In the Spring, a young man’s fancy turns to, YOU NAME IT! And that leads to, YOU GUESSED IT: TROUBLE!

Late May 1950

Life’s big disappointments – my upper (junior) year at Andover, I was the last player cut from the varsity baseball team. The season before I was on JV, batting .428 and was called up to varsity. I never made it. The night of my promotion, we were horsing around in the dorm, Salisbury House, dumping water on each other from the empty bottles awaiting pick-up the next morning. We drank a lot of chocolate milk. I was dousing my roommate. He responded in kind, the two bottles met and shattered. I severed the tendon in my right thumb. It snapped and recoiled, winding up in my wrist. Two days later I was operated on at Jamaica Plains Hospital in Boston. The tendon was reconnected, but I was out for the season. I could never again grip the ball the same.

The prospect of playing JV again was not appealing. My roommate convinced me to give lacrosse a try. I took to the new sport quickly and soon found myself playing on the third midfield. I could run and I loved to hit. I picked up the skills with the stick as I went along. The team was loaded with great players. We won the New England Championship that year. Late in the season we beat Manhasset High School in an exhibition game, despite Jimmy Brown’s heroics (the legendary Football Hall of Fame running back who played for Manhasset as a teen).

Spring had been very dry and hot. The last game of the season we beat Exeter to clinch the title. Wins in lacrosse against Exeter were hard to come by. The victory was sweet.

The Rogers Hall (a girls school in nearby Lowell) prom was that night and many of us had been invited, a fitting climax to an exciting day. It was time to celebrate. A dozen or so of us loaded our tuxes into three vehicles that passed for limos and headed for Lowell, making one stop in Shawsheen Village. The car trunks were rearranged to make room for beer and liquids, amber and clear.

Time to change into another uniform. We struggled into the rented tuxes, fumbled studs and cuff links into place, adjusted or tied ties and reassembled in the parking lot to sample the stashed contraband prior to meeting our dates. We were staying on the second floor of a beautiful old house rented out for the occasion. A Tara-like stairway accessed our floor from the lobby.

Then we were off to greet our dates, or in my case to meet her. I had a blind date. I’m sure she remembers as much about me as I do about her, not a match made in heaven or Lowell or any other location else for that matter.

The evening progressed, dancing and socializing, with time out for frequent trips to the parking lot to savor the contents of the well-stocked car trunks.

Mother and Dad taught us at an early age to make sure that all the girls had an opportunity to dance. A combination of the hot weather, the dehydration, the excitement of the game and the events at the dance unfolding, fueled by the trips to the parking lot, “loosened” me up. It was time to put into practice the etiquette lessons drummed into me as a kid.

With all the aplomb I could muster, I asked the Head Mistress of Rogers Hall for a dance. I’m sure that at first she thought, “My what a fine young gentleman.” However, my expertise on the dance floor was yet to be honed, after all, I was only an upper…

The combination of my fumbling dance moves and the fact that I smelled like I had showered in formaldehyde gave me away. After several turns around the floor, I retuned the Head of School to her table, unaware of the consternation I had just caused . I was convinced that I had completed my good deed for the day.

The prom was history. We returned to our rooms for the night, tired and some of us a little tipsy. We continued to party well into the night, absent the girls. The day’s activities caught up with us. Several newly minted New England Champions spent the balance of the night hugging the over-worked antique toilet with the chain flusher.

The next morning dawned hazy. No one felt 100%, some (re: me) felt much worse than others. The seniors assigned the lower classmen the menial tasks, like cleaning the mess in the bathrooms, while they busied themselves checking out at the front desk and packing the cars. We were left to dispose of the empties. Several of the seniors went straight to the limos and closed their eyes again.

One of my fellow mid-fielders filled two pillow cases with empties and hoisted them, one over either shoulder. I grabbed a third and shut the door behind us. As I rounded the corner, I heard a God-awful noise. My nimble, gifted teammate had tripped and went hurtling down the long, elegant stairway, uttering expletive after expletive, spewing cans and bottles before him. He landed in a heap, coming to a stop just short of the check-in desk, miraculously bones intact, uncut, but bruised. So much for a stealthy retreat! We repacked the pillow cases, loaded the remnants of the contraband into the car trunks, and headed back to Andover.

Monday morning, we assembled at George Washington Hall for the daily school meeting. Under each seat – they were all assigned – was a rack for holding messages from faculty, administrators and coaches. I had a green envelope under mine, instructing me to meet with the Dean of Students, G.G. Benedict, after the school meeting. I looked around me and spotted several other lacrosse players examining the contents of similar envelopes.

Later, we all converged on G.G.’s office. The group was impressive. Among the group were: the senior class president; the valedictorian; editor of the school paper, The Phillipian; eight graduation day prize winners and the following year’s captains of lacrosse, hockey, football and wrestling. My thought was that we were about to be congratulated on our Championship. WRONG!

We were interrogated individually.

“Did you have any alcoholic beverages at the Rogers Hall Prom?” Most of us confessed. No one ratted on anyone. Parents were notified by phone and follow-up letter. We were all placed on probation. Prize-winners were stripped of their prizes, but allowed to graduate. The lower classmen were placed on probation for the fall term and not allowed to leave campus for the duration except for away games.

Mother and Dad, and Gramp did not explode – worse – they said how disappointed they were in me. They let me do the stewing.

I had to live with the knowledge of my misdeeds and the fact that my dance with the Head of School triggered a call to the house where we had stayed. Her suspicions were confirmed by the tale of the falling contraband, prompting her call to Andover.

We did our penance, secure in the knowledge that we had ‘fessed up. Those who did not had to live with fact that we knew that they had not.

P.S. I eventually did learn to dance. But I was careful never to ask anyone in authority to jitterbug or twist or lindy hop again – at least not until I was legal!!

George S.K. Rider