Imagine a sweater so white it sparkles, like sunlight on new fallen snow, not easy on the eyes. Long sleeved, V-neck cardigan, three buttons, two pockets, resting gently on one’s hips. That very sweater over a collared blouse, with a pleated skirt, socks, and penny loafers — the pièce de résistance for we girls at Andover High School in the 1960s. Wearing this outfit to school pretty much guaranteed a great day.

But wait, that sweater was nothing without the letter “A” displayed boldly on the left side pocket. Cobalt blue, raised woven material adhered to a thin layer of white felt, about five inches tall and five inches wide, sewn carefully onto the sweater. Unfortunately, it had to be removed before, and reapplied after, each tumble in the washing machine. 

That letter “A” signified Amazing, Awesome, Athletic and, of course, Andover. One could purchase the sparkling white sweater, but that letter “A,” well . . . it could be harder to come by!

Traditionally, an Andover High School sports banquet was held each spring to honor the coaches, basketball players, and cheerleaders of the previous winter season. Students, parents, teachers, and coaches — dressed to the nines — gathered on the lower floor of the Unitarian Church, now the Proctor Academy Chapel, for dinner, conversation, and the awards ceremony.

As an athlete, one’s focus was most likely on the events that followed dessert. Along with the coaches heaping praise on the season, no matter the outcome, and reminiscing about funny turnabouts, it would be time for the trophies, certificates, and letters to be awarded. Typically, the trophies and certificates honored the most valuable forward and guard for the girls’ team, most valuable player for the boys’ team, recognized good sportsmanship and notable individual improvement, and both teams’ best foul shooter. 

While I might have dreamt of some recognition for improvement, I honestly wasn’t very invested in a trophy that would decorate a shelf in one’s bedroom and maybe just gather dust. While a certificate would have been sweet, that letter “A” had me yearning.

 It was fairly predictable that these letters were awarded only to an exceptional freshman year player; a second-year player was probable, and a third year on the team — a veritable shoo-in.  A player could only receive one letter “A” so those players who had already received a letter and had continued on the team as notable participants would receive a star, a snazzy star of cobalt blue, raised woven fabric, about three inches in diameter. These stars could also be added to one’s sweater. Oh, the status!

Even back then, I was somewhat of a realist. I didn’t purchase my white sweater until my junior year. It was at my junior year sports banquet when I felt the odds increasing in my favor. As the shiny trophies and framed certificates joined their new and rightful owners, I kept my eyes glued on the neat pile of wax paper envelopes which enclosed those letter “A”s, each carefully labeled with a recipient’s name. 

After three years, and banking on my personal shoo-in theory, I was pretty confident. But it was not to be. 

No matter my lack of athletic prowess and mediocre performance on the floor during a game, the sometimes amazing me at practice, sinking a lay-up or random foul shot, gave me hope. I had to give it one more year.  Besides, being on the team did hold, yet still, another perk.