As the new semester starts, students in the fall of 1968 rush the cashier with textbooks and other school supplies. Then it’s back to the dorms for a change of clothes because the Methodist Student Center is hosting a back-to-school party tonight.
Later on, it’s going to get groovy, man. Lose your shoes and let your hair down.
Don’t overdo it because you’ll have to be up early in the morning. Isn’t campus lovely this time of year?
Linda is delighted that the University Complex South just got the new typewriters in. They’re super intuitive.
Lily is excited to use the dictaphone in shorthand class, the wave of the future.
Don’t worry; teachers are always willing to help students with vocabulary words.
And students are willing to point out where professors may have spilled potato salad on their ties.
You can catch up with your old friends and talk Aqua Net. No boys will ever run their fingers through your hair again.
Go wild and take a modern dance class.
But before long, those term papers will be due.
So be sure to put on that thinking cap and make it another great year of academics!
Young British women stroll through the city streets in the 1930s, wearing swimsuits their mothers would have never dared don. I can tell it’s not near Texas, as wet pavement is as rare a treat as a Yeti sighting–although ladies striding arm in arm in swimwear through a downtown district is rare itself. Actually, I had shoes like that once, in my cousin’s 1998 wedding, where I served as maid of honor. I believe they were satin. I did not wear them after rainstorms.
Perhaps it is my age, but even now, 90 years later, these suits still seem to leave little to the imagination. However, the women seemed pleased with their freedom, evidenced by smiles from ear to ear–and oddly even teeth, considering the source. Cheers to the days of youthful summers.
Delta Sigma Theta was founded 99 years ago at Howard University. This chapter of ladies studied as Jayhawks in Kansas. While Greek life itself has never mattered to me, what does matter is pictures. And I love this one. Not just the dresses and the hair and the double strand of something too jagged to be pearls, but I love old people names. Oreta, Betty Lou, Ivor, Cozetta, and even Dymple. Look at them subbing in Y’s 80 years ago, like they do today. (Think Kyndyll instead of Kendall.) And of course, there’s Dorothy Swope. I bet she traded that surname for another in the next five years, but on this day, in that dress, she was a Swope.
Yearbooks offer windows of potential. Young people on the precipice of adulthood, away from home, focusing their career paths, making friends, falling in love. Who knows what these women accomplished, how many people today remember their names? Maybe one reached 100 and still exists. But now they’re on the internet, forever preserved in youth, smiling in a time before Pearl Harbor, not knowing what would come.
Actually, this nation has gone too far to the casual dark side. Time was, when a gal wouldn’t show her bra strap in public, much less her thong whale tail. Now, you can’t throw a stick without hitting a high school girl’s bum cheeks spilling out of her shorts. If I never saw another fool wearing pajamas out in public, it would be too soon.
It takes just as long to pull on pants as it does pajama bottoms. Have they no sense of decency?
I’m not going to go so far as to say a parent who allows their children to wear pajamas in public is a bad parent, but there is a time and a place for everything. Pajamas are private.