|(Washington High School’65, St. Paul, Minnesota)|
The girl, Gayle Johnson, was one of the sophomore cheerleaders at Washington High School. A nice girl, usual dress for that time; she was fifteen; I was seventeen at the time, a senior, and a hallway monitor during the lunch periods. It was the summer of ’65. She was lean, but shapely, and feminine; smart looking; not real tall, shorter than she was taller, with big eyes, and wavy soft blond hair; an eye catcher. Every day of school, five days a week she’d come walking down that hallway with two or so of her girlfriends. It took all of a few minutes. She never said more than hello, along with giving me a big smile. She appeared to be popular with everybody in school. I’d actually waited for her to come along, and if she didn’t: darn if I didn’t miss seeing her.