Puzzles from the past
For the story I’m working on—a novella, in which SFPD Inspector Kate Martinelli revisits her past—I needed to have her look at some high school yearbooks. To remind myself what they looked like, I dug out my own.
Now, I graduated in 1970. Ever since I bought the thing, I’ve wondered what the hell a “Micopacen” is. So I Googled it—only to find that the sole listings for that word are, yes, yearbooks from this Franklin Pierce High School. (Franklin Pierce being our alcoholic, pro-slave, ranked-among-the-worst, 1853 president. Great name for a high school, right?)
I can only guess that this neologism (indeed, so far as I can tell, this hapax legomenon) may be an acronym. The school’s first nine teachers? The students who worked on the first yearbook? Their mothers, their dogs? Anyone have a suggestion?
Oh, but you say you’re more interested in what’s inside, rather than the baffling name on the cover? This was the time of miniskirts and plastered hair, of Vietnam and the Beatles. Except maybe in suburban Tacoma, where you might find a long-haired, wire-rimmed, ridiculously young LRK:
About whom a friend wrote:
That’s right: “Laurie, our class hippy. I had a write-in for you on that popularity sheet for our class hippy ’cause they didn’t have a category for it…”
What category did you guys find yourselves nominated for, back in your own Dark Ages?