In the fall of ’58, Ridgeway’s elite faced the massive pillars of Arundel Senior High, fresh in Arundel green, eager and scared.   That was the beginning of the class, destined in five short years to graduate thirteenth in Arundel’s cavalcade of passing alumni.  It was a lowly beginning as fifth caste, eight graders, we began our career early.  Does anyone remember Mrs. Deschanel’s class trips to Annapolis and Philadelphia and the Franklin Institute, Betsy   Ross’s house, the bottle of cheer?  What about Mr. Miller’s English (?) classes.  The next year he went to the barracks.


         Fifty-nine found us elevated to the eminent position of Freshmen, but again low man on the totem pole.  We were well represented though, Stevie Ewalt was elected Basketball Queen and Gwen Lum started her illustrious career as Student Council secretary. We organized that year and section loyalty was replaced with class loyalty with the election of officers: Nancy Bonar, President; Chip Reed, Vice President; and Peaches Rowland, Secretary-Treasurer.  Our grand accomplishment was the Freshman Prom, “Around the World in Eighty Days,”


         Most memorable were the teachers--That was the year--Mr Steiner and his diet parties, his Kingston Trio records,  the nature hike, when the formidable 1963 Panorama editor hunted for snipes, and our Miss Mayo--those were French  classes?


         So then we became sophomores, low man on the totem pole again.  For the second year the administration moved the underclassmen out from under us and into the Junior High. We got our feet on the ground, however, amassing money for the Junior-Senior Prom. Harassed by our president Mike Coale, we sold perfume. We might have made more money had we called it “insect repellent;” of course  the quarter-a-month dues helped somewhat.


         Talent shone that year in Miss Dinkins English class when they compiled a book of poetry and awarded Pat “Eddie Guest” Shipley the poetry prize. Then  there was Anarchy I, Miss Steel’s Algebra class.  It was quite a year for the Student Council elections too.  The keen competition for Student Council officers resulted in over whelming majorities for Dave, Gwen, Pat and Ronnie.  Danny Ritchie even had opposition.


         The next year we became juniors, and that had a two-fold significance. Finally, we were next to the bottom and better yet, next to the top.


          We learned geometry by contrasting patterns on Mr. Wertz’s shirt and tie. Meanwhile, on the other end of the building, fifth and sixth period chemistry classes were learning. (They must have the school is still here in spite of the number of students that succumbed to the fumes.)


         The U.N. trip was rather gay: the bottom fell out of the train and for two hours we waited in a tunnel. Miss Godfrey warned us, “Please sit down, you might fall,” and she did. Christmas brought the speech class play, Anarchy II, (they remember). If we ever hear of a black-haired English teacher who committed suicide, we won’t ask why. Could we ever forget Miss Waroblak’s French III beatnik party with the black upside down Christmas tree?


         The junior year was the prom year. Urged by our officers: Craig Argyle, President; Candi Casteel, Secretary; Marti Herbut, Vice President; and Kay Webb, Treasurer, we sold candy and stationery, which to our delight, went over a little better than the perfume.  We chose for a prom theme, the “Old South” and that included everything down to hominy grits. For weeks we spent Saturdays painting the white picket fences. We hung Spanish (cheese cloth) moss and painted yards of murals. Somewhere there are two girls who’ll remember the half hour spent on the afternoon of the Prom painting the final scene. We had Betty and her one-man band committee and our fountain--all fighting $75 worth. A lot of people were at the Prom, but what happened to the clean-up session the next morning?


         Our last junior fling was Mr. Miller’s birthday party, complete with a proclamation, a 12-inch Hero Medal, and a one-candle cupcake.


         At last 1962-63 and we were, unbelievably awesome seniors. The first thing we noticed was the startling amount of busy-work, wouldn’t you know it was evaluation year.  French IV serenaded the main hall with “Il Etait une Bergere” and “La Seine.” The French Club saw the “Mona Lisa” and the English classes, Dame Judith Anderson at the Lyric and Sir Forsythe to the rescue of the Lady in distress. This was the year of Cuba, Fearless Leaders, and the “pear.” Senior day introduced “Stardust,” our senior play. When the lights went out in the third act, the audience thought it was funny; the actors thought the Russians had landed. The football committee went all out but Arundel may never have a male team, the senior girls had such a good time trampling the juniors 20-0., in the  Powder Puff football game. Gene Jarboe, as Santa Claus (?) brought Christmas, and school closed half a day early because of snow. We may never again be wished “Merry Christmas and let’s do this right!”


         Arundel’s sovereignty remained within the senior class with Kay Webb as Basketball Queen and Jacki Clulow as Miss Arundel. As for presidents, everyone was a president: Marti Kirkwood headed the class; Gwen Lum, the Southern Maryland Regional Association of Student Councils; Jim Huggins, the Student Council; and Pat Shipley, the National Honor Society.


         The spring of ‘63 kept us busy with preparations for graduation; name cards and announcements, measurements for caps and gowns, selection of a class song and choosing a gift for the school. In addition, other seniors were doing other work for the school. Isabel, along with Mr. Bressler, kept the PANORAMA staff on their toes and Marti Herbut and the Journalism class published the SHAMROCK.


         As the end drew near, seniors made plans for college work or weddings, while the I. Q. flashers, peanut-munchers, grade snatchers and meatballs of Mr. Forsythe’s English classes headed for the Peace Corps. It was a great year--they’ll never forget us, heaven knows they’ll try, but they never will.