I'd be turning 13 later in the year, and so presumably would most of my 7th grade classmates. Typically though, we see variations in the state of puberty onset. I can't speak for the dog, who I imagine was some neighborhood mutt who stopped by for the laughs. Two of the guys have the garb and coiffure of typical "bad boys" of the era - back then we called them JDs - but these were more like wannabes. One is smugly displaying an empty pack of Benson and Hedges cigarettes he'd found - or at least that's the story. Chance - or possibly some attractive force emanating from the patterns - seems to have gathered the check-shirt boys into an eye-warping cluster. Also, one-in-every-crowd guy has star position.
I'm in the sweater standing next to our teacher, who was not only my first male one but the first to engage me intellectually. A man of varied interests, he fascinated me with his lectures - much of which he'd write out on the blackboard for us to copy while he spoke extemporaneously, occasionally punctuating it with flashes of his wry and ironic wit. There was an upright piano in the classroom from which he led us in sing-alongs of old songs - "Red Sails in the Sunset" was one of his favorites. One day, coming back from recess, one of the guys in class sat down at it and started pounding out the "Peter Gunn" riff. I was mightily impressed. | Click image for Comments.