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having this wild, wicked airline gang at her school corrupting her girls. She wore flat black shoes with laces. Her hair was pulled back tight in a bun and contrasted harshly with the soft, free hairdo of the stewardess.
    “All right, girls. Everyone take a seat now.” Mrs. Coolie never needed benefit of microphone.
    We were all seated and Mrs. Coolie began pacing in front of the table. She chewed her mouth as she paced, her hands behind her back. Then, secure in some thought, she turned to us and spoke.
    “You’ve all come here today to hear what it would be like to travel all over this nation of ours and live in many different places. I suppose this is a dream that many young, impressionable girls have once or twice in their growing up. Yes, travel does have its appeal. I’ve traveled, as you all know. (The only trip I knew of was a teacher’s conference in Oklahoma City.) And I’ve found that other places never, never . . . never have what you’ve left behind in your own particular place of origin. But, you each will make this choice. And those few of you who may decide to leave Amarillo and . . . yes, even Texas, will at least have benefit of a firm and solid foundation in the great history of your state. I found this fact secure in my travels. Well, as part of our continuing effort to present to you people from various careers, we today feature the airlines. And these people are here to say some things about going away and working for their airline. I give them to you now.”
    We applauded. Mrs. Coolie liked it as she strode to the sidelines.
    The young man stood up and smiled at us. We smiled back.
    “Good afternoon, girls. And thank you for coming. I appreciate that warm introduction from your Mrs. Coolie. Actually, we almost didn’t make it here as planned. We’ve been conducting these meetings all over the country and were in Hollywood yesterday. It looked like the weather wouldn’t allow us to reach Amarillo today so . . . well, we just stayed around the pool and watched the actors and actresses stroll by.”
    Everyone laughed.
    “But, I’m certainly glad we did have a chance to see and meet each of you. You all look like you’d make fine stewardesses for the airline.”
    I wanted to ask which actors they saw strolling by. But I thought better of it. I wanted to ask if they’d seen Marlon Brando, my favorite. And I wanted to sign up at that moment before they got away and headed back for Hollywood.
    The meeting progressed for about a half hour. The young man introduced the stewardess (I never got her name), and she told us about what she did as a stewardess and where she went and what she did when she wasn’t flying. It sounded like a real-live Cinderella story. She lived in Boston where, she commented casually, there were so many college men. She said she always went to Europe on her vacations because she could fly on other airlines for almost nothing. In fact, she even said she never really knew what living could be all about until she decided to become a stewardess.
    “I suppose I’ll never want to stop flying,” she said with a reflective sigh. “Unless, of course, I decide to accept the marriage offers of those college men in Boston.”
    We all laughed with her. Except for Mrs. Coolie, who sat rigid in her chair, her black shoes planted firmly on the hardwood floor, her hands firmly on her knees. It was obvious she wanted the airline gang out of her gymnasium.
    The meeting ended and we were invited to stay around and ask questions. The only distressing thing about the meeting was the fact you had to be at least twenty years old to become a stewardess. But these two representatives from the airline had accomplished their given task. They had successfully piqued my interest, not only in flying but in their particular airline. I came forward to pick up a preliminary application form that the young man said would simply give them basic information on us. Then, when we became of age and went to