Word: preps
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...helps his sell with a sincere, low-key delivery. When he needs help, he turns to distinguished Notre Dame alumni. In Dallas, he is likely to make home visits with Joe Haggar, whose family owns Haggar Co., the slacks manufacturer, and put up money for Haggar Stadium at Jesuit Prep...
Gill's narrative is broken (at no stylistic loss, in what is a string of vignettes anyway) by some memories of his prep school years, and some from the years at Yale, where the teachers had twinkles in their eyes. A chapter begins with "The reason I waited to marry..."and sidles into a glib and superficial commentary on sexual attitudes in the thirties, a commentary that is all the more awkward for being offered as revelation ("I perceive now that my unmarried teachers at Yale were probably less chaste than the rest of us.") And there are hints...
Flunk Out. South Boston High students who do want a higher education often run into serious trouble. Four years ago, Diana McDonough graduated from the school as an honor student; she received straight A's in the advanced college-prep course. Then she entered the University of Massachusetts and flunked out in her first year. "I realized I couldn't read, write, or even speak English well," she says. "I couldn't believe how smart the other kids were." McDonough, 21, now works as a secretary...
...case of Cheryl and Mary Hunter is equally dismaying. Both sisters had also graduated from South Boston High's advanced college-prep course. But one flunked out of business school and the other is bringing home failing grades during her first semester at Boston University. Says their mother Patricia: "As it turned out, neither of them was prepared for college. But when they come home with straight A's, you figure they're ready to go on." Adds another South Boston High parent: "These aren't the Harvards and Dartmouths that our kids are flunking...
...there were plenty of other things to do when chit-chat about old prep school buddies and blustering predictions about the next day's games began to pall. You could always just watch. Or you could get drunk, if the jostling, six-deep crowd at the bar didn't scare you off (and it usually didn't). Or you could blow your money on roulette and backgammon. You could fox-trot to a three-man band, complete with a black pianist playing "As Time Goes By." Or you could be interviewed by The New York Times...