ancient annals compiled by the 14-year members. It was the fall of that year that the class of 1960 was eligible to enter the sixth class. Thing was, most of us didn't. Most of us were still going to school at those little pre- prep schools that you hear about now and then. Most of us were still seventh graders at Shore or Fenn or Dexter or Charles River, and it was just about then that we were starting to worry about getting accepted at a prep school. We probably dropped by for a look at Milton that year or the next, and we probably had a little chat with that tall, skinny man with the funny name that sounded like Peacock. A few more of us entered by joining the fifth class in the fall of '55, A year later, after the new kids had been absorbed into the fourth class, we were almost all here. We had made the transition. One year we were big men at our little pre-prep schools. We were team cap- tains and leaders of the student body. We were men of great responsibility, heroes to our- selves and to our underclassmen. But we gave all that up. We suddenly were no longer big men. We were little flunkies at Milton Academy, which was a famous and magnificent institution of higher learning. Those Warren Hall days were days of getting used to the place and adjusting to its tra- ditions or what-have-you, and they were days of learning to understand the faculty and the upperclassmen and ourselves. We learned that there was a girls' school across the street. I guess actually, most of us knew that before we came, as a matter of fact, maybe if some of us hadn't known that, we might have gone to Exeter. But on the whole, our years in Warren Hall were fairly successful. Our Warren Squads turned in respectable records and we man- aged to put three of our members on varsity teams and several on the second teams. Our collective 'genius' at all sorts of things was already popping up in unexpected places, even in studies. Third class year rolled around, and we moved over to Wigg Hall. The third class year must be considered as sort of in between yearg sure, you get a little more freedom and all that, but you're still just a pretty insignificant little cog in the big machine. You have to toe the mark and make way for the upper classmen and obey the rules and you just have to face it, you're not very important. Nevertheless, we enjoyed that year. There were sports, of varying degrees, and there was a play, The Admimble Crichton, and there was Glee Club, and the Festival Chorus, with the Boston Symphony and Boris Goldovski. There were the many clubs and activities, that began even then to clamor for our time.

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In the second class we started to take over the reins. We were suddenly relatively im- portant in our own little sphere of influence. The OGB became our responsibility, as did the Spring Dance . . . The famed Wedge-grams began to make their appearance, and their doughty, Republican conservatism rivalled the traditional ginger and ultra-efficiency of the eternal Stokey-gram. We were introduced to the SAT and we grimaced in the usual manner, but reminding ourselves that some will do better than others, we held our noses and shut our eyes and timidly entered in to the world of IBM machines and special pencils. And finally, we rounded the bend and headed down the stretch. We had made it - First class Men at last. Funny thing . . . how it takes you by surprise. You're working like the devil, living from day to day, from assignment to assignment, and you don't even notice it coming, but all of a sudden, without any warning, you turn the corner and there you are. It's September 1959 and this is it, you're looking down the home stretch and you can see the finish up there ahead, and you turn on the steam and you come roaring down, Flat out . . . that's the way it was with us, anyway. We came back and it was our year and we had to run the clubs and the publications and the productions and we had to put together some athletic teams and of course we had to do our home work, and besides all that we had to think about next year and college. And as we came barreling down that home stretch, I guess you'd have to admit that we did things up pretty good. 'Course I am a wee bit biased, but I mean look at that record. The football and hockey teams both compiled exceptionally good records, and the basket ball team started to win games with revolutionary frequency. The Glee Club and Choir were also above the norm, and the Orchestra, with or without a pro Brass Choir, was very proficient. The recondite Antigone displayed some excellent acting. The Camera Club was probably the most publicized organization. Its members appeared everywhere. They steal- thily darted about the floor at dances and risked hardships and personal danger in obtain- ing original shots of sports or of their classmates in their leisure time. Not to slight the scholastic side of things, we produced four Merit Scholarship Finalists and one Winner. And now it's already past. We're already starting to sum it up. Six years that are now background, history. Next fall, Milton class of '60 becomes insignificant and lowly college freshmen, scattered across the country. These past six have been formative years, and though some of us won't admit it, Milton has left its mark on all of us. It may be a small mark, but it's still there. As the class of '60 dissolves and goes its 56 separate ways we will lose our common and relating ties. Our class as a living unit will cease to exist, each individual will become a part of other units. Sure, we may get together for a couple of reunions, but that's different, who knows, they may turn out to be something like T. S. Eliot's Cocktail Party, although I hope it won't be all that bad. And now I suppose if you wanted to conclude your class history you would come up with a few deft and pertinent generalizations, you would sum up the class and its six years here in three or four concise, accurate, and meaningful words and that would be that. Un- fortunately the more I think about it, the more I realize that the class is too big and too diverse to be even partially described in one short sentence. Perhaps the only thing we have in common is a certain assurance that we are well prepared to cope with the future. We can look forward at life with confidence, certain that we have a sound basic education, upon which we can build.