One Year Senior 1971–1972
I was recently asked by a classmate to write an essay for a series leading up to our 50th high school reunion. A challenge under any circumstances. The added weight was to give voice to the 80 girls who slammed through the 190 year old tradition of Exeter as a boys boarding school (the school officially became co-ed in 1970 with the appearance of several female day students). I was inspired by responses I read to a survey a group of us conducted to document impressions from the FEW “First Exeter Women”. The stories they tell are as diverse as the girls, now women, who lived them. This is mine.
I arrived at Exeter, third generation. My grandfather, on my Mother’s side, fled his Mormon childhood in 1906, riding the train from Salt Lake City, Utah to Exeter. My father, Class of 1940, fled Hackensack, New Jersey to attend what would become one of the great loves of his life. In 1971, it was my turn, escaping from an all girl’s school in Connecticut.
The vision that remains of my arrival at Bancroft Hall is a blur of movement, energy, and excitement, as girls ran around finding rooms and meeting roommates. The other thing I remember was being surprised and slightly intimidated as they exchanged information on the classes they were most excited about. My prior academic career was spent dreading Mondays … and counting the minutes until Friday. Most of these girls ranked #1–3 in their class, I was in the neighborhood of 68 out of 72.
I took my “what am I doing here” concerns to a friend of my Dad’s in the development office. He explained that, of course, they took a second look at me because of my Dad, but everyone here brought something to the community. As the days passed, that was revealed to me as Exeter became a magical world, a place where there were no rigid cliques. Gone were the groups of greasers, stoners, athletes, and nerds that defined my public school and the less defined but visceral “popular” and “unpopular” categories at the girl’s school.
This was something new for me, navigating a world of diversity that was revelatory, not divisive. At Rosemary Hall, my only exposure to boys was at “mixers”. My first mixer began with a whistle or boo rating for every girl as she stepped into the circle’s center to meet her “date”. The end of my mixer career came when my “date” pointed to one of the most popular girls and said her “date” would win “the pot”. “The pot” was money collected on the bus ride down to my school that was awarded to the boy who had the ugliest date. There was only one requirement, he had to stay with her the entire evening.
Thus, I arrived with no romantic illusions about being one of 80 girls among 800 boys. That assumption was reinforced one day when I was walking to class as a group of boys loudly agreed, “those girls think they are so great”. This remark was such a colossal misjudgment that I lost my insecurities. This made it possible to do something I had never done before around boys, be myself. A First Exeter Women respondent perfectly expressed the change that inspired me, “It was the first time in my life I was treated like a peer”.
A bouquet of great guys appeared in my classes, including Frank McPhillips in Religion, Michael Crawford in Black American History and, did I dream this… skipping the last laps in Gym class, hiding behind a fence smoking a cigarette with Jim Kramer. Jim also appeared where I met most of the boys in my life, Dramat. Stefan Janis as Mercutio and Vic Bevine as Romeo; Howard Brookner who wrote a one act play with a toilet in it; Fritz Hatton directing a musical, “The Boyfriend”; and Josh Gidding, my eternal Zooey.
Even though Dramat was the activity I cared the most about, academics became the most significant factor in my evolution at Exeter. The Harkness table showed me what education is all about, thinking and exploring, not right or wrong answers. At least, that was true in the humanities. If I hadn’t waited until Senior year to satisfy the science credit, my classes would have been a smooth, if challenging, adventure. I first signed up for Biology but when I found out I would have to dissect a fetal pig and a frog I asked the teacher if I could opt out as a conscientious objector. My request was denied and I switched to Intro Chemistry/Physics.
Surrounded by freshman boys, I was the only one who understood nothing. I was put on restrictions and my parents were informed there was a chance I wouldn’t graduate. The humiliation of being in the dorm by 8:00 did nothing to clarify Physics for me. Things were desperate when I arrived at class towards the end of the semester. Mr. Taft pulled me aside to say, “You have not passed any quizzes but I saw you in “The Boyfriend” last night and realized you were busy doing something you were very good at. If you can pass the last quiz, and promise me you will never take physics again, I will pass you.” I did and I haven’t.
Boys and academics, those were the presumed headlines for the first girls to legitimately spend a winter’s night in the dorm. For me, the most important aspect of the year was my life in the dorm. Bancroft was like a summer romance, passionate and over before I wanted it to be. In a year filled with highs and lows, the one thing I never felt was alone. Jani, Iris, and I patrolled the halls as proctors. Lee and Heather operated their first floor quad like a 24-hour diner. As roommates, Kimmy and I spent too many late nights talking about theatre and boys. She eventually moved out to get more work done and mega-disciplined Jani, the first feminist I ever met, moved in.
I don’t remember spending time in the common room. My very caring, non-smoking parents signed some documents allowing me to smoke, so the butt room became my sanctuary. The smokers were few, but the butt room’s vibe lured non-smokers whenever they needed company or a place to pull an all-nighter. I remember one particularly gruesome marathon when cigarettes were not enough to power through. We placed candy around the fluorescent-lit basement with midnight M&Ms, 1 a.m.- Milky Ways, and so on, until dawn would break with my favorite Twizzlers.
My forever ride-or-die crew, every one of the 80 Bancroft, Hoyt, and day girls, enriched my Senior year. We all knew each other to greater and lesser degrees but always enough to recognize the diversity that made us such a rich community. What united us was a revolutionary idea, women (and girls) should be at the table.
My final memory of Exeter was in the Bancroft parking lot after graduation. All the suitcases were packed away and Dads were yelling, “get in the car, get in the car”, as girls struggled through goodbyes with friends and to the year which, for them and Exeter, would be like no other. On my first night home, I sat in the living room, lit lots of candles, put on the Blind Faith album, and cried all night long.
