First Day of High School

Freshman Year at Cass Tech: The Jungle

Cass Technical High School in Detroit was like a city unto itself—4,000 students housed in a towering eight-story building. For a 5’3” freshman, the sheer magnitude of it felt like being thrown into a jungle. On paper, I had a one thing in my favor. My older sister Margaret, who was popular with the cool crowd, was already a student there. Theoretically, her status could have helped smooth my entry into this new world. But the reality was that once we walked through the doors, I was on my own.

What I didn't have in my favor? Well, pretty much everything else. I was a small kid, not even remotely prepared to navigate this maze of a school, and as if that weren’t enough, I was placed in the honors curriculum from day one. In middle school, being in the top two of my class had been a source of pride. But in 1970s Detroit, in the post-hippie era, academic prowess wasn’t exactly the fast track to popularity. What mattered more was how many joints you could smoke, and I was allergic to smoke—a fact that doomed my chances of ever fitting in with the cool kids. My weed ticket was never going to get punched.

Then there was my first major mistake. Cass Tech, with its student body split roughly 80% Black and 20% other, had two entrances: one predominantly used by Black students and another by everyone else. It wasn’t a racial divide per se; it was just how the neighborhood groups naturally congregated. Still, I had no clue and walked right through the “wrong” door on my first day. It wasn’t a huge deal—nobody said anything—but it was the kind of freshman move that made me feel more like an outsider.

Once inside, I turned to my schedule and found myself facing another hurdle—Cass Tech’s absurd sense of humor. The room numbers seemed almost deliberately confusing, as if someone had decided to shuffle them for fun. The result was that my first experience of the school was wandering around, hopelessly lost. Margaret was nowhere to be found. She was off with her friends, as any self-respecting upperclassman would be. I would have to navigate this behemoth on my own.

The teachers were a bright spot, for the most part. They were welcoming, and some seemed genuinely invested in helping us settle in. Well, except for my economics teacher. I’d never forget the day later in the semester when he forced me to give an oral presentation while I had laryngitis. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say my voice cracked more than once, and not in the charming, adolescent way.

Physical Education was another kind of trial. My short stature could be masked in a classroom full of desks, but in the gym, I felt like Tattoo from *Fantasy Island*—comically small in a sea of towering classmates. Seriously, some of these kids looked like they should be playing for the Detroit Lions, not sweating it out with me in high school PE.

And then there was lunch. Feeding 4,000 students in one school is a logistical nightmare. Finding a seat in the cafeteria was an impossible task, especially for someone trying to blend into the background. After wandering for what felt like forever, I found myself perched on a stairwell, quickly devouring a tray of meatloaf and instant mashed potatoes, eager to disappear from sight.

At the end of that first day, I felt a small surge of pride—I had survived. But deep down, I knew this was only the beginning. Cass Tech was a behemoth, and I would have many more battles ahead. With every awkward moment, every lost hallway, and every towering PE classmate, I found myself envying the homeschooled kids who didn’t have to endure this chaotic rite of passage. 

But for better or worse, I was in the game now. Cass Tech, for all its vastness, confusion, and challenges, would become my world for the next four years.