High School
HIGH SCHOOL
I
t was 1946 when my mother withdrew me from public school, strangely named Henry’s Barnyard, and enrolled me in the fifth grade at Lincoln School. A Quaker all-girls prep school, I was one among four Jewish students, abiding by the school’s quota of four Jews per class. Predictably, we banded together, yet assimilated as much as possible with other girls, with whom I reconnected at a reunion some fifteen years ago in Providence. At the Lincoln School Reunion, three impressive facts: the girl who had been our class beauty and brain was barely recognizable, now heavy in frame and a hairstyle from hell. Edie, one of my best buddy Jewish friends, all but ignored me at the Reunion. Joyce, once a shy, skinny, inhibited girl presented as a bombastic, splashy Hollywood blond. Poor Susan, our other Page 33
