Beyond The Ordinary

Excerpts from the "State of the Reunion Address" (June 20, 2026):

We were not just any graduating class. We were the first class to complete all four years at the new Laurens District 55 High School. The first to walk in as freshmen and walk out as seniors. The first to help shape a school that had never existed before us.

And let’s be honest… on that very first day in 1972, the school wasn’t exactly ready for us. The building was still under construction. We were stepping over lumber, dodging ladders, and trying not to trip over electrical cords. But we adapted.

And who was the genius who thought octagonal pods with no doors was a good idea for teenagers?  But we adapted.

We had to find our lockers (once they were all installed), figure out which hallway led where, and pray we didn’t end up in the wrong pod. And somehow, we made it work.  We adapted.

Think of who went into that building that first year. Laurens city schools were 2 years into desegregation from Laurens schools and Laurens-Sanders schools.  Now all Laurens students were joined by people from Hickory Tavern, Gray Court-Owings, and Ford schools.  All of these people were joined together and we became friends and we adapted.

We had big afros, long hair, short skirts, and platform shoes so high it’s a miracle we didn’t all sprain our ankles. We were a group of young people just trying to decide who we were.

While we were figuring out who we were, the world around us was changing fast.

1976 was America’s big birthday—our bicentennial. Beech‑Nut gum was 10 cents. Minimum wage was $2.30 an hour. Converse low tops were $8.95, Ear piercing cost six dollars a pair. “Sanford and Sons” kept us laughing. Carol Burnett kept us smiling.

At the movie theater, Jaws made us scared to go in the water and Pam Brown was kicking butt as Foxy Brown. The One-dollar per person admission at the drive in theater was the perfect friends and family hang out on Saturday night.

Considering the technical world we now live in, we were the “remote control” for the television when our parents wanted a different channel.  We were using the family telephone and stretching the cord to discrete places for a private conversation with our significant friends at the time.  And where were the internet and Google when we were researching for our projects and papers?

We were listening to Kool and the Gang’s disco hit “Ladies Night” , Rod Stewart’s “Tonight’s the Night,” Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Peter Frampton’s “Do You Feel Like We Do,” and slow dancing to  Earth Wind and Fire’s, ballad “Reasons”. 

But while the world was shifting, we were just trying to make it through homeroom, pass algebra, and figure out who we were becoming.

As we consider our class, we see not just classmates, we see pioneers. We see the first generation of diverse young people in our county who proved that coming together was possible. We didn’t always get it right. But we showed up. We played sports, sat next to each other in class and learned each other’s names. We shared cafeteria tables and bus rides and teenage heartbreaks. We broke barriers and crossed divides. We grew up together in a time when the world was changing fast, and somehow, we found our way and had fun.

Fifty years later, we carry the lessons of those days. We know what resilience looks like. We know what community feels like. We know that the friendships formed in those green‑and‑gold hallways have lasted longer than we ever imagined.

We honor:

The teachers and parents who believed in us. The classmates we’ve lost along the way. The memories that shaped us. And the journey that brought us back to this moment.

We honor the courage it took to be the first class of a new school. We honor the bridges we built—sometimes without even realizing we were building them. And we honor the gift of still being here, still standing, still connected by a time and place that made us who we are. 

As we celebrate fifty years, we also look forward. We don’t know what the next chapter holds—none of us do. But if our past has taught us anything, it’s this:

We are stronger than the times we lived through. We are wiser than the challenges we faced. And we are braver than we ever gave ourselves credit for.  We have taken the faith learned from our families and have grown with it and made it our own.  We have learned that it’s not the color of one’s skin that matters, but the soul and spirit that lies within.

The future may be uncertain, but so was 1972 when we walked into a half‑finished school. And look at what we built. Look at who we became.  We’ve become doctors, clergy, lawyers, teachers, musicians, landscapers, and ranchers.  We’ve defended our country as members of our armed forces. We’ve endeavored into private business, television, and various levels of government.  We’ve been those unseen, often underappreciated people, who are the real reason that the operation works.  And we’ve become  husbands, wives, parents and grandparents.

So, here’s to the years ahead— to the laughter still waiting for us, the memories we haven’t made yet, and the stories we will continue to tell.

Class of 1976, we are living history. And the future—whatever it brings—will be better because we are still here to meet it.

Here’s to fifty years. Here’s to the Raiders. Here’s to us. 

Malena Cunningham Anderson & Larry Bailey