I was once a Saratoga girl myself, back in the days when we Saratogans were bused over to Los Gatos for our high school experience. Those were the days of pleated Pendleton skirts and classic two-piece sweater sets. We wore white bucks part of the time, and while today's fashion favors low-slung waistlines exposing bare midriffs, in my day, the popular style was low-slung saddle shoes that daringly exposed at least a full inch more skin below the ankle than previous saddle-shoe models.

We also loved brightly colored tennies—with blue Ked labels in the back. I wouldn't want to say how many years ago this was; suffice it to say, a pair of very trendy Keds cost $5.

In the spring, when those famous apricot and prune and cherry blossoms were blanketing the valley, we young ladies would pack away our wool clothes and get out our colorful cotton frocks.

That's when poor Miss Winslow had to put in a lot of extra hours fretting about the way young ladies were dressing. Although my cotton dresses, accompanied by a full complement of petticoats, were modest and did not reveal much skin below my neck, not everyone was quite as modest as me. There is reason to believe that I was more modest because I was from Saratoga. Rumor had it that the Los Gatos girls were, well, let's just say they weren't Saratoga girls.

So, I had this really good friend named Sue. And Sue was a bit of a Bohemian. In fact, Sue was a free spirit who went on to art school and actually made something of a name for herself. Anyway, Sue made all her own clothes. And Sue loved to make dresses with spaghetti straps.

I hasten to add that when Los Gatos High School girls wore spaghetti straps back then, they wore proper underwear. In those days before Madonna made it fashionable to wear underwear as outerwear, no self-respecting young lady would dream of wearing a spring frock with bra straps showing.

Miss Winslow was the dean of girls. And I'm here to tell you that Miss Winslow abhorred spaghetti straps. I should know. I was president of Girls League, and I spent a lot of time with Miss Winslow. I was her sounding board. And when she talked to me about the "problem" of spaghetti straps, I couldn't help wondering if she knew I was good friends with one of the major offenders.

It's not as if the girls who wore spaghetti straps were actually showing cleavage. Perish the thought.

Just to give you an idea of why this was out of the question: One of my main duties as Girls League president was planning a mother-daughter tea. Those were different times, needless to say.

When Miss Winslow used to consult me about the way girls were dressing in those days, I thought she was overreacting just a bit. I was a teenager, and I wasn't totally devoid of an awakening rebellious spirit. I did have a good friend who was a free-spirited artist, after all.

But, Dick, I have to tell you, as I sit here looking at the photographs of what passes for fashion on these two school campuses, I have to wonder if Miss Winslow wasn't on to something when she worried that spaghetti straps were just the beginning of a slippery slope.

Now I know you remember Miss Winslow, even though, as you often remind me, you went to Los Gatos High School much, much later than I did because you are so much younger. And you've told me that Miss Winslow used to have girls in short skirts kneel down and if their skirts didn't reach the floor, well, those skirts were too darn short.

I wouldn't know about that. In my day, skirts had not ascended above the knees. In fact, I thought knees were pretty funny looking. It wouldn't have occurred to me (or anyone I knew—well, maybe Sue) to wear a dress that exposed my knees. It was also a fact, by the way, that no girl was permitted to wear pants to school. It wasn't as if it even occurred to us, by the way. The era of teen rebelliousness (Elvis the Pelvis notwithstanding) was still a few years away.

There was a popular story told on campus about schools where patent leather shoes were prohibited because, the story goes, the shoes were so shiny, it was like having mirrors on your feet that reflected up your skirt and people could see your undies. This might have been a suburban myth of my day, since I heard the story many times but never actually met anyone who admitted it happened at her school.

But back to Miss Winslow. What in the world would she think about today's high school fashions?

Of course, Miss Winslow is no longer with us. And there is no dean of women. No Girls League. No mother-daughter tea. Miss Winslow, I'm certain, believed that one had to be strict about standards. Give an inch and, well, the next thing you know, Madonna will be a role model, and before long, Madonna will be old hat and Britney Spears will be all the rage, and instead of wearing underwear as outerwear, girls will be wearing ... what can I say? Not much of anything.

Love,

Dale