You remember 1972 in Longview, Washington, right? The air smelled like the Reynolds aluminum plant and the timber mills, and the world was changing faster than anyone could keep up with. At Mark Morris High School, the Class of 72 was caught right in the middle of it.
Honestly, being a Monarch back then meant something specific. You weren't just another kid in a suburb; you were part of a school named after Samuel Mark Morris, one of the literal founders of the city. There’s a weight to that. People think high school in the early '70s was all Dazed and Confused vibes, but for this specific group, it was a weird, beautiful mix of old-school Longview tradition and the looming shadow of the Vietnam War.
The Longview Reality for the Class of 72
The school itself was still pretty young when the '72 crew walked the halls. Built in 1957, Mark Morris was only about fifteen years old. It hadn't yet become the massive four-year institution people know today. Back then, it was actually a three-year high school. Ninth graders? They were still stuck at the junior high. You didn't get to be a "real" Monarch until sophomore year.
That created a tight-knit energy. You had three years to make your mark.
One thing that people totally forget is how much the "Roar With The Pride" motto actually dictated social life. It wasn't just a sports thing. It was a lifestyle. Whether you were hanging out by the "M" or heading over to the Nutty Bean for a snack, the Class of 72 was a distinct era of kids who saw the transition from the "Golden Age" of the 50s into the grit of the 70s.
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Why 1972 Was the Weirdest Graduation Year
Think about the timing. You’ve got the draft ending soon, but not soon enough for it to not be terrifying. You’ve got the music shifting from the Beatles to Led Zeppelin and the early days of glam rock.
At Mark Morris High School, the Class of 72 lived through the peak of the Monarch sports rivalries. While Bud Black (yes, that Bud Black of MLB fame) wouldn't graduate for another few years, the foundation of that athletic dominance was being poured by the guys and girls in '72. They were the ones setting the records that the younger kids spent the rest of the decade trying to break.
The social hierarchy wasn't just about who was popular; it was about who was going to the mills and who was heading to WSU or UW. Longview was—and kinda still is—a town built on work. If you graduated in 72, you either had a life mapped out in the timber industry or you were looking for the first exit toward Seattle or Portland.
The Teacher Influence Nobody Talks About
We often talk about the students, but the faculty in 72 were legends in their own right. These were the educators who had to navigate "hippie hair" and rising hemlines while keeping the school board happy.
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- The Discipline: It was still strict. You didn't talk back to teachers like Mr. Hardin or the athletic coaches.
- The Curriculum: It was shifting. There was a sudden push for more vocational training as the mills expanded, but the college-prep track was getting more intense because of the space race leftovers.
- The Culture: The teachers were basically the gatekeepers of the "Monarch Way."
If you weren't there, you might think it was all chaos. It wasn't. There was a weirdly formal structure to life at Mark Morris. You had the Almonarch yearbook staff documenting every single perm and every single varsity jacket like it was the most important history on earth. And you know what? To that community, it was.
The 50-Year Mark: Where Are They Now?
In 2022, the Class of 72 hit that massive 50th-anniversary milestone. It’s a sobering thought. When you look at the reunion rosters, you see a map of the American dream. You’ve got retired teachers, former mill workers, engineers, and a whole lot of grandparents who still talk about the 1971-1972 basketball season like it happened last Tuesday.
But it’s not all nostalgia. There’s a sadness to it, too. Like any class that’s been out for half a century, the "In Memoriam" list grows. Names like Marcus Page Bennett—who actually went to a different Longview High but shared that same 72 spirit—remind us that that era of East Texas and Pacific Northwest kids were cut from the same cloth. They were hard workers.
What Most People Get Wrong About the 72 Monarchs
People assume the Class of 72 was just "pre-technology" and boring. They’re wrong.
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Actually, they were the last generation to live in a truly analog world before the transition began. They communicated through handwritten notes shoved into lockers. They found out about parties through word of mouth, not a group chat. That created a level of social intelligence that honestly, we’ve kinda lost.
If you look at the 1972 Mark Morris yearbook, you don't see kids staring at screens. You see kids staring at each other. There’s an intimacy in those photos—sweat-drenched jerseys, messy science labs, and the absolute chaos of a pep rally in a gym that smelled like floor wax and teenage hormones.
Actionable Insights for Alumni and Local Historians
If you're part of this class or just a local history buff, there are a few things you should actually do to keep this history alive:
- Digitize the Almonarch: If you have a physical copy of the 1972 yearbook, scan it. Sites like Ancestry and Classmates are okay, but local libraries in Cowlitz County need those high-res files for the archives.
- Verify the Records: Many "Class of 72" lists online are actually merged with Morris High Schools in other states (like Illinois or New Jersey). Make sure you're looking at the Longview, WA records.
- Share the "Mill Stories": The 70s was the peak of Longview's industrial identity. If you have stories about working the summer shifts after graduation, write them down. That’s the real history of the town.
The Class of 1972 wasn't just a group of graduates. They were the bridge between the old-world Longview of the founders and the modern city we see today. They carried the "Monarch Pride" through one of the most turbulent decades in American history, and they did it with a style that hasn't been matched since.